#imagine running back into him DECADES later. and the first words out of his mouth to you are “ what the fuck did you do. ”

[bonnielunkas]

fic posting again, whoops!! consider this a little taste of what's to come, i guess

[babextoken]

✧・┈・╴you turn up in the reveries of my mind‧ ₊˚・

summary: your roommate, Vessel, lets his lust and curiosity get the better of him after weeks of wet dreams about a certain someone...you

vessel x fem!reader, roommate!AU, friends to lovers, smut (are we surprised) wet dreams, masturbation (m + f), sex toys, mentions of somno and dub con, subby!vessel, softdom!reader, scent kink?, vessel is WHINY, p in v, light choking (m receiving), light biting (m + f receiving), dirty talk, teasing, begging, cunnilingus

a/n: at one point this was a drabble. then it evolved into this big boy whom i love very much. thank you everyone who reads and interacts. ୨♡୧

MDNI

✧・┈・╴

Ten. That’s how many mornings Vessel awoke with his hand already palming his cock as if his life depended on it…and how many mornings he awoke from a wet dream about his roommate. You. You’re always so kind and punctual with rent. And you’re a good cook. You’re clean. Quiet. Funny. Beautiful. Single. But when did you become desirable…tempting…fuckable? He couldn’t wrap his head around that part, quite frankly, he was too far gone to question it. Was it something you said? Maybe. Something you did that he just happened to notice? Could be. Or did the dreams come first? Either way, he knew that waking up just to imagine being with you felt good.

Oh to sneak into your bedroom after these dreams and have you take care of his “problem.” To slip under the covers and press against your warm, sleepy body…to kiss your shoulders and neck. At first, he thought about the thrill of surprising you. The way your eyes would focus after waking…asking what he’s doing and why he never said anything before only to shut you up with a wet kiss. But soon that fantasy evolved into something much more satisfying for Vessel. Instead of shock, you’d greet him with comfort and soft touches…like you were expecting him. He’d whisper “good morning, pretty” as you immediately embrace him. Maybe you were already naked for him. Or maybe there were no words between you…just his hand between your legs as you gently take his cock out of his underwear. Just the idea that you’d be willing and ready for him first thing in the morning…that he’d be lucky enough to be on your mind like that. And that’s the thought that finishes him this morning.

A bit later, he’s already put his decadent morning routine out of his head. Nothing a shower and scrolling can’t fix. That is until he sees you. Do you have to look like angel even when you’re doing something mundane like loading the dishwasher? Also, weren’t you supposed to be out of the house today? Things become worse when he’s a few paces from you and he realizes you smell divine. Like sugared flowers…candy…sex, honestly.

“You ok, bud?” You laugh with an eyebrow cocked. “I said ‘hi.’”

Vessel’s eyes flutter as he comes back to the present. He shakes his head and coughs a little “Your perfume…”

“Oh! Oh my god,” you cover your mouth. “it’s too much isn’t it? Its a bit much! I should change my clothes or…”

“NO!” 

He didn’t mean to yell. He just…god…please don’t deny him that scent. He puts his fingers to his temples, shaking his head. “Sorry, sorry, no I don’t what came over me. No it’s…” he walks towards you and clears his throat. “It’s really…really nice.” He has to look away. “It suits you.”

You look down and smile, a blush forming over your cheeks. Recently you two were warming up to each other more. Joking more. Spending more free time together. But you haven’t noticed his lingering stares…mostly because you look away quickly before he notices your own lingering stare. 

…

A bit later, you’ve left to run errands. Ves is still reeling from your encounter. It wasn’t overly flirty…not even sexual in nature…at least it would appear that way to an outsider. But to him it was erotic. The way you blushed when he mentioned your perfume and complimented it. The way your confidence seemed to perk up after…god. What else could he do to make you act like that? And what else were you capable of? What could you do to him? And while he’s letting those fantasies unfold, he finds himself in the doorway of your bedroom. Shit. He shouldn’t do this. He should not be walking in, taking deep lingering breaths to inhale the scent of the room. Your candles. Your perfume. You. Just you. Fuck! His inner monologue is weakly begging him to stop rubbing his face in your pillows. To stop grabbing your blankets and taking in the smell of your body and what he assumes is your body wash and, of course, that fucking perfume. Oh he’s frantic. Actually feral. He gets up quickly and approaches dresser. There’s no perfume bottles on the top so maybe they’re in a drawer? Before he even knows what he’s doing he opens the top drawer and starts riffling around. He feels something solid..aha..there it…isn’t. He pulls the object out of the drawer and…oh. 

If the perfume made him feral…this drove him to the brink of insanity. He held up the sex toy and felt every ounce of blood in his body flow downwards. God he wanted to touch it all over. To run his finger gently over the rabbit part that teases your clit…to stroke the part that thrusts against your g-spot. He wants to watch you use it. He wants not be allowed to touch himself while you fuck yourself in front of him. He wants to clean it with his tongue when you’re finished and and and *DING DING*

You: hey, almost done over here. Sure you don’t need anything?

He nearly jumps out of his skin when you text him and yank him back into reality. 

Ves: all good :) thanks 

He throws the toy back into the drawer and breathes heavily. He looks at your bed and notices how messy he left it. He quickly smooths out the blankets and pillows to make it look less disturbed. God he hopes you don’t pay too much attention to how your duvet looks or the divots in your pillows. He rushes to his room and plops on his own bed. God, he hates himself. Why did he do that? Why was he snooping? Why was he imagining such crazy things? He’s on the verge off tears when he considers “what would I have done if she caught me…actually saw me?” The spiral leads him to think that maybe he should start finding ways to kick you out…or ways to keep him out of the house. Fuck fuck fuck fuck “FUUUUUUCK!”

…

The evening is fine, but Vessel keeps to himself more than usual. He’s also nicer than usual. He gets you another slice of pizza. Obsessively asks if the volume of the tv is ok…if you have enough of the throw pillows to be comfy…do you want more water…dr pepper…a snack?

“Ves…I’m. Fine.” You say with a dry, exasperated laugh. “Are you ok?”

GOD he wants to be good. He wants to be decent and pleasant but he also needs to know how you taste and what your eyes look like the first time he thrusts into you.

“I’m great, hun. Really.”

He shifts uncomfortably. You don’t believe him. You take a chance and gently poke his thigh with your foot. He jumps a little, and you snicker but that’s it. That’s the interaction. You both feel the tension. Something is different. You figure he’s dealing with something he doesn’t want to share. He figures you want nothing to do with him beyond being his roommate. That’s what he tells himself. Begs himself to believe it.

After you both go to sleep, Vessel finds himself in a fitful dream where you caught him in your bedroom. You chide him. Scream at him. Start beating him with the dildo (this is how he knows it’s a dream). He jolts awake and, damnit, he’s hard. He can’t bring himself to take care of the issue but he also can’t stop thinking about you. About coming clean. It’s late but he can’t stop himself from coming to your room. He whispers your name, and you make a small sleepy noise.

“Mmm. Yeah?”

He’s already standing by your bed and trying to get a grip. “I…I had a bad dream.”

You chuckle a little at the innocence of his answer. “Are you kidding?”

“No…no I’m not.” His face burns. What is he doing? He feels stupid being back in here…in the middle of the night…taking in your scent again. “We got in a bad fight.”

“Well, thank goodness it was just a nightmare…right?”

He doesn’t answer your question, he just poses his own. “Your perfume…what’s it called?”

You look up at him in the darkness and can barely make out his features, but you can tell he’s breathing a little hard. 

“It’s nothing special.”

“Perhaps to you…”

“Ves, what’s wrong?”

Vessel’s brain feels like it’s on fire. He should just jack off and get some sleep but he’s in here being a creep. “I just…I’m in a weird place.” God he’ll take anything right now. Any crumb.

And you pick up on that. You pull back the covers, and he wordlessly slips in. You roll over…ready to try and initiate some kind of less-than-friendly cuddling…but he had already started dozing. Sighs. Boys.

…

Vessel wakes up from the best sleep of his life. Seriously. He groans softly and rubs his face against the pillow and slowly opens his eyes…surprisingly he isn’t shocked to see he’s not in his bed. He remembered how soft and heavy his body felt right when he laid beside you. As much has he wanted to touch you…kiss you…he couldn’t fight his body’s desire to rest for once. He rolls over and realizes you’re waking up, too. You stretch and make a content noise. God…you look so sweet right now. He realizes he didn’t have his reoccurring wet dream but the urge is still there. 

You nuzzle into your pillow a bit and groan. “I’m coooooold,” you whine playfully.

He laughs softly at your little voice but doesn’t immediately offer to warm you up. How awkward would that be? After all the strange things he did yesterday it would be his undoing if he offered to hold you…to be sweet and kind…and then you back away because he’s poked and prodded you. But those thoughts don’t last long because you’re already up against him. Already hugging him close. Letting your hips press against his…becoming painfully aware that he wants this just as bad as you do. His breath becomes ragged as he bites his lip.

You want to ask him if had wanted to kiss you last night…if he had been in your room (because you absolutely noticed your dildo was out of place in the drawer)…if he felt the same. But words feel exhausting right now. Why not just see what happens when you let your hand glide up and down torso mindlessly?

He groans softly and lets his head fall back a little. Your eyes trail up to the spot on his neck you find yourself looking at often. When you were alone you often thought how nice a hickey would look right there…you have to take the chance. As your soft, wet lips kiss and nip at his neck, he holds you tight. Like you were supposed to do that. Like you belong in his arms. You suck gently at his neck and coo softly when you see the spot redden. He pulls your hair gently so you’re looking up at him. His lips are on yours instantly and so are his hands. Those wide..spidery hands. He touches you gently like you might break….like he can’t believe it.

And he can’t. He cannot believe his luck…that being a little creep has gotten him this far. Your tongue brushes his in a way that makes him whimper. You bite his bottom lip and let your hand trail down his stomach.

“I need you,” you whisper.

“Then have me.”

You don’t need telling twice. You trail kisses down his neck and chest, stopping for longer, nibbling kisses when you hear him moan or his breath catch. You’re getting closer and closer to his crotch when he stops you. He pulls you up and gives you a sweet kiss as he slips off his sweats…no underwear. Fuck. He’s ready for you. Rock hard and dripping. At first you thought you were going too fast for him…but you see now that he just wants to feel you. To fuck you. 

He watches you undress, enraptured. You’re already pushing him onto his back softly and kissing his neck when his fingers find your slit. You moan softly, losing yourself in the feeling of your friend touching you like this. 

“That’s a pretty sound, baby…” he whispers as you little bite his jaw. “Mm. You’re a biter, too?” He punctuates his question with a quick nip your shoulder. You yelp and giggle. “Bet you’d like it if I marked you up. You wear that pretty perfume for me all the time and you’ll have to fight me off like a feral animal.”

You straddle his hips and lean down to kiss him, his hands kneading your tits. “Hm. I think you’re just a scrappy puppy…no feral animal. Aren’t ya?” He groans at your teasing but secretly he loves it. He buries his face in your neck and breathes you in with a moan. Oh…oh thank god. There’s still the faint scent of perfume in your hair and on your skin. He groans softly and wraps his arms around you. You’re trapped. 

“Rub your cock on it…” you whisper 

“Wha….what?” He groans out. Vessel has gone completely pathetic. The feeling of you laying on him with your neck in his face feels like the dreamiest way to suffocate. He wants to rub his face on you like a drunk slobbery puppy. You asking him to rub his already throbbing cock on your pussy doesn’t feel like a reward, it feels like torture. “Please,” his broken little mind pleads, “one stimuli at a time.”

But he obeys and rubs the head of his cock against your slit. You arch your back and moan as it hits your clit…fuck he’s a big boy.  And you can tell he likes it too. Maybe too much. 

“Look at how you’re blushing, baby. What’s wrong, hm?” You whisper teasingly. 

“I…mmm” Vessel whines. He’s given up rubbing his cock on you and lets it rest against your entrance. “It’s too much.”

“Ooh too much? We haven’t even started,” you hold his jaw so he’ll look at you. “Don’t you want me?” You pout playfully. Who knew he’d be so easy to tease?

He whines and tries to push your hips down on his cock. His eyes are glazed over and his throat bobs roughly as he silently pleads for anything from you. “…I saw your toy…”

A smirk forms across your lips as rub your thumb against his pouty lips. “I know you did. You did a very bad job at hiding that you snooped.”

His face darkens even more and he looks away, embarrassed and vulnerable. You giggle and pepper his face with tiny baby kisses. He holds you close again and hides his face, groaning, “I’m such an idiot.”

“Did you imagine me using it?”

He nods shyly. 

“Did it feel good to think about it? Hm? Come on…”

He tries to buck his hips upward and into you. “Please…” 

“So needy…” you tease. He helps you lower onto his cock and adjust to his girth. “Oh my god…fuuuck Ves.” 

He grabs your hips as his breathing becomes ragged. “Please. Don’t. Move. Yet”

“Why, Ves? Too good?”

“Yes oh my god….fuck.”

“Does it make you wanna cum? Hm? Are you that desperate?”

“Ffffuck. Fuck. Just for you. It’s always just been…for you.”

“Then lay there and be my toy.”

You lean up a little with your hand on his chest. Your hips rock back and forth as you adjust yourself to rub your clit against him. He doesn’t seem to mind that you’re just grinding against him instead of fucking yourself with his cock. No…he looks like he’s found heaven. He’s still holding on to you but he looks like he could be moved…manipulated…how ever you wanted. 

“Pretty girl…oh my god…fuck. FUCK” he grips your hips and tries to move you faster but you swat him away. “Mm…please. Please use me…please touch me…please I’ve been so good. So good. I…fuck…I’ve wanted to sneak in here so bad…watch you play with yourself…or…mm…wait for you to come out of the shower. Please.”

You stop to look down at him. You’re in control right now but that doesn’t mean you aren’t teetering over the edge. You’re gagging for it. You want to bounce and moan and “please daddy daddy daddy” on it but you’ve got him in a very very fun position. “‘Being good’ would have been coming to play with me. Silly boy. You’ve been having fun touching yourself without me.”

He whines like a dumb puppy “nooo that’s not…babe…” You chuckle and press your hand to his throat. His Adam’s apple bobs again as he whines with his teeth clenched…is he about to cry? “Quit being a cock tease! Fuck!” 

You squeeze a little on his throat, which elicits the sluttiest noise you’ve heard from any man you’ve fucked. “Listen to you. Bratty and eager. You gonna cum for me? Once I get started again you won’t be able to hold it…no…no you won’t.” You flash him a devilish grin and start bouncing on top of him. Your hand has moved to his collarbone but he quickly pulls you down by your wrist. His face is smothered in your chest, but you’re losing your balance and ability to ride him bent over like this. He holds your ass down and starts fucking up into your pussy kind of like your favorite little thrusting toy…but this one whimpers and pouts and whispers little desperate words of praise as he cums inside you. 

“I need to see you cum.” He says pushing you off of him. “Please. Let me help you. Please baby…” he pins you down on your back in a breathless, messy kiss. You spread your legs and start to rub your clit. He pulls away, wiping your combined spit off his mouth and lets his jaw fall when he sees the mess he’s made of you. “I wanna help…please…please…”

You’re already close but when he starts tonguing your slit where his cum seeps out of you, you’re done for. Even after you stop rubbing your clit he still licks and sucks at you…like he has to….

And he does. What if this was a one time thing? What if this was just for fun? What if you actually don’t care beyond this morning? Vessel wants to soak all of your cum and spit and scent up and lock himself away so he can’t forget it. He can’t share it. When he finally gets his fill, he looks down at you softly. And you smile back up at him. As if you hadn’t just been absolute little whores together…you enjoyed yourself…you enjoyed him. 

He slumps beside you and yawns. “You know I like you, yeah?” 

You laugh and roll your eyes. “Oh is that what that meant?”

He flicks your arm and lays on top of you, trapping you in a big hug. “You know what I mean. I want this. I want you. Everything. All of it.” 

You stroke his back and breathe him in…thinking about how fun it would be to just cut the bullshit…just be together. And you do.

[noellawrites]

Dark!Sonny Carisi R*pe and Impregnation HC’s

a/n: happy anniversary my love @rafaslittleboy <3 also gender neutral but afab reader

warning: DARK CONTENT AHEAD, please do not read if this disturbs you! includes: rape, impregnation, virginity loss, inaccurate portrayal of abortion laws, manipulation, forced pregnancy, lmk if i missed any

- As Dominick Carisi Junior’s paralegal, you have a very professional relationship with him. Always running errands, filing papers, gathering reports

- But one day, he asks if you’re free that evening to babysit his three kids

- And you agree, of course, knowing he’s been going through a rough period with his wife

- But when you arrive, only Sonny is there

- “Sorry kid, there’s been a change ‘a plans. ‘Manda’s mom’s watchin’ the kids, ‘n ‘Manda’s off doin’ work stuff,” Dominick sighs, welcoming you in

- You’d been alone with Mr. Carisi many times, but this felt… different. The vibes were off

- He tells you to stick around, that you can help him out with work stuff and he’ll still give you money for it

- You share a few drinks, not unlike some of the late nights you’ve spent in his office together

- Later on, you’re definitely tipsy and sitting on the couch next to your boss

- All of a sudden, his lips are on yours in a passionate kiss, and you feel sick and confused

- Your brain is lagging behind your body, and Mr. Carisi is pulling your underwear and bottoms down your legs

- “Shh, this is jus’ between us, kiddo. Lemme make ‘ya feel good,” he say in your ear as your head lolls back

- At some point, you end up on the bed and he’s pulling his dick out of his pants

- “Been waitin’ so long f’this,” you hear him growl before he pushes in, painfully taking your virginity as you lay paralyzed with fear

- “Mr. Carisi, s-stop!” you whimper, which is pretty much all you can do as he fucks you deeper and more passionately

- He’s thrusting so roughly, and after a few moments you can feel him blow his load in you as he tells you how tight your hole is

- You pass out at some point and wake up in his marital bed the next morning with a dull, throbbing pain between your legs and a check for seventy-five thousand dollars on the nightstand next to you

- You think you must’ve imagined it, you’re in shock and disbelief. Your boss, the man who has worked to bring sexual predators to justice for the last decade? Raping you?

- And the next day at work, Mr. Carisi acts totally normal. Talks about how proud he is of his kids, how his son just took his first steps. It’s almost like nothing ever happened between you

- He gives you a wink, saying he’s always down for some more fun, and that’s the last you hear of it

- You love your job, and you need it, so you go back to acting normal with Mr. Carisi

- Until six weeks later, when you start arriving late and disheveled, sometimes calling out entirely

- “What’s goin’ on with ‘ya, kiddo? C’mon, talk t’me,” Sonny presses, putting a hand on your shoulder comfortingly

- He hasn’t crossed your boundaries since that night, so you’ve gotten more comfortable with him again

- “I’ve just been really sick,” you mumble, rubbing your forehead

- “Maybe ah’ should take ‘ya to a doctor,” he frowns, feigning concern. He knows exactly what’s “wrong” with you.

- “I’m fine,” you mumble, but after a few moments you get up and run to the bathroom to puke again

- “Let’s go,” you sigh, “I probably have the flu or something.”

- The doctor writes down your symptoms and orders a blood test, and you wait in the lobby with Sonny for about an hour until your results are ready

- You know you must be imagining it when the nurse tells you that you’re pregnant, about six weeks along

- Sonny hugs you, tells you how amazing it is that you’ve created the miracle of life together, and you stand still in shock.

- The first words to come out of your mouth are, “when can I come back for an abortion?”

- Sonny’s smile falls and he grabs your wrist, “what tha’ hell?”

- You tell him you don’t want a kid, you’re too young and not ready for it, but he’s not listening

- "'Ya really want an abortion? I ain't gonna let that happen, kiddo. I'll see 'ya in court," he snaps.

- The nurse gives you some resources but you know that Mr. Carisi will find a way to get what he wants, like always

- Your lawyer tells you that Amanda has been unfaithful to Sonny and he just found out that Nicky Carisi isn't his biological son, which is why he's so adamant on forcing you to carry to term

- Your lawyer goes for the rape angle, since you were actually raped and shouldn't be forced to carry the child

- Needless to say, Sonny and his lawyer eviscerate you on the stand, and it's emphasized by the sob story of what happened with Amanda

- He truly sees you and this child as his second chance, and there is no way he's letting you ruin it

- You can't take care of your newborn in New York City on a paralegal salary, and Sonny convinces you to move in with him and out of your shitty apartment

- You share custody, but slowly you can feel yourself becoming more attached to both Sonny and your baby

- You have to work from home, both the new baby and the postpartum struggles making it too hard to go in and do your job

- Before long, Sonny is already talking about baby number two. He needs this family, needs to rebuild what he lost through Amanda's infidelity

- That's when you realize, it was hopeless to ever try and leave

[henrioo]

Hi. How are you? Your imagines are just wow! I would love a Shanks x female reader please. Your Whitebeard’s only daughter. When Shanks comes to meet with Whitebeard, he remembers you from when Roger and Whitebeard fought when they were kids. He remembers that you and him made a promise (what the promise is I’d love to see what you think because whatever you decide it will be amazing). It ends with a kiss and a new member of the red haired Pirates. Thank you! 🧡

✦ ── THE PROMISE: AKAGAMI NO SHANKS

Part one, part two

Relationships: Young! Shanks x Gn! Reader

Synopsis: What would it be like to run into Shanks years after his disappearance and all the events between the two of you? What would have changed?

Warnings: Spoilers! Shanks' past (what we know at least), cannon divirgence, cannon change (my theory of what would have happened), mention of death, mention of running away from relatives (running away from home basically) Shanks is still young has both arms!

Word Count: 2,1k

Notes: Here is the second part of this imagine that everyone loved! Thanks to this ask I decided to continue so thank you, here is a lot of invention of how the facts would have been since we don't know much, I also wanted to make a young Shanks because I didn't want to make them only meet decades later.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ• ────── ✦ ────── •

You sighed tiredly and stretched your arms still sitting in your office chair. Your desk was full of papers and books, you were like a little secretary on the ship, taking care of important papers for Marco and your father, always willing to help. You looked out the small window and knew that it was already dark, you had stopped on a small allied island and you were probably the only one still working.

All of your brothers would already be making out between men and women and drinking until they threw up. Not that you were against parties, especially now that you were in your twenties and old enough to attend, but sometimes you liked the solitude and silence. Just you, your papers and your thoughts about the future and all that may lie ahead.

But well, the night was young and you definitely weren't going to be locked up working! You got up and ran towards your room, ready to change into a nicer outfit than your casual one and have some fun. You intended to drink, eat and well… Maybe you found some man or woman interesting enough to talk to and maybe something else.

After changing into comfortable but beautiful clothes, you found yourself walking through the almost empty streets of the island. There were a few drunks and couples walking around, the bars were packed and the restaurants had all kinds of people in, it looked like a very busy and lively night. You stopped in one spot and looked around, thinking about your next move.

"Now, where would those idiots go…" you pondered, no one had told you exactly which bar the family party would be at and that's why you were lost from the others.

While you were thinking, one hand quickly went around your waist and the other around your mouth. With extraordinary strength you were pulled into a dark alley between the various houses in the area. You were scared when you were caught off guard, but as you always knew that despair was not the solution, so you calmed down to fight back.

When the final unknown stopped, having taken you far enough, it was time to act! You quickly stepped on his foot and turned around, punching the individual square in the face. As if that wasn't enough, you grabbed a small knife that you always carried and positioned yourself, ready to attack whoever was there.

"Auch! Wow my sweet, the years go by and your punch keeps knocking anyone down" the humorous voice confused you, he was thinking it was a joke.

"Ha, nobody ordered me kidnapped, next time it's going to take a lot more than just a punch" you said slyly.

"Kidnap? Isn't that… Funny, y/n? The first time we met I'm pretty sure the situation was similar" he chuckled.

"First time?" You asked even more confused, how did he know your name? How did he know you?

The man chuckled quickly and then walked out of the darkness of the alley, walking closer to the lighted area. His gaze started at his feet, going up to his strong legs, his exuberant chest, one hand on his sword at his waist and the other caressing his face where you'd struck. He had scarred eyes and a wild look, his red hair peeking out from under his straw hat...

"Shanks?!" You practically screamed in shock, was that really him?

"It took you a while to recognize me… Was I so different?" He smiled maliciously and looked at you with a lot of emotion.

"No… But… It's been years" You finally let your guard down and put your knife away, there was no need to attack.

You looked at the man trying to gain confirmation that it really was him, Shanks... How many years had it been since you saw or heard about him?

You had met in childhood, after a funny situation together, and from the beginning the red-haired boy had shown a lot of interest in you, even though you were enemies from birth. The few physical encounters you had were made up for by the letters you exchanged until adolescence, Shanks telling about your adventures with Roger and you talking about your own with your family.

For you, that boy was as important as any member of the ship, but it was different from a platonic feeling. You and Shanks had chemistry, you understood each other like no one else and the more you talked the more you wanted to be together. It wasn't strange the plans you made about the future, Shanks liked to say that one day you would marry him and you would live adventures together, sailing the seas with your own crew.

You believed that for many years, you fell in love with the boy you met and dreamed the most beautiful fantasies... Until that happened, the news that Roger had been captured and that all his crew was missing. You were no more than eighteen at the time and you were devastated... The worry of what had happened to Shanks hit you so hard that you fell ill, not even the crew who were equipped with the best doctors could help you.

When you got better and woke up a few days later, you learned from your father that Roger's crew had been disbanded and that all the crew were missing and lost at sea. Fear and uncertainty hurt you inside, you didn't know what could have happened to Shanks, was he alive? How would you be after losing the man who was like your father? What kinds of dangers was he in now, completely alone?

For a few years you tried to look for Shanks, even if your brothers were against it as it was risky, they knew it was important and helped you as much as they could. But he was completely gone, no one had seen or heard from him, for a few years you decided that Shanks had died... Or that he had suffered so much from the loss that he fled the pirate world completely, the point is that the pain of his absence kept hurting you day after day.

As time went by you learned to live with the pain, to deal with the fact that maybe the love of your life was gone. When you heard the rumors that some pirates who fought together with Roger had returned to the sea, you thought it was just any rumor, nonsense… But there he was, Shanks in all his glory. Completely alive.

"I thought… I thought you were dead" you finally gathered your thoughts and spoke after a few seconds of staring at him.

"I know… I… I needed some time" he said with a light tone but it was possible to see how important that was to him.

"What are you doing here?"

"Ah, I wasn't really planning on meeting you… Not right now" he chuckled "But I happened to need to stop by and I heard your family was in town… So why not?" He glared at you.

"Shanks… I…" you tried to speak but all you felt were the tears coming down "I'm sorry… I didn't"

"Hey, hey… it's okay" he leaned closer "Let it out…" he hugged you and started rubbing your back lightly.

"I thought I lost you forever… I'm so glad you're alive…" You let your face rest against his chest.

"If I had known you missed me so much I would have come sooner… I… I missed you too y/n… There isn't a day that I don't think about you…" he admitted.

"Oh really?" You smiled and walked away "I don't know, you were always a joker, I bet you say that to everyone…" you teased, already feeling better.

"No! Of course not! Besides… I really needed to find you and fulfill our promise…" He became more serious again and stared at you deeply.

"Promise?" You asked confused.

"Not here… Come" he offered his hand and you immediately took it.

Quickly he pulled you through the half-empty streets, you walked through the bright and fresh night without worries. There you weren't the heir to the legacy of the pirate king or one of the sons of Whitebeard's crew, no… There you were just Shanks and y/n, two young adults in love who hadn't seen each other in so long that they were almost forgetting one another. from the other. There you can laugh and just live that night together.

"Here's good… I wanted to take you on a real date, but we don't have much time" he turned around, you were in a small square overlooking the beach in the distance. The sound of waves was comforting to you.

"What's going on Shanks?"

"Okay, I need to tell you two things… But you have to promise that you won't answer until I explain everything, okay?" He held both of your hands.

"Okay… Talk soon" you looked at him curious and excited.

"First, I'm putting together my own pirate crew. I've decided that I want to keep sailing, I want to have my own nakamas and sail around the world like I used to with the captain…" There was a hint of sadness in his voice, but he still kept a smile on his face. "So I'm going through some islands and recruiting some people, I have a small ship but soon things will change when we start to act"

You assimilated the information slowly, so Shanks would return to the pirate life... You felt very happy for him, knowing that he would not give up that life he loved so much even after the loss.

"Now… I also decided something else, during these years I kept thinking about you… I couldn't get in touch because it was risky, I was still weak and young and I only had one chance to make everything right…" he sighed "But now I've managed to organize things and I've decided that I want you with me... Do you remember our promise? When we grow up we'll have our own crew and live adventures together? Would you be my companion the same as when we were silly kids and we dated for fun?"

"Of course I remember… Every day I thought about you, our plans… How we were going to live together… But I don't understand what one thing goes with the other… Ah unless you're saying that…" you stared at him blankly.

"Yeah… I know your dad and brothers are probably going to kill me… But I needed to risk seeing you before I started sailing like a pirate, tell me, y/n" he smiled at you "would you mate with me and run away with me to assemble a pirate crew?"

"Shanks…" you were in shock.

"I know, I know, they are your family and I can't wait for you to accept it because we haven't seen each other for years… But I want to make up for everything I promised you, I really love you y/n… Always have, since when you were just a sulky kid wanting to make friends" he laughed "I promise I'll protect you and I won't take you away from your family, but if I'm going to live the adventure of being a pirate captain… I want to live it with you."

You had nothing to answer so you just threw yourself into his arms, squeezing him tight and confirming that it was all reality.

"One thing you know for sure… My father will kill you when he finds out" you laughed.

"It's worth it… Besides, I think I'm old enough to face the old man…" he chuckled back.

"Shanks… I love you too" you said, millimeters away from his face.

"Then come with me, let's start our lives together" he offered moving closer "Be mine."

"Yes I will be" you smiled and your lips finally came together.

The kiss was passionate and slow, you took advantage of every second to kill the longing you had for years. Shanks's hand grabbed your waist and the other held in his hair, like a brief affection but also preventing you from pulling away. You wrapped your arms around his neck and let your body go limp and comfortable against his.

"I've wanted to do this for so long…" he smiled as you pulled away.

"Me too, me too…"

The next morning all his brothers and father could find was his empty room along with a beautiful letter of thanks and farewell. Of course they were worried about you, but you were strong, you were as skilled a pirate as anyone else on that ship. If your wish was to adventure with Shanks and live with him, all they could do was support you and hope that everything works out... But that didn't stop your father from swearing to beat Shanks up if he hurt you.

[itjazzbicch]

Falling

Pairing:  Timeskip!Taiju Shiba x Fem Reader 

First time writing for Taiju so I hope I did well! 

Summary: Taking extreme measures as a beginning attempt to leave a corrupted Toman, the reader runs into an old friend who knows of that life, falling into deep, suppressed emotions when that friend, Taiju, learns what the reader has gone through…

Warnings:  SMUT! (18+ ONLY! MINORS & AGELESS BLOGS DNI! YOU WILL BE BLOCKED!) implied/mentions of violence, swearing, smoking, reader is dealing with lots of emotions, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it) Taiju is a soft for the reader, morning sex

Word Count: 2.5k 

I knew that sooner or later that the lifestyle I chose would catch up with me. After what I had to do and knew that no one was on my trail, I treated myself to dinner.

This restaurant was beautiful, getting a table beside an enormous aquarium, filled with admirable fish species. The food was excellent, and the aged wine was to die for. I took my time to savor every bite and sip. Much so that I was the last person there as they were soon closing.

"I hate to sound rude, but we'll be closing shortly."

The waiter was only doing his job, nodding but asking, "Let me finish the rest of this wine?"

He was pending on how to respond, till a man twice his size stood beside him:

"She can stay."

"Thank you," Gazing to Taiju in the corner of my eye, I didn't leave the waiter empty handed, pulling a stack out of my purse, handing it to him, "Your service was excellent. Here's your tip."

"W-Why thank you, ma'am," He expressed, astonished by my generous tip.

Taking the dishes, then pacing to the back, I sipped my wine as Taiju sat across from me:

"Haven't seen your face in a long time."

"Same to you," I hummed, complimenting, "What a wonderful establishment you own, Taiju. Too bad I probably won't come back."

"What? Toman have you moving around?" He mumbled with a cigarette in his mouth, lighting it, looking confused as I whispered with a chuckle:

"Oh no. After tonight, I'm sure they'll send their top dogs to kill me."

"Kill you?" Being one of Toman's upper echelon for over a decade made my words confuse him, wanting to learn more as he hit his cigarette, "What have you gotten yourself into?"

"They pushed my buttons for the last time," Reliving the violence I went through tonight, gripping the wine glass and staring at a bruised knuckle, I explained, "I want out, but I'm sure you know that's easier said than done."

"What did you do?" Wanting a more direct answer, leaning over to me as he puffed out smoke, I stared into his eyes, heart hurting despite the coldness in my eyes and voice:

"I've committed unspeakable sins, Taiju."

I didn't need to say more for him to understand, watching him sigh and shake his head, sighing myself as I took my purse:

"I can only hope my soul will be spared when my time comes."

"Wait just a minute," Putting out his leg to prevent me from standing, he had ideas in his mind, "I may not be into gang activities anymore, but you can probably answer a question that I have."

"That is?" Crossing my legs, I knew exactly what this was leading to:

"Hakkai."

"You have my deepest condolences," I whispered, guilty as I knew Toman was the reason why Hakkai was gone, "I have an answer that you're not going to like."

"Tell me anyway,” He demanded and since I understood, I gave him the bit of knowledge I had regarding his death:

"Mikey and Izana. The things Mikey did regarding old members were only between them. Mikey's dead, but Izana, he's a slippery bastard."

"I imagine he's leader now," He guessed, nodding to confirm, only able to watch with sympathy as he took a deeper hit of his cigarette, a scowl on his face from the thought of Izana, "A bastard he is."

"Believe me, I want him six feet under," I whispered, Taiju noticing my bruised hand and slight shaking from the anger the thought of Izana brought me, "He's the reason Toman is the way it is now, why my life is a living hell."

"Hey," His hand found my knee under the table, catching my gaze, "You're just going to give up so easily?"

"What else can I do?" That was the one thought that had filled me with terrifying anxiousness, "What else can I do besides run and continue to sin?"

"They sure have changed you," He exhaled with disappointment, "The Y/N I knew never crumbled under pressure so easily."

"We were teenagers, Taiju," My eye twitched as his words sparked anger in me, trying to get my point across, "I'm in a whole different league, now. I've seen things that you can't even imagine."

"Gives me a better reason to find Izana and finish him myself," He kept reminding me of how close we were once upon a time, making me rethink my entire life, wishing I made it out of this hellish life like he did whenever I had the opportunity.

"I wish it could be that easy," I sniffled, going to leave again as my emotions began to get the better of me, "It was nice to see you again, Taiju."

Standing at the same time, I didn't expect him to pull me into a hug, his massive arms embracing me powerfully, tears leaking as he whispered:

"Don't say it like it's the last time, Y/N."

"What am I supposed to do?" I shook, hiding my face in his chest, "There's no hope for me."

"You're not dead, are you?" Instinctively looking up to him, I finally felt some hope from his words, "As long as you're alive, there is hope."

All I could do was cry in his arms, listening as he offered his handkerchief to dry my tears:

"I've never thought of you differently since the Black Dragon was defeated. I know that you're not like them."

"I never intended for things to go this far," I heaved, still doubtful that our relationship in this past was still present, "I was in the upper ranks before I knew it then Mikey-; He completely lost it and now, here I am, just a shell of a person. You don't have to pretend to like me, Taiju. Hell, I hate myself."

"My grudge is with Izana. Not you," He said sternly, confident in his feelings, "I despise him not only because of my brother, but also for what he's done to you."

All the guilt that lived in the back of mind rummaged through me, barely able to speak from the cries taking over me:

"I'm sorry, Taiju. I'm so sorry."

Practically crumbling in his arms, I officially hit the lowest pit there was to fall into, but he stayed composed, leaning to take my purse, keeping his arm around me:

"Come with me."

"I-I can't," I said quickly out of fear, only caring for him, "I'm too dangerous to keep around. I don't-"

I'd never been so confused whenever he started to laugh at me, seeing that he hadn't change much as he smirked with confidence:

"Don't act like I'm easy prey."

That was true, but still scared as I asked, "Are you sure? They do know my past."

"Hmph," He scoffed, not at me, but the thought, starting to lead me out, "I dare them to step up to me."

Going out to his car, I was drowning in paranoia, but whenever he got into the front seat, driving off with a hand on my thigh, I felt safe. Something I haven't felt in a long time.

Taking his hand, I didn't want to ever let go, so zoned out that I almost panicked when he got out of the car, realizing that we were in a garage, coming over to get the door for me. My legs were shaking when I stepped out, but his hand in mine was comforting me again.

"Don't worry. No one's stepped foot in this place besides me," He assured, leading me into a what could qualify as a penthouse, trying to get out of my dark thoughts as I looked around:

"The restaurant industry has done you well, I see."

"Very much so," He nodded, taking me to the bedroom, guiding me to sit on the bed, "I can tell you don't sleep much."

"It's that obvious, huh?" I sighed, looking into a mirror on the wall, seeing the dark circles under my eyes.

"Here," In the bathroom, he left one of his shirts for me, "Take care of yourself."

Only nodding, I went in, shutting the door behind me, stepping out of my flats and leaning into the sink, splashing warm water on my face. This wasn't how I expected my night to end, thinking deeply about all the things Taiju told me.

I didn't want to give up or run for the rest of my life, but I was so scared, staring into the mirror, eyes burning from not blinking while searching for even the slightest amount of fight or confidence inside.

Staring for so long made rings flash over my sight, head aching, attempting to shake it off as I changed into Taiju's shirt that was a nightgown on me.

After folding my clothes, I returned to his dim room, lit by a nightlight, seeing him already relaxed in his bed, his hand patting the empty side to call for me.

Climbing under the blankets, I laid back, staring at the ceiling, almost getting lost in thought before he pulled me to his side, humbly latching to him, an arm around his torso as I rested my head on his chest.

"Sleep. You need it."

"If I could go back in time," I whispered, listening to his heartbeat and expressing what my heart wanted, "I would've stuck by your side, live a some-what normal life, be truly successful like you.",

"It's too late for what ifs," He was always brutally honest, but encouraging. "But it's not too late to be forgiven."

Stuck to him like glue, I closed my eyes, praying that my life would get better somehow. The warmth of his body helped me ease up a little, exhaustion finally catching me, drifting off as he whispered:

"Just sleep, love."

-----

Blinking, light burned my tired eyes. It was the sun shining against the window, trying to see straight and find a clock or something because it felt like I slept for ages, but was brought back to the bed, shifting to the side as Taiju murmured half awake:

"Better?"

His stature blocked the light, the soft sting in my eyes disappearing as I nodded:

"Mhm, thanks."

Our legs intertwined and as I began to wake up more, seeing his ruffled hair, I brushed it behind his ear, a soft rub of his scalp making him smirk.

It felt so good to smile, yawning and becoming flustered when his hand trailed down my hip and cupped my butt, still snoring a little.

"Really have to give me butterflies the second I wake up?" I chuckled under my breath, not knowing he was awake:

"Only fair since you used me as a pillow all night."

"I'm-" I was only kidding, but felt as if I needed to apologize, till a laugh rumbled in his chest:

"Still always apologizing for the tiniest things."

"I can't help it, alright?" I huffed, explaining, "It's the first time I've slept peacefully in years."

"I could tell," He yawned, opening his eyes to find me smiling tiredly.

"Thank you, Taiju," Kissing his cheek, his nose caught mine before I laid my head back down, kissing my lips instead.

I sucked in a deep breath, radiating in the warmth of his lips, shaking with a hollow gasp as our lips parted:

"You're welcome, love."

I hated how emotional I was, tearing up as he gave me one more kiss, looking at me when he noticed how it made me shake.

"What?" It was early and my mood swing confused him, but quickly understood as I thought:

"I guess you could say that I'm not used to being treated so nicely."

"Lord have mercy," His head shook, "They really fucked you up."

"No kidding," Ready to hide under the blanket from embarrassment, he shifted my hip so that I was on my back, crawling on top of me, staring deeply into my eyes as if he were searching for something, "Taiju?"

He had my heart racing just by staring, thinking till he whispered:

"You're still the same old you. Come to me."

There was only one way I could think of how to respond, picking up my head to kiss him, pressing my lips hard and trying to do as he said, searching for myself. The longer I pressed, blocking all thoughts, my body acted on its own, running a hand through his hair and gluing his body back to mine.

I could feel his smirk against my lips, teeth nipping at my lower lips softly, "Now, that's my girl; going after what you want."

"And I'm going to get it," I wasn't paying attention to my words, spreading my legs so our hips could meet, nails tracing the muscles in his back as his nips found my neck, moaning at how it made my nerves tingle, wiggling to take off my panties, "Just take me."

"Oh, I will," He chuckled, shuffling to take off his bottoms, a hand between us as he hovered above me, "But can you take me? That's the real question."

I smiled at old memories of how we used to flirt, but should've taken his question seriously as I felt his tip stretching me, looking between our gap to see how big he was, gasping hard:

"Fuck, Taiju."

"I warned you," Finding my neck again with his hands running under my shirt, cupping and squeezing my breasts, his hips rolled and worked his cock deeper and deeper into me, making such lewd moans fill the room.

"I wasn't complaining," I gasped, nails sinking into his biceps as his arms wrapped around me, bottoming out and my back arched hard at the slight pinch in my stomach, "Taiju!"

"Damn you're tight," His breath blew past my ear, breath stuck in my chest as his arms squeezed me, bucking his hips faster, that pinch turning into a pound, hearing his dirty intentions in his coo, "I love it."

He was so heavy, the pressure even heavier and the friction around his slicked cock making the tingles I felt turn into sparks, loving it too, a pleasure I never imagined.

"I-I," I wanted to praise him with meaningful words, but I was falling so hard, instead spitting out when he moved faster, "Shit! You're so good! Ah! Ah!”

Palming the arch of my back and pulling my hips into his thrusts some, I fell into a swirling world, hips jerking and the friction growing stronger when this swarming heat dropped from my core.

“Taijuuu-“ I began to whine, only his name repeatedly, trying to make out, “I-Ngh!”

“You don’t have to tell me,” Holding my hips still, his deep tone sent me off, “Just cum for me.”

“Ngh-Ahh!” My walls pulsated so hard, blood pumping through me like a steam engine and I could barely breath, feeling the gush around his cock, trembling as he was unfazed and still fucking me through it, whining to him, “I-I need a second, Taiju.”

Slowing to a still, arms embracing me, he teased me with kisses, “Just know, I can handle more than one round.”

“Oh I know,” I chuckled breathlessly, teasing as I kissed back, “You damn beast.”

2023 © itjazzbicch — do not repost or translate my work. Likes, reblogs, and comments are always welcome 

[onceuponastory]

give me thunder, give me lightning - the winter soldier x reader

Part Five of my Ghost Story AU - Find the series masterlist here

Plot: In the aftermath of HYDRA's return, things are rebuilt and redefined. Pairing: The Winter Soldier/Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader Warnings: Mentions of death/murder, violence, injuries/bruises (not too graphic though), weapons, nightmares, trauma, anxiety and angst. Once again, everything Bucky did as TWS and had done to him by HYDRA is a trigger. As always, if I miss any triggers, please let me know. Notes: We made it to part five! Technically the final chapter? As always, thank you for enjoying this story so much. Here's a link to the song this chapter is named after, Take Me Dancing by The Maine. You'll need it for later ;)

Not beta’d, so any mistakes are my own.

“W-What did you just say?” Y/N asks. She hopes this is just a mistake, something she misheard. Even the possibility of Bucky playing some cruel practical joke on her crosses her mind.

For a moment, she wonders if she was the one who got shoved backwards, who slammed her head against a table and is now lying against a cold, hard floor. If this is merely a dream, or a hallucination in a damaged mind.

Because Bucky, protective, loving Bucky, who looked at her like she hung the moon and stars in the sky, who listened to every single one of her stories about growing up and her family, even the boring ones, hanging onto every word, who at least said something when she spoke to him… now stares back at her like he doesn’t even know her. 

Even death would be better than this.

As Bucky begins to walk towards them, she registers Steve saying: “Y/N. You should go. Let us handle this.” but she ignores his words.

“Bucky?” Silence. All Y/N can hear is the pounding of her heart. No recognition comes from him, and he continues to move forward, keeping his stare fixed on the trio. He’s like a completely different person, a shell of his former self. HYDRA must’ve wiped his memory again, or activated his trigger words again.

And that thought scares her to death. Not because of what Bucky could do to them, but what it means to him. Even as he bears down on them, all she can think about is how much this has messed up his healing, and how they could ever possibly fix this.

Steve and Sam try to fend him off, to break through his programming once more. And they put up a good fight, but Bucky’s moves are fluid and rapid, too calculated for them both. Whilst they’re cautious about harming him, he's not. He blocks every one of their attacks with ease and quickly deals out ones of his own. He shows them no mercy, dealing out punch after punch. Finally, Y/N sees the full extent of what Bucky’s capable of, the soldier HYDRA trained him to be. 

And although she knows (or at least hopes) that Bucky wouldn’t hurt her, seeing him like this terrifies her.

“Y/N. Get out of here. Run.” Steve repeats, but she has no time to respond before Bucky throws him down.

And then, there’s nothing to protect her, nothing separating them both. Bucky stops in front of her, panting. The same pair of silvery blue eyes, now empty and cold, stare back at her. Immediately, she’s back in her grandma’s house again, facing Bucky for the first time. And now, she must fight for her survival again. But this time, it hurts even more. This time, there’s so much more at stake. For all the times she used to worry about Bucky trying to hurt her, she never actually imagined it would happen, or thought about what she would do if it ever did.

So now, she has no idea what to do, or how to save herself. 

“Bucky, please.” The words leave her mouth as a strained gasp. As if her words could undo the decades of torture and suffering HYDRA put him through. But that's all she can do. It’s all she has. Steve and Sam, they’re superheroes, with weapons and other resources at their disposal, and that didn’t even work. All she has is her love for Bucky, and her want to bring him back.  

And this time, she’s not sure it’s going to be enough. 

But she has to try. She’s the only hope they have right now.

“Bucky. I-It’s me, remember? Y/N?” She’s aware of her voice cracking, a sign of the fear and pain of the last god knows how many hours finally taking their toll on her. And she hates it. She wishes she could be strong. Show Bucky that she’s not afraid, and that they’ll get through this together. But she can’t. “You met me at my grandma’s house, remember? It was a lot like this, actually.”

He’s silent. All he does is stare at her, calculating his next move. HYDRA told him to eliminate all their enemies here. He’s already fended off two of them with ease, and now it’s her turn.

So why hasn’t he done it yet?

“Everything’s different now, though.” She chuckles awkwardly. “But I know you’re still in there, Bucky, and I’ll bring you back, no matter what I do.”

Why won’t she stop calling me Bucky? He thinks. Why is she staring at me like that?

Yet, just as soon as his programming kicks in once more, and he readies his arm to eliminate this threat, another voice sounds, breaking through HYDRA’s orders. Fight it. Fight back. She’s right. Trust her. And he feels compelled to listen to it.

“Your name is James Buchanan Barnes. We all call you Bucky. You used to love it when I’d play my grandma’s records for you. You loved The Rolling Stones, but I think Ella Fitzgerald was your favourite.” His broken brain tries to put the pieces together, tries to find the song she means… but all that comes through is a garbled mess. The clearest part, though, is HYDRA’s programming. Fight it. The voice says again. Don’t let them destroy you again. But their programming is just too strong.

“Stop it.” He hisses. “Shut up.” She’d be lying if she said his coldness and cruelty don’t hurt, and she has to remind herself that it’s not actually him saying those words. She just has to persist. She has to bring him back.

“Remember the night I fell asleep, and you covered me with the blanket?” There’s a tingle up his human arm then, a feeling of soft cotton tucked around a sleeping form. Of the golden rays of the sunrise flooding into the room, warming his body. His heart starts beating faster. She looked so beautiful then… so radiant. “I was so afraid of you. I thought you were dangerous, and that you’d kill me right there and then. I must admit, a part of me thinks that, even now. But I know you won’t. I know it’s not you, Bucky. You’re not a monster. You never were.”

He registers shouting in his ear, furious voices ordering him to go out and kill everyone who stood in their way. Despite being reactivated by HYDRA again, he knew something was wrong, that some part of him didn’t want to do this. Suddenly, the mask shifts, and Bucky Barnes starts to break through. “Y-Y/N?”

Unfortunately, almost as soon as it shifts, HYDRA’s programming kicks in again, and he’s back to the soldier he once was. “Stop it.” He hisses.

“Never.”

“Why are you doing this? Why are you trying to save me?” He demands. Yet, his face shows no anger. It's more sadness than anything. As if he remembers just how brutal his life is, and that he’s already accepted he’s not worthy of love.

“Because I love you.” She wants to say, wants to shout it from the rooftops. It’s what she almost says, but the words get stuck in her throat. “Because I know it’s not you. It never was. You don’t want to do this, I know it. Please, Bucky.” She steps forward, closer to him, into the line of fire.

“Stay back.” He orders, pointing his gun, but she doesn’t stop. 

“Bucky, this isn’t you.” She repeats. “Come back to me.” She’s crying now, hot tears streaming down her cheeks. Her tears register something in his mind. This isn’t the first time he’s seen her crying, or pointed his gun at her. 

How does he know her? 

Why does he know her?

“Say it’s only a paper moon, sailing over a cardboard sea.” She sings, her voice soft and quiet at first. For a moment, she notices something in Bucky’s expression. It’s as if his programming slips again, and he hears her words. And they mean something to him. It’s almost as if the real Bucky comes through once more.

He’s sitting in a house, laughing and singing along. A happy warmth fills his blood. That was a wonderful memory. He felt… safe. He felt loved. Finally, he sees the girl he was with again. And she’s standing right in front of him.

His blue eyes look over her again. Like he’s discovering her for the first time again. “Y/N?” He whimpers. He seems shocked and confused, as if his true identity, his humanity, coming back was merely a switch being flicked. She smiles, a huge, wide smile as bright as the sun. And this time, Bucky recognises it.

“Hey Bucky.” He glances down at his hands, dropping his weapon to the floor immediately. 

“W-What happened? Why am I holding a gun? D-Did I hurt you?” He panics, looking around wildly for any injuries.

“No, it’s okay. Shh. I’m here.” She soothes, clasping his hands tightly in the hopes they stop shaking. “And I’m okay.” Bucky breathes a sigh of relief. Then he smiles, chuckling softly.

“Y/N… It’s so good to see-” But suddenly, he groans softly, his eyelids fluttering shut. 

“Bucky?” she gasps, trying to hold on to the super soldier’s body as he begins to slump forward. The weight of his body almost knocks her over, but she keeps a grasp on him as tightly as she can. “What’s going on? Talk to me.” And once more, he’s silent. “Bucky!”

Sometime later, Bucky awakens, wincing at the bright light suddenly flooding the room. He groans, and his head pounds. 

“He’s waking up.” Immediately, he’s on edge, expecting to see another HYDRA agent in front of him. Yet, thankfully, he recognises the voice. It’s Sam. Although, despite that, Bucky knows he can’t be too careful. This could be a trap to lure him into a false sense of security. It’s only when Steve and Sam step in front of him that Bucky slowly starts to relax. He tries to get up, but realises that something is pinning his metal arm down, preventing him from using it. 

“Sorry. We had to be sure you were fully immobile.” Steve informs him. With a sigh, Bucky nods. They’re right, it is the best thing to do, especially when he’s still so unpredictable. But he’d be lying if he didn’t say that the fact that even his closest friends don’t feel safe around him didn’t hurt him deeply.

“W-What happened?” He frowns. He tries to find the memory, but like most of his memories, there’s just an empty space. 

“We were hoping you could tell us that.” Bucky wracks his brain, looking for something, anything, to help.

“All I remember is we were trying to escape, but I got separated. I tried to get back to Y/N, but I got lost. And then, out of nowhere, these agents surrounded me.” The insignia on their uniforms jumps out at him, as clear as day. A final, sick reminder. “It was HYDRA.” 

Suddenly, memories come flooding back. Not of HYDRA, though, or of Steve and Sam. Of Y/N. And he realises that she’s nowhere to be seen. His stomach drops, and he begins to panic once more. “Y/N! Where is she? Is she okay? Oh god, don’t tell me I’ve… please don’t tell me she's ....”

“Y/N’s fine.” Steve reassures him. “She’s resting.” And Bucky breathes the heaviest sigh of relief he swears he ever has before.

“Resting? From what? What happened?” Steve and Sam look between each other, and Bucky raises a brow. The longer they go without saying anything, the more worried he feels.

“You’re right. It was HYDRA who found you. We’re not entirely sure what happened, but they must have reactivated you and sent you out to stop us while they escaped.”

“Oh god.” He sighs, burying his face in his one free hand. “How bad was it?”

“Well, you definitely tried to stop us.” Sam begins, and from his tone, Bucky senses he shouldn’t press him on that any further. Guilt floods through him, and he groans. 

“I’m sorry, I-”

“It’s okay Buck.”

“No, it’s not. You two don’t have any idea what it’s like to be responsible for so much pain and carnage, but not even be aware of it. To have to question yourself every time you wake up, wondering what you did in the night. If you really were sleeping, or if you were out there, killing innocent people. You’ve never stared at yourself in the mirror and wondered about the true scale of what you’ve done, and how you can ever repent for it. And you haven’t had to worry about the people who did this to you finding you and doing it all over again, like today.” He snaps. When he sees their shocked faces staring back at him, he sighs. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.”

“It’s okay Buck. All things considered, it wasn’t too bad, actually. Surface wounds at most.” Steve replies. Another small sigh of relief sounds from Bucky. That’s good. Not great, but good. They can work with this. Hopefully.

“Thank god. And thank you for bringing me back.” He sighs.

“Oh, that wasn’t us.” Sam informs him. The pair step aside, and Y/N steps forward.

“Bucky!” She smiles, immediately rushing over to him..

“Y/N. I’m so sorry.” He gasps, his voice full of sorrow. Will she ever be able to look at him again? Or will she always see him trying to kill them? He tried so hard to show her he’s not a monster, and this has just undone everything. Y/N kneels down in front of him until she’s eye level with him. Her eyes are so beautiful. How did he never notice that before? His only choice is to hope and pray that she’ll forgive him, and that she’ll ever be able to trust him again. A strand of Bucky’s hair falls down into his face, and Y/N reaches out and tucks it behind his ear. 

“What are you saying sorry for?” She whispers. Bucky scoffs, shaking his head. There’s no way she can be this kind and forgiving. Especially after that.

“I tried to kill you.” She shakes her head. 

“But you didn’t, remember? Just like before, you stopped yourself, and you came back.”

“Because of you. You’re amazing, Y/N. I don’t deserve you. I deserve to be alone. It’s not safe to be with me.” She cups his cheek, gazing into his eyes. And Bucky feels a warmth growing in his stomach once more. 

“Well, that’s tough, because I’m not going anywhere.” She insists. “I know it wasn’t your choice, Bucky. It was HYDRA’s.”

“And what if they come back? They’re still out there, and the last thing I want is to-”

“Then we’ll be ready for them.” She finds his hand, squeezing it tightly. He feels so comforted by her grasp, so safe. He stares back at her, his heart pounding. No matter how hard he tries to convince her to leave, he knows she’s not going to listen. She’s stubborn as all hell, and she definitely isn’t going to give up anytime soon. But it’s so wonderful to have someone care about you so much that when they stare into the depths of hell with you, instead of running, they refuse to leave your side.

“You’re incredible.” He gasps, not even thinking. A light pink dusts his cheeks, and Y/N smiles, giggling a little.

“Besides,” She continues. “You promised me we’d be back in my grandma’s house, remember?” That feels so long ago, an entire lifetime ago. Bucky doesn’t even know if he’ll make it to tomorrow, let alone till then. But as he watches Y/N beaming over at him, and realises just how much he loves her, he knows he has to keep his promise to her. And he'll do his best to make it happen, no matter how long it takes.

In the aftermath of the attack, Y/N and Bucky are soon called into multiple meetings to find out how this could’ve happened, why it happened, and how to stop it from ever happening again. And Y/N hates every minute of them, especially how she has to see Bucky’s face as he has to relive his trauma over and over with every question they ask him, and how they keep prodding him for answers he clearly cannot remember enough to give. When they ask him if he had any knowledge of what HYDRA was planning, or if he had helped them do it, Y/N swears she could’ve thrown the table across the room in anger. Thankfully, they both have Steve and Sam in their corner defending them, and Fury and Maria help in their own… ‘special’ way. 

When it is all finally over, the small matter of where Bucky should stay comes into question. Although the HQ looked alright from the outside, the attack raised so many questions on allegiances and safety that Bucky can no longer stay there. Neither Y/N nor Bucky wanted to ask if it was because they still thought he was responsible.

Thankfully, everyone in charge somehow seems to agree that the best place for Bucky wasn’t in a cell in Avengers HQ, but with Y/N in her safe apartment. Of course, Y/N is more happy to have him stay with her, but she’s confused why she was chosen first. Maybe they noticed the way she looks at him, and how hopelessly in love with him she is. But in all honesty, she doesn’t care about their reasoning. She’s just so thrilled to have Bucky back that she’s going to take every chance she can to be close to him after he’s been locked away for so long. 

And the idea of living together with Bucky again is great. They're used to being together, just the two of them, and immediately felt happy to be going back to it. However, that happiness is very quickly shattered when the pair realise that SHIELD and the Avengers don’t exactly pride their safe houses on comfort or size. Or on having more than one occupant. And that means there’s only one available bed for them. Immediately, Bucky offers to take the couch. Both to be a gentleman, and because deep down, he’s still terrified that he’d scared her away from him for good.

“Bucky, I’m not letting you sleep on the couch. Especially not after all this.” Y/N insists, ignoring his attempts to argue that he was fine, and that he’s used to this sort of thing. In return, her insistence that she would sleep on the couch caused just as many protests from him. After some deliberation, the pair eventually decide their only choice is to share the bed.

“I’ll um. I’ll just stay over here, okay? I just want you to be comfortable.” Bucky murmurs, scooting as far as he can to the edge of the bed without the risk of falling out. He sees a flash of disappointment across her face as she sees him trying to get as far away from her as possible, and his stomach twists with guilt. He hates being so far from her, but he still can’t trust himself around her yet, and this is the best way to ensure her safety.

When he wakes up in the middle of the night with another nightmare, screaming and thrashing to thwart the HYDRA agents he’s sure are coming for them both, Y/N is right by his side, wrapping her arms around his crying, shaking frame. Just like before, she stays by his side, whispering reassuring words into his ear and staying awake with him until he calms down enough to try to get some sleep. “Thank you.” He whispers into the darkness.

“Of course.” Her voice replies. 

The next morning, she wakes up in his arms. And for the first time in a long time, Y/N finally feels safe. In his sleep, Bucky reflexively tightens his grasp on her, pulling her closer. Whether for her safety or his own comfort, she doesn’t know. But she loves it all the same. Being here, in Bucky’s arms, just the two of them, is perfect. Everything finally feels right. She looks up at him, his lips parted slightly as he softly snores. He looks so at peace, finally free after god knows how long. His hair falls in his face again, and it takes everything in her to not reach up and tuck it behind his ear once more. Despite how much she wants to be closer to him now, Bucky deserves this rest, and she won’t ruin it for him. 

And besides, looking isn’t so bad, right?

As they’re both under strict orders to stay where they are until the investigation is over, Y/N and Bucky have plenty of free time to do whatever they want. And Y/N takes it as her opportunity to show Bucky some more of the things he’s missed over the years, like her favourite movies and books. She also makes sure to give Bucky the care he deserves. One night, when he feels comfortable enough, she runs him a bath and washes his hair for him, gently massaging the shampoo and conditioner into his scalp. Although Bucky flinches at her touch a few times, he soon feels safe and comfortable enough to relax. And besides, he knows Y/N could never hurt him. Even after everything he’s done, she’s stayed by his side and fought for him when it seemed like nobody else would. 

Honestly, Bucky thinks he could thank her every minute of every day for the rest of her life, and it still wouldn’t be enough appreciation. As she gently rinses his hair, he glances over at her. And the familiar feeling of butterflies in his stomach starts all over again. She’s so beautiful. So caring. Even if he never tells her how he feels, that whenever she laughs, his heart grows three sizes bigger, and that he thinks she is the most beautiful woman he has ever seen, even when she thinks she looks like a mess after waking up… he’s so grateful that he got to know her, and be cared for by her. 

“That’s you all done, Bucky.” Y/N smiles. “Do you need anything else?” Bucky almost laughs at that. Because what else could she do for him? She’s done so much already. Too much, some would argue. 

“No, thanks.” He smiles back, just as bright as Y/N’s. He wonders if she ever notices how he only seems to smile around her… or at least, even more than he does when he’s with Steve and Sam. Little does Bucky know, however, that Y/N has noticed. And every time she remembers it, it sends her heart into a spiral all over again.

“Okay. I’ll leave you in peace then.” As she gets up to leave, Bucky almost stops her, not ready to stop this moment just yet. But then he remembers where they are. How the hell is he going to explain why he wants her to stay to watch him getting out of a bathtub? Even though she’s just washed his hair for him, she’s never seen him like this before. So… undressed. It feels too intimate, too different for them both.

So he lets her go. As the door clicks shut behind her, Bucky sighs, leaning his head against the cool tiles. He can’t keep going on like this, of having his chest tighten every time he sees her, or have his heart beat faster and faster whenever she smiles. He has to tell her. He’s just too damn terrified.

Later that night, Y/N and Bucky sit together listening to music, like they do most nights. Somehow, though, tonight is different. There’s a different atmosphere in the air surrounding them, one neither is willing to mention. Because once that’s broken, and their feelings are out in the open… It changes everything. And despite the hell they’ve both been through, somehow admitting their feelings for each other is the scariest thing either of them could imagine. There are no take backs, no do overs. Once it’s done, that’s it.

“How’s your neck, by the way?” Bucky asks, gesturing to the bandage on it. A cruel reminder of the last few days.

“It’s, um, good.” She nods. “They said it won’t scar or anything, thank god.”

“That’s great then.” Y/N nods again, curtly. She’s never felt so strange around Bucky, even when they first met. Say something. Anything. 

“Do you wanna dance with me?” She asks, her voice coming out so quickly that Bucky has to ask her to repeat herself. God, this is torture. Thankfully though, Bucky says yes, and pulls her up. Y/N presses shuffle on her phone, and soon the all too familiar guitar intro to Take Me Dancing by The Maine begins to play. Immediately, Y/N’s cheeks burn. “Oh god, I’m sorry, this is a slow song. I-I can change it.” She stammers, hating herself for being so obviously flustered.

“No, please don’t.” Bucky chuckles. “It’s been a while, but I was a pretty keen dancer back in the 40s. I could use a refresher.” He holds out his hand, scarred and bruised. “May I?” Y/N slips her hand into his, interlinking her fingers with his and gently running hers along his bruises. But he can see no judgement or fear in her gaze. She looks at him with the same comfort as she always has. Y/N moves his hand to her waist and takes her other hand in his.

The apartment wasn’t exactly made for slow dancing, but honestly, Y/N doesn’t care where they are. Because wherever she and Bucky are… that’s home. Bucky twirls her under his arm, holding her close as he sways her to the music. He really is a wonderful dancer. He definitely kept his skills from the 40s. She used to wonder what it’d have been like to know him then, and how different it would have been from their life now. Obviously, there’d be a lot less fear and violence, but honestly, she doesn’t care about that anymore. She’s so in love with Bucky that she’ll always take him as he is. 

“Give me thunder, give me lightning, And I will give you every part of me.”

As John O’Callaghan’s voice fills the room, Y/N almost finds herself laughing at the lyrics. In a way, it’s a perfect representation of her life with Bucky. He was the storm that blew into her life, destroying everything she once knew. And for a moment, she was terrified he’d destroy her too. But now, they’re slow dancing together, finally safe. And she’s head over heels in love with him. Bucky steps closer to her without even thinking, pulling her even closer to his chest as his grasp tightens on her. 

Even as the music fades out, Bucky keeps a hold on her, gently swaying her to their own rhythm. The warmth radiating from his body envelops them both, and she can hear his heartbeat through his chest.

“You know.” He murmurs, his stubble lightly grazing her cheek. “I don’t think I ever properly thanked you for what you did for me. What you continue to do for me.”

“You don’t have to thank me, Buck. You never did.” 

“I do.” He disagrees. “I really do. You saved me, showed me what more there is to life. You may have given me my old life back, but you’ve given me something wonderful and new, too. Hope.” He looks at her properly now, light blue eyes staring into her soul. “And I can’t thank you enough for it. You’re a real angel, you know that?” She can see tears building in his eyes, and no doubt she’s close to tears, too. Her heart swells, and she smiles.

“You’re welcome, Bucky. But I wouldn’t say I’m an angel. I just saw you needed help, and I gave you it. Anyone else would.” Bucky blinks in surprise, unable to believe how this wonderful, beautiful person is undermining herself so much, especially when he owes his life to her. But he’ll tell her how special she is for the rest of his life.

“'Anyone else', is not you, Y/N.” He whispers, his breath hot against her cheek and sending a shiver down her spine. “And you are an angel to me.” Sniffling, Y/N nods.

“Thank you Bucky. I wish it could be like this all the time, just me and you, together.” She sighs.

“Me too.” Her eyes flicker to his lips. So pink. So soft. Have they always been so pink? God, it’s like I’m noticing him for the first time all over again.

“Y/N?”

“Mhm?”

“I have something I need to tell you.” Bucky takes a deep breath. “I’m in love with you.” Despite how often her heart beat increases around Bucky, in that moment Y/N swears she feels it stop. For a moment she thinks she misheard him, but when he continues, saying: “I don’t know when, o-or how it happened. But god, Y/N, I’m tired of pretending. I love you so much. And I want you to know it.” She’s too stunned to reply, and Bucky’s heart sinks, thinking she doesn't feel the same. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that, I-”

But a comforting hand on his forearm stops him. One he knows all too well. “Bucky.” Y/N smiles softly, tears already running down her cheeks. “I love you too.”

“You do?” He gasps. Gingerly, he raises his metal hand, wordlessly asking her if it’s okay to continue, and Y/N nods. Bucky cups her cheek with his metal hand, cool against her skin. He never thought something responsible for so much death and pain could hold something so beautiful. “Can I kiss you?” When she nods again, Bucky gently leans in close, pressing his lips to hers. The kiss is firm, yet soft. It’s nothing like Y/N has ever experienced before. She pulls him closer, deepening the kiss. When they pull apart, Bucky’s cheeks are a soft pink, and he chuckles, no doubt trying to maintain his cool facade from the 40s, but completely failing. He gazes back at her, unable to stop smiling. “That was… perfect.” Y/N leans in, pecking his cheek.

“You’re perfect.” She whispers.

“Are you trying to get me to kiss you again?” He raises a brow, yet still can’t keep the grin off of his face. “Because it’s working.” And then he pulls her close once more.

“It’s not going to be for too long…. I hope.” Bucky reassures Y/N, squeezing her hand. Yet, as she glances over at him, she can tell he’s trying to put on a brave face himself. A few weeks after she and Bucky admitted their love for one another, King T’Challa, The King of Wakanda, and an ally of Steve and Sam’s, heard of Bucky’s plight and offered to take him in and use their technology to help him break free from HYDRA’s programming. Obviously, they both jumped at the chance. And now, the day that Bucky’s going to leave has finally come. 

Y/N knows this is the best place for Bucky to be, and she’s incredibly glad that he finally gets the chance to heal, and grateful to T’Challa for giving him this chance. But the fact that Bucky’s leaving her is tearing her up inside. Thankfully, T’Challa was incredibly kind and understanding, telling her she can visit him whenever she wants, and that she can even stay there with him for a while if she wanted to.

And whilst she wants that more than anything, Y/N said no. At least, for the first little while. She loves Bucky more than anything in the world, and because of that, she wants to give him the best chance to heal. And to her, that means stepping back and letting him take as long as he needs to process this on his own. That doesn’t mean she’s going to completely stop talking to him, though. She’s going back to her grandma’s house for a week or two to assess the damage and deal with things there, and then she, Steve and Sam are going to Wakanda to visit him. She sighs, looking at Bucky. 

Yet it still feels like she’s never going to see him again. Bucky pulls her into a hug, as if he senses her nerves. “I’ll see you soon, alright? And like T’Challa said, I’m sure we’ll be able to keep in contact somehow.”

“I know.” She manages a smile. “Just don’t forget about me, alright?” Bucky chuckles, giving her a quick, yet passionate kiss.

“Like I ever could.” They stay like that, in each other’s arms for a while, until T’Challa approaches them both.

“It’s time.” He smiles. 

“Well, this is it.” Bucky chuckles, but she can see the tears shimmering in his eyes. Y/N surges forward, grabbing him and squeezing tightly. 

“I love you.” She whimpers, and Bucky sniffles.

“I love you too.” 

And with one last kiss, he’s gone.

Y/N makes the trip back to her grandma’s house in silence. Steve and Sam offered to go with her in case any rogue HYDRA agents were there, but she declined, still too emotional from saying goodbye to Bucky to even think about saying goodbye to them, even if it is just for a few weeks. The time she spent with them was so fast-paced and frightening, and it’s hard to believe it’s over, and how things are changing between them all. 

The house still looks just as imposing as it did before, and the front steps still creak as she goes up them, advancing towards the front door. Her hands brush against the doorknob, and she braces herself for what she’s about to find. The memory of the last time she was here enters her mind once more, and Y/N sighs. If only she knew what awaited her the last time she opened that front door, maybe she wouldn’t have opened it. But deep down, she knows that if Bucky would’ve been there on the other side, she’d do it all again in a heartbeat.

Strangely, the house seems more or less the same since they left, only a few things out of place here and there, presumably caused by the wind blowing through the window Bucky broke. It’s like nobody has been there at all. Despite her footsteps around the house, it’s eerily quiet. Last time, she sensed Bucky’s presence, and knew she wasn’t alone. Now though, she can't feel a thing. Not even a ghost.

Every time she enters a room, a part of her expects to see Bucky sitting there, waiting for her. Like he was the last time she came here. And every time she realises he’s not there, it breaks her heart all over again. Finally, after she’s checked every room, the reality that everyone is really gone hits her, and she breaks down in tears.

She’s never felt so alone.

This is NOT the end of this story! There's still going to be an epilogue (that may turn into a final chapter depending on how long it is). They will get their happy ending, I promise!

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[startrekfangirl2233-writes]

I Wanted to Be

A Ron 'Slider' Kerner Imagine

Description: Kids, family, all of those things that people always talk about as being the be-all, end-all, goal? Those things have never been on Ron Kerner's list. All he wants to do is fly. What happens when an old friend's little sister calls him for help?

Everything changes.

Warnings: Dead-beat dad, Mentioned Pregnancy, Mentioned Childbirth, Tooth Rotting Fluff

Word Count: 2939

A/N: This is another Discord fueled thought. @mayhemmanaged and I were talking about how we thought that Jake was either Ice's son or Slider's. I had a sudden urge to explore that thought and here we are!

AO3: Cross-posted Here!

My Masterlist

Texans have a saying or cautionary tale for nearly everything. Everything, it seems, except what you can tell your best friend's little sister when her no-good husband runs away from her and the baby she's carrying. When she'd called him, sobbing, he hadn't known what to do. What can you tell a twenty-five year old nine month pregnant woman you haven't seen in close to a decade? In the case of one Ron Kerner, mostly known as Slider nowadays, you don't say a word. Instead, you get emergency leave and hop onto the nearest transport home. 

The tiny town of Cistern is exactly as he remembers it, hot, dry, and dusty. The sole bus trundles through town just as he pulls into the solitary gas station and steps out. It feels weird being back here. As much as Cistern hasn't changed, he knows he has. A quick stop at the pump station for fuel that sloshes sluggishly into the near empty tank of the truck he'd rented in Austin, and he's off again. Driving west a ways and then north until the only things he sees are scrub and the odd glimpse of cattle. 

The turn-off to the Petersen ranch looks just like he remembers it, though the sign says Seresin now. Was that the name of the idiot who ran away? In all honesty, Ron can't be pressed to remember. All that matters is the girl waiting on the porch when the truck rattles to a stop. She looks the same as he remembers. Little Rebecca Petersen, not so little and decidedly not a Petersen anymore, but god does she not remind him still of the little thing that used to run around behind him and Danny, all knees, toothy grin and covered in freckles.

That grin, at least, is exactly the same. So is the teasing tone as she greets him as he walks up the front stairs. "Well, well, well, look at what the cat dragged in! If it isn't Ron Kerner, the big-shot Naval Aviator. What brings you back to sleepy old Cistern?" 

"You know what." He can't help the sober turn to his voice as he hugs her gingerly, not sure of where to put his arms, not when the bulge of her belly is in the way. God, doesn't he wish he'd never said those words as soon as they left his mouth, though. Because that smile is gone, like the sun hidden by the clouds.

"You're here because of Brian." Her voice is tired, so tired that Ron can't help trying to make the girl he promised he'd protect smile again.

"Naw, Becks. I'm here for you and this little thing. Only in part for him." 

It's words that he didn't know were true until 3 days later when he's standing in the maternity ward of the hospital and being handed a tiny squalling infant with a shock of honey hair and the tightest grip he's ever felt. The newly named Jacob Daniel Seresin seems to be just as enamored of Ron as Ron is of him. Say what you will about the little guy's deadbeat dad, but he made an awfully cute baby.

That instant shock of attachment stays with Ron for a long time afterward. He looks forward to receiving the letters Rebecca sends monthly, filled with polaroids of small Jake as he grows bigger and bigger. He can track every milestone on that little body from how he grows to the first tooth that comes painfully into that little mouth.

But he does not actually see the boy or his mama again for nearly five years. Things have changed considerably over that time. Ron's raked in another promotion, making him a full lieutenant. Ice met a girl and made her his wife, and to top it all off, they're both in Texas again. So on the first long weekend he gets, Ron hops into the old Ford truck he'd put together when he turned sixteen and drives straight up to Cistern.

This time, he drives up to the Seresin house to hear giggling and gets out of his truck just in time to catch a little boy in just a pair of shorts as he goes running past. It's the light dusting of freckles and toothy grin that he'd recognize anywhere which clues him into exactly who he's holding.

"Hey, kiddo. I'm your Uncle Ron. Dunno if you remember me." His voice is gruff as he turns the giggling brat upside down like he's looking for a way to turn a little robot off. Through giggles, he's gratified to hear the boy introduce himself as Jake. This time, the Rebecca he sees in the kitchen of the ranch house she grew up in and where she's raising her son is more like the happy teenager he'd left behind when he enlisted with her big brother. It still irks him that he couldn't protect Daniel. But he's going to protect Rebecca and Daniel's namesake as fiercely as he can.

"Hey, Becks. Y'missing something? I caught this little gremlin running around out there. Is this what you're looking for?" He can't resist tickling the bare tummy of the boy in his arms just to hear the musical giggles.

"Mama, Uncle Sly's here!" The piping voice of the little boy standing there all of two feet tall wearing just shorts is enough to crack even the crustiest aviator's stone heart. Rebecca's boy is a dusty, golden skinned marvel with his sun-bleached blonde hair and huge slightly gap-toothed grin. It feels like home, this place. That weekend, Ron spends more time out on a ranch than he has in years. Rebecca may have managed to keep the ranch going, but who's going to teach Jake everything he needs to know when his daddy isn't around? Anyways, that's Ron's rationale.

Soon after that, though, he's given orders. He's shipped all over the world, flying for the Navy. It seems like his star is on the rise, and while he's Lieutenant Commander and Captain Kerner in short order, he still stays Uncle Sly for one little boy who turns into a teenager back in Cistern seemingly overnight. Ron does his best to show up for all of the kid’s biggest milestones, but even he can’t hop onto a helo every time Jake has a baseball game or wins an award at school. Those weeks, Ron does his best to call and talk to the kid as much as he can.

He talks to Rebecca on the phone enough to know that the kid's struggling with something, something he won't talk to his Mama about. So the next time Ron's home, he heads to Cistern, as always with gifts in hand for the boy he loves like he is his own. Unlike prior snatched moments, Seresin Ranch is crackling with a tension Ron's never felt before. Jake's on the front porch, and Ron's suddenly struck by how grown up the boy seems, especially with how tall he is and the new manly breadth of his shoulders. 

"Hey, Kiddo." As he tugs the kid into a hug, Ron can feel some tension leave those still small shoulders.

"Uncle Sly." Something's not right. Jake's not smiling today, not at all.

"What is it, kid?" A sudden jolt of fear rushes through Ron. "Where's your mom, kid?'

"She's in there, Uncle Sly, in the kitchen. With a man who's claiming to be my dad." The rage that burns in his chest is unlike any other that Ron's ever felt before. Sure enough, when he stalks into the kitchen, it's to see the one man he'd never wanted to see menacing Rebecca ever again.

"Brian." That one word is all it takes for Rebecca's shoulders to relax. Fifteen years have not treated Brian Seresin well. Not at all. His hair is graying and greasy, he's got a paunch and he's obviously drunk off his feet if the way he lists back and forth is any indication. "What are you doing back in Cistern?"

Ron's quick to gather Rebecca back behind him, knowing that Brian Seresin would never be bold enough to try to get to her, not through him, anyway. Jake’s followed him in, as always his shadow

"Wanted my woman back, Kerner. And my kid." He sniffs, wiping away yellow-tinged mucus on the leg of the dirtiest jeans that Ron's ever seen. "S'not fair, y'know? That you got to keep her and the brat while I was off. D'she treat y'well? She's great in bed, ain't she?"

It takes every fiber in his being to not deck the man for what he's saying about Rebecca. Thankfully Jake's holding his ma, otherwise he'd have launched himself at the fool to get his share of the beat down. It’s at that moment that Sly is glad they’d sent lawyers after Brian Seresin after Jake was born because it means he doesn’t have a claim on Rebecca or Jake anymore. They have the denial of parental rights and a divorce agreement to prove it. It doesn't take much more than a quirked eyebrow to get the man to spill the entire sordid tale. How he'd lost a lot of money and wanted to claim what he believed he was owed from Seresin Ranch. 

"Call Sheriff Weatherby, Becks." When Ron finally speaks, the calm in his voice surprises even him. He sounds Ice-cold, which he guesses is what you get for spending the better part of a decade flying with the same person. "We've got an intruder on Seresin Ranch." 

It doesn't surprise him in the slightest that it's Jake who picks up the landline and dials up Sheriff Weatherby, not at all. It's hours later, once one Brian Seresin has been carted away and Rebecca is asleep, that Ron finds Jake again. The kid's sitting in an old tire swing Ron had set up years ago, rocking idly while staring up into the endless expanse of stars in the sky above. 

"So, that's him, huh? My pops, the man who walked out before I was even born?" He sounds so torn up about it, this gangly teen boy who loves his Mama to distraction and who would do anything to protect her. That's something they have in common.

"Yeah, kid." Ron doesn't try to hide the anger in his face, not now.

"Why did he come back? Why didn't he just stay away?" Ron's hand is gentle on the kid's back as he tries to think for a response.

"I dunno, kid. I wish he had never come back. Your Mama isn't the type to cry. But every time I've heard her cry it has been because of that man." The rage building in his chest causes a near imperceptible shake in his hands.

"Why didn't you ever marry Mama, Uncle Sly? You love her, I know you do. Then you can come home to us more often, can't you?" That one innocent observation is enough to have his entire world reeling. What would it be like? Having Becks to come home to? To have this kid, her son, as his own? Is he so easy to read that a teenager can tell what his most closely guarded secret is?

"I dunno kid. But enough about me. What's eating at you?" Ron's a little scared of the answer he's going to get.

"I want to fly, Uncle Sly. Like you do, like Uncle Daniel did." Jake's green eyes are all Rebecca's, all Daniel's and Ron can see the boy he loved like a brother in Jake's face. "D-d'you think I can do it?"

"It's dangerous, kid. But yeah. If there was anyone who could do it, it'd be you. You’ve got your mom’s determination and all of her support, too. Just don’t forget that you’ve got people who love you waiting for you, and you’ll be all set."

Those are obviously words Jake holds close to his heart. Because, before Ron's hit Vice-Admiral, Jake's already at the academy. He's taking Annapolis by storm, making his Mama and his dad, because thanks to the kid's prodding it's Ron and Rebecca Kerner now, incredibly proud. Ron's happy to find he has to wipe away tears when he sees his son, his son, get his wings a few short years later. Then there's another Kerner's star on the rise. His son’s.

He keeps a finger on the pulse of every deployment, every test, and beams with pride to see Jake graduate from Top Gun. That pride sits warm in his chest even as he gets a call from the one California number he'd memorized that he could never forget.

"Mr. Iceman! How're you doing?" The relationship between pilot and RIO hasn't changed over the past years. Neither of them flies anymore, but the bonds they built over 30 years ago haven't changed.

"It's about your kid, Sly." Ron can hear the hoarseness creeping into Ice's tone even now.

"What's going on, Tom?" After a life's service to the US Navy, Rear Admiral Ron 'Slider' Kerner isn't surprised to hear that Jake's been selected for a special detachment. The dad in him, though? He's terrified shitless. Nearly 30 years of loving that boy doesn’t feel like enough all of a sudden, not when Jake's going to be sent on a mission so dangerous that talking about it feels like a jinx. Even the heads up from the COMPACFLT doesn't help.

It's a tense few weeks in Texas. Ron terrorizes the base in Corpus Christi, his mind in Miramar with his son while his body is in Texas. Rebecca is equally distraught. Then Ron gets another call that fills him with sadness all over again. It is Sarah calling, "Hey Ron. Just wanted to tell you that he's gone. Tom's gone. The cancer. It came back with a vengeance. The doctors couldn't do anything. He passed away this morning."

During the entirety of the service, Ron can't help but feel like he would've given anything to see his best friend again one more time before he died. It's sad reconnecting with the rest of their 1986 cohort at the bar later. It’s even worse seeing his son stand somberly kitted out in his own whites across the way from him. He doesn’t, can’t go near him, mainly because nobody knows that Jake is Rear Admiral Kerner’s kid. But he can't help but feel like Tom would've wanted him to hug his boy instead. So that's what Rear Admiral Ron Kerner does. He hugs his son, tight, as many times as he can before he leaves. He watches from the docks as the carrier departs and waits with bated breath.

Rebecca channels her nerves into baking. She fills the house they rent off base with pastries, cookies, cakes and pies, most of which are Jake's favorites. Then it’s a waiting game. Ron calls in every favor he has in order to get more information on the mission Jake’s on, really for anything he can get. As it turns out, there is very little information that even an admiral can get. So all he can do is hold Rebecca close and pray. It’s frankly the longest three days of his life. He’s more tense than he was even during the Leyte Gulf incident, which feels like a world, a lifetime ago. That first call from Jake they get has his knees weak. The relief coursing through his system is too good to be true. So’s the first look he gets of his son when the carrier docks two days later.

The milling crowd of families lets out a roar of excitement when the first of the ship’s crew sets foot on shore. Ron wraps an arm around Rebecca, and keeps an eagle eye on the waves of departing sailors looking for aviator green flight suits. The crowd clears piece by piece and they still haven’t seen their boy or any of the aviators. They’re some of the only people waiting, and Ron can feel Rebecca’s tremors as she clutches at her necklace and rears up onto her tiptoes every once in a while. She sags against his chest and that’s when Ron finally sees their golden boy. He looks exhausted, but he’s safe, he’s home. Rebecca runs right for him first, and Ron can’t help his grin when he sees how tall Jake is in comparison to his Mama. The kid’s not shy about his love for Rebecca either. He introduces her to the aviators and then Ron’s being beckoned forward.

“And this is my pop, Admiral Kerner.” He’s got a shit-eating grin on his face and god if that doesn’t remind Ron of Daniel again.

“Hey, kid.” Ron can’t help the fond grin on his face or the amusement when he sees Jake’s squadron rise into salutes the minute they hear his title. There’s a face in his squadron that Ron didn’t think he’d ever see again. There’s also somebody nearby who he hasn’t seen in decades. 

“Baby Goose. Mav.” Ron’s nod is slight.

“Hey Sly. A kid huh?” Ron can’t resist smiling as he hugs the shorter man. 

“Yeah, Mav. I had to catch up.” Watching Becks fawn over Jake again is everything he’s ever wanted. 

“He’s a good one, you know, Sly?” As Ron stands shoulder to shoulder with Pete Mitchell again, watching their boys realize that they’re closer than they ever could have known, Ron knows one thing. He may have never intended to be a dad, but standing at the docks thirty years later, he knows he wouldn't have wanted to do anything else. 

Taglist:

@mayhemmanaged, @desert-fern, @cassiemitchell, @dakotakazansky, @sarahsmi13s, @roosters-girl

I DO NOT CONSENT TO HAVE MY WORK POSTED, TRANSLATED, OR PUBLISHED ON ANY SITES OTHER THAN HERE OR ON AO3 BY ME. IF YOU SEE MY WORKS ANYWHERE OTHER THAN HERE OR AO3, THEN THEY HAVE BEEN POSTED WITHOUT MY PERMISSION AND I WILL BE WORKING TO TAKE THEM DOWN.

[7r0773r]

Above Ground by Clint Smith

Nomenclature

Your mother's mother came from Igboland though she did not teach your mother her language. We gave you your name in á language we don't understand because gravity is still there even when we cannot see it in our hands.

I ask your mother's mother to teach me some of the words in hopes of tracing the shadow of someone else's tongue.

The same word in Igbo, she tells me, may have four different meanings depending on how your mouth bends around each syllable. In writing, you cannot observe the difference.

The Igbo word n'anya means sight The Igbo word n'anya means love

Your grandmother said, I cannot remember the sight of my village

or

Your grandmother said, I cannot remember the love of my village

Your grandmother's heart is forgetting or Your grandmother's heart is broken

Your grandmother said, We escaped the war and hid from every person in sight or Your grandmother said, We escaped the war and hid from every person in love

Your grandmother was running from danger or Your grandmother was running from vulnerability

Your grandmother said, My greatest joy is the sight of my grandchild or Your grandmother said, My greatest joy is the love of my grandchild

Your grandmother wants you present or

Your grandmother wants you home.

***

Deceit

My grandmother died over a decade ago but my grandfather's home still smells like her hair. Every pillow on the couch, every coat hanging in the closet, every book sitting on the shelf. All these years later, I still can't tell the difference between a memory and grief's imagination. Sometimes, when I sit in her chair, I imagine her saying things she never said, something that might have prepared me for her passing, something that would have made it so I didn't have to imagine her in coat pockets she never wore and behind book sleeves she never opened. Sometimes, when I sit there for too long I find myself laughing at jokes she never told, but I hear them in her voice. I eat food she never cooked but imagine her opening the oven and pulling out the broiling tray. I once heard that when an oak tree is cut down sparrows whose nest sat in its branches will find another tree and another nest and will convince themselves the eggs inside it are their own.

***

Tradition

On Sundays we make French toast the way my father made French toast with me. Each of you stand on stools

that lift your bodies above the counter and I roll your pajama sleeves up to your elbows then ask you

if you're ready to start. You both take turns shouting out everything we need to begin— an incantation of ingredients that have become

the lyrics to a song only we know. So much of what I try to do as a father is put back together the puzzle pieces of what my father did for me.

What is the way he held me when I first said I was afraid of the dark?

How long did he let the silence between us sit when I'd done something that broke his trust?

What was the shape of his eyes when he told me he'd never be disappointed if I tried my best?

I don't always remember what he said, but I remember how it felt to have him there, to have his body brushing against mine

when he reached for the bread, to have his hands wrap around my own as they guided me in cracking the eggs, to remember how he extended

the measuring spoon full of sugar and cinnamon toward me so that together we could use our fingers to lick it clean.

The end products aren't exactly the same. I don't use all the same ingredients. Sometimes I make substitutions, sometimes I burn the bread.

Sometimes he did too.

But I try to remind myself that all these years later, I don't remember what the bread tasted like, just that my father had put it on my plate.

[holypapaya]

Peaches (Konro Sagamiya x Reader NSFW 18+)

Fem! Reader

Konro and his girlfriend run home to escape the rain. When they decide to eat sweet peaches as a snack.

Warnings: age gap, denial, rough sex, oral play, begging 

Skip to ** for sexy time. 2,000+ words. 

________

God, how is she so beautiful? And, how in the hell didn't I notice her before? 

These were the two questions Konro would ask himself repeatedly whenever he took Y/N out on their weekly dates. Unfortunately, the morning was a sweltering and humid day that overwhelmed the Great Tokyo Empire. Konro suggested that they have their date later in the evening to avoid the rain and the burning hot sun. Y/N's clothes hugged her glamorous curves as her skin glistened from a thin veil of sweat. The lantern lights that hugged the walls to local businesses created a soft glow.

Staring at her in awe was not a part of the plan. Well, none of this was a part of any plan, actually. Not even his life plan. They've been dating for a little over a month since Konro first met Y/N. His typical routine trip was to see Seamstress Granny to fix any rips in his uniform. That day he tore his pants while rebuilding Asakusa after the most recent Infernal attack. With his uniform in hand, he walked through the door, the bell ringing as it slid open. Just as he was about to call the elderly woman, he noticed the most beautiful, enchanting woman he’d ever laid eyes on. Konro was so stunned by her beauty that he didn't hear her greet him or ask what he needed to be done. Since then, he’s gotten to know Y/N well over time.

Before running her Granny's store full time, Y/N would visit Asakusa three times a week to help around. That’s why Konro found it unbelievable that he never noticed her before. Honestly, it was probably because of the increase of Infernal activity, but that was no excuse in his mind. Y/N stood slightly taller than most women in the empire and was curvier than other women too. Her full breasts always pulling at her shirt and plump ass tight, giving a slight jiggle as she walked. Despite all of this, Konro still towered over her. Don't misunderstand this, though; he is dating her not for her body but because he earnestly enjoys Y/N's company. Y/N made him feel things he hadn't felt in years or even within his lifetime.

Y/N's thumb gently rubbed the back of his bandaged hand as they held hands while walking down the street. Y/N was smiling greatly as she continued to talk. Konro wasn’t exactly the talkative type, so hearing Y/N talk brought him immense joy. The self-proclaimed hermit has found a friendly, outgoing puppy to love day in and out. Being with Y/N even made Konro feel young again. He's heard that having a significantly younger girlfriend can change a man's energy levels, but Konro didn't expect to feel this young. Especially his sex drive.

Being overwhelmed with work duties almost made him forget what a sex life was. Work. Eat. Sleep. Repeat. This was his routine for many years. However, when he was younger, Konro always managed to find time to "express his sexual desires" is a polite way of saying it. In other words, straight-up fucking. But as the years flew by and seeing Benimaru become captain of the 7th, Konro had more distractions, to say the least. With Y/N, it was different, though. She sparked something deep inside of him. In his many years of life, Konro never had the animalistic urge to make a woman cry, scream and mess them up during sex as much as Y/N.  He almost had the chance too. Almost.

Last week, Y/N and Konro decided to go back to base for some privacy. During that time of day, mostly, everyone would be out making rounds or going out to eat, so it seemed like the perfect time. Right in front of him, Y/N laid bare. Her head bobbing up and down his shaft, her right hand moving in sync with her head, her left hand gently caressing his hip. Konro's deep blue eyes stared at Y/N, hypnotized by her beauty. Carefully, he placed his hand on the back of her head, adding a slight pressure, silently asking her to deep throat him. Which she happily obliged. That's when he heard it -the Infernal alarm. Y/N's eyes grew wide as she met Konro's. She released his now soft dick from her mouth as she watched Konro get up and hurriedly dressed himself.

It's only been a week since they've last had time for each other. Yes, they would greet each other outside or maybe have a small lunch if they had the time. But, they were never truly alone, just two people immersed in a chaotic world. Konro couldn't help but think  about if he would ever get a chance to redeem himself. He could kill a man at this point to see Y/N's lush body naked in front of him again.

Y/N let out a sound of confusion, "Konro, I think it's going to start raining," she looked up at the sky after feeling something damp hit her face.

"Hmmm," he mused, still lost in his train of thought.

That's when he felt it. A sudden shower washed over the both of them. Y/N pulled Konro by his arm, leading him down a side street. 'Let's go back to my place,' she called back behind her. Konro followed her, watching droplets run down her soft skin.

'Please, one more chance,' Konro chanted in his head all the way to her apartment. As they entered the one-bedroom, Y/N handed Konro a fresh towel. Then, she walked over to the refrigerator, asking her boyfriend if he liked peaches.

** "Yeah," he said, watching her pull out the fruit and a knife to cut it. Y/N cut the delicate fruit in half, pitting it, and proceeded to slice it. With every movement, her hair stuck to her neck and shoulders. Konro walked over to Y/N, pushing her damp hair to her shoulder, exposing her neck and collar bone. His calloused fingers massaged between her shoulder and neck. He saw goosebumps wash over her skin and grinned to himself. Leaning forward, Konro kissed Y/N's jaw and noticed a slight coat of pink on her cheeks. Y/N pushed a peach slice towards his lips. As Konro was just about to take a bite, Y/N took it back and put half of it in her mouth. She looked up at the older man with what he thought was a look of innocence and lustful hunger.  Y/N offered the other half of the peach that was sticking out of her mouth. With his large hand, Konro tilted her jaw up and took in the fruit.

On Y/N's bed, Konro propped himself up on his forearms to make sure not to put his total weight on Y/N. She laid beneath him in nothing but her bra and underwear. Konro was already halfway undressed with only his pants remaining. They kissed each other for a long time. While feeling his tongue slowly go in and out of Y/N's mouth, Konro imagined his cock doing the same thing inside of her. Konro continued to grind his hard cock into Y/N’s clad pussy.

Y/N let a long feminine sigh followed by a moan, feeling pressure onto her wet lips. She gently ran her nails down his abdomen, feeling his chiseled abs, before finally reaching his belt. She pulled at the material, hoping to touch his dick directly. Just the thought about touching it again caused her pussy to throb with excitement. Konro released her mouth from his and grunted in her ear,

"Not yet, baby," Konro nibbled on her earlobe, "Just wait a little longer. I'll treat you just as good as you treated me last time".

Konro moved Y/N's bra strap down her shoulder to have access to her collarbone. Then he nibbled and sucked until he left a light mark on her skin. Konro snaked his arm behind her back, unclasping her bra. Removing the material, he threw it onto the floor. Konro grabbed one of Y/N's full tits in his hand, gently but firmly. He flicked her nipple with his tongue, causing Y/N to inhale sharply. Frustratingly slow, Konro then started to suck her nipple, flicking it now and then. Y/N whined in frustration how Konro was still dressed.

He released her nipple, and while undoing his pants with one hand, he still massaged her tit with his other. Konro smiled down at Y/N almost wickedly as he watched her flushed face looked directly at his crotch. He kicked off his pants with one swift movement and found his way to Y/N's underwear, taking it off. Konro pulled down the thin material, excitement further boiling in him, realizing how wet Y/N was. She wasn't just wet but soaked. While kneeling, Konro grabbed her slender ankles, bringing her legs over his shoulder. Y/N's glistening lips in direct view of his face, and of course, his mouth. With a big lap of his tongue, Konro tasted Y/N's pussy greedily. He wasn't just licking her but also sucking on her drenched lips and swollen cit. Slurping and sloshing filled the room.

Y/N stared at Konro hazily, pleasure surging through her distracting her from any thought. She gripped her sheets tightly as her moans echoed. Seeing her boyfriend liked this not only made her feel wanted but happy. Konro has always been a very giving man. He gave up everything for Asakusa and Benimaru. So when the demon Infernal came, Konro didn't have to fight it alone. Instead, he chose to, for a simple but heroic cause. To protect the people he cared for. So seeing him eating her out hungrily and groping her body greedily made Y/N realize that Konro could express what he truly desired. He could tell her what he wanted and how he wanted it openly. Of course, in Konro's mind, he was primarily doing this to pleasure Y/N, but Y/N enjoyed seeing a different side of him.

Taking one last swipe at her clit, Konro lowered her legs, peering at his lover. A deep shudder swept across his body as he saw Y/N's face. Her cheeks flushed pink, lips slightly parted as her eyes stared at him dreamily—her chest lifting with every breath she took. Y/N looked absolutely decadent. However, she wasn't ready yet. Only eating her out wasn't going to be enough to stretch her for the pounding of her lifetime. Again, he grasped her lips with his own, tongue snaking into her mouth. Y/N let out a feminine sigh as her eyes fluttered shut as she was engulfed with pleasure. Her arms found their way around his neck, holding his closer. Carefully, he lowered his weight onto Y/N, causing her to open her legs further.

One hand trailed down her abdomen, finding its way to Y/N's sweet drenched hole. He flicked her inner lips teasingly before sticking one digit in. Next, he curled his finger upward, finding her g-spot. Y/N ended to kiss to arch her back in pleasure. Konro chuckled at her reaction, slowly rubbing the inside of her pussy.

"Just a little longer, baby. I need to open you up cause you're so tight."

He inserted another finger. He spread the two as far as they could, expanding her walls. Then he would bring them back together rubbing the top of her velvety walls. This went on in a pattern, almost like he was massaging the inside of her pussy. His rough fingers thick fingers felt so right inside of her. But there was something else that she needed with urgency. Something else belonged inside of her. Y/N grabbed his thick biceps, her head turning to the side. She bit her lip, begging Konro.

"Kon, please, please-"

He ignored her pleas, "Are you gonna coat my dick with your cum like you're doing with my fingers," he felt her walls tighten around him.

"Yes, I wanna cover your dick with my cum. Please", Y/N cried.

"Say my name, the way I like it."

God, he's so cute, Y/N thought to herself.

Looking at Konro softly, she said, "Kon-Kon."

Konro smiled with satisfaction removing his fingers.

He wrapped Y/N's thighs around his waist as he watched her quiver. Cock in hand, he rubbed the tip along her slit. Y/N's juices slicking his thick tip as pre-cum drooled out of Konro. Then he gently pushed his cock into her slowly as her walls stretched around him. Konro tilted his head back, moaning, feeling Y/N's velvety warmth grip around his pulsating member. Then, as Y/N let out a cry of pleasure, Konro stayed still just for a moment, letting Y/N get used to his length.

 Gently, he caressed Y/N's face with his large hand, cupping her cheek. Konro rubbed her lower lip with his thumb. 

"See, baby," he practically purred, "You're so wet you took me in one thrust." 

Konro shallowly thrusted into Y/N's tight pussy wanting to see her reaction. Y/N rubbed her cheek into his palm, letting out a soft moan. To Konro's surprise, Y/N opened her mouth slightly, inviting his thumb inside. Then, she gently sucked. Konro took in a sharp breath, feeling his cock twitch with excitement. His Y/N was always full of fun surprises.                  

 Y/N released his thumb, eyes glazed with sexual desire, "Kon-Kon, I'm ready."

Say no more.

Konro pulled his cock out before slamming back into her. Y/N dug her nails into his back as her eyes widen with surprise. She felt a knot in her stomach as her pussy clench down on his thick cock. She couldn’t hold back her voice anymore. A load cry escaped her lips. Konro looked his lover with a sensual but firm gaze. He was in complete control. He was the dominant one. Each thrust reached further and further back to her cervix. 

Y/N’s loud moans matched the rhythm of each thrust, echoing in the small apartment. Her pussy aching in the most pleasurable ways. She moved her head to side as Y/N felt her body heat up further. Konro gently cupped her cheek again, turning her gaze over to his. 

“Look at me, baby.” 

Oh no. That was a fatal mistake. 

Y/N felt her pussy clench as Konro’s deep blue eyes met hers. The slight curve of his dick ran over her G-spot mercilessly. His body warm, skin soft, muscles tensed. How did Konro go untouched for so long? There had to of been someone in the whole empire that tried to sleep with him. It’s unbelievable that no one had tried.

Y/N gently wrapped her arms of Konro’s thick neck, bringing him closer.

“Kon-Kon. Hold. Me. More. Go. Deeper. Please”, Y/N moaned between each thrust.

Konro smiled, kissing Y/N’s forehead. How could he say no to such a cutie. She even said ‘please’. Konro wrapped one arm around Y/N’s mid back, clutching her body to his. As his thrusts became deeper and wilder, Konro cooed soft nothings into Y/N’s ear as her pussy tightened and her moans grew louder and louder. Then her body grew tense, a small gasp leaving her lips. Y/N’s urgent moans came to a stop. Konro felt the wet walls that cloak his cock spasm as his girlfriend’s body arched up. Y/N dug her face into Konro’s shoulder, orgasm ripping through her body. 

Swiftly Konro removed his dick to coat Y/N’s soft abdomen with his cum. He placed soft kisses all over Y/N’s flushed face, asking her if she was okay. Konro knew he wasn’t a small man, both in height and cock-wise. He cared about the well-being of his little puppy. Y/N ran her fingers through his jostled hair as she kissed his neck. 

“You can go rougher, you know.”

Konro smiled. Noted: can go rougher next time.    

[thefanbasewhore]

Can you do a soulmate Stucky x reader? I feel like you would write that so well, especially how you portrayed bucky in "are you mad at me" was so soft. The soulmate version would be so cute

Summary || Bucky and Steve meet their soulmate, which they had no idea existed.

Warning/content || fluff, a small explicit scene, fighting. Soulmate AU.

Paring || Bucky Barnes x reader x Steve rogers

I got a little carried away, but enjoy ❤️ not edited or beta read but I'm sleepy 😴

Bucky and Steve have had each other from the moment they have met. Imaging their surprise, being two little boys from Brooklyn seeing colors, something the two agreed to hide, pending the time period.

It was different now, a different time. They were accepted and while both of them loved each other, so very much, especially through the mind control, fighting each other, then for each other. They always knew something was missing.

A color, maybe even two, three. A part of them missing but they both collectively came to the conclusion that it was just that. Some missing colors, it happens sometimes.

It happens when they least expect it.

After Thanos, after Tony finally deciding to leave that kind of life behind, buying a small two bedroom house on the outskirts of the city. A home to grow old in, be together for the first time since before the war started but only one thing prevented that.

The house was a disaster, gutted to the foundations, no running water, green moss outside covered the whole house, the lawn completely out of control. For Bucky it was a hard no, it was a dump but the moment Steve fluttered those ridiculously long lashes, how could he say no?

So here they are, sweating on this 90 degree day, putting up new dry wall with no air-conditioning.

"What color should it be?" Steve asks, glancing to his dark haired lover, taking notice of his now shirtless appearance. Bucky let out a sigh, wiping the sweat from his forehead.

"Maybe we should get all of the walls up first."

Steve clicks his tongue, "I like the color green, like a nice pastel mint green."

"Whatever you want, honey." Bucky wasn't too picky, besides whatever made Steve happy, made him happy.

"Hello?" A sweet, feminine voice came from the kitchen. The doors left open because of the heat, there was nothing much in here anyways.

Steve pulls away from his task, pulling his shirt over his head to wipe his forehead with it. "Come in, we are in the kitchen."

Bucky wasn't too alarmed, Steve had told him previously that he hired a someone to make up the yard, nothing too fancy but the both of them were completely clueless when it came to plants, or gardens period.

"Quite a project you have going on here, Mr. Rogers." No doubt taking in the half gutted house along the way. While they have never met, they spoke on the phone briefly about his wants.

"You have no idea, Hun."

The woman looks around the kitchen first, noticing the freshly painted cabinet, the smell a dead giveaway, half eaten burgers thrown to the side on a small, make shift table with barely enough room to fit.

At first glance towards the man she notices the sharp jawline, defined but soft feature of the blonde as she greets him with a smile which soon drops in confusion as small dots of color appear. Stormy blue eyes with a full beard, Steve's mouth dropping agape as he notices the splirts of color - the missing colors for 106 years finally appear.

Bucky notices the tension in the room, shifting his attention from the wall to Steve, noticing how intensely he's staring, Bucky follows the line of vision and meets sweet eyes.

She's hit with another line of color, different from Steve's but now there's no more gray hue, bright yellows and blues. The outside is suddenly so bright and Bucky mouth drops.

This cannot be happening.

They sit there and stare for what seems like hours.

"I - ugh.." she starts, "What is happening?"

***

Sometimes life just throws curve balls, like finding out that your soulmate or in this cause soulmates are two, one hundred year old super soldiers who have already been in love with each other for over a decade.

The pull is already strong, nature intended for these souls to be together until death due part and honestly Bucky could feel it. With Steve he was used to the urge of wanting to have him close, kiss him every free minute he has but with the woman in front of him, it's new.

He doesn't even know her name, watches the way she nervously flickers from Steve's gaze to his own. She's beautiful.

Strong but delicate features, the curve of her nose is cute, cupid lips are so full... kissable. He can't stop staring, even with Steve and her in the mist of conversation. The make shift table cleared of all prior mess, Buck and Steve have to share a chair, which is quite comical, seeing two giant supersoldier try to share a small, old, dinning room seat.

Bucky's metal fingers twitch, metal plate click and whirl to life as he tights to urge to map her face out with his fingers. His heart is beating so fast, filled with so much... Love? Joy?

No matter how much Steve and Bucky try to hide it.. deep down they always knew, something was missing and in this case, someone.

"You're beautiful." The words catch both her and Steve off guard, Bucky blushes red something terrible but the sweet smile defuses the fire.

Well until she says something back, "You are too."

His whole face is hot and Steve reaches over to affectionately rub the back of his shoulder. Of course Steve was calm, he always is.

He handles things with lots of thought and understanding, while Buck is more hot headed, acts on the moment.

***

"It doesn't feel right." Bucky comments, watching from the window to insure she safely gets into the car. Steve sighs, by the time they're done talking darkness has filled the house. Steve affectionately squeezes the brunette's bicep, pressing a kiss to his hair.

"I know Bucky. This is a lot for her, for us. She needs to take time and reflect on this. She'll come to us when she's ready."

Bucky knows nothing then her name, and love for plants but chews at his bottom lip nervously. She's too far, the bond pulls at his heart strings. Now bonded forever. "What if she never comes back?"

"She will."

***

A few days pass, the kitchen is finally done, new appliances, new china and kitchen fully stocked. Steve is making something for Dinner - it smells amazing while Bucky starts painting the walls of the lifeless living room.

It's bare, not even something to sit on but no doubt with the stamina of two super soldiers it will be done by next week.

The knock on the front door is unexpected, but Bucky replies quickly. "I got it, Stevie!"

He expects some older, much wrinkly neighbor to be complaining about the noise of the nail gone or something this late at night. His mouth drops, a little shocked at the sight of her.

A very formal sitting dress, long and black, dips into a sweetheart neckline, the valley of her breasts easily visible. Hair is thrown into a neat updo, sexy and sleek.

Bucky clears his throat. "Hi." He squeaks out, feeling like a total idiot as he watches her nervously shift her weight from one heel to the other.

"Hi, I was in the area. A wedding for one my clients, thought I'd come say hello." Bucky wants to shake his head in disbelief that something so beautiful, just like Steve is made for him.

The universe sculpted and made two beautiful, breath taking human beings to be his and it's overwhelming. She's so pretty it's alarming.

It was a good excuse, the truth but not the real reason she stopped by. How could she tell them that they have been on her mind none stop? It physically hurts to be away for so long.

"Who is it, Buck?" Steve mumbles, interrupting the thick tension between the two.

"Come in, doll." Bucky's helps her with the jacket that lays over his shoulders, mentioning his head towards the direction of the kitchen, where his other lover is.

Steve is stunned none the less, he at least expected a few more days. Also, feeling much like Bucky, amazed by the radiating beauty.

He decides to play it cool, dimples forming with a breath taking smile. "Do you like spaghetti?"

Hours pass, time moves so fast with conversation, and adding wine to the mix surely didn't help.

The trio once again in the kitchen, but this time each have a chair, a new, more comfortable dinning set.

"You got this done fast. It's beautiful." She comments, "Colors are beautiful, I guess I have you two to thank for that."

Bucky shifts in his seat, the glass of wine is useless but still finds himself sipping from it. Her eyes are red, watery with a slight buzz.

"Do you feel it?" The question has both Bucky and Steve look at each other, watching her teary eyes as she presses a hand to sooth the ache in her chest. "It hurts, it hurts to be away. All week."

"It's normal." Steve answers just above a whisper, his next words make Bucky's bottom lip quiver. "I felt it every day for the last 5 years, Bucky was gone."

Bucky had never thought about it - there hasn't been enough time to. It's only been a month later since the return and it never occurred to him what Steve has gone through.

"Steve.." He starts, tears kiss his waterline as his fingers run through the blonde's hair. "I'm sorry sweetheart, I didn't know, I -."

"Couldn't prevent it Buck. It happened but you're here now and.." Steve turns his attention towards the girl, tears slip past her eyelids. It's for Steve, for Bucky.. all the pain and suffering they've been through. "Hey, don't cry, it's alright beautiful."

It's feels right, despite barely knowing the man, nothing feel more right then being pulled into his chest as a large metal hand comforts her in a different way, rubbing the loose strands of hair as he murmurs. "We've got you now, you're our other half."

***

Months have past from that day. The house is finally done, everything they could have imagined with the additional of an extra tooth brush in the cup that sits on the bathroom sink, a pile of fuzzy blankets at the bottom of the bed and a five year old chocolate lab. Steve didn't mind much, he's always loved dogs, Bucky on the other hand...

"Alright, alright, Maverick." Bucky huffs, grocery bags in hand as the dog excitedly nuzzles his legs, following him throughout the house like it wasn't only an hour ago he's seen him. Once putting the bags down, hears the whine, big brown eyes staring up at him. Bucky sighs, dropping to a knee before petting the pup's head. "Alright you mutt, don't tell anyone about this."

"Too late, pal." Bucky jumps, hearing the amusement in Steve's voice, followed by the giggle of the woman that peers out from behind him. Wrapping her arms around Steve before testing her head against his shoulder.

"Caught you red handed, you love Mav." Bucky grumbles at her words, feeling two smaller hands wrap around his waist as a head falls into his chest. He presses a soft kiss into her hair before taking in the blonde that barely fits through the doorway he leans against.

Bucky's free hand reaches out, mentioning him closer but as she's soon finds herself in the middle of a super soldier sandwich. "Hi, baby." Bucky presses a kiss to the blonde's lips.

"Hi, pal."

***

"It's only one mission. That's it, we will be in and out." Steve promises, not liking the way his girls face twist into a worried expression.

Heavy eyes, lower lip sticking out to pout. "What if something happens? If you get hurt? Or if they find you, Bucky?"

"I told you, Hydra is gone, honey." Bucky's large hands sooth over her tight shoulders, pressing soft kisses to the back of her upper traps.

"No. You still have nightmares at least three times a week. This can't be good for you. And you." She turns her attention back towards Steve, "Barely sleep four hours a night. You carry the fault on your shoulders, you don't need anymore. I don't want you two to go."

"We don't have a choice. They were my family once, I owe this to them." Steve didn't miss the way her lips moves to form a snarl, not sparing another glance as she makes a b-line for the stairs.

Bucky sighs, leaning against the wall. "She's going to be mad at us." Rubbing his chest with hopes to ease the burn.

The bond pulls at their hearts, a slow, painful punishment for their actions.

They return two weeks later, tired, just wanting to see their girl. The moment they walk into the house they look at each other with will wild eyes, heart pumping as they fear the worse. The dog, the annoying wiggling tail that would bark is one where to be found, something is wrong.

It's alarming. "Where is that freaking mutt?"

Steve calls her name, but there is no answer. Bucky and him are searching the house, ascending the stairs, opening the bedroom door with a deep sigh of relief.

The stupid dog takes up half of the bed, but is cuddled into his owner. Arm draped around the ball of fur, amount as long as her.

The dog lifts his head, a little tail waggle as Steve stretches his ears, lowering to his knees and laying his top half over the bed to press loud, audible kisses to his ears. "Good boy, protecting our girl while we are gone."

When morning comes she notices the dog is still pressed against her, licking small stripes against her cheeks. "Have to go out, buddy?"

She barely makes it five steps before tripping over two rather large bodies, sleeping on a makeshift bed on the floor. Bucky groans and Steve's eyes flicker open.

"Why are you on the floor?"

"Wanted you to sleep pretty girl. Mav was taking up all the room and you looked like an angel." Bucky hums in agreement despite his eyes being closed.

"Mmm, well it's all free now." It's short, simple but the sarcastic tone has Bucky's eyes flickering to meet his boyfriend's. They both sigh, staring up at the ceiling, knowing it's going to be a long day.

And it is. She's does whatever she can to get away from them, only answers with short replies to the point Bucky can't take it anymore.

"Sweetheart," Bucky tries again but she doesn't acknowledge him, eyes stayed glued to the book. He gets fed up, metal plates click as artificial appendages run over the binding and pull it from her grasp.

"Give it back, James."

He cringes at the name, a displeased frown wears his face. "No, you have to talk to us."

"No."

"You're bring a brat." Bucky starts, watching her expression change from annoyed to anger, wrinkles of frustration pinch between her eyebrows.

"Buck - don't say that to her." Steve comments, it's his fault, he's the one who said yes without confiding in her first.

"She is, it's over with now. She has no right to be this mad."

"No right?" Her chest fills with emotion as a humourless chuckle causes both men to stiffen. "No right? Huh Buck? I sat here for two full weeks, no communication, nothing while the two of you are out there fighting God knows what after you swore, promised you would always be with me. Don't promise me forever if you're just going to throw yourself in danger! You're going to die and leave me, or worse! Both of you will."

No one says a word, only watch as her chest rises and falls with deep, heavy pants despite the tears that rolls past her eyes lashes.

"Honey, I'm sorry -."

"I don't want to hear it James, and you." She turns towards Steve, fire in her soul. "I thought you would understand, more then him, considering it has happened to you."

She leaves the room without another word, Buck turns towards Steve, watching the way he fights the tears that gather. The pain of loosing Bucky is still so fresh, "She's right Buck, we fucked up."

"I know, I know." He mumbles into Steve's shoulder, pulling him close.

***

"You're so good to me, sweet girl." Bucky moans as she shifts her hips against him, the blunt end of his cock hitting the spot inside her that makes her squeal for more.

Large hands squeeze her hips as Steve leans over to find his boyfriend's lips, kissing him through the gasps and whines of their girl's name as she circles her hips around Bucky.

Steve's hands pull at his hair, lips trailing from his lips, down his cheeks before nipping at his jaw.

"How does he feel honey?"

"So good, Stevie." For a second he's in a trance, watching the way her face contours with pleasure and the pain of her third orgasm well on its way.

Steve lays next to Buck, hand wrapping around his own heaviness between his legs as he stokes it, switching between her face of pleasure to Bucky's, who bites his lip to suppress a moan.

It's short lived as hips stutter against her own, coating her walls with his warm cum.

Steve barely gives her time to recover, positioning her on his hands and knees before hovering over her ear and nibbling on it. "My turn, honey."

***

Her hands nervously shake, the kitchen table is all set up, dinner is ready but at the moment she doesn't have an appetite.

Between this morning sickness, the overall change her body is under going, food makes her sick. The opening of the front door makes her sit up straight, sucking in a deep breath.

Two voices conversationing in the hall, "I thought I said for you to lock the door when we leave." Buck is clearly annoyed, it's been a long day but Steve rubs his shoulders, mumbling something incoherent.

Upon entering the kitchen, they both grow worried. Face drained of color, red blotchy eyes with shaky hands.

"Hey, hey." Steve drops to his knees in front of her seat in an instant, hands curling around her wrist as worried steel blue eyes follow his stance, reaching over to stroke her cheek. "What is it? What happened?"

"I'm pregnant." She pauses, "I'm scared, I'm scared. What if someone comes for you? How are we supposed to raise a baby? What if it has the serum, will it ever be safe?"

The questions fill Bucky with dread, how much though put into every sentence, every word is like a new hit of pain to his body but he stays strong. For his girl, he leans forward, wiping the tears away from discolored cheeks. "Everything is going to be fine babydoll, you're going to be fine, our baby is going to be fine."

[watchmegetobsessed]

Crash Course - Bucky Barnes

a/n: this one? im in LOVE with this fic and im not even ashamed of it. there is just something about the MC helping him get used to living in the new century and im a sucker for it. so please enjoy this fluffy piece!

pairing: Bucky X Reader

word count: 3.6k

summary: Bucky is a regular at the café where you work at and seeing him struggling with technology, you offer to help him, teaching him the basics while you are both thinking about taking it a little further than just a crash course.

masterlist

The time between the morning rush and lunch time is always quiet, the café is almost completely empty, that’s why Bucky prefers to go out during that time, tuck himself away in the corner of the small but cozy place, a black coffee steaming on the wooden table in front of him, his laptop or a book or his phone reserving his attention, whatever he decides to put his energy into that day.

Today has been a rainy day, therefore the morning was a lot quieter than usually, not many likes to make an extra trip for a coffee in the pouring rain, so you’ve been enjoying the calmness, the soft jazz music playing through the speakers as you are putting away the freshly washed cups behind the counter. As if he has an appointment, Bucky walks into the café with a laptop under his arm, his cap hiding part of his face, but you can still see the shy smile on his lips as he closes the door behind him, the little bell chiming for a second time at his arrival.

“Welcome back, the usual?” you ask as he heads to his spot.

“Yes please,” he nods, shooting you a thankful smile.

You try to ignore the little butterflies in your stomach at the sight of the man, it’s almost ridiculous how you still get nervous when you see him, even though he has been showing up every day at the same time for the past about two months. You just can’t help it, there’s just something in those ocean eyes and perfect manner he always treats you with, something you don’t often get these days. Not many take the time to ask about your day or wish you a good one after you hand them their coffee, but Bucky is different. The same question falls from his lips every time you appear at his table with his order.

“How has your day been going?” he asks when you place the cup next to his laptop that’s loading.

“Pretty quiet, the rain keeps people away,” you chuckle, hoping your blush is not as apparent as it feels. “What about yours?”

“Just the same as usual,” he smiles softly and you nod, though you have no idea what’s usual for him. He might be friendly and quite welcoming when he is sitting at the café, he often chats with you about anything and everything, yet still, you know near nothing about him and his life outside of this place. It’s clear he is the kind of person that prefers to keep things to himself, but sometimes you are so desperate for just the smallest crumb of information about him. With the lack of details, you often find yourself making up things about him, like what his favorite dish is, where he likes to shop, what shows he watches on the TV. You might be entirely wrong about all of these, but it’s all you have.

Moving back behind the counter you busy yourself with cleaning it off as Bucky’s attention shifts to the screen in front of him. There are only two more customers in there and they are quite locked away in their own world as well, a college student working on some kind of assignment on her second espresso and an old lady solving Sudoku at the table near the window, sipping on a nice latte.

You can’t help but glance in his direction every now and then as you move the muffins around on the counter. He seems deeply focused, eyebrows knitted together as he is clicking away on the computer. From the looks of it, he is solving some kind of enigma, but when you walk past his table you see that he has an email open on the screen, his cursor moving around kind of aimlessly.

“Not finding the right words?” you ask, stopping to clean the table next to his that was previously occupied by a young couple. His eyes snap up to you before he huffs shaking his head.

“No, I’m just… terribly bad at IT stuff and I’m supposed to “CC” someone on this email,” he explains, using his fingers to air-quote as he glances back at the screen. “But if I’m being honest I don’t even know what it means,” he admits with a nervous chuckle.

You find it amusing, even cute that he is like an old man with these stuff. You’ve seen him struggling to type in a text message before on his flip phone that’s from the last century for sure and now this.

Placing the tray of cups down on the table you move over to him, taking the free chair next to him as you reach for the laptop, but you stop before touching it.

“May I…?”

“Go ahead,” he gestures with a nod.

You turn the device towards yourself as you click a few times, bringing up the option to send a copy of the email to another receiver.

“CC means that more people get the same email. You can put their addresses here. But you can also BCC people, in that case, the original receiver won’t see if the email was sent to others as well,” you explain patiently. Bucky tries his best to focus on the screen and what you’re saying, rather than the way your lips are moving and how badly he wants to taste them.

You haven’t been the only one feeling flustered and like a giddy teenager and Bucky didn’t choose this café as his usual spot for nothing. He spotted you the first time he stumbled in and the way you smiled brightly at everyone and the sweet chiming of your laughter made him want to come back the moment he stepped out that day. So he returned the next day and then the next day again… and now he couldn’t even imagine a day without seeing your eyes light up when he walks in while he can only hope you are just as happy to see him as he is to see you.

You help him send his email and you cheer in victory once it’s done and sent.

“See? It’s not as hard as it seems,” you smile at him gently, patting his arm that’s covered by a hoodie and your eyes fall onto his gloved hands on the tabletop.

“Yeah, I just have a lot of catching up to do from the past seven decades,” he mumbles under his breath, though he immediately regrets not keeping his mouth shut.

Your eyes flicker to his hand once again, then up to meet his gaze and he knows he just outed himself. He is expecting the usual: disgust, disappointment, even fear. That’s how most people react when they find out who he really is. But as he stares back at you, scared like a little kitten, you just smile back at him softly.

It’s not that you haven’t heard of the Avengers, because it’s impossible not to know who they are. You were just not expecting one of them to become a regular at your working place. The few times you saw him on TV he had long hair and his face was covered with a mask, so you’re not surprised you didn’t put the picture together. But knowing now who he is, you don’t see him in a worse lighting. If anything, you feel a little sad that he had to go through so much in his extremely long life.

“Well, feel free to ask any more questions. I’m not an IT guy, but I can help you with everyday stuff,” you tell him and he is in awe at your very normal, very sweet reaction. All he can do is nod as you stand from the table and grab the tray you abandoned not long ago, moving back behind the counter.

When you glance up your gaze meets his as he is still staring at you, nervous, a little anxious, but definitely relieved by your smooth reaction to finding out his identity. You shoot him a bright smile before moving to the table of the old lady who asks for another latte and as Bucky follows your frame move across the room he can’t help the small smile that tugs on his lips.

Your offer doesn’t stay unused. In fact, Bucky shows up at the café the next few days with a handful of questions for you, genuine ones, and a few he already knows the answer to, but wants to hear you explain them anyway. And you help him with anything, sitting at his table whenever you have a few free minutes between customers. He asks you about the internet, social media, online data bases and sources, going through a list from the little notebook he always keeps with himself.

The times spent with him are your favorite part of the day. You always look forward to whatever issue Bucky is going to bring up, fearing that one day he might run out of questions, but that just never comes. And you don’t know it, but your little sessions are the highlights of his days as well, listening to your smooth voice as you explain even the smallest things to him with so much patience, he is convinced you should become a teacher.

He thinks about asking you out every day, the question is always on the tip of his tongue.

What are you doing tonight? Would you want to go out with me? Do you want to grab a bite with me after your shift?

However he just never gets to actually say the words out loud. He is growing impatient with himself, he used to have no problem with asking girls out, but seven decades and another life as a brain-washed assassin later, this task feels way too impossible.

You’ve been telling him to get a smartphone for the past couple of days and though he seemed adamant, one day he shows up with a brand new one, still in the box.

“Oh my God, is that what I think it is?” you tease him with a dramatic gasp. Chuckling to himself he nods as he places the box to the counter while you are making the order of one of the customers. Today has been a little busier than usually, probably because of the special offer of 10% off from the new Cuban coffee beans your boss ordered in.

“I need a teacher to show me the ropes though.”

“Oh, Bucky, I would love to, but today is a bit crowded,” you pout as you put the lid onto the paper cup and hand it over to the customer, another one already walking in, eyeing the offer written on the black board behind you.

He didn’t even think you wouldn’t say yes, it never occurred to him that the timing might not be the best. You see as his smile slowly disappears from his scruffy face and your heart breaks seeing him like this.

“Yeah, sorry. Don’t want to keep you up,” he mumbles feeling defeated, but before he could grab the box from the counter, you put your hand on it, your fingers brushing against his gloved one, the tiny touch making both of you flustered.

“But how about after work?” you suggest and his eyes immediately light up. Spending time with you without any customers interrupting? That sounds like heaven to him.

“Y-you sure? If you have something to do, I—“

“Nothing to do,” you smile at him. You grab a napkin from the counter and a pan from near the cash register, quickly scribbling down your address before handing it over to him. “I’ll be home by seven,” you inform him as he glances down at your handwriting, noting how well it fits your personality. He then looks back at you nodding, as if he was just handed the best Christmas present ever.

“I’ll be there,” he smiles gratefully before stepping away from the counter and letting you work.

 Five minutes after seven, Bucky is standing at your front door with a bag of Chinese food in his hands as he is trying to build up the courage to ring your doorbell. He found out that you live just a few corners away from the café, so he found your address easily.

“Come on, dude. Don’t be such a loser,” he mumbles to himself as he circles his shoulders before finally pushing the button. A short, buzzing sound is heard from the other side of the door and he stares at the 6B sign in front of you as he hears footsteps from inside. A few moments later the door swings open and there you are, still wearing the same clothes from earlier, a bright smile adorning your face as you beam at your guest.

“Come on in!” you gesture for him as he steps into the small apartment. “Tried to clean up a bit, but if I’m being honest I’m starting to grow out this place,” you chuckle as you push a box out of the way. It’s a small studio apartment with everything cramped into one space except the bathroom. You have a double bed pushed up against the wall in the corner, a small sofa with your wardrobe next to it, a TV, a tiny coffee table, a bookshelf and a dresser, a little dining table near the kitchen with three chairs and a pantry right next to the fridge that stands where the hardwood floor changes into checkered tiles. It really is a tiny space that holds a lot of stuff, but all the gadgets and clutter makes it cozy, lived-in, a place that’s so much like you that he feels like he is peeking inside your head as he walks farther inside.

“I brought dinner,” he shyly holds the bag up as you lock the door.

“Oh, you shouldn’t have!” you smile at him gratefully, because you didn’t really have time to buy anything on your way home since you had to make a quick trip to the post office after your shift, leaving you no spare time before his arrival.

“It’s the least I can do for all the help,” he smiles as you take the bag from him and bring it to the designated living room area of the place. Bucky joins you on the sofa and he thanks all higher powers your place is so small that you only have a loveseat, giving him the chance to sit close to you. Your thigh brushes against his as you hand him a box and make yourself comfortable as well, starting your feast while he asks you about your day, listening to your every word intently.

When the food is gone and you’ve grabbed two beers for the two of you, he pulls out the phone that’s the reason behind his visit. He bought a simple one, not at all one of the latest versions and it’s going to be the perfect model for him to learn the ropes on.

You help him put his SIM card into the new phone and then you set his account up before finally gaining access to the phone. You start with the basic features, showing him how to make a call or send a text before moving onto the different apps and possibilities while he listens to you as if you were talking about rocket science, but in a way, it feels like that for him.

“And here you can switch to the front camera,” you explain as you push the button and suddenly, the two of you come into picture on the screen. “Perfect for taking selfies,” you add with a chuckle.

“Oh, selfies. I’m not too good with those,” he huffs shaking his head.

“Because you probably haven’t found your angle!” you smirk. “Everyone has a good angle.”

“You think so?” you knits his eyebrows together.

“Mhm, look!”

Opening the contacts you go to yours, choosing the option to add a picture that will show up on the screen when you call him, and open the camera to take one instead of choosing from the empty gallery. Holding up the phone you position it so your good angle is in the picture before snapping the photo and saving it as your caller ID.

“See?” you smile at him before handing the device back to him. He just nods, even though he can only think about how all your angles are perfect to him and that now he has a picture of you in his phone. “Let’s take one together!” you beam and moving closer to him you take the phone once again, holding it up in front of you, trying to fit both of you into the frame.

Bucky tries his best to focus on the picture, but he can’t ignore how close you are to him, he can smell your shampoo and your cheek is almost pressed against his as you smile into the camera. The corners of his mouth curl up as his eyes fix at your reflection on the screen before you snap the photo. Opening up the camera roll you take a better look at it and it’s probably your favorite photo that has ever been taken of you. Mostly because he is in it as well, smiling so sweetly.

“It’s a good one,” you say and as you turn your head to the side you realize how close you really are to him.

“Yeah?” he breathes out, definitely aware of just the few inches separating the two of you.

“I-if you had an Instagram I would tell you to post it…” you stutter as your eyes flicker down to his lips, the urge to lean in and kiss him growing with each passing second.

Feeling a little dizzy, one of your hands fall to his lower arm, the one that’s made out of metal and your gaze drops to where you are touching him, a panic filled look flashing through his eyes.

He thinks that this is where the moment is ruined, where you realize the monster he really is and decide you don’t want anything to do with him. He almost starts to apologize for God knows what reason when you reach out and your fingers start to work on the straps of his gloves. It takes a few moments for him to realize what you are doing, and he tries to pull his hand back, but you grab it stopping him from doing it.

“It’s alright,” you smile at him softly, your eyes meeting his as you finish what you started and pull the glove off his hand revealing the metal underneath the leather. Then you move onto his other hand and do the same, dropping the pair of gloves to the floor as you take both his hands in yours, thumbs running across his knuckles, feeling the difference between his own hand and the artificial one.

You see his jaw flexing at the touch and reaching up you cup his cheek in your palm, making him to look you in the eyes. The strong and confident man you see sometimes is gone now, fear and hesitation taking over his expression as your other hand keeps holding his vibranium one.

“I’m sorry,” it falls from his lips as he closes his eyes for a second.

“For what exactly?” you ask with a soft chuckle. “There’s nothing wrong with you. You don’t have to hide yourself around me.”

“You don’t find it… scary?”

“Not at all,” you assure him. “You can’t be held accountable for what happened to you. Anyone who thinks differently is just an ignorant asshole,” you add grinning and it finally breaks his fearful expression, planting a smile on his handsome face.

Keeping your hand on his cheek you lean closer, your nose touching his but you stop before your lips could meet, giving him the chance to pull back. But he never does. Instead, he closes the gap between the two of you, pressing his lips against yours, finally making the fantasy you both have been daydreaming about reality. He starts off slowly, savoring each other gently, getting accustomed to the feeling, but it doesn’t take long before the kiss grows hungrier and your tongues meet in the middle.

Your hands rest at the base of his neck while his find your waist, pulling you closer until you swing a leg over him, sitting on his lap as you smile against his lips. His kisses feel delicate and soft yet very passionate at the same time, you love the dynamic you create, tugging and biting each other playfully, it feels like kissing him is the sole purpose of your life.

When it gets hard for you to breathe you pull back, eyes opening and finding his flushed face as he stares back at you with bright, joyous eyes, his lips slightly swollen, already making you want to go back to where you were just a moment ago.

“Who knew selfies could be so much fun,” he jokes making you laugh, his heart fluttering in his chest at the sound that’s so dear to him.

“I’m glad you liked my crash course on smart phones,” you grin down at him, your fingers tracing the sharp line of his jaw. “Do you have any more questions?”

Smirking his hand, his flesh one, moves up your back as he presses you closer, your lips almost touching his.

“Oh, I’ve got plenty,” he chuckles before kissing you again eagerly.

Thank you for reading, please like and reblog if you enjoyed it!

[timextoxhajima]

RESONANCE BEACH: Fly Away With Me

RESONANCE BEACH masterlist [to be linked]

member: best friend! jaehyun x reader

genre: fluff and angst

wc: 1.3k

warnings: swearing

synopsis: our hearts are trapped in the same dream

"do you feel better?"

"mm, i think it depends on what we're talking about."

jaehyun chuckles, not bothering to look up from his feet sinking into the sand as he walks. his eyes are slightly squinted from the sun, but only because he's blocking you and using his shadow to keep you out of the sunlight.

"regardless, i hope this isn't a wasted trip. didn't drag you across the country for a road trip only for you to not feel any better."

"uh huh," you snicker and hold your palm over your eyes to look up at him. "i mean, i do. it's just... it's gonna take a while."

he nods, looking up on the other side when he hears a dog bark.

it feels like a million years since you first met jaehyun. he grew up well, as attested by the number of girls on his tail in school. yeah, you know it's cliche. the boy best friend who glowed the hell up and suddenly became the famous, popular jock friend.

but it's not like you hung out with him in school that much - or at least enough for the girls to pick on you.

they know you are friends and a good number of them have done enough homework to know that jaehyun's been your best friend for more than a decade but he hangs out with his big ol' boy gang in school.

leaves you out of the spotlight.

that is - until jaehyun self-elected himself as your personal therapist, bodyguard and chauffeur when your boyfriend decides to dump you on graduation night.

whilst it was fun watching jaehyun being held back by johnny and taeyong from bashing the boy's face in, it really wasn't funny having his words play over and over and over again in your head like a broken record.

"i didn't want to break up with you before graduation because i didn't want to be the reason why you failed your exams."

"i didn't wanna wake you up but we're almost there," jaehyun mumbles under his breath, obviously tired from the driving as well. the car slows to a stop at a red light, and he taps on his phone mounted to the dashboard to stop the GPS tracking.

you shuffle and sniffle lightly, pushing yourself up on the passenger's seat and looking out the window. it's a pretty row of shophouses, and the cafes and restaurants along the road were probably more aesthetic than their menus were.

the restaurant - chosen by jaehyun simply hitting a digital bottle on his phone and picking the one the mouth landed on - was something more like a jazz bar with classy ribs and al funghi linguines.

he didn't really care that you weren't hungry, not when he was.

the strawberry milkshake slurps loudly as he inhales, his hands tightly gripping onto the glass as the both of you watch haechan and mark bicker in the group chat.

you wouldn't describe your friendship with jaehyun as stellar; role model-like. it's not.

you've had your fair share of fights with him- yelling at each other, physical fighting (and by physical fighting, you truly do mean pulling his hair and sometimes he shoves you too).

of course, you'd only allow it because you've given him so many 'gender-equality' speeches, and on top of that, the 15-year friendship? not going to stop him from picking a physical fight with you.

but jaehyun knows when to stop. he knows if he's gone too far or how many more words he can hurl at you before you crack under pressure.

he knows how far he can go before you need to be held in his arms, crying into his shirt and letting you hit him and shove him away - yeah, i know what you're thinking.

sounds like a boyfriend. sounds like that universally known best friends-who-are-probably-in-love-with-each-other trope. it does.

and it is.

the thing is - we already knew.

kind of.

it's in the sweets and snacks he used to give you before and after school if you weren't dating anybody. he was careful not to when you had a boyfriend, but otherwise... you'd lost count of how many people would ask if you two were dating.

you were pretty sure jaehyun had lied and told people you were dating, but it never got out far enough for word to spread. especially not when you were the uglier, quieter best friend of the duo.

"you should ask them to pack the truffle fries, we're not gonna be able to finish it."

jaehyun looks up from his phone and squints at you. "try me."

"you're gonna puke later when you realise you've eaten more than you can digest."

"when have i ever had so much that i can't digest it?"

gently rolling your eyes, you sigh and sink back into the sofa seat. the fries crunch as he jabs the pieces with his fork, shoving them into his mouth like he hadn't had a plate of pasta and some chicken nuggets.

it does get boring with jaehyun sometimes because he's so mellow with his friends he doesn't get into as much shit as the younger ones do; he's never the source of drama.

but he's comforting when you're back at the beach (only because the holiday house was a 5-minute walk from it), and he's holding your shoes because you're too busy screaming about your skirt getting wet.

it's not uncommon for people to question your friendship with him, because you were either too similar or too much of an opposite from each other. most people think he's sweet and caring - which he is - but not with you.

he's brutal and has a strange sense of tough love - because he knows that's the kind you need.

"scream any more and you'll just about wake the rest of the neighbourhood up," he groans, knowing when to step back when the waves crash into your calves.

"why are they so fucking irregular-" you stumble and step clumsily all over the sand, the water and grains getting stuck to your legs and all over your skirt. finally, you give in and strut away from shore, leaving footprints in the sand as you walk towards him.

"think you just lack a sense of rhythm and pacing," he sniggers, yawning as he turns to face the holiday house.

you snort, used to his mockery. reaching out to get your shoes, jaehyun simply turns and walks off with them in his hands.

you'll never deny loving jaehyun - in whatever ways anybody else can imagine or experience, you probably have that with him.

platonic. romantic. hate.

what do people really mean when they say soulmates?

is it the way they complete each other or the way they complement one another?

is it the way they bicker but make up in hot kisses or lovingly press their foreheads together and wish till death does them apart?

god, actually - anything but those.

the thought tickles a funny bone in you, and jaehyun hears your giggle when he comes out of the bathroom with damp hair and his water-spotted shirt.

"what is it? thought of a new insult for me?"

"maybe," you rub your eyes and turn to look at him, giving him a tiny smile before turning back to the ocean stretched out beyond the balcony.

"guess I'm never gonna find that out then," he groans as he sits, pulling his feet in and hugging the arches. "i do hope this trip was a-"

"yeah, it was," you whisper, just loud enough for him to hear. "thanks."

"you're welcome."

you look down through the corners of your eyes and catch him staring at you, eyes glimmering like the stars you could see in the night sky.

"you're lucky we've known each other for like half our lives now, else i wouldn't hesitate to punch a tooth out from your mouth."

he chuckles, reaching over to press his knuckle into your thigh. "but you won't. you love me too much to do that."

a snort runs through your throat.

probably.

[biaswreckingfics]

Transcendent

Pairing: Kang Yeosang x Reader

Genre: Soulmate!AU, Angst, Fluffy ending

Word Count: 9.5k

Summary: You are born with the first words you ever hear your soulmate say permanently marked on your arm, but what happens when your soulmate turns out to be your best friend’s boyfriend and neither of them are willing to end the relationship? Find out in Transcendent.

Soulmates.

The concept of soulmates was kind of funny to you.

The idea that there was one person out there for everyone on a planet filled with billions of people, and you were somehow supposed to find them during a short human lifespan, was wild.

Of course, some people believed in fate and thought that the universe would pull the two souls in the right direction so they could find each other. You didn't know if you believed in that, but something was out there making it happen because you had seen soulmates finding each other with your own eyes.

It was a weird sight to witness. They would be standing there talking to someone or quietly walking by themselves when they would just stop like they were frozen in time. A slow turn would come to reveal their other half and the change that overcame the two individuals was undeniable.

It was ineffable.

There wasn't a physical change that you could see with your eyes, but something shifts within each person, and you always wondered what that was like.

You had always wondered what it would be like to find the one who was meant for you. The one who would be your other half. You didn't want to be one of those people who gushed over their soulmates and constantly talked about the day you would meet them, but your friends knew how badly you wanted to meet your soulmate.

They would catch you running your fingers over the light tattoo on your inner forearm that everyone was born with in curiosity, but you didn't want to make too much of a big deal about it. They knew a part of you yearned to meet the person who would understand you like no one else, and they all wanted that for you.

That didn't mean all of your friends were on the same page as you. Sure, there were some who were, but others wanted to live in the "now", and of course, you didn't blame them.

Nobody knew when they would meet their soulmate, and you understood them wanting to find happiness with another partner in the present, instead of waiting for the future. You had also dated around here and there, but it had never felt right to you. It always felt bland and less colorful than you had hoped.

Your best friend was one of those people who wanted to live in the "now". The ones who hopped into relationships knowing their soulmate was out there probably searching for them without a care.

She had been in five different relationships over the years that you would consider to be somewhat serious, but you were always the first to know and she would share every little nauseating detail with you. That's why you were shocked when she called you to gush about her new boyfriend of a month.

How had she managed to go an entire month without telling you about this mysterious man she was falling for? Where did she even meet him, and why did she wait so long to tell you about it?

"I know he's not my soulmate, Y/N, but he's... perfect."

You quietly sit there and take in Mijung's words in slight disbelief. The two of you have been best friends for well over a decade, and you knew that while Mijung liked to jump into new things, she tended to get over them relatively quickly. It was stunning how much she seemed to be into this guy.

"How come I'm just now hearing about him?" You ask curiously.

Mijung is silent for a good minute and you wonder if she even plans on answering you. "I knew you wouldn't completely agree with our relationship... especially when I tell you how different this one seems..."

The seriousness of her tone catches you off guard. You have never heard Mijung this serious about a guy, and you had to admit, a small part of you was starting to get worried. If they cared about each other this much already... What will they do when they meet their soulmates?

"What's different about this one?"

Mijung takes a deep breath like she's preparing to launch into all the reasons he's so much better than the rest. "At first, we were just having fun. Nothing too serious because we knew we weren't each other's soulmates... but then it just naturally grew into something more. Maybe it's all in my head, but I feel some type of pull towards him, and I know it's quick, but I love him."

Your mouth drops open in shock at her admission, but before you can fully process what she's telling you, she continues to drop another bomb on you.

"What if there has been some type of mistake? What if we were supposed to be soulmates instead?"

You pull your phone away from your ear to check that you are really talking to your best friend. When you do in fact see her contact ID, you bring it back to your ear in confusion. You've never heard your friend talk like this. Ever.

"Mijung... That's never happened before. You know there are no mistakes when it comes to the soulmate tattoo."

"I know, but - "

"Mijung." You unapologetically cut her off.

She sighs loudly in your ear before relenting. "I know... I know the tattoo is never wrong, and I know we're not soulmates... I just wish we were."

"What are you going to do when one of you finds your soulmate?"

Her silence on the other end lets you know you're not going to like whatever she has to say. Whenever Mijung is silent, you know it's because she doesn't want to admit something to you.

"We want to be together. No matter what." She finally says with determination. "If one of us happens to find our soulmate... It's not going to change anything."

You blink a few times, taking in what she's telling you. Now it all made sense why she was hesitant to say anything. She knew you wouldn't agree with ignoring your soulmate when you found them. That wasn't how society worked.

Everyone waits for the day they meet their soulmate. The day colors seem more vibrant and sounds seem more celestial. The day everything in your world clicks into place... and they were just willing to ignore it? To let both of their soulmates go on without them because they thought they wanted to be together instead?

"So, you're just going to say, 'screw your soulmates'?"

She sighs heavily. "Look, I know you're excited to meet your soulmate, but I'm happy with Yeosang. We're happy, and we want to stay together."

When you stay silent, she lets out yet another sigh. "Please, don't be mad at me..."

"I'm not mad at you. You're both grown adults and you can do whatever you want. I don't agree with it, but I can't do anything to stop it, either, so..." You trail off, not sure what else to say at this point.

"Fair enough... but... how would you feel about meeting him?"

"Excuse me?"

"Please, Y/N." Mijung pleads. "I really want the two of you to meet! I know you'll both get along really, really well."

The excitement and happiness in her voice makes you feel slightly guilty for mentally shitting on their relationship.  If your best friend was happy... that was really all you could ask for.

As you agree to meet him, your eyes fall to the tattoo on your forearm. The words that you knew by heart staring back at you in a slightly lighter shade than your skin tone.

Once you hang up with Mijung, you lightly run your fingers over the words like you've been itching to do ever since you started talking about soulmates. The familiar phrase bringing a small smile to your face like it always does.

“It's freaking gray, you dolt.”

You had always wondered what type of conversation spurs those words on, and a twinge of excitement fills you when you think about the day you'll actually find out. The day you'll finally hear the first words of your soulmate.

You try not to get too lost in your imagination, and honestly, it's pretty easy to pull yourself out of it when you think about what Mijung had told you. Would the couple really say, "screw their soulmates" and stay together? Well... you guess you were just going to have to wait and see. Hopefully, for the sake of their soulmates... you never find out.

A few days later, Mijung is hosting a small get-together so her and Yeosang's friends could meet, and so you could finally meet the mystery man himself. She swore only a few people would be there besides you. Thankfully, your other best friend Yunho was going to be there, which was going to help calm your nerves and make you feel less anxious. Especially since Mijung warned you that Yeosang's friends could be a handful.

As soon as you woke up this morning, something felt different. You couldn't place your finger on it, but you knew, without a doubt, something was going to happen today. You just hoped it was something good.

With that in mind, you decide to dress up a little nicer today instead of your normal hoodie and yoga pants. You put on a cozy beige sweater and a pair of flattering skinny jeans that tucked into your brown booties perfectly. You spruced your hair up just enough that it looked like you actually attempted to make it look nice, but not enough that you looked like you were trying too hard. Adding a dainty gold necklace to complete the look, you were satisfied with what you saw in the mirror and quickly headed over to Mijung's.

Once you walk into her apartment, without feeling the need to knock since you were there almost as much as you were at home, you can hear booming laughter coming from the kitchen. You quietly close the door and take a moment to gather yourself before entering what already sounded like chaos.

The first person you spot when you round the corner is your tall, brown-haired, best friend Yunho. He notices you at almost the same exact moment and his eyes immediately light up while a giant smile grows on his face.

"Y/N!"

He strides over to you in two steps thanks to his long legs and pulls you into a tight hug. You welcome the hug from the giant puppy and feel some of your anxiety immediately disappear. If there was one thing Yunho was good at, it was making you feel safe and comforted.

"Hey, Yunho."

"Well... I don't have Yunho's name on my arm." You hear someone sigh from behind him.

A muttered “me either” has you pulling away from your friend and peeking around him. He moves out of the way and turns toward the two strangers in the kitchen with him.

Your eyes immediately fall on two ridiculously attractive black-haired males. One with full lips and a more hawkish nose and the other with small eyes and sharp cheekbones. When the latter smiles, two dimples appear on his cheeks, making him look younger than he did two seconds ago.

"Y/N, this is Wooyoung and San, Yeosang's friends." Yunho introduces you.

"Hi, I'm not your soulmate." The one who Yunho gestured was Wooyoung says.

The other one, San, side-eyes his friend before coming over to you and shaking your hand. "I'm also not your soulmate, but I'll at least be nice about it. My name is San."

"What did I say that was mean?" Wooyoung loudly asks.

As the two discuss what would and wouldn't be considered rude for a greeting at top volume, you glance over at Yunho in question. He nods his head, answering your unasked question.

"They've been like this since I got here."

Before you can respond, you hear Mijung ask the two bickering boys, "Why are you two like this?"

She enters the kitchen with the question and looks over at Yunho in exasperation. When she notices you, she lets out a high-pitched squeal that causes the two dark-haired boys to fall silent.

"You're here!" She happily says while bouncing over to give you a quick hug. "Let me go grab Yeosang real quick, so you can finally meet him!"

As she rushes out of the kitchen, you turn to Yunho and say, "She says so I can finally meet him like I didn't just learn of his existence a few days ago."

Yunho nods in agreement. "She just told me a week ago too."

Your head snaps up to the taller man in disbelief. "She told you first?"

A sheepish expression crosses his face as you mull over his words. You temporarily forget the other two are even there until San gets your attention.

"Yeosang's really nice. You'll like him. Though, he is pretty quiet sometimes, so you might have to pull the conversation out of him."

Wooyoung nods along, adding, "Don't let him fool you, either. He's a savage and will attack when you least expect it."

You hum in thought. Mijung was quite talkative, so you were sure the two balanced each other out in that way.

"Have you guys known him long?" Yunho asks.

"He's been my best friend for years. I probably know him better than anyone else." Wooyoung proudly tells the two of you.

You couldn't help but ask their opinions on your friend's apparent whirlwind romance. "What do you think about their relationship?"

Wooyoung shrugs his shoulders. "If they haven't found their soulmates yet, who cares?"

San glances at the wall across from him for a couple seconds before his eyes come back to you. "I don't think it's right. Especially when they say they're going to stay together regardless of what happens."

Yunho's eyebrows furrow and you figure this is the first he's hearing about this. Before you can ask him what he thinks, Wooyoung scoffs, pulling your attention back to him.

"No one can ignore the soulmate bond. It's over for them as soon as they meet their other half."

The sound of voices coming down the hallway instantly catches your attention. You easily identify Mijung's voice, but the other voice is too deep for you to understand right away.

For some reason, you tense up, but you don't notice until Yunho gives you a weird look. That's also when you notice that you're suddenly holding your breath for some reason. What was wrong with you?

"Are you colorblind, Yeosang? That's blue." You hear Mijung argue.

The most beautiful laugh you’ve ever heard follows her words before you hear a deep voice that shakes you to your core.

"It's freaking gray, you dolt."

At that moment, your world stops. The sounds around you momentarily muffle before suddenly snapping back with a clarity. Their footsteps approaching you become louder and louder with each thud, and a sudden rightness settles into your bones as they get closer. Happiness floods you because you know, without a doubt, you just found your soulmate. Your other half. The person you'll have a connection with that transcends everything.

You feel Yunho bump into your arm and you look over at him in a daze, causing concern to grow on his face. His expression triggers something in your brain, and you're suddenly pulled from the moment when you realize what this means. You found your soulmate... and he was already claiming he never wanted to meet you. He didn't want to start a relationship with you because he wanted to continue being with your best friend, who was apparently in love with him.

With each step that comes closer to you, it gets harder to breathe. It feels like a hand is squeezing tighter and tighter around your throat, and your foggy brain beings to realize that you're panicking.

You had to get out of here. Now. You couldn't meet Yeosang because the second you spoke; the truth would be revealed. Not only would your best friend be devastated, but you would be outright rejected in front of everyone.

Your eyes flash back over to Yunho, who is quietly saying your name and asking if you are alright.

"I need to go."

Confusion flashes in Yunho's eyes. "What?"

"I have to leave." You repeat as you back away from him.

Even you can hear that your words sound desperate, and Yeosang's friends look over at you in confusion. You continue to back away from the three men who are watching you with either concern or like you were crazy.

A strong feeling tells you that Mijung and Yeosang are going to round the corner any second, so you turn and book it for her front door without a backward glance. You run away from her apartment like your life depends on it, and you don't stop until you're in the safety of your own.

Once you shut your apartment door, you lean back against it and try to take deep breaths to get some air back into your lungs. You thank everything in the universe that Mijung only lives five minutes away from you because you wouldn't have been able to go much farther.

You take a few more deep breaths to try to calm down, but you can feel yourself shaking. You don't know if you are shaking from adrenaline, shock, or fear, but you were sure it was a culmination of the three.

You had just found your soulmate. The only person in the world who is meant for you, but he is your best friend's boyfriend and she is apparently in love with him. Not to mention, he is willing to screw you over to be with her.

You feel your phone vibrating in your pocket and pull it out. You stare at your phone as you see Mijung's contact name blaring at you. There was no way you could talk to her right now. You didn't even know what the hell you would say to her in the first place. "Oh, hi.  I'm sorry for just running out like that. By the way, your boyfriend is my soulmate. Isn't that crazy?" Yeah, right.

You hold your phone in your hand until it goes to voicemail and the tiniest sense of relief fills you. You unlock your phone with a sigh and see several missed calls from Mijung and a couple from Yunho… How would you explain any of this to her?

You toss your phone toward your couch and your eyes catch a glimpse of your soulmate mark. The words you had heard Yeosang say not even half an hour ago. The words you were once so excited to hear, but now cause your heart to stutter in panic.

---------------------------------------

Over the next couple of weeks, Mijung tries a countless number of times to get you and Yeosang to meet, and every single time you came up with an excuse or a way to get out of it, just like the night you had found out he was your soulmate.

Once you had finally returned her multiple missed calls, you came up with the excuse that you had suddenly felt very nauseous and needed to leave. She thought it was a little odd but didn't question it too much.

That excuse could only work so many times, though, so you came up with many others like you had to work or your parents needed you for something, but you knew Mijung was suspicious of why you suddenly never had time. You knew your window of time was closing, and you would have to meet him eventually.

You wished you could say a part of you was surprised when Mijung ended up calling you out, but you knew it was going to happen sooner or later. Mijung wasn't the type of person to accept "no" as an answer, and certainly not as many times as you have said it. You were slightly surprised you got away with it as long as you had.

"I know you're avoiding meeting him, Y/N," she tells you through the phone. "So, you can stop giving me all of these excuses."

You can hear the irritation in her voice, and while a part of you feels bad, the other part of you doesn't. This wouldn't even be happening right now if her and Yeosang weren't being selfish and stubborn.

She sighs in your ear. "Is it because you don't agree that we should be together?"

"They're not excuses, Mijung," you lie through your teeth. "I've just been busy lately."

Her silence lets you immediately know she's not believing a word you say.

"Look, it's not like he's even met his stupid soulmate yet, anyway, so why does it bother you so much?"

Even though she didn't know it, her words were like a slap to the face, and you sat there in disbelief that your friend was behaving this way. You mentally scoff. His stupid soulmate was also her stupid best friend.

You take a deep breath before mumbling that you have to go and hang up the phone.

You knew you had two options. You could meet him and let the truth come out and bask in the awkwardness that will inevitably ensue... or you could stay away and willingly lose the friendship you had with Mijung.

You knew your friendship with Mijung was going to take a hit either way. She would either be hurt by the truth or she'd never forgive you for continuously avoiding meeting the person she was "in love with".

Both options had pros and cons, and there were things you needed to consider before you decided what you were going to do. If you decided to go and meet Yeosang, you would finally get to know what your soulmate looked like. You would finally know if he was short or tall, a manly man or a pretty boy, but you would also be rejected by the one person on this planet who was supposed to want to be with you.

The pro to the second option was avoiding hurting your friend while also avoiding the rejection they apparently were going to give you, but it also meant that you were willingly giving up your soulmate and your decade-long friendship with Mijung.

Neither option sounded appealing to you, and a part of you hated both of them for making you have to decide between a rock and a hard place. You didn’t want to give up your soulmate. You’ve been waiting for him nearly your entire life, but him wanting to ignore the bond was forcing you to make that decision anyway, and since rejection hurts a hell of a lot more than curiosity, you choose the latter.

---------------------------------------

For the next few weeks, you spend most of your time with either Yunho or by yourself. Once Mijung realized you were doing your best to never meet Yeosang, she obviously grew upset. In her eyes, you were mad about what her and Yeosang were doing, and you never bothered to correct her. It would be far worse for her to find out he was your soulmate than for her to think you thought they were being stupid. Which they were so it wasn't like she was far off.

After the first week, she had thankfully given up on trying to get the two of you to meet and has spent the last couple of weeks avoiding you like you were her. Of course, it hurt. It hurt to treat your close friend like this and to have her treat you like this, but it hurt more knowing that your soulmate was so close to you, yet so far away. You could live with losing Mijung’s friendship, but you weren’t sure you could continue ignoring your soulmate and letting him keep living in their lie. However, besides blowing up their relationship, there was nothing you could do.

Unfortunately, it was all going to come to a head, and quicker than you would've liked.

It was like the universe was determined to make you and your soulmate meet. If it hadn't been Mijung trying to consistently get you to meet Yeosang, it was Yunho begging you to hang out with the three of them, so he wasn't third-wheeling. If it wasn't that, it was apparently the three of you running into each other on the street, and this time, there was no escaping the inevitable.

You had been searching for a birthday present for Yunho when you decided that you needed a coffee, or you were going to collapse on the sidewalk.

Although you may have been dramatic with that statement, something inside of you did start to feel weird, but you couldn't place it. Something... something was going to happen, and soon.

You push the feeling to the side as you approach the entrance of the coffee shop. Once you got your dose of caffeine, you would figure out what this feeling was, but you had zero hopes of doing it right now.

As you go to reach for the handle, the door of the coffee shop pushes open toward you, and you quickly back away to avoid impact.

"Oh my god. I'm so sor... Y/N?"

Your body freezes once you place the voice, and your eyes slowly trail up and meet Mijung's. You open your mouth to say something, but quickly snap it shut once you take in the quiet presence next to her.

Your body and mind scream at you to look at the person next to her. To look at the man you had no doubt was Yeosang, and you try to fight it, but quickly realize there's no hope in fighting the inevitable. Slowly, you look over to the right and try to stop the gasp that leaves you.

Standing before you was a prince. There was no other way to describe him. He was ethereal, otherworldly. His skin was perfection. There wasn't a mark on it besides what looked to be a birthmark near his left eye that made him no less attractive. In fact, it added an allure to him that intrigued you beyond words. His pouty lips complimented his round cheeks in a way that made him seem softer, more delicate.

You meet his brown eyes as they stare at you curiously before you notice his brow furrow in confusion. A weird look crosses his face and that's when you know he can feel the pull because you can feel it too. It was like every fiber of your being wanted you closer to him, wanted you to unite with him.

You shake your head when you hear an "excuse me" and realize the three of you are still blocking the entrance to the coffee shop. You move away and back onto the sidewalk and the couple follows you, much to your dismay. You take in the look on Mijung's face and mentally prepare yourself for what was to come. She knew this was the perfect opportunity for the two of you to finally meet.

"Y/N! I'm so glad we ran into you. I've been dying for you to meet Yeosang!" She says with a spark in her eyes that you can't interpret.

You glance over at him and he offers you a tight-lipped smile. "Hello."

Your eyes fall closed at this voice. It was deliciously deep and may be the most calming thing you've ever heard.

When you realize what you're doing, you snap your eyes open and offer him a small smile and nod. You were determined to not say anything. The last thing you wanted was to cause a scene in the middle of freaking town.

Mijung notices your lack of voice and you can see her frustration build, but you had to remind yourself that you were doing this for her. For both of you. The more you were in Yeosang's presence, though, the less you cared about their relationship.

Why were you so willing to let your soulmate go? Why didn't you deserve a little happiness for once?

Before Mijung can call you out on your behavior, the door to the coffee shop flies open and a group of teens come out, snagging your attention for a moment. You notice the one who opened the door with his back continue to walk backward, but you think nothing of it until he slams right into you.

He spins around in surprise at the collision and spills his warm coffee right onto you. You hear Mijung and Yeosang gasp, while you hiss in shock, expecting his coffee to be hot, but relax when you realize it's more lukewarm than anything. Thank god, because getting burned was not on your list of things to do today.

"Oh my god! Are you okay?" The teenage boy panics.

He grabs napkins from his friend’s hand and begins wiping at the sleeve of your shirt. You look down at what he's doing and see a growing brown stain covering your sleeve. You appreciate his effort, but it's way too late to save it.

"I'm so sorry for ruining your shirt! I'll buy you a new one, I promise!" The boy shouts, still in full panic mode.

You grab his hands in an effort to calm him down, and to stop him from pulling at your shirt some more. You look him directly in the eyes and give him a small smile.

"It's an old shirt, anyway... and I'm okay, really."

"Are you sure? I'm so sorry..."

"Yes. I'm fine. It's not a big deal," you softly tell him.

The teenage boy looks at you like he's not sure if he should believe you before slowly nodding his head.

"I'm really sorry... again..." He tells you as he backs away from you. Realizing that's what got him into trouble the first time, he whips around and hurries after his friends.

You watch him go for a minute and sigh as you feel the liquid on your shirt become cold. Great. Now you were gonna have to... Your mind trails off as you begin to remember what was going on before the coffee incident. Shit...

You slowly turn to look at the couple next to you. Taking a deep breath, your eyes meet Yeosang's shocked ones as he searches your face in wonder.

"You're my soulmate..."

"Yeah..." you softly say.

A noise comes from next to you that snags both of your attention. You look over at Mijung, who was completely frozen beside Yeosang. Heartbreak and pain are clearly etched on her features as she takes in what's happening.

Yeosang looks between the two of you, confusion and sadness crossing his face as he tries to figure out what to do. You remember what Mijung had said when she was telling you about Yeosang. How he apparently didn't care if he found his soulmate and that he wanted to be with her.

A part of you wondered if that would change now that he met you. The soulmate bond was intense and everything in you wanted, needed, to be near Yeosang. Would he really try to ignore the soulmate bond? Did he still want to?

"You're his... That's why you've been ignoring me..."

"Mijung... I'm so sorry..."

"Are you?" She roughly asks while her eyes flash with anger. "You thought we were stupid for ignoring the soulmate bond. You probably think this is what I deserve, don't you?"

Your head jerks back like you've been slapped. "What the hell are you talking about? It's not like I planned this.

"Whatever," she spits before turning and nearly running the opposite way.

Yeosang continues to stand there for a moment, not knowing what to do. His eyes flit between you and Mijung's retreating figure. You see the longing in his gaze, but don't know who it's for.

His eyes fall close, and he takes a deep breath. When he opens them again, he looks back at you.

"I'm sorry..."

Your heart stutters at those words, and you know exactly why he's saying them. He was going after Mijung. He was going to stay with her.

It feels like your heart cracks as Yeosang turns away from you. With each step he takes, it feels like it gets harder to breathe. A part of you likes to think that his slow movements are because he's feeling everything that you do, but you have no way to know for sure. You silently stand there alone as you watch the one person who's supposed to love you walk away.

---------------------------------------

The next couple of weeks pass by in a blur. You fall into a boring, consistent routine of work and home. The only other time you bothered to leave the house was to see Yunho or get groceries.

Life felt like it lost its sparkle ever since your soulmate left you, and it was easy to find yourself staring off into space for long amounts of time. You, also, often found yourself feeling anxious and even a little bit twitchy. Your body knew something wasn't right, and it didn't know what to do about it.

The first week was the hardest. The rejection was still fresh and the knowledge that your soulmate and best friend were together when they knew the truth, was like a slice to the chest.

Avoiding them was easy because they avoided you just as much. It was like they were pretending what they found out didn't happen. They were continuing to live in their fantasy world.

When you got a phone call from Mijung the following week, you were surprised. You weren't ready to talk to her. You didn't want to hear her apologies or excuses, so you ignored it, and the dozens of calls after that. You couldn't really be mad at Mijung for fighting for what she wanted, but that didn't mean you were ready to face her and go back to being normal again.

Yunho respected your thoughts and feelings and didn't try to force you to forgive her, especially when he found out the real reason behind your actions, which you were thankful for. To say he was shocked that Yeosang was your soulmate was an understatement, and he was just as upset with Mijung’s actions as you were.

However, Yunho was always quicker to forgive people than you were. He went back to hanging out with Mijung and Yeosang fairly quickly, and when he asked if you had talked to your soulmate, you were confused. How would you have talked to him? Why would he want to talk to you?

That was the part that hurt the most. Yeosang knew who you were, and he didn't want to do anything about it. He wanted to live in the fantasy world he and Mijung had created, and as much as you wanted to pretend you were okay with it, you weren't.

What would even happen when he and Mijung broke up? Did he think he could come crawling back to you? Finally give his soulmate a chance? You didn't want to be a second choice for anyone, especially your soulmate. No fucking way.

Also, how could you be with someone who was in love with someone else? Your best friend at that? How could you be intimate with someone who had been intimate with your best friend? Who had chosen her? Could you compete with that? With what they had? Did you even want to?

Not to mention, how could the three of you ever be in the same room together? Whether Yeosang was with her or with you? The awkwardness, guilt, and pain the three of you would feel was something you wanted to physically crawl away and hide from.

You pull yourself away from the horrifying and self-deprecating thoughts that were trying to penetrate your mind and look down at your phone with a sigh. Before you could even finish the thought about Yunho being late, the tall man rushes into the coffee shop, his eyes searching for you. Once he spots you, he books it for your table with an apologetic smile.

"I'm so sorry I'm late."

You regard him like you're annoyed, but you really aren't. "I'll forgive you if you buy me a muffin."

"Consider it done," he says, smirking at your ploy to get free food.

You silently watch as he gets up to order himself a coffee and you an apology muffin.

Yunho had asked you to go get coffee with him today because he had something he wanted to talk about with you. You weren't stupid. You knew he wanted to talk to you about Mijung, and his sudden request for a coffee date instead of hanging out at one of your apartments like you usually did, clued you in on it. Especially, when you knew he had hung out with Mijung yesterday.

For the next 30 minutes, you're able to avoid the topics of Mijung, Yeosang, and soulmates all together, but you know Yunho isn't letting you leave this coffee shop until he talks about whatever he wants to talk about.

"They broke up."

You pause with your coffee halfway up to your mouth as you process his words. He takes your actions as an encouragement to continue.

"They tried to make it work for a couple days, but neither of them could move past what happened... That's why Mijung has been calling you."

You clear your throat and put your cup back on the table. What were you supposed to say? That sucks? You're sorry they didn't work out? Because you weren't. Actually... you didn't know what you were.

"I don't really... know what you want me to say?"

Yunho sighs, "Mijung feels really guilty. She knew that you wanted to be with your soulmate... and she knew she was in the way of that..."

"So, she broke up with him?"

Yunho shakes his head no. "It was mutual. She felt guilty and Yeosang... well, Yeosang felt the change. I guess when they say something clicks into place, they're right... Yeosang wants to be with you, or at least get to know you..."

He pauses to take in your reaction, but you offer him nothing. However, he does sigh when he sees your cautious gaze. "I'm not trying to tell you what you should do here, but... he's your soulmate, Y/N. I know you, and I know you're not going to avoid your soulmate for the rest of your life."

You pick your cup back up and bring it to your lips as you avoid Yunho's eyes. He was right. You wanted that soulmate bond, and now that Mijung was out of the way, you could have it, but it still didn't sit right with you.

Once the lukewarm liquid goes down your throat, you ask, "What do you think I should do?"

"Talk to them," Yunho says without hesitation.

You sigh, "I don't know if I'm quite ready to talk to Mijung... and I don't even know how to reach Yeosang."

Yunho tilts his head as an odd look crosses his face. "Yeosang says he's tried calling you quite a few times."

Your brows furrow in confusion before it clicks into place. You had been getting calls from a number you didn't recognize, but you kept ignoring them because you didn't answer calls from unknown numbers. It had been Yeosang calling you this whole time? Why wouldn’t he leave a voicemail or send a text when you continuously didn't answer?

You ponder over what to do the entire trip home. Should you call Yeosang? Wait until he calls you again? What are you going to do about Mijung? You had almost left your coffee date with Yunho with more questions than you originally had, and now you were more frustrated than ever.

You continue to process everything you had learned as you trek up to your apartment. They had tried to make it work... Tried to be together knowing who you were... Mijung knew how much you wanted to be with your soulmate, and Yeosang felt the same things you did when he figured out who you were, but Mijung...

Mijung was standing right in front of you.

You pause in the middle of the hallway and eye Mijung while she stands next to your apartment door. The thought of making a quick escape and avoiding her fleetingly crosses your mind, but the option is quickly taken from you when Mijung's eyes spot you.

"Hey..." She starts, taking a step toward you before stopping.

You take in her twiddling fingers and anxious gaze. She's nervous to talk to you. She's scared you're going to freak out on her or slam the door in her face.

You take a step toward her, and then another until you're outside of your apartment door. Mijung bites her lip as she watches you, but you ignore her and open your door. You don't take a step inside, though. Instead, you wave your hand into your apartment as an "after you" gesture.

Mijung takes the hint, but before she steps all the way into your apartment, she pauses and turns to you. When she throws her arms around you in an awkward hug, you freeze, not expecting it.

"I'm so sorry..."

You bring your hand up and awkwardly pat her back. "Let's get into the apartment before we talk. My neighbors are nosey, and I don't want them to know what's going on."

Mijung nods and pulls away from you. Once you're free from her limbs, you shut your apartment door and walk towards your couch, knowing Mijung will follow you.

When you're both sitting down, Mijung immediately turns to you and picks up from where she left off. "I'm sorry... I shouldn't have tried to continue a relationship with him after finding out you are his soulmate. That was such a shitty thing to do. I know how excited you were to be with your soulmate... but I just loved him. I didn't want to give him up… I was being selfish."

You slowly take in her words. "Believe me... Nobody expected this to happen."

She gives you a sad smile and the two of you fall into silence. You're not surprised when she breaks it because you didn't have much to say at the moment.

"You should call him."

You snap your head to look over at her. "What?"

"Y/N, he's your soulmate. You should be with him," she tells you through misty eyes. "He's a good guy and he deserves to be happy, and you're the one person on this planet that will make him happy. That will complete him."

Surprise floods you at her words. "But what about you?"

She looks away and sighs. "I'll meet my soulmate one day... Who knows? It could even happen tomorrow. Life is odd like that."

You give Mijung a confused look and wonder who the heck this person next to you is. Mijung wasn't wistful like this. She wasn't one to dream about her soulmate.

She looks over and catches the expression on your face, which causes her to laugh. "I know. Who am I? ...Things were great with Yeosang, and if being with your soulmate is even better? Then I want that. For both of us."

"Yeosang wanted to be with you, though... He knew who I was, and he still left with you," you quietly admit part of your fears.

A guilty look crosses her face. "That was... my fault... He didn't want me to be upset, and I was so bound and determined to say, 'screw soulmates', I don't think he even knew what to do. That's why he followed me..."

She pauses like she's working up the nerve to admit to something, and when she finally does, a sick feeling grows in the pit of your stomach.

"Yeosang wasn't the one who wanted to ignore our soulmates... That was all me, and I kept trying to push him into wanting the same thing as I did, but I knew that was over the second he saw you... He stayed with me for those couple of days because I begged him to... but he was different. I think he tried to hide how he was really feeling from me, but it was obvious he didn't want to be there anymore. He was mentally checked out. Distracted, distant, and overall, just sad. When he sat me down to talk, I knew what it was about. He wanted to pursue something with you. He couldn't be with me anymore."

So many thoughts swirled through your head, you didn’t know which one to focus on.

This entire time, you were under the impression that Yeosang didn’t want to be with his soulmate. That he wanted to be with Mijung, and he didn’t care if he met his soulmate or not… but that was all Mijung? It was Mijung’s idea to ignore soulmates? Did he even say those things or was it all just Mijung’s wishful thinking?

Also, they were only together for a couple of days? She begged him to stay with her? A part of you was so mad at Mijung. That she purposely ruined this for you and convinced your soulmate to stay with her. How could she do this to you? To Yeosang?

Then again, another part of you was elated. Yeosang wants to be with you. He’s always wanted to be with his soulmate. He’s even tried contacting you multiple times. He hadn’t really rejected you…

“Yeosang wanted to be with his soulmate?” You ask for clarification. When she meekly nods, you continue. “It was you alone saying, ‘screw soulmates’?”

“Yes… and it was me who tried to continue the relationship afterward. Yeosang’s just too good of a guy to kick me to the curb.”

You hum in thought because what are you supposed to say? If you let your true thoughts and feelings out right now, you might end up smacking Mijung for pulling something so disgusting. For trying to keep soulmates from coming together when they’re two people she claims to “love”.

“Y/N… he’s your soulmate… He wants to be with you, not me, and he always has. Plus, there’s a reason the universe wants the two of you together… so you should call him and meet up.”

Your head was extra fuzzy now as Mijung suggests you call Yeosang again. She had just dumped a shit ton of information on you and it was a lot to process. You were gonna need a clear head before you talk to him about any of this.

While you are trying to work through your inner turmoil, you don’t notice Mijung reaching for your phone until it’s too late. You look up in confusion as she jumps up from your couch. Her head is down as she furiously types something on what you come to realize is your phone.

Before you can jump up and snatch it back, she drops it into your lap with a smile. “This is just the start of me trying to make up for what I did.”

You watch in complete confusion as she makes a beeline for your door before looking down at your phone to see what she did. When you see that the call screen is up and your phone is currently in the process of calling someone, you panic.

You recognize that number. You’ve had multiple missed calls from that number the past couple of weeks.

A deep voice answers the phone and suddenly you forget how to breathe.

“Hello?”

You open your mouth to say something, but absolutely nothing comes out. You can hear Yeosang’s soft breaths as he waits for you to say something, but you can’t make yourself do it.

“Y/N?”

Your eyes fall closed as he softly says your name. You had never heard it sound more beautiful than in that moment. It was almost like a caress. You force your eyes open and take a deep breath. You had to say something before he hung up.

“Hey, Yeosang…”

It’s quiet for a moment before you hear, “It’s really good to hear your voice…”

“Yours too…” You let out a soft laugh. “This is awkward, isn’t it?”

“Only if we let it be.”

The slight determination in his voice eases your anxiety. He was right. It was only going to be awkward if you made it that way. You take another breath.

“Would you like to meet up somewhere?”

“Yes,” he replies without hesitation, almost before you can finish asking.

You hold back the laugh that wants to come out and suggest meeting at a park close to the coffee shop that you met at. Once Yeosang agrees, you hang up and feel the butterflies in your stomach start to crawl up your throat.

You are really going to do it. You’re going to meet up with your soulmate, and this time you don’t have to worry about anyone else, but the two of you.

You look down at the clothes you wore on your coffee date with Yunho and immediately get up to change. You quickly throw on a pair of your softest blue jeans and an off-the-shoulder long sleeve shirt. It was a comfy, casual look, and you didn’t look like a slob so that was good. Plus, the only other time he’s seen you, you had coffee all over your shirt, so this was a vast improvement.

You run your fingers through your hair to make it seem a little more put together and throw on some Chapstick before running for the door. The two of you decided to meet up right away, so you only had a few minutes to make yourself presentable, and this would have to do.

As you walk up to the park, your anxiety doubles and you let your thoughts consume you. Was this gonna be awkward? What were you going to say? What was he going to say?

When you step onto the path that leads into the park, it’s almost like your body knows exactly where to go before your mind does. You find yourself making a beeline for the bench that sat next to a beautiful stone fountain, and when you get there, you’re not surprised to see Yeosang already there waiting. A part of you knew he would be.

When you step up next to the bench, Yeosang turns to look at the sound and shoots up from his seat when he sees you, his eyes lighting up in excitement. A shy smile graces his face and you know a matching one is present on yours.

“You made it.” He happily says as he gestures for you to sit on the bench.

“I invited you here… Of course, I was gonna make it.” You softly laugh as you take a seat.

“Right…” he bites his lip for a moment as he settles back into his spot, “but it’s just nice to see you again.”

His eyes scan you from head-to-toe like he’s taking you in for the first time, and maybe he is. Considering how hectic it was the first time you met.

You meet his gaze and, as stupid as it sounds, the world stops. For one moment, you don’t hear the rustle of the trees, you don’t see the splashing of the fountain, you don’t feel the cold stone you sit on, all there is, is Yeosang and you. Suddenly, it’s like everything clicks into place, and that rightness you felt before settles deep into your chest. This is where you’re supposed to be. This is your person for the rest of your existence.

“Do you feel that?” He quietly asks in awe.

You almost couldn’t speak. It was like words evaded your mind and ceased to exist, but you somehow grasp onto some and are able to form a coherent sentence.

“The connection…” you trail off, nodding. “I never thought it’d be like this…”

It consumed you, and you would be content never existing outside of this moment again… but all too quickly it was over. The trees rustled once more, the water continued to splash in the fountain, and the stone beneath you became solid again, but there was something new in the air. Something that wasn’t there before but would be there for the rest of your life.

Yeosang clears his throat and reaches for your hand like it’s the most natural thing in the world. His hands are soft, and his touch is light, but he’s suddenly become your anchor, keeping you grounded and safe.

“I can’t believe I was stupid enough to ignore the soulmate bond for even a second…” He says, his eyes searching yours. “I’m so sorry…”

You immediately shake your head. “You don’t have to apologize. I ignored it too… even longer than you did…”

You feel so stupid for letting him slip through your fingers for all that time. For letting this moment continuously get pushed further away from you. You should’ve never run out of the kitchen that day… You should’ve let the cards deal how they were supposed to, instead of trying to fight fate.

“I do have to apologize for walking away from you. Mijung could’ve waited. You’re more important.”

“Well… We can only go forward from here… so let’s forget about the past.” Yeosang hums in agreement. “Although, I will say this wasn’t how I thought I’d find my soulmate.”

He lets out a deep laugh. “Yeah, I couldn’t have predicted this at all.”

You fall into a serene silence, processing everything happening in the moment until Yeosang breaks it.

“I was so excited to meet you… Mijung had already talked you up a lot, and then when my friends told me about you, I almost couldn’t wait any longer.”

You pause, remembering when you met his two friends at Mijung’s… and how odd you acted before you ran out… What kind of impression did you leave on them?

“What did your friends say about me?”

An awkward expression graces his beautiful face. “Well… Wooyoung thought you were kind of weird… but San said you were super nice and that he thought you’d be cool. Once we figured out why you apparently ran out of the kitchen like it was on fire, San made Wooyoung take back his weird comment, which, of course, ended up with the two of them bickering.”

You stifle a laugh and try to figure out what about the scenario made Yeosang excited to meet you. You didn’t sound like anything especially great, and nice was something you said when you didn’t know how to describe somebody. You don’t let it bother you, though. You did act weird, so there was no other impression they could’ve had, but you weren’t worried. You’d change their minds in the future.

“How come you didn’t leave me any voicemails or texts? I would’ve responded a lot sooner if I knew it was you…”

“And say what?” He asks with a wry smile. “I’m sorry for leaving you standing there on the sidewalk in a coffee-stained shirt, can you call me back?”

You shake your head at him and try to fight the smile that wanted to permanently be on your face. “I would’ve answered to that…”

Yeosang bites his lip before smiling and nodding. “I’ll remember that for the future.”

His words fill the air with an almost crackling intensity. The future… What would the future hold for the two of you? Yeosang must’ve felt it too, because he turns his whole body to face you, bringing his leg up on the bench so he’s not awkwardly twisted, but still managing to maintain his grip on your hand.

“I know…” he starts before looking down at your entwined hands and playing with your fingers. “I know it’s gonna be awkward with Mijung… but I want to be with my soulmate… I want to spend the rest of my life with you, and not waste any more time.”

He stops playing with your fingers and looks up to intently search your gaze. He was right. Things were going to be awkward with Mijung, but you didn’t care. He was your soulmate and you wanted to be with him as badly as he wanted to be with you. The rest of it you could figure out together…

Because you’ve found your soulmate. The one being on this planet meant for you. The one who will always understand you and be by your side until your last day… and maybe even beyond that…

Because he was yours and you were his…

“I’d love that.”

Tagging: @to-all-the-stories-i-love​, @skittlez-area512​, @wanderingatiny​

[nightwishesworld]

Babysitting (Part 1)

You and Alcina are roped into taking care of your friend's daughter for a few days. Alcina is...less than excited about it. I mean, come on, a baby in Castle Dimitrescu? What could possibly go wrong?!

***********************

The warmth of the afternoon sun crept its way into the windows of Castle Dimitrescu. Both you and Alcina decided it was a beautiful day to take your afternoon tea in the gardens instead of the library . Blooms grew in newly fragranced air, the sweet petals that fluttered reflected by the honeyed-sweetness within. The garden birds always warm your heart. They bring so much joy just from watching them play and dance around the hedges. There are so many of them out today, large and small, brown, red-capped, and golden stripped. You love listening to their chirping, each singing its own beautiful song.

Alcina held your hand over the table as she sipped her special blend of tea.

“Oh, Darling, did I tell you Cristofor and Lucia are going out of town? He says it’s for business but honestly, I think they just want to have a break from the baby. I mean, I don’t blame them, it’s their first kid and you know how hectic everything’s been for them lately."

Alcina nods. “Yes, well, it didn’t help that they were a little unprepared for baby Julianna. That’s her name, right? I remember we offered to buy a few things for them before she was born.”

“Yeah, that’s it, but I just call her Jewel. My precious little gem. I guess they’re gonna be gone for the extended weekend and need someone to watch her.”

Alcina scoffs. “I pity those they choose.”

“Oh stop it, Alcina, it won’t be that bad.”

She stops what she’s doing, nearly choking on her tea, and just stares at you. “You didn’t. You did not! Please for the love of Mother Miranda tell me you didn’t say we would take care of her!”

Your silence was all the answer she needed.

“Why would you do that? Castle Dimitrescu is no place for a baby!”

“Tell that to Cris! I tried telling him that and all he did was assure me that everything would be fine. They feel Jewel would be safest in our care; they were practically begging, Al. What was I supposed to say?”

“No?” You roll your eyes at her. “What about their family? Are they really not available?”

“Lucia said she would feel guilty asking her folks to do any more for them. They usually watch her every day Cris and Lucia are at work. Imagine that plus three straight days; I would want a break too.”

Alcina stayed silent.

“They’re gonna stop by in a few days with some stuff, like diapers and toys and things.”

Alcina huffed and crossed her arms over her chest. “I’m so glad you discussed the details so thoroughly with them.”

“I figured you would say no. Look, I’m sorry I went behind your back but they really need a babysitter and they don’t trust anyone as they do us. Besides, I’m Jule’s unofficial aunt, I don’t think I can say no to something like this. I know you don’t like kids, but-”

“What are you talking about? I love seeing little Julianna.”

“You do? Cause every time they come to visit you seem kind of...distant”

“I don’t...I don’t like holding her. She’s too tiny and fragile for someone like me to be holding.”

“Someone like you?” Then it dawned on you. “Oh, Alci. You don’t actually believe that, do you? You’re always so gentle with her.”

“Because if I’m not delicate I’ll crush her.” Alcina’s face held sorrow to it, not evident to most individuals.

“You wouldn’t crush her, Alci. I know you better than that. You literally came running into my study the other day because I screamed ‘spider,’ and then carried me out because I lost sight of it. You’re a lot more gentle than you’re giving yourself credit.You're a good, thoughtful, and gentle person Alci. Anyone who can’t see that is purely idiotic,” I muttered under my breath.

“I suppose it’s not the worst thing in the world, having a baby running around the castle. And we have time to babyproof everything.”

“That shouldn’t be too hard, love, she’s only seven months old. She’s only just starting to learn how to crawl.”

You were talking but Alcina wasn’t listening. She was too busy making a mental checklist of everything that needed to be done before baby Julianna arrived. “Hmm? Oh yes, of course, darling. Do you know where they got those baby gates? We’re going to need quite a few of them.”

“Alci, I don’t think we’ll need-” She’s already walked away. “ Hey, at least you’re embracing it?”

True to his word, Cris arrived at the castle three days later with a carriage full of supplies. You wanted to welcome them with Alcina, but the matriarch was nowhere to be found. The past few days for her have been spent deep cleaning the walls and floors, which really sucked, especially for Bela, Cassi, and Dani. They stuck doing the hard labor as Alcina bossed them around.

You greeted him with a tight hug. “Thank god you’re here. Alcina’s going crazy trying to babyproof everything. I don’t think the castle’s ever been this protected. Or this clean,” I muttered the last part under my breath.

Cris put a hand over his heart. “Oh, she doesn’t have to do that! Julianna can barely crawl five feet. Besides, I know for certain this place is much neater than our house, even on a bad day. She would have been perfectly fine.”

“I tried to tell her to not worry so much, but it just goes in one ear and out the other. Perhaps if she hears it from you she’ll finally listen,” I rolled my eyes playfully.

Cris nods. “And you wonder why I think Julianna’s so safe up here. I’ll be sure to mention it to Alcina. Do you wanna unload this stuff now or wait for her?”

You glance behind him to the carriage. There were a few large bags filled with miscellaneous items as well as a few larger things on the back seat not bagged at all like the playpen. “I don’t even know where she is, Cris. And I’d offer to have the girls help, but they’re hiding from Alci. Let’s just get started. We can put it in the lounge in the foyer until Alcina comes around.”

“Sounds like a plan. Some of this stuff I’ll bring more of when we drop her off, like diapers, you’ll never have enough diapers,” he says as he tosses you a bag.

“So you’ve said. Didn’t you have a nightmare about it once?”

“Before Lucia even went into labor. We ran out and every shop in a 50-mile radius was sold out. To date, it’s one of my worst nightmares.”

You laughed. “So where are you guys going? I mean, really going. You don’t actually think I believe that crap about a Mortician Expo, do you?”

Cris gave you a look of skepticism and stayed silent as if he were planning his next move.

“Relax man, I don’t actually care. Taking care of a baby is more work than I can imagine. I would want a break too!” The statement seemed to ease him.

“Nowhere special. We made reservations at a nice hotel a few hours south of here; it’s got a pool, hot tub, couples massages, the works!”

You nod, tossing the last of the bags by the lounge. “Nice! You guys deserve it, like I said, I can’t imagine how much work taking care of Julianna is.”

“You won’t have to in a few days,” he laughed.

“I’m excited now, but something tells me I won’t be in a few days. Just sleep deprived!”

“Nah you’ll love it. It’s just, well only slightly tiring! That’s all. Should we go looking for Alcina? I wanna go over Julianna’s schedule with both of you.”

“She knew you were coming so she should be here any minute now. I’m sure she just lost track of time bossing the girls around. The entire west wing has been baby-proofed and when I mean the entire wing, I mean the entire wing. She had Daniela take down all of the ornate weapons and armor from the walls while Bela and Cassi scrubbed everything. And that was just this morning.”

“I’ll be sure to thank them then,” Cris chuckled lightheartedly.

As if on cue, you can just make out the sound of high heels rushing down the corridor, only to stop abruptly just around the corner. Knowing Alcina she was probably adjusting herself to look like her usual well-presented way. Sure as rain, Alcina approached looking as elegant as ever. “Oh Cristofor, please forgive me. It’s been total chaos around here- I completely lost track of time and-”

Cris waved it off and took her hand in his, bringing it up so he could kiss her wedding ring. “Think nothing of it, Alcina. I heard you’ve been keeping yourself busy.”

The matriarch sent you a glare that you shrug off with a smug smile.

“You don’t need to worry about anything, Alcina. I know my little girl will be in the best care possible up here. There’s no one Lucia and I trust more.”

“That is one very generous statement, Cristofor, but a castle is still no place for a baby, especially this one.”

“That may hold some truth, but most of all that...messy business stays in the basement, right?”

“All of it does,” you answer for Alcina. “Even I’m not allowed down there and we’ve been married for three and a half years!”

“And for good reason,” Alcina says. “You know what goes on down there. Why would I put my wife’s life in danger?”

You were about to retaliate but Cris wrapped his arms around the both of you. “Let’s just get this stuff upstairs, huh? Far the fuck away from the basement and whatever goes on down there.”

Alcina opens her mouth but Cris shakes his head profusely. “Nope, don’t want to know. Let’s just get to the bedroom. Wow, the walls do look bare.”

“Indeed,” Alcina nodded. “It’s a good thing little Julianna is staying, I should have had the walls deep cleaned nearly decades ago,” she let out an elegant laugh.

“I hope you didn’t do all this just for us.” Cris looked in awe as the various portraits and ornate weapons decorating the walls became more scarce as they neared the master bedroom. It made this part of the castle feel abandoned. The chemical smell of cleaning solvents was strong, but it would surely be gone in time for Julianna’s arrival.

“Of course I did. You are family and you deserve nothing but the best possible care.”

Cristofor shakes his head. "You're a good woman, Alcina. I genuinely hope you know that."

She gives him a warm smile while holding the bedroom door open for him. "I try to be."

"So," he sets down his two large boxes of supplies to rub his back. "Where do you want this stuff?"

"At the foot of the bed for now," you shrug. "Alcina and I will organize everything once it's all here."

He nodded and kicked it lazily to the end of the bed and took a seat on the mattress. "If we wanna be lazy we could shove the rest of the boxes in the playpen and carry it all up in one trip."

"We can do that," you smiled. "Then we can start organizing everything."

"And while we're doing that I'd like to walk you through Julianna's schedule. Lucia made you a copy with a couple of notes on how to do specific things...it's all well let’s just say pretty detailed," he laughed.

A look of fear crossed over the matriarch's face for a moment. "Why don't I go grab it? Then you two can start unpacking. If I run into the girls I'll send them up as well."

"Oh leave the girls alone," you shake your head at the matriarch. "They're already hiding from you."

Alcina lets out an exasperated laugh. "Can you believe that, Cristofor? My own daughters are hiding from me!" Alcina exclaimed with a look of sheer amusement on her face.

"Nothing I'm looking forward to." You started unpacking the many boxes of  diapers and arranging them neatly on the already emptied shelves while Cris made himself comfortable sitting on the floor, unpacking blankets and clothes. He unfolded and refolded them in a perfect square and placed them on top of the hope chest. You smiled at each plush blanket bearing a different pattern and color.

"Where can I put her clothes?"

"Um, just on the bed for now. I don't know if Alcina emptied out a drawer yet. It would be that middle one if you wanna check."

You hear almost all the joints in his legs crack as he stands and makes his way over to the dresser. He grips the knobs but pauses before opening them. "I'm not gonna find anything dirty in here, am I?"

"Not in there, no."

He turns back to you with an arched brow and hung jaw. You only laugh at him.

"Is it cleared out?"

He nods, neatly organizing the various onesies and pajama sets.

He busied himself displaying various lotions and powders on the coffee table, which would act as your changing station.

“What can I do?” Alcina asked, staring down anxiously at the various bottles.

Cris thought for a moment before taking two smaller boxes out of the playpen and pushing them towards the vampire. “These are for bath time." He quickly scanned over the contents to make sure he was correct. "This box is shampoos, soaps, and toys. Julianna loves bath time; the more toys and games the better." Alcina smiled. “And this box is her special duck towel, washcloth- also a duck pattern she loves ducks, two non-slip bath mats for both inside and outside the tub, and a sponge.”

She looked a tad overwhelmed again taking in all the items but took the boxes nonetheless. “Good thing I cleared out cupboard space, right darling?”

You wanted to laugh but restrained yourself to biting the inside of your cheek instead. “Yes, dear.”

"Well, that's everything. Oh, and don't worry about a crib. Lucia and I are bringing it when we drop Julianna off."

Alcina shook her head and simply waved him off. "Oh don't bother, Cristofor. We have one she's more than welcome to use."

You gave her a confused look. "Um, no we don't."

"Yes, we do. I just have to grab it out of storage. If you'd like to wait and see if it's up to your standards you're more than welcome to." It wasn't so much of an invitation as it was a plea.

Cris laughed. "Alcina, I told you anything you have is probably way better than ours. I'm sure it's fine."

"It would make me feel a lot better," Alcina said with a hint of desperation in her voice.

"Alright, whatever it takes to make you feel better about this."

Alcina sighed in relief and rushed down the hall.

"She really is worked up about this isn't she?"

You let yourself collapse back onto the bed. "You have no idea. She's been fretting over everything since I told her three whole days ago!"

"I kinda figured she would be the calm one between the two of you since, you know, she's got three kids already."

You feigned a look of hurt. "Ok first of all, ouch my pride! Secondly, all three of the girls were turned when they were adults. Which is why I wanna know where this supposed crib came from."

He turned back to you. "And you know what you're doing?"

"Of course not, but one of us has to be calm about it."

Cris laughed, letting himself lounge back on his elbows. Any further down and he was afraid he would fall asleep. "I guess that's true. You're gonna be great though, both of you. Just the fact that you're worrying about all this stuff tells me you're really dedicated to keeping Julianna safe and happy here."

"Thanks, man. I think I really needed to hear that. Got any advice to help us prepare?"

He slaps a hand on your thigh and gives it a friendly squeeze. "Have as much sex as you can before she's here. Because once she is, you'll be way too tired to even think about it."

You sit up and look at him incredulously, which earns him a hearty laugh. "I asked you for advice on how to keep your baby alive and you tell me to bone my wife?"

"All I'm saying is Lucia and I haven't been able to do it since before Julianna was born," Cris whispered in all seriousness.

Alcina returned carrying what you can only assume is the crib covered with a sheet. Bela stepped in first to hold the door open for her.

"Thank you, darling. I found my one good daughter to help me. Not the rascals this time!"

Cris laughs. "I see that."

The blonde nodded and joined you both on the bed. "Hello, y/n. Hello, Uncle Cris."

"Good to see you, Bela."

“Alright,” you hop off the bed. “Let’s see this crib that we apparently have just laying around.”

Alcina rolls her eyes and yanks the dusty sheet away, revealing the most beautiful baby crib you have ever seen. Polished solid dark oak frame with solid gold detailing wrapping around the bars like vines. The Dimitrescu House Crest is shining proudly on both sides.

A smug grin plastered itself on Alcina’s face knowing she single-handedly put an end to your snarky remarks.

“Holy shit,” you finally say. “And you had this in storage…just because?”

The question made her uncomfortable, you could tell. A shadow cast over Alcina’s face. “I had it made a while back and forgot about it until now. I’m glad it stayed in such pristine shape. Any polishes used on it were water-based and non-toxic. Perfect for a baby to slobber on,” she chuckles almost a bit uncomfortably.

Cris shook his head as he ran a hand across the smooth wooden framework. “I don’t know what to say, Alcina. It’s absolutely gorgeous.”

“Only the best for our favorite niece.”

Cris clapped his hands together and pulled out a few pieces of paper from his back pocket. "Now, onto Julianna's schedule. Lucia tried to be as helpful as possible when writing it down, but she said if you have any questions just ask her when we drop her Jules off."

Both of you nodded as he handed them to you. Bela situated herself on your bed with one of the plushies he brought over just because.

 Daily Routine

7 am- wake up and bottle feed 8 ounces for about 20 minutes (doesn't have to be one the dot if she's still sleeping. It's a rare occurrence for her to sleep in, but it could happen

7:30- playtime on the floor or outside (we usually keep her inside this early in the morning but either is perfectly suitable)

8:00- breakfast (something solid-ish. Like oatmeal and fruit chunks)

8:30- more play 

Between 9-9:30- bottle-feed 6 ounces for 15 minutes then naptime

11:00- wake up and play (she loves her building blocks and rattle)

Noon- lunch (baby food! Fruit or veggie) (she'll probably refuse solids but don't take no for an answer! Even just a few are ok if she's especially cranky)

12:30- play (peek-a-boo in the mirror! she gets a kick out of it every time. 

1:30- bottle-feed 6 ounces and nap (Congrats! you're halfway there)

3:30- wake up and play (try using the hand puppets and engage her in nursery rhymes)

4:00- bottle feed four ounces for roughly 20 minutes

5:00- dinner (more baby food. Whichever one she didn’t have for lunch)! Same as the morning, she'll probably refuse)

5:30-play (maybe go for a walk if you haven't already?)

6:30- bath time! (see added note for specific bathtime notes. She loves hearing her little rubber ducky squeak)

7:00- bottle-feed 8 ounces then time for bed (good luck trying to sleep and getting her to sleep)

1:30 am- bottle feed again (she’ll wake you up when she’s hungry don’t worry)

Breastmilk can be refrigerated for five days and I’ve given you more than enough to hold her over. Protect it with your lives! Breast Milk is liquid gold!

 You read the note over a couple of times before handing it to Alcina who looked just as overwhelmed as you. "That is so much."

"Not enough," Alcina says at the same time.

Cris laughs. "Wanna see what she wrote for bathtime?"

Alcina took the second not from him.

 Bathtime Tips

Make sure the adhesive mats are set down before bath time begins. One in the tub one outside

Make sure you have everything you need nearby; towel, washcloth, toys (especially her duck), shampoos, lotion, clean clothes, and a diaper

It’s easiest (and less painful) to sit on a stool or something instead of standing and bending over

ALWAYS KEEP A HAND ON HER!

Take off any jewelry and be sure to wash your hands

Check the water temp with the inside of your wrist- it should be warm (not too hot or too cold)

Dry and dress her on the floor (hence the second mat) 

Squirty toys! (The duck is her favorite as it also squeaks)

Plastic boats that she can push around

Whale-shaped basin for rinsing hair

Once she’s all dry she can go right in her crib

 "Sweet Satan, Cristofor. This is a lot of information. I mean, the more the better but..."

You take her hand in yours and kiss the top of her knuckles. "It's alright, Love, we've got this. If anyone can manage this it's us."

She nods but doesn't really believe your words. You can see the doubt reflecting in her eyes. "You're right."

"It looks way more complicated than it is, ladies. You just put her in the tub, don't let her drown, clean her, and take her out. Boom, simple as that."

Alcina lets out a relieving chuckle and you thank him silently.

 *******************************************************************************************

You lay awake that night unable to fall asleep. Alcina is awake too, but you don't dare speak to her. She's too lost in her own world to be bothered with your nonsense. But it was starting to eat you alive from the inside out. You looked over at it sitting across the room. Its existence is mocking you to the point where you can almost hear it laughing at you.

You finally break the silence. “Who’s even is it? You turned the girls when they were adults, right?”

“Yes.”

“All of them?”

You hear her sigh. “Yes of course all of them. Now please, I don’t want to talk about this.”

“But you had to have a reason, Al. No one just has a crib as intricate as that made out of the blue.”

“It doesn’t matter,” her tone grew sharper. “We have it now for Julianna and that’s what matters.”

“I guess so, but…” you turn your body to face her. Her silhouette is laying on her back staring up at the ceiling. “D-did you try having a baby with someone else and…”

She turns to look at you with wide golden eyes. Not angry, but certainly not expecting that line of questioning. You immediately regret opening your mouth.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have-“ Alcina silences your ramblings with a searing kiss. One you happily return.

“It’s nothing like that, my love. My only children are ours. I had it made last year when Lucia first told us she was pregnant. I remember how excited you were for them. You did so much to help her get ready, for both of them, really.” Alcina smiled and reached blindly for your hand. “And every time they come up to visit your eyes just light up when you see Julianna. You’re so good with her, iubirea mea.”

A shadow of guilt passed over her face. “I overheard you talking to Lucia about wanting kids of your own.”

Your heart plummeted down to the pit of your stomach.

“You love our daughters with your entire heart, but it’s not the same as raising your own flesh and blood. Every time I saw you holding little Julianna or singing to her I pictured you with our baby. So, I got all excited and, albeit, ahead of myself and had the crib made.”

“For our baby,” you finished with a genuine smile.

Alcina nodded. “I wanted to wait for you to bring up the conversation before saying anything about it, and” her voice cracks. “You never did. I didn’t understand why at first. You would produce such a beautiful baby with or without me.” Tears pooled in the corners of her eyes threatening to cascade down her cheeks. “Then one night it just sort of hit me; why would you want to share something as precious and innocent as a baby with a monster like me?”

Tears flowed freely from her eyes and sobs racked her body, it broke your heart. Without thinking you throw yourself at Alcina and wrap her tightly in your arms. The vampire happily buries her face in the crook of your neck and cries her heart out. You thread your fingers through her hair to help soothe her.

“Oh, my love, I’m so sorry. Don’t you ever refer to yourself as a monster ever again, do you hear me? You are no monster, Alcina Dimitrescu. How can someone as loving, and soft, and generous like you be anything besides an angel?”

“Oh stop pretending, y/n. I’m a genetically mutated freak! The baby would take one look at me and start wailing,” Alcina let out a frustrated huff.

“Stop it, Alcina. Our baby would adore you just like Bela, Cassandra, and Daniela do. Julianna loves you to pieces! She gets so excited every time you walk in the room.”

Alcina sniffled. “She does that with everyone.”

“Because she likes us, Al.”

A beat of awkward silence passed between the two of you until you finally felt her breathing steady.

“You want to have a baby with me?”

You couldn’t contain your smile as she nodded ever so slightly into your neck. “Why didn’t you say anything before? We could have talked about it months ago. The only reason I never brought it up was that I assumed you didn’t want any more children running amuck in the castle. Imagine if they turned out to be just like Daniela.”

That got her to laugh a little. “I wouldn’t mind a baby running around; especially if they look like you.”

“Well I don’t know about that considering we would have to adopt.”

A mischievous smile crept on Alcina’s lips. “Who says we can’t have a baby ourselves?”

“Um, nature? We’re both women, Alcina. I don’t think I have to explain to you how that won’t work.”

Alcina chuckles into your neck. “We’d have quite the brood running around the castle if it did.”

“Then you want to find a donor?” She detached herself from you just enough to give you a look of disgust. “Of course not; no one is allowed to touch my y/n except me.” She flips you both over so you’re pinned underneath her. “There are ways we could have a baby, you know?”

A blush covered your cheeks down to your chest. “O-oh?”

“Mmhm. The old witch in the village could brew something up for us, should we choose to carry.” She laughs at your dumbfounded expression. “It would be a sex change tonic of sorts. Temporary of course, I believe it only lasts a week.”

You blush furiously.

“And depending on the portions of ingredients she uses we could change the erm, size, if you catch my drift.”

You couldn’t bring yourself to respond, in real words at least. Something between a yelp and a whimper came out of your mouth instead. It gets a laugh out of Alcina at least.

“That’s really a thing we could do?”

She starts trailing kisses down your neck to your chest. “Oh yes,” her free hand comes up to pull your shirt down over your breasts. As soon as they pooled out of their confinement Alcina started circling one of your nipples with her tongue. “Would you like that, darling? To feel my cock pounding into you.”

Fuck you loved it when she talks dirty to you. But that turned you on more than you were willing to admit. You gave a shy nod.

Alcina rewards your honesty by taking your hardened nipple in her mouth and sucking. Her other hand moved up your body to rest on your other breast, gently kneading it like dough.

Alcina has always been fascinated with your breasts. Always burying her face in them when cuddling. She simply melted into them on bad days. Giving her a scalp massage at the same time earned you bonus points.

Her lips abandon your nipple, leaving a bridge of saliva still connecting you, and snuggled her face deep in between your breasts. She let out a long sigh and closed her eyes, letting herself get lost in the moment. Her eyes flutter open and you can see the corners of a smile buried in your chest. “What do you think, my love?”

“I think we should see how we do this weekend before making any big decisions.”

Alcina leaned forward only enough to kiss your lips. “Sounds like a plan.”

[mandoinevarro]

NO APPOINTMENT, NO MEETING

Rule Maker, Rule Breaker: Chapter 4

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3

Words: 9.4k

Rating: E

Warnings: so ok descriptions of blood (it’s only one sentence and I don’t think it’s too bad but just in case), remembering trauma/triggering memories, angst. now for the fun part: SMUT, one (1) thigh spank, a sprinkle of dirty talk, a dash of praise kink, spitting, oral (f receiving), vaginal sex, maybe cockwarming but for like two minutes

a/n: happy 2021!!! only one chapter left after this one so enjoy. for the hornies who only want fun and sexy times: scroll to the bottom and work your way up, smut is like 3/4 in.

……………

In the blue morning light, Nevarro is almost beautiful.

The deserted lava fields spread in flat terrain as far as the eye can see, bumps and dips where magma cooled creating waves like a black ocean. Among the tide, obsidian turtle shells shimmer like dark mirrors, where Din Djarin studies his face. It startled him when he crawled from the tent to take the pram inside; when he glanced at the ground and the ground glanced back. His face cloudy and warped by irregular volcanic rock, he barely recognized it. It’s not rare for his features to blur in his memory sometimes, especially when he’s out working for days at a time unable to catch a glimpse of himself. Vanity is not one of his many shortcomings—hiding your face for decades is a mighty vaccine against it.

But today something’s different. The reflection peering up at him belongs to a stranger. Relaxed eyebrows, a hooked nose (has the curved always been so pronounced?), lips that faintly curl up. Content brown eyes. His mirrored counterpart is a sentient being below him, plump with blood and oxygen. Alive.

He looks happy.

However, morning weighs heavily on Din, he can see it in the bags below his eyes. It stings like a hangover, like the only hangover he ever had, back when he was an eighteen-year-old idiot and used the credits of his first bounty to get a flask of spotchka from some seedy bar. He remembers sitting in his crammed quarters at the old Covert, chugging the bottle on his own, methodically forcing himself to swallow against the burn. Waiting. Waiting for the alchemy to kick in, for the magic toxins that flushed drunks’ faces, lubricant that oiled their scowls into easy smiles. Waiting to feel what everyone else felt, just for a moment.

Lifting his head, Din peers ahead. Shadows of the city’s buildings creep above the horizon like a bad omen. The opposite of a promised land. Hunchbacked buildings stain the blue-gray sky, abruptly interrupt the intricate lava patterns, Nevarro the planet versus Nevarro the city. Din’s stomach crumples. One, maybe two hours by foot. One, maybe two hours, and last night will fade into a distant memory, a collection of ghost sensations.

But not yet. Right now, last night is still real. You are still real.

Crawling back into the tent, he licks his lips for the millionth time today. He can still taste you: that thick, salty-bitter taste, so much better than he could’ve imagined. He hopes it stays on his lips for a long time; or, at least, that he can replace it soon.

Inside, you’re curled up with his cape, a blooming bruise above your shoulder peeking out, the baby’s pram hovering next to you. He sits down, careful not to awake either of you, and runs a finger down your shoulder, feels the skin prickle. He buries his nose on the back of your hair and inhales: rain and earth as usual, but his soap too, a part of him that clings to you. Lips on the crook of your neck, Din smells himself on you, wonders if you’ll want to wash his scent away, or if you’ll want it to stay on you. You stir, your soft exhales gain a rasp. Din smiles. You do snore, after all.

He’ll have to wake you soon. He knows. He knows. You need to talk about last night. You need to have the frank conversation that you’ve both been postponing for way too long, back when you floated in dead space, no deadlines, no rush at all to make decisions. But things have changed, and he knows what he wants now, and he knows it can’t wait. Yet every time his fingers brush your shoulder to nudge you awake, he pulls them back. He’s never seen you so peaceful, not moving except for your expanding and contracting chest, the light fluttering of your lashes. All the fight in your body gone, those tall bridges around you down and inviting. So different from when he met you.

If there’s one thing Din’s good at, it’s sniffing out trouble. He had to be, if he wanted to make it in the Fighting Corps. In the Bounty Hunter’s Guild. He can sweep a room with a mental black light, spot the people who flare up white and bright, the ones he needs to stay away from—or approach, depending on the situation. And that day at the cantina, the first time he laid eyes on you? You glowed with it. Talking big game in Karga’s booth, laughing with your pretty smile and shuffling cards, you beamed with trouble, bright as radiation and just as dangerous. What needed to happen was clear as day. The Mandalorian needed to turn on his heels immediately, strut out of that bounty hunter hive without a second look, and never, ever, ask about you.

He’d been there before.

Mandalorians, despite common belief, are not made of beskar. Not on the inside, at least. They’re all warm blooded organics, burdened with flesh and internal organs and skeletons; pain and pleasure receptors. Older Mandalorians cautioned younger ones when they came of age and finished their training, when they were ready to become providers. Tall stern warriors, his superiors, warned that there would be temptation, situations that would make him doubt the Way. “Even the briefest taste,” Din’s former Alor said with that cavernous voice he had, “can be the point of no return.” And he was right.

Outside the Covert, there was so much…stimuli. Voices and colors and movement, a twenty-four-hour beehive, the galaxy buzzed and vibrated to no end. It was equally wonderous and grotesque, like a circus. The strenuous noises that rattled his ribcage, the strong smells, the different food, his senses had never felt more exhausted. The faces…stars, the faces. How muscles stretched in a big smile, the glint of teeth, the deep creases between eyebrows that signaled anger. Always moving, always changing, Din hadn’t seen so many uncovered heads since he was a child. His first few weeks outside he’d stare at people for hours until they scurried away or tried to fight him. Tried.

Then, when the initial shock wore out, he noticed other details. The way children’s eyes filled with admiration when they’d look at their parents, how that dimpled girl in Alderaan would blush and stutter whenever he bought something from her stall. And Din would wonder, despite all warnings, what it’d feel like to be one of them. To share so much of himself with the outside world. With time, curiosity morphed into obsession, obsession into desperation, and soon enough he found himself with Rand and the others, running rampant in an already chaotic galaxy.

One war, two decades, and a thousand regrets later, the curiosity died down. The helmet helped him tune out the outside world, made it easier to retreat into his memories. The galaxy seemed duller by the day, emptier. Lonelier, though he didn’t dwell on it.

That is, until he met you.

Until his resolve circled the drain and he asked Karga who you were and where to find you, walked into your store without an idea of what he’d say. Behind the counter, eyes shining and that silky voice asking what you could do for him, you reset the galaxy for him. Every time he visited you felt like his first day outside all over again.

But last night—that was stronger, set in stone. It felt like commitment. Something was born last night, something burgeoned in his chest and took root. Din can feel the fullness in his body, like he grew an extra limb, similar to the swell that tangled in his insides when he went back for the kid. He doesn’t have a name for it yet, but it reminds him of the day he swore the Creed. The fresh sense of purpose, the carved-out path in front of him, knowing what needs to be done:

When the siege is over, he’ll take you with him.

“Are you watching me sleep?” you mumble, cotton mouthed. “Kinda creepy.”

Din chuckles, then remembers. Stars, his heart stops beating for a second. Dread and natural reflexes throw his palm whip fast over your closed eyes. Maker. What the hell was he thinking, sitting next to you without the helmet. Maker, one second too late and you could’ve opened your eyes and—

“Didn’t see anything. Promise,” you say with a smile and pull his cape over your face. “Cover up.”

He pats around for the helmet (where the hell did he drop it last night?), finds it abandoned by your feet. When he fits it around his head, the familiar padding hugging his skull, he swears it feels heavier than it did yesterday.

“You decent?”

“Yeah.”

You lower the pseudo blanket, sleepy eyes and easy smile. As if you purposefully want to make it harder for him to strike up a conversation. But do I really need to— Yes. Yes, he does. He has to know where you stand and ask the big question: If you’d be willing to leave with him once the siege is lifted. Stars, his hands are sweating. But he can’t imagine you’d say no. Not after last night.

“Listen…”

As if on cue, whimpers and sniffles float from the closed pram. Great timing, kid. The baby’s ears droop like wilting leaves when Din places him on the ground, and the little bundle waddles with his eyes cast down until he reaches your ankle.

“What is it, kiddo?” you ask softly, your voice gentler than Din’s ever heard, sitting up as you hug his cloak tighter around your shoulders.

“I think…” Din begins, watching the baby sniffle and hug your bandaged calf. “I think he’s apologizing.”

A pair of eight-ball eyes blink at you, shiny with unshed tears, and Din feels an ache deep in his chest. This sweet little kid, all he’s been put through…

“Oh, don’t worry,” you coo, as one of your hands wriggles out the cloak and cradles the baby’s cheek. Your thumb brushes away a fat tear. “I’m tougher than your dad.” You wink at Din: Just kidding. But it’s true. Living in this planet for so long, all on your own. “Tough” is a survival skill for you, not a choice.

Also…dad. He should probably correct you. Din is not the kid’s real father, even though he’s caught himself thinking about the baby as his son once or twice, when he’s not too aware of his inner monologue. But he can’t bring himself to tell you the truth. Actually, he belongs to a race of wizards that I’ve been quested to deliver him to. Can’t adopt him if I’ll eventually give him up. Not when the kid’s shedding quiet tears into your leg and you’re doing your best to soothe him. Nevarro’s not child friendly, and Din can’t imagine you’ve got much practice with baby stuff, but he can tell you’re doing your best. And that’s enough to spread warmth through his chest.

What a troop you must make: Mandalorian bounty hunter, black market dealer, magic green baby. You could set up a three-person circus and retire. Yet the image tugs at a memory tucked away in his mind, something familiar but blurred.

His rumination’s cut short when Din notices the kid’s pudgy hands extending strategically on either side of your right leg, his eyelids beginning to flicker. Shit, shit, shit.

“She forgives you,” he tells the kid hastily as he scoops him and lays him on the open pram. He doesn’t need to be the little womprat’s real father to tell he was about to whip out his favorite party trick: healing witch powers. So far it doesn’t look like it permanently harms him, but it does weaken him, and Din can’t take chances. Plus, he skipped the part about the baby having supernatural powers when he told you his story, and there’s not a hell of a lot of ways one can explain fresh wounds disappearing.

“So,” you say after the baby’s settled in his pod. “What are we going to do,” you start, and Din’s throat knots with dread and excitement, “about the jammer.”

Oh. Stars, straight to business

“You said you have one.”

“I said I might have one,” you answer, grabbing for your discarded skirts. You fumble with them under the cloak, one hand clasped tight around it. It’s funny—after everything you’ve shared, you won’t undress in front of him during the day. “I mean, jammers aren’t picky like motors, they’re more one-size-fits-all.”

“But we still have to rewire it,” Din completes, wiping dry drool from the kid’s cheek with his thumb.

“Right.” Holding the cloak with your chin while you clasp your tunic, you seem to slowly draw your way out of a maze. That restless abacus in your head adding and subtracting. Your brows relax, and Din knows you’ve figured it out. “But I’ve got my equipment in my workshop, and we’d save time not having to remove it from a ship. And, no offense, but the Crest’s jammer was an antique. Way more complicated than newer models.” You finish dressing and hand him the cloak. “Only problem is the potential trooper stakeout outside the store.”

“I’ll take care of troopers.” Din takes the cloak and hesitates. It’s day nine, that time bomb still ticks in his head. Could it be that easy? Could you really do all this in one day? “What if we don’t finish on time?”

“Then,” you say, “we’ll figure something out.”

We, Din thinks, and smiles. Somehow, that’s all the reassurance he needs.

≈

Nevarro couldn’t look more deserted if tumbleweed rolled in the streets. The city’s a populated ghost town, no man’s land that’s filled with men. Well, men is a strong word. How did Viszla put it that time? We live hidden like sand rats. Yes, rats seems more fitting. Packs of them, scurrying around the former Covert, stealing Mandalorian armor to be bartered for scraps. Karga didn’t have to spell it out when he told him about people finding the Covert. Mando is familiar with the ways of the Outer Rim: Anything unclaimed is up for the taking, and beskar’s too tempting to resist. Knowing doesn’t make his blood boil any less, though. If Din focuses, he can almost hear their squeaking echoing from the sewers, the scavengers of this gray rock serving themselves to the abandoned armor of his people.

Movement to the left. The Mandalorian draws his blaster and bars you with his forearm, to see…a tunic. A short tunic. Tiny red lights. A Jawa. He exhales and sheathes the blaster. Stars. With the vembrance turned off, he has to rely on bare eyesight to scan for danger.

The Jawa drags a sleigh behind him. On it lies a dead or unconscious trooper (it makes no difference to these creatures), its gloved fingers drawing traffic lines on the mud and ash of unpaved streets. Red stars below the cowl focus on you for half a second, the bounty hunter’s hand approaches his blaster, and…

…and the Jawa waves at you, says “hello” in its squeaky language. You wave back, smiling, and the lump of shadow continues on its way. A neighborly gesture that in this context is plain bizarre.

“Old friend of yours?” Mando asks, walking again.

“Associate,” you correct, running a finger along the kid’s left ear until it twitches and he giggles. “Jawas scavenge parts straight from the wreckage, eliminate the middle man. And they don’t report to the New Republic.”

You mean steal from the wreckage, Din almost says, but bites it back. He supposes he can’t judge you for trading with Jawas. Prospects on the Outer Rim are bleaker than ever, and everyone’s got to eat. Especially during a siege.

Maker, sometimes he can’t believe he convinced himself to leave you here. Marooned in the type of place Core World citizens only talk about with shaking heads and disapproving voices. The type of place that makes people feel better about their lives, because hey, it could be worse, at least I don’t live in Nevarro. Granted, Din didn’t know then there’d be a siege. After the fight, after he bid goodbye to Cara and Karga, he hovered on the atmosphere for longer than was safe, gazing down at your store’s roof from the Razor Crest’s cockpit. His head a seesaw, weighing his options and unable to make a decision. You were still so close. He could fly back down to the surface, knock on your door, and take you away with him like he did with the kid.

Would you say yes? Reject him?

But most importantly: what about his quest? What kind of life would you lead travelling with him, a fugitive of the Empire and the New Republic? Life for Din has been defined by survival. Every day he’s had to get up and fight; fight to an inch of his life, fight with concussions, frostbite, shattered ribs. Knife wounds, blaster wounds. Personal wounds. He didn’t want that for you. You’re young, clever, resourceful. After that day, maybe you’d decide Nevarro was too dangerous. Maybe you’d pay your passage on a cruiser and start over in the Core Worlds, make your luck own there. Find a good man, if that’s what you wanted.

So he started the thrusters—the same ones he bought from you so long ago—and jumped into hyperspace with a semi clear conscience. This was best for everyone. You probably wouldn’t have accepted his offer, anyway. For five months he lived with his decision. And then he learnt about the siege.

In the sky, a string of river pearls forms a pattern like a necklace. Imperial cruisers, tie fighters, every ship that Guideon commands, solemnly presiding over Nevarro, itching to shoot down runaways. They’re too far up in the atmosphere to make out anyone in the surface, but Mando grabs your arm and coaxes you behind him all the same, his grip on the pram tighter. The memory of that imp’s blaster on your forehead is still too fresh. The dried blood on your legs.

Din glances back at you briefly. You catch his eye and smile—not grin, not smirk—but smile, a pretty, kind smile that would put to shame any of the imaginary Naboo girls you were so worked up about two nights ago. He should know, he’s been to Naboo, and none of the women there had your kaleidoscopic face, those hints of life that send his pulse on a sprint. The Mandalorian wonders what else you could be hiding under that sharp tongue, behind those clever eyes.

“Mando,” you call and point at a blackened mass to your right. “Nursery’s this way.”

All buildings in Nevarro emerge from volcanic rock, pushing away from clumps of hardened magma. They’re half-manmade, half-volcano hybrids—it’s a useful layout that gives their structure grip against constant earthquakes. It also, however, makes the buildings look like tumors growing on the navel of an ill planet. Your store’s the only one that’s never looked malignant, more like a sprouting flower than a parasite.

And now, the cantina too. Burned to a crisp, blacker than night, the former Church of Nevarro seems to have been swallowed by its unwilling host: the volcanic rock it was built upon. It’d be near impossible to know there’s a cantina inside, if not for the wide window peering inside. And it’s far from impossible for you or Mando, who know by heart where all the doors stand. He pushes one open for you, and together you walk inside.

“Thumb on the bottom, middle and ring fingers on the top, index to the side,” instructs Cara from behind the cantina’s crisp black counter. “The other side.”

Greef Karga sits on a stool opposite her, fumbling with a deck of cards. “Got it. Then what?”

“Then…” The veteran moves aside a flask of ardees and places a matching deck on the bar. “Pressure with your index, release the thumb.” She acts out her instructions and creates an arched ribbon spread on the surface. The Mandalorian can’t remember the last time he walked into the cantina and didn’t see the hypnotic patterns on cards, didn’t hear the wing-flapping noise of their shuffle. Although if he thinks about it, it makes sense that sabacc is the local sport around here. Dumb luck is the only god in the Outer Rim, where inhabitants gaze perpetually at their uncertain future and never look back. Tomorrow they’ll get a better hand, yesterday’s lost credits are forgotten. Everyone here seems to shed their past like snake skin.

“Nice spread, Dune,” you call. Greef and Cara follow your voice, realize they have visitors. “You should job hunt at Canto Bight.”

“Oh yeah?” replies the ex-shock trooper with an impish grin, both elbows on the counter and a rag over her shoulder, all bartender swagger. “What do you know about Canto Bight, hot stuff? Heard you’ve never been off this rock.” She spies a sly glance at Mando, enough to confirm that she’s annoying him on purpose, openly flirting with you. He squares his stance, rolls the helmet to pin her down with the visor, but (he really should know this by now) it does little to intimidate her.

“No trash talk before nightfall, ladies,” quips Karga, walking towards the pram. “And certainly not in front of babies. Hello, little one!” Said little one coos and lifts his skinny arms to be lifted by the Guild Leader, who sits back down delighted at having the baby’s favor, the little rascal on his lap. “He likes me!” Greef Karga smiles wide, flashing those white glinting teeth that’ve always reminded Din of a wolf’s. He’s not happy to leave the kid here, but he can’t take him if there’s a stakeout in your store. Beggars can’t be choosers and so on. But Cara’s here, and Din knows he can trust her with the baby. Though not with you, evidently.

“Tell you what, Mando,” Cara continues, apparently not done peacocking around you. “We arm wrestle, just like last time. Winner gets a flask of spotchka and the opportunity to take the lady to Canto Bight after you lift the siege.”

“Help us lift the siege and I’ll consider winning that flask.”

Dune lets out an long whistle, giving you a complicit look. “Big words.”

Your eyes rake along the Mandalorian’s armor slowly, boots to helmet, a dark tint in your eyes. Din flushes, the oppressive heat of his clothes suddenly thicker.

You shrug and answer, “Big man.” Your fingertips dance idly around the nape of your neck, which makes Mando think about last night, about his tongue on your neck and the purple bruises he sucked, the salty taste of flesh, the heady one between your legs. The memory steers blood into…into awkward places. Which, knowing you, was your intention. Maker, he needs to talk to you about teasing him in public.

“Help you how?” asks Greef, lifting the baby into the counter, whose six little claws hold on to two of his gloved fingers.

“Look after the kid, we won’t be more than a few hours.”

“Sure thing!” booms Karga, at the same time as Cara says, “Fuck no.”

You fold your arms at the veteran. “You scared of an infant, Dune? It’s only one of him, and…” you squint at the cantina’s black shell, like something’s out of place in its burned remains, “…two of you. Where’s—” you start, before glancing at Mando and swallowing the second half.

“Duma?” supplies Karga, tapping the corners of the deck on the counter. “Don’t know, probably boiling beskar to make broth. Rumor has it she’s running out of supplies, fast. Did you ever take her up on that deal?”

Your eyes shoot vibroblades at him, your mouth a flat line.

“What deal?” Mando asks.

“Nothing,” you reply, still glaring warnings at Karga, who sighs, shakes his head, and tickles the baby’s tummy. The kid giggles and kicks half the deck off the counter. “Nothing important. We should get going.”

Outside, you guide the Mandalorian through a maze of back alleys, the ugly underbelly of a planet that’s already the galaxy’s own underbelly. Mando glues a palm to his blaster’s grip, lifting it only as muscle memory to turn on the vembrance and activate the setting to scan footprints, frustrated when he remembers his own piece of equipment would immediately snitch on him. Yet you glade past dark corners that beg for their own knife-brandishing mugger with the grace of someone frolicking in D’Qar’s moorlands, postcard-calm.

Once in your store’s backdoor, the Mandalorian ventures a glance at the front street. Empty. Like the rest of the city, it’s like curfew was declared, not an imp in sight. Certainly not a stakeout in process. Behind him, you push the door open, the busted security panel no more than a prop to discourage robbers.

“What?” you ask when he doesn’t walk inside.

“There’s nobody here,” he answers, studying the connecting alleys like a web of arteries, waiting for a trooper squadron to materialize and ambush you.

“It’s quiet too quiet?” you tease with a lopsided grin. “Lay off the thrillers, Mando. Come on.”

You step inside, he hesitates. “Could be a trap.”

Hands on the doorframe, leaning forward, your face almost touches the helmet. “Then you’ll shoot them and we’ll be back to square one. Not much of a choice here, Mando.” Those pretty eyes, your shining, wet lips. It’s a siren’s call he knows he shouldn’t answer.

The Mandalorian follows you inside.

It takes him a moment to recognize his surroundings.

Your store hibernates in the dark, stale air floating around its vault. Your store, which used to buzz with drills and neon lights and life around the clock, looms like a beast’s hollow belly, crypt-still. Lights off and furniture wrapped in sheets, it looks abandoned, the way all those family houses in deserted villages were hastily vacated during the war. He wonders how long you’ve been out of business because of the siege. Because of him.

You walk across the reception in tomb silence. In the reception signs hang next to the front desk—store policies that gave Mando more than one headache—dark and colorless, like they turned in their badges and no longer preside over this place. Only “NO IMPS” twitches, one or two agonizing flashes of neon green, before it shuts down like its colleagues. Six rules in total, although in Din’s opinion there’s a seventh that foregoes the need of a sign: “NO QUESTIONS”.

That’s a rule that everyone in Nevarro—bounty hunter or not—subscribes to. It’s the rule you followed when the Mandalorian walked into your store, still crafting some half-assed excuse about thrusters when he came face to face (helmet to face?) with you. You never asked about New Republic guidelines or what he wanted them for. Not even for his name. No questions when he came back two weeks later. No questions as weeks passed and then months, as tension thickened between you until his internal barometer cracked.

No questions when his thinning resolve broke one night. That night. He pushed you onto your workbench, you undid each other’s belts, pawed at each other’s sides. No questions when he slid into your wet heat, when he had to stop for a second to avoid a heart attack. No questions when he finished inside you, blood roaring in his ears, your sighs clouding his visor, your hand gently pushing him back.

And then, his question: “Where are you going?”

“Upstairs,” you answered, pulling your trousers back around your hips.

It dropped on his head like freezing water. Upstairs. Upstairs to your apartment, to rest. Alone. Meaning your encounter was a one-night stand, a shortcut to let off some steam. Stars, you were basically swinging the front door wide open for him, putting away a couple of wrenches and switching off the lights to signal the night was over. The Mandalorian didn’t need questions to know he’d overstayed his visit.

But…what if he’d spent the night anyway? Maybe the next morning he would’ve been upfront with you, confess he’d wanted you for so long and that he wanted it to evolve past one furtive encounter, that he wanted it to be real. No, he probably wouldn’t have. As a bounty hunter—as Mandalorian—there are things he simply can’t have. Things that are better off unspoken, better off—

“Tucked away,” you say behind him, making the Mandalorian jump.

“What?”

“The planner.” You walk behind the front desk. “I was saying I don’t remember leaving it here. I thought it was tucked away in some box.”

Oh.

It is strange. A light sheen of dust covers the counter, yet the planner is glossy clean, a painted depiction of the Manarai Mountains on its cover. A souvenir from Coruscant. He wonders who brought you that. It tugs at something sweet but sad in his chest, the fact that you have to rely on others’ cheap souvenirs to explore the galaxy. That’ll change as soon as this mess with the siege is settled.

You flip through the planner, empty for the most part but for a few scribbles on the first pages. It’s dated 5 ABY, four years ago. The Mandalorian knows from experience that your appointment rule works mostly to turn away unsavory clients. Or to get on his nerves.

“Look at that,” you murmur as if reading his mind, your finger pointing at nothing on a page. “You don’t have an appointment, Mando.”

“We don’t have time for this,” he answers, though he knows he’ll make time for it anyway. It used to drive him up the wall whenever you refused to see him using that stupid excuse. But, as with everything with you, it was more complicated than that. It took longer than he’s willing to admit to understand that it was a game. That you liked him riled up, after the push and pull, the hot and cold, the challenge. You had a taste for difficulty. Although it didn’t take as long to figure out that he liked it too. “Just let me in.”

“I don’t know,” you drawl, glancing at the dull signs on the wall. “Rules are rules.”

The Mandalorian has played this game with you enough to know what you want. He thinks of all those memories in this building. You, pinned between his armor and the doorframe; him, sitting on that battered couch upstairs with your hands on his knees. Even those calm nights, when you’d only sit and talk and make him laugh, and sometimes he’d get a laugh from you too, if he didn’t try too hard. All the sweating and the panting and the talking that these walls have witnessed. Maybe there’s time for one last memory before you both leave this planet for good. Not maybe—there’s definitely time. If this were an ambush, you’d be dodging blaster shots by now.

“So bend the rules,” he says slowly, gripping his edge of the counter and dropping his voice to the low register that gives you goosebumps. “For me.”

Your eyes twinkle like copper at the fact that he’s playing along. “And what do I get in return?”

This time, he doesn’t hesitate. “Whatever you want.” Perhaps he’s known for a while, in the back of his head where he could ignore it, but last night the idea rushed to his front lobe. He’ll give you anything you want.

“I want…” you begin, mischief shining in your eyes, before a shadow clouds them. Slowly, your face goes soft, a special kind of longing in your pupils. You swallow, your voice becomes throaty, and the words sound truer than anything Din’s ever heard: “I want you. I just want you.”

He almost trips on his feet when he rounds the counter, his head already swimming. The hunter crowds you with his body, backs you up against the counter until you’re caged and looking up at him, hooded eyes and parted lips. Hot stuff. Cara’s shallow pet name. When he heard it he thought it was inappropriate. But now. As your mouth nestles on his clothed neck and breathes hot, damp air through the fabric—a mild sensation for most people, he guesses, but almost a mating call for him—he realizes it’s not untrue. The name fits you like a glove, hot stuff. It’s just…incomplete. If he’s learnt anything these nine days is that there’s so much more to you, enough sailor knots of emotion and personality inside you to loop around the galaxy if unraveled.

“Touch me,” you breathe, rubbing up against him, searching friction. “Please, please, touch me. There’s nobody here, we—we have time.”

Gloved palms on your waist, down to your hips, lower to your ass, Din tries to fondle you as best he can. He pins you between the counter and his hips, your leg curls around his back and holds him closer. His erection starts to bulge against your belly, your breaths start quickening, your hearts start pumping faster. The tell-tale signs that indicate you’re both ready to go hit all their usual beats. But something’s missing. There’s a step you’re skipping, something…something he’s not doing right.

Tentatively, you press a small kiss on his covered neck, and he can only feel its frustrating whisper, a promise of more.

A lightbulb flicks on.

Mando holds your hips and spins you around, the desk’s edge on your waist. “Bend over,” he grouses next to your ear, his voice sand-coarse. “Don’t turn around.”

Gloves off first. One palm cradles the back of your neck, feels you shiver. His left hand runs down your back and around to your tummy, savoring all those warm, secret places on you, the way your body opens up to him on instinct. The power trip when he cups your heat through your skirts and you moan into the counter. You nestle your hips on his lap, and he stiffens on command, a tug between his legs that he knows is far too insistent for foreplay. Stars, it’s like he’s conditioned to get hard in this store.

“Don’t—” he chokes out “—not so fast. Or I—I won’t—”

“What?” you pant. Din hears the grin laced in your voice and knows it’s bad news for him. He drops to his knees and both hands walk up your bandaged calves, squeeze the tops of your thighs. “You…you don’t…” He throws your skirts over your back. You inhale sharply at the cold air—or at his hands pulling the soft flesh of your backside. When he removes the helmet, your pitch sounds broken up, more desperate. “You d-don’t want…”

It’s a small victory when he parts his lips against your clothed core and it’s you, for once, who chokes on words. Small victory, but he’ll take it, especially after the way his cock twitches in his pants when he smells you. He kisses you again, just a peck over your clit, and your legs shake. Fucking…stars. If this is how you feel when you tease him…well, he gets it. You mewl and push back on his face, but he hardly thinks you want it that easy.

“Stop moving,” he tells you sternly, with a voice he’d use on quarries.

A shiver runs down your spine. “But—” You break into a whine when his open palm slaps the side of your thigh. It’s probably the surprise rather than the sting that makes you inhale sharply, and a combination of both that dampens the cotton between your legs.

“Stop moving,” he repeats, mouth pressed against your core so you can feel the vibration; that, he learnt from you. “Or you don’t get my mouth.”

Above him, you let out a displeased little grunt, too throaty to mean much. But you open your legs wider and brace yourself on the front desk, grant him full access to you. His index hooks on your underwear, moves it aside, and he buries his lips deep into the softest part of you. Din barely hears you gasp. He circles both arms around your thighs and pulls you closer, until his tongue is buried between your folds and you just have to take it. Fuck, it’s just…decadent. The taste, the smell, how soaked you are already, your little purrs and whimpers when he sucks on your lips. They’re not things he ever thought he’d get to feel. He doesn’t deserve any of it.

“Mmm, stars, Mando,” you sob, sneakily rutting your hips like you just can’t help it. He allows it, but only because he’s so rock fucking hard he’s practically doing the same thing. His cock trapped down one pant leg, he squeezes his thighs to try and soothe the ache. “Move—move up a b-bit.”

“No,” he grunts, and licks a slow line from the spot right below your clit to the back of your slit. It wasn’t so long ago that it was your mouth on him, you teasing him mercilessly inside this very store, him moaning and grunting and losing his mind. That’s how he wants you: sloppy, desperate, begging.

“Maker, don’t t-tease,” you moan, but it only encourages him. His tongue slides deep inside you where you’re hotter than sin, enjoying how your walls swell and tighten around it. You’re so fucking wet, he could push into you right now and relieve the pressure building between his legs. But not yet.

“Beg me,” Din groans, mouthing at the inside of your thighs and sucking tiny bruises there. You moan above him, deep in your throat, and he wonders which one of you is more turned on right now. “Put—fuck—put that smart mouth to use. Beg me.”

For a moment all he can hear is your labored breathing, the wheels turning in your pretty head, laying out a plan to make him give in faster. Then, soft and sweet, you hum, “Mando.”

One word. Probably the word Din hears the most, so generic and impersonal that everyone from friends to strangers to enemies call him that. That word coming from your lips makes his heart sprint, his cock pulse and scream at him to hurry up. Stars, but if it was his name—his real name—on your lips, soft and purring like you pronounced his nickname, he knows he wouldn’t be able to hold back a second longer.

“You always make me feel so good,” you continue, arching your back a little to test the waters. “You’re so—so good with your mouth, stars. Want you to kiss me again—kiss me everywhere. Taste me like yesterday—” Your breath catches when he sucks on your inner lips again, closer to where you want him. Maker, if you keep talking like that… “Used to th-think about it all the time, how—mmm—how your—your tongue would feel. Never, ngh, never thought you’d use it th-there, though.” Din laps at your cunt, drinks from it. Fuck, he can’t remember the last time he got this hard. An airy laugh before you continue. “You can be so d-dirty sometimes. I’d let you do—do anything to me.”

Really, Din doesn’t know what pushes him to do it. He doesn’t know what makes him pull back and spread you open with his fingers, stare at your glistening, deliciously swollen folds, and spit at their very top. You moan raggedly above him, a complete mess of sobs and whimpers, as Din simply stares. He watches the trail of spit run down your slit, the lower it goes the more precum he feels sticking to his trousers. Half-drunk on your words and your slick, Din thinks: What did you do to me? Maker, you have him wrapped around your finger.

Saliva trails down until it teardrops on your clit, clings to it, and he doesn’t need another sign. His lips latch on to your bundle of nerves and suck. You sob and whine and cry, rocking your hips hard against his mouth, and he continues sucking through his teeth. Your knees give out, but he holds them before you can hit the ground, holds you in place as he feels you give him everything, your pussy clenching around nothing. Slick trails down his chin, all the way to his neck, and—shit. He’s going to burst in his pants just from feeling you cum in his mouth.

It takes every last ounce of self-control he has left to detach his lips from your cunt and stumble to his feet. You’re still shaking, still panting, but he can’t hold it back a minute longer. Fuck, not even a second longer, he needs to have you right now.

It’s a struggle to get a hold of his fly, fingers trembling and teeth grinding. When he finally pulls the zipper down, the sound snaps your head up.

“Are you—Mando, are you going to—”

“Yes,” he grunts, digging into his waistband for his cock, lining it up against your cunt. Stars, he’s so pent up, it hurts to touch it. “Is it—is it o-okay, can—can, I—”

“Oh, fuck, yes,” you mewl, pushing your hips so tightly against his groin the head of his cock catches against your entrance. Fuck. “Please, please, please, put it inside, let me feel your big, thick, co—”

One hard shove, deep enough that he feels himself poke your cervix, and he’s cumming—hard. His spine doubles over and he grunts and moans into your hair, giving you short, stunted thrusts as he fills you to the brim. You were already so swollen before, now you feel unbearably tight, squeezing his cock so harshly his eyes roll back on his skull. And his balls keep pulling up and giving you more of his load, his teeth grinding so hard they might crack. One last thrust, nice and deep so his cum stays inside you, and his palm presses down on your eyes. Din uses that hand as leverage to turn you around and tilt your head like you showed him, just enough so he can reach your lips. And he kisses you.

Your bodies spasm and throb against each other, you clench around him involuntarily and he flinches, too sensitive to handle the aftershocks of your orgasm. Still, he could stay like this for days. Gently sucking on your tongue, running his along the roof of your mouth, feeling how your lips curve against his in a smile. Then, an alarming thought. Maybe this is the only way to do it that feels right now—sex, he means. With the helmet off, his lips on yours, his nose on your hair. Bare hands drawing circles on your hips. Every sense devoted to you. Even the briefest taste can be a point of no return.

You peck his lips and flutter sweet, short kisses around his jaw, working your way up to his ear, where you whisper, “We’re running out of time.”

The jammer. Those words are quickly becoming the bane of his existence. “I know,” he whispers back, but presses one last, long kiss to your lips that feels inexplicably sad, like a kiss goodbye. Din shakes the thought off his head. He’s too pessimistic sometimes.

You both hiss when he pulls out, slowly so he won’t hurt you.

“Keep ‘em closed,” he tells you before removing his hand from your eyes. For all he knows you could open them right there, and there’d be nothing he could do about it. Somehow, however, he’s certain you won’t. His trust is rewarded when he pulls the hand back, and your eyes are screwed shut beneath it.

It takes an awkward choreography to straighten yourselves. You try to pull your own underwear back on, but in your position it’s near impossible. So Din kneels behind you once more, fishes his helmet from the floor, tucks himself back into his trousers, and lifts your panties until they hug your hips. You push your own skirts down before Din’s upright, which results in the long fabric covering him like your furniture. You share a quick laugh before standing straight and facing each other.

“You can open them.”

Now, he tells himself, watching your sated smile and blinking eyes. The words are on the tip of his tongue: When this is over, would you like to come with me—

“If there’s a jammer here,” you say, before he can get a word out, “it’s in the workshop.”

You walk around him and open a door behind the reception desk to reveal the staircase that leads to your apartment. Din’s still telling himself that he’ll just ask you later, when you climb one step—and stop. You turn around like you can sense he’s about to ask, for the second time in this store, where you’re going.

“Gotta get some stuff from upstairs, but I’ll be down in a second.” Your voice wobbles, your foot hesitates on the step. You’re nervous. “But if you find the jammer before I come back, don’t…don’t leave.”

“Of course not.” Maker, of course he wouldn’t leave without you. Do you really think he would?

The workshop is darker than the reception. A single window, currently boarded up, so he has to use the helmet’s light. The cone of white light creates a sinister effect, like creatures lurk everywhere it doesn’t touch. Rubber tubes hang from the ceiling like lianas, circuit boards glimmer green like leaves, and yellow sensors blink from several components. Your own little ecosystem watches him dig into boxes of clutter to search for a jammer. Stars, he’s never known how you manage to find anything here. It’s probably best if he waits outside; he wouldn’t be able to find his own ship in here without you.

He’s turning to the door when the helmet’s light catches on a dark glint, like it reflected on a mirror. It stops him on his tracks. Din’s not sure what prompts his feet to carry him toward your worktable, where the mystery item lays center-front. He sees himself reflected on the dark T-visor. It’s a helmet. It’s a blue Mandalorian helmet.

At first he’s confused. Surprised to see a Mandalorian helmet here—and is it even a Madalorian helmet? Yes, yes it is. His brain lags behind his eyes, goes through different scenarios, each less likely than the last.

Is there another Mandalorian here? Did the Alor bring this? Is the Alor a client?

And then, truth.

It falls abruptly on his back like atmospheric pressure, gravity that crushes. A hot rush of blood enveloping his head, poisoning his thoughts, a ringing in his ears so sharp he thinks he might pass out. A million thoughts in less than a second—convoluted, scrambled, furious. Then an image, so clear that the Maker himself might’ve played it for him like a holo: Thieves, scammers, criminals scurrying through the tunnels of the Covert, the empty halls where his people built a refuge, where they could feel safe. The pile of beskar armor unguarded—the high price that brave Mandalorians paid to help Din, help the child—served in a silver platter for these scavengers, these fucking honorless lowlifes.

His gloved fingers grip your worktable so hard his knuckles might crack—or the table. But the Mandalorian can’t feel the pain on his joints, not when his bloodstream’s turned to acid, when it feels like somebody jammed live wires into his head.

This fucking place. This planet with its fucking people, their fucking cynicism, this fucking landfill for hazardous waste, this piece of shit skughole—

Above, the Mandalorian hears footsteps. Your footsteps. You.

He looks down at the helmet, the empty T-visor limp and black, dead. You did this. Thinking of you clears the red cloud from his mind, trades it for a gray one. A headache creeps behind his eyes, his shoulders go slack. He feels hollowed out. Like a spoon reached inside his chest and scooped away everything essential, left him a carcass. Like something died here today.

You did this.

And then the helmet is not a helmet, but a severed head. A head with a pool of blood around it, guts sprayed all over, and there’s the corrupt smell of blaster residue coming from his neighbor’s house, the taste of copper after biting his tongue running, the durasteel giants shooting red death, the deafening explosions, his parents’ screams, his school going up in a cloud of smoke, his father holding him, whispering one last sentence that he can’t hear through the sounds of war and carnage, his mother’s cheeks stained with tears and dirt and blood, their blurring faces, the darkness, the fear.

Holding the helmet, Din feels tears sting in the corners of his eyes, then hot on his cheeks. Nobody understands, why can’t anybody understand? The warrior that owned this helmet is lost forever, condemned to live like a phantom, empty without the Creed, without the Way. It’s worse than death. It’s the curse that most of the Covert was forced to carry, to walk this galaxy like living dead, violently stripped of everything that mattered. And the relic of their sacrifice sits in your workshop next to the rest of your junk, ready to be sold off to the highest bidder, somebody who’ll want to hang it in their wall like game they hunted, and how could you do this to him, how could you, how could you do this—

“Find anything yet?”

When the Mandalorian turns, his helmet’s white light locks you in place like quarry. Like guilty quarry.

You squint and raise a palm to shut out the bright beam. “Stars, Mando,” you laugh. “Are you trying to blind me? Turn that off.”

Your words are muffled by the rushing blood that wraps around his ears, loud as a waterfall, but he can understand them. The Mandalorian grips the helmet tighter between his hands and keeps the light on so you can see what he found, what he knows about you. The ugly, festered truth about you.

Once your eyes adjust to the bright light and they’re able to stay open for more than three seconds, you give him a quizzical look. The visor gives you nothing, so you drop your gaze to the hard evidence between his hands.

And you have the nerve to look even more surprised. Furrowed eyebrows and everything to add to the performance.

“Where did you get that?” you ask.

A thousand responses climb into his head in a savage, foul clutter, like army ants. I should ask you the same, where do you think?, how much are they giving you?, was it worth it?, what’s wrong with you?, what’s wrong with this fucking planet? He opens his mouth, but they swarm in his throat all at once and tie a knot around his windpipe. More tears on his cheeks, another attempt at words—nothing.

Finally, quietly: “How could you do this to me?”

The crease between your brows digs deeper, and there’s genuine worry in your eyes. Of course you’re worried, he just caught you red fucking handed. “Mando, I really don’t understand—”

“Me neither,” he hisses through his teeth, “because this is a Mandalorian helmet, and you’re no Mandalorian.” The first insect out, the rest follow like a waterfall, crawling out his mouth. “How long did you wait after I left to steal this from the Covert? An hour? Five minutes?”

Trapped under the light, where you can no longer hide in shadows, you look stricken. The harsh light shines on circles under your eyes, creases where you frown. Bleak features he never noticed before.

Your voice is low and icy when you say, “I never stole anything from the Covert.”

“Scavenge, loot, I don’t care what you people like to call it.” How could you, after everything, how could you.

“Listen to me,” you say steadily, but your eyes are hot coals and your jaw is set, your own anger rising. Good. Masks off. He wants to see who’s been hiding under his noses these nine days. All those fucking months. “I didn’t take a thing from the Covert. I have no idea where that helmet came from.”

The Mandalorian is barely listening. He’s heard more than enough lies for two lifetimes, he sure as fuck doesn’t need yours. Instead, he focuses on the one thought that manages to float in the red sea of anger and despair. He holds on to it like an anchor, clutches it until his palms bleed, but truth hurts.

“Duma.” He doesn’t ask this time around—he tells you. He knows and there’s nothing you can do about it—nothing he can do about it. Greef Karga’s words shine painful light on fog. Boiling beskar…did you take her up on that deal? “You’re selling it to her.”

“Stars, of course not.” The stoniness of your features melts for an instant, hurt revealed underneath those layers. You look devastated, tired. Maker, you’re good. Those hours of sabacc are sure paying off. “Why won’t you believe me?”

“How can I believe you?” he snarls, his head suffocating in dark quicksand—grief, anger, betrayal all clogging his nostrils, making his head throb. How could you how could you how could you. “When I know what type of people sprout from this planet, I make a living hunting them. I know you—” his voice breaks, but the words keep flowing and he hardly hears them “—I know the kind of company you keep, I know you have no principles, I know you can’t commit to shit—”

“Commit?” you snap, face hardening cold and twisted like the magma outside, but he knows too well what lies beneath the surface. Lava, hot and bubbling, your anger as raw as his. Rawer. “You wanna talk about commitment? I waited for you for five months!” The light from the helmet no longer makes you squint, but it turns your eyes red and watery. “You left. You left me here to starve through a fucking siege that you caused—”

“I came back for you!”

That gives you pause. Then you shake your head. “No, you came back because that piece of shit official asked—”

“He asked to meet me in Belderone.” Belderone, same sector as Nevarro, not even ten minutes away in hyperspace. “Told me Nevarro wasn’t safe because there was a siege, so I insisted we meet here.” The memory drains him. How worried he was about you, the type of worried that stirs bile in the stomach. How guilty he felt. “To see you again. Make sure you were okay.” The Mandalorian looks down at the helmet in his hands, a strange mirror staring up at him. Harsher than the one from this morning. His ears ring, his mouth tastes sour, his rising headache plateaus into an unbearable, incessant throb. A ghost limb aches somewhere in his body, all over it. He wants to leave your store, your planet.

How could you?

Mando doesn’t raise his head to look at you when he walks out the workshop. You don’t stop him when he reaches the main door. You don’t stop him when he walks out to the street.

The sky is jaundice-yellow when he steps outside. Gone are this morning’s blue hues, suffocated by the sickly coughing of a million volcanos, by their fumaroles and their sparks. For all the Mandalorian cares, this planet can burn.

On his way to the cantina to pick up the kid, he stares at the marker that identifies the entrance to the city: that crooked, arthritis-ridden arch. Beyond it, he spots the outline of a ship. A sleek civilian shuttle, probably a rental. The official isn’t stupid enough to fly a Republic starship past siege lines, so if the tiny shuttle fooled Guideon’s platoon in the atmosphere, well, it’ll have to do it again. Tomorrow, they’ll just have to tempt fate and avoid tempting the batallion of Imperial cruisers. Or fly out in the Crest and hope they can jump into hyperspace before imps pulverize them. All he wants is to put as many lightyears between him and this planet.

Din’s head pounds when he walks inside the cantina. The only thought hammering against his skull: How could you.

…………

Edit: Chapter 5…’tis the end

Taglist: @rosetophighlander @hellomothermoon @newyorksins @leo-moon @benedrylcumbersnatch @corrupt-fvcker @seratoninforyouseratoninforme @multifandomlife22 @justanotherblonde23 @abysshaven @equalstrashflavoredtrash @16boyfriends-and-me @ihaveashield @dinispunk @bananaagurl @mstgsmy @absurdthirst @cowboy-kylo @roxypeanut @heyitmelexie @readsalot73 @krazykatkay456 @elusive-danger-noodle @lola-wolf @nikkiparthena @lifeisapitch15 @teaofpeach @auty-ren @anewrule @hyp-oh-critical​ @pascaliprincess​ @geannad​ @coaaster​ @frietiemeloen​ @yourbucky084​ @brynnstudies​ @elfwoodfae​

im pretty sure i forgot someone so please message me if i did!

[titan-fodder]

Prima Vista Part IX

[ previous ]

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

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

- NINE YEARS -

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 "And, the other girl you saw is—"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 "Happy to be working with you." 

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

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

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

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

 "Wow, everyone really… cleared outta here."

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

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

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

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

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

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

 "Thanks. Mobs made it."

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

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

 "Here."

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

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

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

 "Do you, though?" He asks. 

 "Do I what?"

 "Look forward to working here."

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

 "Very big."

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

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

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

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

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

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

 "Yeah, for sure. I'll be around."

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

 He needs to fucking call Erwin. 

 "Hey, bro, what's up?" 

 "Dude," is all Mike says at first. 

 "What?" 

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

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

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

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

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

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

 "It—Wait, what did she say?" 

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

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

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

 "No, I'm not twenty-two anymore."

 "Could have fooled me," Erwin snorts. 

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

 "Could have been better too."

 "What? How—"

 "Could have bent her over the desk and—"

 "Dude!"

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

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

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

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

 "Yeah, yeah."

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

 *

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

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

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

 "Hitch—"

 "Breathe!"

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

 "What are you, my therapist?" 

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

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

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

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

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

 "Agreed."

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

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

 "Okay, and Erwin? What'd he say?" 

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

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

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

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

 "Uh, yeah."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 "Why would you—"

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

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

 "Oh my god, we have to call Marie."

 "And, Maddie."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 "Why?" You question with a head shake. 

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

 "No, I—"

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

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

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

 "Then, talk."

 "Mm, pass."

 *

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

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

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

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

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

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

 "Uh, yeah?" 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 It is not a productive work environment. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 "Don't play dumb, Zacharias."

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

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

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

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

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

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

 "I don't wanna talk!"

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

 *

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 Mike frowns. "Uh, no?" 

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

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

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

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

 "Well—"

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

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

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

 "I'm hanging up now."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 "I didn't say anything!" He laughs. 

 "You don't have to. I know."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 "Where'd you even find those?" 

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

 "So, you went… dumpster diving?" 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 "Ew."

 "Just spitball. Throw it at me."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 "What of it?" 

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

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

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

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

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

 "It was a frat boy car."

 "You were a frat boy!" 

 "And, now I'm a professional."

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

 "Most of the time."

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

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

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

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

 Then, you shake your head. 

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

 "Oh, sorry, I just—"

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

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

 "Yeah?" 

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

 "Tomorrow?" 

 "I mean, if that works for you."

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

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

 "I've always been an early riser."

 "Not from what I remember."

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

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

 "Kept up? Like you didn't wanna be?"

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

 *

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

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

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

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

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

 “Rhi?” He looks incredibly surprised.

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

 “Didn’t see that coming.”

 “Neither did I, honestly.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 So much for letting the past stay there. 

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

 “I really think we do.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 “Then, what are you saying?”

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

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

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

 “Do you not feel the same way then?”

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

 “You were in love?”

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

 “Sorry.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 *

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 “Okay.”

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

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

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

 “Oh, thank god, fuck, thank god.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

 “Oh, fuck.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 “Oh my god—oh, god—fuck, Miche.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 "That's my fuckin' girl."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 "Jesus fuck!"

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

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

 "Miche, please."

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

 "Good enough to fuck me?" 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 "I—I—I—..."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 Another day.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 But, not yet. Not yet. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 "Yes, yes, wanna feel you…"

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

 "Jesus fucking—"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 "We were, weren't we?" 

 "Mhm."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 He doesn't have the same, short refractory period he used to otherwise he'd fuck you against the tiled wall, but he's content to stay like this, sucking on your lip and pressing against you. 

 Even after you've been given the chance to get your thoughts in order, you still blink up at Mike, water droplets dotting and falling from your eyelashes as you tell him, "I love you. I still love you. I don't think I can stop."

 He holds your head in his hands, brushes his nose against yours as his chest swells with more emotion than he thinks he can actually handle, and his own confession is easy: "I love you, too." Another soft peck to your lips before he adds, "I think you already knew that, though."

 "Wasn't positive."

 Mike knows there are logistics to consider, but the two of you can work on that later. For now he just wants to finish rinsing off and crawl into bed with you. 

 He should probably change the sheets, though, and find you pajamas, so Mike does exactly that as you traipse back out to the kitchen for some water, wearing absolutely nothing and making him bite his lip. 

 He puts new bedding on the mattress, then digs through his dresser for a t-shirt and boxers. Something catches his eye, printed material that almost makes him laugh out loud. He doesn't know why he still has the shorts, especially since he ruined the shirt a long, long time ago, but he's so glad he does. 

 Pink and covered in palm trees, he can't even fit into them any more, but it's fine. He thinks he knows how he can repurpose them. 

 But first, he needs to call his mom. 

 *

 It's an easy fix, really. Before the Sina project even comes close to wrapping up, Mike finds a place for you in his department, something you hadn't thought possible, but apparently he's kind of a big deal in the field. 

 When he makes you the job offer in the conference room, he's able to keep it professional for a whole three minutes before you agree to the terms, and then he's out of his chair and picking you up to swing around. Just like that, the whole fucking office knows about the two of you. 

 "Ha! You owe me fifty bucks, Moblit!" Hange shouts for everyone to hear, and you shake your head as the quiet man asks if he can Venmo them. 

 "I fucking knew it! I knew there was something going on! God, that's so satisfying. I'm not even mad that you're leaving us."

 "It's been going on for a long time now," you snort. 

 Hange leans against the wall and wriggles their eyebrows, "Yeah, what, like, the whole three months we’ve been here?" 

 "Try ten years," Mike mutters, and the eyes behind Hange's glasses nearly roll out of their head. 

 You and Mike have to sign a few things, contracts and couples disclosures and what not, but you don't mind. 

 The first thing you do is ask for a few days off in order to move, and Mike naturally does the same to help. You live just over three hours away, but are able to recruit some help in the form of your old friends. 

 You let out a shrill scream when you see Erwin step out of his car outside of your apartment complex, all but throw yourself into his arms so that he laughs and squeezes you tight against him. It's been a couple years since you've actually seen him, the distance between you just a little too far, but it's so nice to stare at his stupid face again. 

 Nile is also there with a very pregnant Marie on his arm, and Hitch and Rhi arrive as all the guys are carrying down the first load of packed boxes. 

 "Damn, it has been a long time since we've all been together," you say, looking around at everyone and grinning after you tape up another set of cardboard flaps. 

 "Yeah, kinda weird how we all just get along now," Hitch giggles. 

 "It's almost like we're adults or something," Rhi adds. 

 You pass her the box, but she just groans and passes it to Erwin. 

 Everyone takes turns making trips to Mike's apartment, and the moving effort takes three days in total. You really need to find a way to repay all of them, maybe suggest a nice dinner. 

 "God, why do you own so much shit, babe?" Mike asks after loading the last shelves of a bookcase into his car (that you still hate). 

 "Because everything has sentimental value. Don't judge me."

 "Oh, I'm judging. When'd you get so soft?"

 You roll your eyes and reach past him to close the trunk door. 

 The others are all standing in the parking lot with you, antsy and excited for the two of you, or so you assume. 

 "I really can't thank you guys enough. You've made this so much easier," you tell them. 

 Erwin grins widely and pulls you into a hug, and to your surprise, Hitch slides around you to hold you from behind. It makes you laugh and call them dumb, but when they step back, you're hit with the realization that they weren't just being goofy; they were strategizing, keeping you shielded from Mike who is now kneeling on the asphalt and chewing on his bottom lip. 

 Your eyes grow wide, and you step back only to run straight into Erwin's chest. He puts two, grounding hands on your shoulders, and you can almost feel his smile as Mike reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small box. 

 A small pink box. 

 A small pink box with pieces of fucking palm trees wrapping around it. 

 "Did you get that fucking upholstered?" You shout, and Mike lets out a giddy laugh, his eyes so narrow from grinning that you can barely see the green. "I don't even wanna open it. I cannot believe—"

 "Good thing you don't have to open it then," he chuckles. “I do.”

 "You are fucking impossible, you know that?" 

 "Yeah," he agrees before prying the ridiculous box apart and revealing a ring that makes you tear up. 

 It isn't huge, but it's far from plain, sparkling stones wrapping around it with a larger, round cut in the middle. It's extremely pretty and very you, and oh, you wanna put it on, you wanna put it on right now. 

 "Don't look too impressed. Mom helped me pick it out, and it’s all ethically sourced, of course," Mike says, and you wipe your eyes while giggling. 

 "Oh my god, she's crying!" Rhi yells. 

 "Shut up, it's because of that atrocious box."

 Mike looks behind you at Erwin. "I knew she'd love it."

 "Yeah, good call, bro."

 "I hate both of you."

 "Still gonna marry me, though, right?" Mike is still grinning, but you can see the barest hint of worry in his eyes, and you can't blame him because this is big. This is commitment. Marriage. He wants you to marry him. 

 And, some will say it’s too quick, that you’ve only been actually dating for a couple of months, but it makes sense because if you’re being honest, you never really fell out of love with Mike. He’s always been nestled deep in your heart.

 "Against my better judgement," you smirk. 

 He stands up quick enough to make himself dizzy, has to brace a hand on his car as he kisses you. 

 "Finally!" Erwin shouts, clapping his hands and being joined by the others. 

 Mike slides the ring from the terrible box, pushes it onto your finger with shaky hands, and when you admire it in the sun, you look at him and nod. "Very nice, Zacharias. Even in the parking lot setting."

 "I just wanted everyone to be here! If we went somewhere fancy, you would've figured it out."

 That's true. Going to some nice restaurant or quaint little park would have definitely tipped you off. 

 "Also, you know once we're married, you will also be Zacharias."

 "Yeah," you nod thoughtfully. "Yeah, I guess I will be. Hey," you look at him with raised eyebrows. "Wanna shotgun beers at the wedding?" 

 Mike laughs loudly. "That is how it all started, isn't it?" 

 "Yeah, this stupid frat boy in a Hawaiian shirt came up to me and demanded I shotgun a room temp beer."

 "Sounds like an asshole," Mike chuckles. 

 You shrug as he pulls you into his chest and sigh into his shirt, "He turned out alright, I guess."