#this is a little old but holy fuck I don’t remember typing this??????

[ecivons]

Okay Shabuggy thoughts now :’)

I don’t think we really know too much about Shanks to know what he would.. really be like pursuing a romantic relationship. Or maybe we do. We definitely know more about him than Buggy. But at the same time he’s just such a mystery? Buggy is like Luffy where he isn’t necessarily a flat character but he’s a simple one, who has goals and motivations that aren’t so hard to read (he’s an open book— especially to those that know him well). With the few Shabuggy fics I have read though, people seem to agree that it’s always shanks pursing, reaching out, and buggy could care less about him (he’s like an indignant childish and petty wife) because Shanks, as successful as he is, is just a guy. And he doesn’t try to act all high and mighty for his status, he just stays as laid back and care free (on the surface) as he always has been. But he’s not really one to share his past and he went through a lot with Roger, so people think of his easy going ness and friendly nature to just be a facade for how lonely and detached he is. Like.. he had people he cares about but at the same time he’s lonely? If that makes sense (I think everyone has experienced that specific type of loneliness and longing before). And Buggy, the same, simple, easy-to-read guy is the perfect solace for Shanks. Someone who can understand what he’s lost, and someone who stays comfortingly the same even after all their years apart. So even if Buggy hates him and acts like he wants nothing to do with him, Shanks can’t help but still gravitate towards him (and Buggy will too; will allow himself to indulge in Shanks’ whims because he always has and why stop now). From Buggy’s perspective, Shanks will always be the same infuriatingly laid back guy as always. But there’s an underlying darkness now. It’s like he’s been through and seen shit. For all that they’ve stayed the same in those years apart, they’ve also changed and grown into different people. Because they aren’t kids anymore, and they both know this. I think Buggy embraces that fact, while Shanks wants to ignore it and focus on the lingering attachment he has to their past together (with Roger). AND AND OKAY CONTINUING. Buggy KNOWSSS how sentimental Shanks is. And he thinks it’s STUPID because he can get wistful about the old days bc ofc who wouldn’t but he isn’t gonna waste time reminiscing when there’s treasure to be stolen. BUT SHANKSS shanks finds value in the past and in their adventures and in all the people they met along the way,, so when shanks shows interest in buggy, buggy cant help but feel like it’s a prank or a fleeting whim that his carefree ass will easily just give up on. And he thinks that to Shanks, he’s nothing but a memory. He thinks Shanks is holding on too hard to their childhood on that damn ship and Buggy isn’t going to let himself fall into a romance with a guy who looks at him and sees someone that only existed decades ago.

So yeah, typing this all out made me realize that I really like one-sided shabuggy.. but not really one sided? It’s one sided from BOTH sides because buggy will not stop pushing shanks away because he doesn’t believe shanks actually fucking likes him and shanks isn’t one to overstep his boundaries for something so selfish (and he doesn’t want to lose such a precious old friend) so they stay in this stasis forever and never move on.

[redflagshipwriter]

Check Yes Chapter 6

masterpost

“Have you experienced events that could be described as fatal?” Danny read from his notebook. Before Jason could answer he continued, “Do you know the name and species of all your progenitors? Have you ever wondered if you are-” 

Jason held a hand up to ask for silence. He was in the zone on a training module that Barbie had sent to the whole team. He was not going to get any more shit from fucking Tim and Stephanie about being an out of touch old man like Bruce who ran code directly from the 90s.

Danny cut himself off to wait. Without looking up, Jason could see some kind of bouncing movement that had to be Danny fidgeting. “You’re early,” Jason eventually said. He shut the program that he’d been running and then blinked his full attention over to his date. “It’s not- is it 5 already?” He blinked away the gumminess in his eyes and checked the time. 

Danny flushed a little green. His freckles glowed a little whiter in contrast. “No, it’s 4:30,” he admitted sheepishly. “I, uh, left work a little early.” He floated up and then abruptly over into a flip. Like an antsy mermaid. Jason leaned back and watched, fascinated by how easy movement looked on Danny. It was the way he’d used to see Dick, but now he knew how hard Dick’s easy mobility was earned.

“You don’t feel gravity at all, do you?” He confirmed, envious and charmed. 

“Uhh.. Can’t say that I do,” Danny admitted. He shrugged. “Not like this, anyway. I do in my human body, obviously.”

“Is that literally-” Jason cut himself off with a mortified flush. Holy shit. You can’t just ask someone if they have a magical transformation into their own corpse. Insensitive much?

Danny gave him a knowing look but gracefully ignored the question. “Anyway. Do you remember what I asked earlier?” He cocked his head to the side and full body wiggled. “I had Frostbite help me write them out. Undead health isn’t really my area, but he knows everything that’s ever been known, which is pretty cool.”

“Uh…” Jason thought back. “I told you when we were eating that I died once,” he reminded Danny with a raised eyebrow. “So that’s an easy yes.”

Danny shrugged helplessly. “I didn’t know how serious you were or if you were describing something extremely short term like needing afib or something longer term-”

“Dead, buried, in the ground for months,” Jason admitted. “Presumably rotted, but I came back to myself with living human physiology, if extremely damaged from what killed me.” It was really gross to think about. It was also impossible to totally avoid. There should have been no coming back from all the blood drying up and shit.

Danny stared at him with an open mouth for a few seconds. Long enough that Jason fidgeted, uncomfortable.

“That’s the most metal shit I’ve ever heard in my life,” Danny said reverentially. “That’s so nasty, man. You rotted? Does this make me more of a necrophiliac than you?”

Jason choked on his own spit.

Danny did another flip.

“My parents were definitely human,” Jason managed, voice strangled. Best to get this back on topic. “I know for sure. I’ve met them both.”

Danny blew a raspberry. “It’s not always obvious,” he pointed out 

“Anything that would show up on Batman’s DNA analysis can be ruled out,” Jason corrected himself. “And neither of them had any non-human capabilities. Died from things that a Tamaraean or Kryptonian would be able to get out of.” 

“...Oddly specific species mentions,” Danny said. A line formed between his brows. His toes touched down to earth and he crossed his arms. “You… I wasn’t thinking of that type of non-human.” He cleared his throat. “It’s just that, you touched Wolf.”

“And a Kryptonisn wouldn’t be able to?” Jason asked a bit dryly. He didn’t understand the logic.

“Not unless they were really juicy with death,” Danny said in a weirdly mellow tone for such a disgusting sentence.

Jason gagged a little. He couldn’t help it. Oh, christ. Yeah, bodies got wet and shit after a while, but characterizing that as juicy? That was out of line.

“Not like- not like that!” Danny fluttered his hands at Jason, torn between horror and cackling. “I don’t mean like, dead and rotting. I mean dead and reanimated with ectoplasm. Souped with the sweet nectar of the afterlife. Wolf is a ghost, man.” He snickered.

“Wolf is a ghost,” Jason repeated.

Danny frowned. “Wolf,” he said. “Not Wolf.”

“What?” They sounded the same.

“You’re saying it wrong,” Danny said, saying the name the exact same way that Jason had been. “It’s Wolf, not Wolf.”

Jason stared at him warily. “...Spell it for me.”

“W-U-L-F,”  Danny rattled.

Ah. Ok. Jason took that onboard. “Wulf is a ghost,” he said again. “And therefore I ought not be able to touch him. I can touch you.”

“Like this? For sure.” Danny went through his flashbang light-show and shook out his newly black hair. “I’m a physical being. In my ghost form, I can consciously let you touch me. But Wulf was actively in the Ghost Zone when you hit him. You put your hand into the Ghost Zone and smacked him. The living have ghostly properties in the Ghost Zone. He’s tangible there but you should have been intangible.”

“...Maybe I’m a ghost?” Jason posited, cocking his head slightly as he said it. Danny was the expert. “I never found any answer for why I just woke up in my grave one day.”

“You just woke up?” Danny repeated, delighted. He put his hands on his face, breathed into them heavily, and then ran both hands through his hair. “That’s sick. That’s fucking sick, man. Did you have to dig yourself out like a zombie?”

…Did Danny think this was like, hot, and not disturbing? “Tore off my fingernails on the coffin splinters,” Jason confirmed, fascinated with what a little freak this guy was. Danny’s pupil dilated at the words. Jason could almost have been offended because that shit was traumatic, but hey. 

If he really thought about it. It was sick as fuck.

“I think yes, by the way,” Jason decided. He waited for Danny to give him a questioning look  before he elaborated. “You’re a monsterfucker, my guy. I’m attracted to you, but not because you’re dead. Whereas you’re clearly into the fact that I’m a dead guy.” 

Danny opened his mouth. He shut it. He put a hand over his mouth. “Huh,” he said. “Huh.” His brow furrowed. “If I said it was scientific curiosity and that passion for death runs in my family- no, I hear it.” He flapped a hand at Jason to cut off the laugh he couldn’t stop. “Hush. Okay. Fine.” He stood up a little straighter. “I’m a necrophiliac and I’m proud.”

A window banged shut in the kitchen and there was a clatter as someone’s shitty little brother fell into the sink.

“...Hi, Duke!” Danny called.

Jason put his hand over his face.

“Hi, Danny!” Duke called back, voice choked. “Good to hear from you, man.”

“You can’t fucking be here!” Jason said between his fingers. “I have plans, you shitty Zebra mussel.”

Danny looked at him.

“...What?” Duke asked. He came into the room to frown at Jason.

Jason rolled his eyes. “New Zealand mud snail.” They still didn’t get it. “Spotted lantern fly.” 

Blank stares.

“Fucksake,” said Jason. “I’m calling you an invasive species.”

Danny laughed. Duke made a loud pffft sound and unlocked his phone. He held it up and showed them the screen. “Would the New Zealand zebra lantern fly have this?” He triumphantly brandished his phone screen, which was a screenshot of his chat with Jason where he’d confirmed that he had permission to come over.

“New Zealand zebra lantern fly,” Jason repeated, vexed as fuck. “You know damn well-”

“It checks out, boss,” Danny reported, leaning back from Duke’s phone. “Looks like he’s allowed in. Let ‘im use your TV while we go out.”

“Yeah, let me use your TV while you go on a date,” Duke echoed, clearly enjoying this a lot.

“...I’ll get my coat,” Jason said sullenly. “Don’t get too comfortable.”

“We’ll bring you back dinner,” Danny told Duke.

Jason stalked away into his bedroom, wondering when he’d lost the plot to his own life.

[neonovember]

Golden Boy

part two to this request

warnings: suggestive content, miscommunication, angst if you are a tortured poet, highschool love, protective!carmen, touch depirved!carmen, mention of death

w/c: 2.8k

a/n: okay, okay, yes i know i said this would be a two part series, but god i have too much to say and it didn’t feel right to cram it into two parts. Also i wanted to add a little smut snippet and of course that required its own chapter??

The ring of the Beef doors resound through the murmur of the kitchen, the lunch time rush had dissolved to a quiet pull, regulars coming in for their pick up orders and the occasional customer seated in one of the back booths.

The soothing quiet the crew had been relishing just moments ago is interrupted by the familiar boom of Richie’s voice and the loud bang of the cartons of produce he’d left on the counter.

“Guess who the fuck I ran into down at the Market” Richie yells, beaming with the kind of smile you’d only have with the worlds biggest secret on your tongue.

The crew gathers at the kitchen station, hands rubbing tired eyes as the work day slugged on.

“What, Richie?” Sydney humours him, throwing the last of the chopped vegetables into a pot to slow cook, wiping her hand on her shoulder towel as she looks up at Richie.

“Our very own Bug” Richie replies, eyes glinting as they watch the white linen shirt of Carmen’s back stop suddenly. 

Carmen pauses, the sound of his knife falling with a clank. It takes a moment for him to turn around and face Richie, partly because he doesn’t want to meet the goofy pull of his features that told him he was playing around and partly because he doesn't want to face that what Richie said might be true. 

But he faces him anyway, because he always will for you.

“What? You saw a bug? Really Richie, you had to come all this way--” Sydney groans out, pressing a finger between her eyebrows, smoothing out the skin that has begun to wrinkle there.

“Shit, sorry, I forgot you guys don’t know her”

“Her? You got a little lady you've been keeping from us Richie?” Tina replies playfully, swatting a towel towards Richie who barely dodges it.

Carmen coughs abruptly at Tina’s comment, in which Richie bites back a grin, before raising an arm up in surrender.

“She’s an old friend of the family, Carmen and her used to be real close in High school. Come to think of it, she was your only friend actually, and was way out of your league” Richie says with a condescending tone, there is a look of thoughtfulness on Richie's face like he's actually thinking about Carmen’s high school experiencing and remembering the clear lack of friends he's had beside you.

The sound of cat calls and oooh’s resounds throughout the kitchen, the crew coddling this small but rare piece of information about Carmen’s past. Carmen wasn’t exactly conversational, whilst he regarded the crew as his flesh and blood that didn’t stop him from keeping a lot of himself and his past hidden. There was always the air of mystery that followed Carmen Berzatto, and it seemed the persona was about to deteriorate as a look of anger flashes across Carmen's face.

“Oh fuck you Cousin, She never even liked you” Carmen replies defensively, before the realisation that you were in town hits him full force.

“How did we not know this, I mean no offence Carm, but you didn’t seem like the type to be..open to friends” Sydney voices, the look of shock not hidden from her voice

“It was different with her, right? I didn't have to- she was- it was just different” Carmen mumbles, the visions of you seem to take over Carmen's mind, like visors, all he can see now is you. The curve of your neck, the smell of Lavender and shea butter from your mothers garden and your lotion. Carmen can almost taste it again, and its reminder has him craving you in a way that was all too dangerous for a man like him.

Especially since you were back in town, maybe not even a block away from him, holy fuck, you were back in town.

“Wait, uh, she’s in town?” Carmen replies, sheepishly, scratching his neck in nervousness that didn't go unnoticed by the crew. 

Carmen? Nervous? About a girl? Oh this was good.

“She came down for work, designing a whole piece of Madison Avenue. Think she’s staying for a little while” Richie replies “You should ask her when she comes tomorrow, you guys still talk..right?’ 

“Yeah uh, ‘course” Carmen mumbles, a feeling of grief washes over him like a wave, and without blinking, without a shudder of a breath you consume him again.

*

The New York winter was brutal, nothing like the December’s in Chicago, and the thought causes a grumble of cold air to leave Carmen’s mouth. Carmen couldn't help comparing everything in New York to the city he ran from, it was a habit akin to a shadow he couldn’t shake off.

Swarms of yellow cabbed taxis and car’s move through the city streets painfully slow, splashing waves of dirty street snow onto the frosted sidewalk. The rush of strangers wrapped in a decade of layers, the protective wool and fleece wrapping their hands and necks, make their way back to their apartment and homes, eager to feel the warmth of fireplaces and heaters and escape the ice cold snap of the unforgiving winds and falling snow. 

Carmen should be making his way home, in fact if he hadn’t stopped abruptly at the scene in front of the open pane window of a shop, he'd had felt the warmth of his century old apartment heater  by now. Walking back would be the right thing to do, it would be the sensible thing, but Carmen wasn’t known for his sensibility and recklessness was all he knew. Especially when it comes to you, always when it comes to you. 

So Carmen has found himself, stood stationary, looking rather strange in the middle of the street as city goers grumble and step around him, looking into the dimly lit art studio cramped between a Chinese takeout shop and a fabric store.

There you were, crouched in a chair, scribbling on a canvas across a wide workbench, papers and pens scattered messily in front of you. You haven't changed one bit, and maybe it had felt like centuries ago for Carmen when in fact it had only been a couple years but it was as if someone had taken a picture of his memories of you and placed it in front of him. 

You were so beautiful, it stole Carmen's breath away, it skipped the rhythmic beat of his heart and caused it to hammer against his chest in that nervous way you’ve always made him feel. Even surrounded by papers and stained coffee mugs and the drag of stress and sleep deprivation weighing on your sunken shoulders you are the most beautiful thing Carmen has ever, and will ever see. 

Were you real? Carmen’s feet are stone, like if he steps through the doors, if he moves even an inch you'll slip between his fingers and disappear from his vision again. He has to see you, he has to apologise and tell you everything that has happened, he has to feel your head resting against his shoulder, he needs to fall back into the gentle rhythm you both shared before it was lost to time again.

But before Carmen can move from his spot on the sidewalk, before he can even catch your gaze, he watches, in horror, as a tall haired man walks over, dressed in a brown knitted sweater and slacks that looked simple in the expensive way, and wraps his arms around you before behind.

His heart shatters completely, and he can't stop himself from watching on, you throw your head back with a laugh, hugging him back with a grin as he whispers into the nook of your neck and it's the twist of the knife in his stomach, tearing the entirety of its contents onto the sidewalk, staining the frosted pavement crimson with his innards. 

And it was like Carmen was 15 again. Seeing one of his classmates ask you to prom before he could even utter those words, watching the way you danced effortlessly in his hands beneath the gleam of the disco ball above. Your date had two left feet, and Carmen wanted to rip him off of you and replace his skittish dance moves. Carmen wanted to give you what you deserved instead of a football jock who couldn’t make you laugh.

That same childlike feeling of anger and jealousy spreads through him, that was sood replaced with anguish. He had lost you, he had waited too goddamn long and had lost you. What the fuck was he doing? How did he think he could just walk through those doors and stumble into your life again, and somehow fall back into the same familiarity of your friendship like nothing had changed? 

Carmen had done stupid things before, but Carmen had felt utterly foolish then. You were mystifying, of course you would be in a relationship, there were probably hundreds of men that threw themselves at you, and it wasn't like you were waiting for him.

The memory of saying goodbye to you was still fresh, he could remember the time when you turned your back to him, and the same way the sun shone through the hallways windows when you turned your neck to meet his gaze for the final time. 

He could remember what he had for breakfast, cereal with not enough milk and an apple, he could remember how he had two different pairs of socks on, one itching him throughout the day, he could remember the feeling of the ingrained drawings of your Geography teacher’s sketchbook, he could remember the way you looked at him when he told you to promise him not to say goodbye. 

He remembered it all like it was the day he died.

That day had been marked into his body and mind, into his subconscious until it was all that consumed him. Wherever he was, he looked for you, he searched and yearned for you in crowds and lines for coffee, in the driver's seat of cars next to him stood stationary at the traffic lights. 

Everytime he closed his eyes all he could see was the way you looked at him like you didn't believe him and it broke something, because it had been true. Carmen had promised to see you again, and he lied, and that late New York evening, it was like Carmen had died a second time.

And just like at 17, Carmen makes peace with watching you on the sidelines, bottling up any feelings he had for you in fear it would ruin everything you both shared. You were his greatest friend, and he couldn't allow himself to be selfish, not when you were you, and he was him. He didn't deserve you, and it didn't matter how hard he yearned for you because you were too good for him.

And it’s that thought that causes him to step away from his spot on the sidewalk, the imprint of his boots marking a spot on the concrete where the fallen snow hadn't touched yet, before it’s soon covered in the white flesh of frost, hiding that he was ever there.

From that moment on, Carmen watches you from afar, the unyielding desire to ensure you were safe at all times consuming him until his protective gaze fell over you like a blanket. He had kept up with your moves, silently cheering you on with each award and recognition you received throughout the years, whilst he himself began to climb the culinary ladder, or knife. He had never let his eyes waver, and then Mickey died and he came running back to Chicago with his things and a broken heart.

“Yeah, you all will meet her tomorrow at the dinner” Richies words cause Carmen to shake himself from his vision, what did he just say?

“You, You did what?” Carmen questions, unable to keep the shrill from his voice as the crew look towards him in confusion.

“Yeah I invited her, it’ll be like a catch up for the fam, she could see all the work I’ve done and see how you haven't changed-”

“Fuck Cousin, you- you should’ve told me before, now i got to make sure everyone has something to eat, and- and i got to add a a second chair” Carmen begins to mumble out, running a hand through his curls stressfully as he began to pace around the kitchen.

“Hey, Carmen relax, we've got room for one more person” Richie chuckles

“Wow, Jeff, just the sound of this girl’s name has got you shitting bricks. I think someones in loveeee” Tina singsongs with a grin, but there was something soft behind her eyes, in fact everyone in the kitchen smiled with a hint of happiness at Carmen's behaviour.

They had thought their Chef was closed off to love, and having felt its strength, each of them in their own ways tried to get Carmen out there, whether it be blind dates or meet cute’s, but it never worked out, and Carmen had always kept that part of life secret from even Richie and Sugar.

It seemed now, that you had been the mysterious woman that had stolen Carmen's heart, and they were giddy with excitement to finally meet the person who had gotten Carmen Berzatto scared shit less.

“Hey Cousin, why don’t you help me unload the rest of the cartons from the truck?” Richie replies, a subtle way of getting Carmen out of the kitchen and into a space that had fewer faces watching his every move.

“Yeah, uh okay” Carmen replies, following Richie to the back of the Bear, resting his back against the brick wall of the alleyway.

There is a silence that stretches between Richie and Carmen at that moment that Richie would usually fill with slanted jokes or rambles. But even Richie knew you were a sensitive topic for Carmen, and he waited patiently for him to approach the topic on both of your minds.

“So, we haven’t spoken in nearly 8 years and she's coming tomorrow to my restaurant” Carmen replies, and Richie nods along.

Carmen shakes his head scoffing, looking up at Richie with a look of fear and embarrassment and elated happiness all in one.

“I don’t know what i’m gonna do Cousin, I- I don’t know what to do with myself with her, fuck what if ruin everything?” 

“Hey, hey easy, I was poking fun at you before but you and her, that was something else entirely that the rest of the Family would never come close to understanding. When you were together, it was like, it was like I could see the anxiety and stress physically leave you, you fucking laughed with her Carm, when you weren’t in the mood to even smile, even after everything you’d see her and it was like nothing else mattered, like no one else mattered.

I mean, the whole family was betting on you both running off and getting eloped, you were both in your own bubble, and did not give a shit about anybody else.” Richie chuckles, resting a hand on Carm’s shoulder to stop him from pacing.

Carmen looks up at him with furrowed eyebrows, pressing his canines into his lips

“What if she doesn't want to speak to me?, Ya know, what if she came for- for you and Sugar and-and she doesn't even want to see me” Carmen rambles, fear taking over any sense

“Are you kidding Carmen? You both hadn’t spoken in nearly a decade and she still said yes to coming to the fucking Beef of all places on a Friday. She wants to see you, Carm, you've just been too stupid to see it, you've always been.” Richie replies, shaking Carmen like he was trying to shake the sense into him.

“You know what you have to do now, right?” Richie says, when you've both rested on one of the stools, lighting a cigarette for warmth against the bite of the cold.

“I’ve got to make tomorrow fucking perfect, thats what I’ve got to do. Which is almost impossible for this goddamn place” Carmen groans out, taking a drag from the wrapped tobacco stick.

Richie lets out a laugh, rubbing his stomach as he leans against the brick layered wall.

“Don’t know about that, they just might for her” Richie replies, before getting off of the stool, dusting his jeans and walking towards the pick up truck.

“Where are you going?” Carmen calls out

“You thought I was kidding about these boxes? Chop chop cousin, we gotta get them in before it fucking rains” Richie yells back, letting out a laugh at Carmens loud groan.

[usernameforaboredcat]

Head Over Heels (Law X TomBoyF!Reader)

(A little dabble I thought while taking a piss 🥺👉🏻👈🏻 like 3 minutes ago)

Warnings⚠: None

[Part 1/?]

Law meets Luffys older (by like a year) sister who honestly the type of girl he’d imagine being the big sister to the Straw Hat and BOY is she just fiiiiiiiine!

3 brothers!

Imagine growing up with 3 idiot brothers with only one of them being less stupid. Fist fights, rolling around in mud and dirt, covered in blood from hunting, needing a bath every night to not get sick. Haha God I love those idiots!

~

Law doesn’t know why he’s here, walking down a random street on a random island with the idiot Straw Hat Luffy. As the two walk, Luffy lets out a loud yell as he sees a familiar older girl walking down the street. “HEEEEEEY! (YYYYY/NNN)!”. He calls way too loudly, drawing the attention of everyone including the girl. She turns in confusion, the gasps as she looks over with wide eyes and a bright smile.

Luffy jolts off over to the girl, the Captain of the Heart Pirates groaning as he slowly walks to catch up. He sees her wearing baggy long pants and a bikini, saddles and a small pack bag through the belt parts of her pants. Luffy jumps and hugs her, who hugs him back. “No way! It’s so good to see you again little dude!”. She greets him. “I’ve missed you so much!”. Luffy cries. (Y/n) pulls off the younger kid, putting him in a headlock as she ruffles his hair with his knuckles.

“You little fuck! I thought your ass was dead you little shit! Scared me half to death! I swore I saw the light!”. She snaps at him angrily, tightening her hold as he starts to choke. “I-I’m sorry! Please don’t kill me!”. Luffy breathes out, spazzing in her hold.

The Heart Pirate Captain finally catches up, looking at the two with a raised eyebrow. “The hell are you?”. (Y/n) asks the taller man, looking up at him. A thump goes through his whole body, strange. “Th-this is my friend!”. Luffy chokes out, now trying to pull her arm away. “No shit! Can’t believing you made a friend that isn’t some 30 year old guy!”. She says happily.

Law looks at his now turning blue friend, his cheeks reddening at the sign of his face so squished against her boob. “Hope this little turd hasn’t been too much of a pain in the ass”. She tells him, finally letting go of Luffy to let him fall to the ground. ‘Yes, he has been a giant pain in my fucking ass’. “No, not at all”. He responds. ‘Damn it!’.

She then hums, getting on her tippy toes and leans right up into his face. “Holy crap! You’re that Law guy! I heard about you! Your bounty is like crazy high at like 3,000,000,000 berries!”. She points out in shock. “Yeah! Isn’t he awesome!”. Luffy cheers, now back on his feet. “It is quite impressive, I must say”. She hums, holding her chin with her hand as she nods.

“Uh…th-thanks”. He mutters, gripping the brim of his hat to lower it to hide his slowly growing blush. ‘What’s with this woman? Why am I like this? Damn it!’. “So, whatchu up to these days?”. Luffy asks his older sister, the two turning to each other. “Oh ya know, just traveling around looking for anything to do! Probably doing the least to piss off the old man out of us kids”. She answers, leaning with her hand on her hip.

“How bout you? I’ve seen that your bounty has only been goin up so ya still trying to be King of the Pirates?”. She asks. “Yep! And it’s only gonna go up and I’m gonna be king!”. He responds happily. She chuckles at her little brother. “I believe it! Remember I’ve been your number one supporter since day one”. She reminds him, nudging his arms with her elbow.

She then turns back to the other captain, feeling an arrow go through his heart when her eyes meet his. “Mind if I hang with you guys for a while? Just for a bit, I wanna catch up with my baby brother”. She asks him oh so kindly. Law felt as if his heart stopped, chocking and spitting out his own spit. Luffy laughs at his reaction while his sister just stares.

She reaches into her bag and pulls out a handkerchief, holding it out to him. “Do you…need this?”. She asks nervously, never really seeing a guy act like this before in her life. “Uh…”. He takes the handkerchief from her, feeling the soft fabric on his fingers. “Thanks”. He thanks, raising it to clean his face. “Oh man! You should have seen your face!”. Luffy laughs at his older friend.

He holds the handkerchief back to her, her hand grazing his as she takes it back. Her finger tips are as soft as silk, her fingers smoothly sliding off his. Laws nose suddenly bursts, blood gushing out his nose like a hose. “Holy crap!”. The girl yelps, jumping back while Luffy bursts out laughing again. “Hahaha! Now you’re like Sanji!”. He laughs, holding his stomach from all his laughing.

(Y/n) looks at her brother with a concerned expression. “Is he uh…usually like this?”. She asks him. “Hehehe, nope!”. He simply answers. All Law can do it turn away from the two, his face a dark beet red. Never in his life has he been this embarrassed just because of some girl. (Y/n) leans over so she can whisper in Luffys ear. “Should I leave and we catch up a different time?”. She whisper asks him, causing the younger boy to turn and look at her.

“No no it’s fiiiine! Just give him a minute”. He reassures her. She hums as she leans away from her baby brother, then just to lean back over. “He said he acts like a friend of yours, what’s he like?”. She asks him. “Oh you mean Sanji? He usually acts like that around girls, he really likes girls”. Luffy answer. Oh…OH!!! Oh~. “Oh I see~”. She coos, leaning away from her little brother again.

“Huh? Get what?”. Luffy questions. (Y/n) then grabs Laws hand, gaining his attention and causing him to freeze in place. “So Law, are you here for long? Perhaps we can meet up and you can tell me some stories of dumb shit my baby brother has done?”. She asks him, sending him a little wink. His nose starts to bleed again, but he’s able to muster out a nod. “Cool! Now why don’t we go somewhere nice and chat!?”. She says happily, linking arms with her brother and dragging the two down the street.

Trafalgar Law, Died Age 26

Death By Blood Loss & Heart Attack Caused By Luffys Hot Older Sister

[shifterdomain]

Reading Thirst Tweets / Jonah Hauer-King X Actress!Reader

A/N: So, I’m kind of obsessed with watching these type of videos and I thought I’d just combine it with my love for this beautiful man and wait for Buzzfeed to realize it’s what the people want. I actually found the tweets by looking up thirst tweets on Twitter, but I can't really remember by who they were, so please let me know if you know.

Summary: You had wrapped the project you and Jonah had been working on for the past year and a half and now you are invited by Buzzfeed to come and read the Thirst Tweets they picked out for the both of you. Warnings: Thirst tweets, obviously. Including some innuendo's. Word count: 925.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

You and Jonah were sat down in the studio that belonged to Buzzfeed, a blue screen behind you guys as you both giggled nervously, anxious to know just what people had been writing about the two of you on Twitter. You shifted in your seat, two buckets sat on the table in front of you guys that contained the small pieces of paper with the thirst tweets.

Once the camera was set you were given the signal, smiling into the camera as you introduced yourself first. “I’m Y/N Y/L/N.”

“And I’m Jonah Hauer-King,” Jonah chimed in. “and today we are reading your thirst tweets.”

Jonah dove his hand in first, pulling out a piece of paper that contained a thirst tweet about you. You had both, with approval of the studio, decided that it would be fun if you actually read each other’s.

“’Y/N Y/L/N is so fine, in this essay I will-’ and then it stops,” Jonah reads, putting the paper aside. “See, I never got the hype with the whole ‘in this essay I will’ meme.”

“It’s a Gen Z thing, you’re just too old,” you joked teasingly, earning a bitch face from Jonah, which, quite frankly, looked more adorable than anything else. “Don’t stress it, babe.”

He rolls his eyes as you call him that, but you could tell that he was feeling a little anxious about hearing what people were saying about him. His cheeks turning a crimson color as you smirked mischievously, scrabbling through the papers before picking one out and reading it to yourself first. You couldn’t help but laugh before you started reading it aloud in a playfully seductive way. “’oh jonah hauer-king baldheaded? that will make your pussy throb’, and then a woozy face emoji and three weary face emojis,” I said, looking back at Jonah as he had his face buried in his hands, trying to keep from laughing too hard as he hid his slowly darkening blush.

“That’s… wow,” he laughed lightly, shaking his head slowly. Inhaling sharply he puffed his chest, getting ready for whatever more was to come as he dug his hand into the bucket again, pulling out another note. “This is in all caps,” he stated. “’HOLY MAMA Y/N Y/L/N IS SO FUCKING FINE. PLEASE MOMMY’.”

“Ahw, thank you,” you reply sweetly, smiling at the camera.

Jonah raises his eyebrows at you. “You like that nickname?” he questions with a teasing undertone in his voice.

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” you grin back, diving your hand into the bucket before he could ask anything else, pulling out another piece of paper. This one was a little bigger, so you had to fold it open, revealing not just a quote, but also a picture from Jonah’s Instagram. “‘I wasn’t going to see the movie at first, but that bulge is definitely gonna bring people to see The Little Mermaid.’” you read aloud, nodding your head as you put the paper down. “See, you should definitely go to see the movie. It’s a great movie and there’s a lot of scenes where you see his abs too.”

Jonah blushes deeply again, causing you to chuckle lightly. It was pretty easy to get him flustered with compliments about how he looked as he could sometimes still get self-conscious, something you, together with most of his fans, couldn’t really understand the reason of as he was surely a very good-looking guy.

You moved on through the notes, sharing a lot of laughter and a lot of blushes as between the milder tweets there were some that were very much unhinged and creative, rendering the both of you speechless in some occasions.

“‘god i NEED jonah hauer-king on top of me, like bad, it’s not even funny anymore 🥴🥴’,” you continued, reading one of the last few tweets. “Let me tell you, it feels good,” you joke, not bothering to explain the scenario. Jonah simply looked at you and grinned, leaning in to press a quick peck to your cheek, knowing that that mere moment would send the fans into a frenzy.

You continued reading the last tweets in the bucket.

“‘Y/N Y/L/N can slap me, spit in my mouth and run me over and I’d say thank you’,” Jonah read aloud. “Oh, wait, this is mine,” he jokes, shaking his head as he takes a second look at the picture that was posted with it. It was a picture he took during the first week of rehearsals and posted on his Instagram. He folded the picture and stuffed it in his jean pocket, making you burst out laughing as you clapped while doing so. Shaking your head in disbelief before dropping your head on his shoulder.

After a moment of catching your breath you dove in for the last piece of paper. “‘if a woman tells you you have “nice hands” she is doing everything in her power not to fuck you senseless please release her from her torment her friends are receiving the kinds of messages someone in prison would send and with that said i would like to let you know that jonah hauer-king has very nice hands’.”

I looked back at Jonah as he placed his hands flatly on the table, looking down at them intently. “I think my hands look fairly normal,” he stated simply, tilting his head slightly to the side as he examined his own hands.

“You have very nice hands, Jo,” you quipped before looking back into the camera with a wink and adding: “and very large too.”

[lipglossanon]

i feel like i kinda disassociate when i type and send asks lmao i just get anxious ya know? but you mentioned priest leon and honestly i’ve sent enough detailed asks in to get accurately kinkshamed lol so let’s say after Spain (i’m not a slut for RE4 leon that’s silly 🤭😉) leon quits//retires and becomes a priest right? right. or like he’s seen some shit and becomes a priest after retiring 🤷🏼‍♂️ whichever leon floats your boat. so he’s a caretaker for a little chapel in the woods somewhere and you’re on a trip for christmas (bad weather, closed roads, one bed holy trinity trope pun-fucking-intended) and what you don’t know is a kindly 20 something or if you’re an ~i love DILFS~ leon fan 30 to 40 something (because you might be calling him Father later 😉) moderately unhinged priest is about to make you get on your knees and repent for your sins 🙂🤭

- 💀

(i saw the end of your answers about me writing and i wanted to say i would love to but i’m too scared in case i loose my tumblr again lmao, i appreciate it though <3 also my brain conjured up the idea of stepdaddy leon in a speedo during family vacation to mess with reader,,, enjoy 🤭)

💀 anon, hi! 👋

AGDKL sending in asks is kinda nerve wracking, anonymous or not 😅

Ahhh! 🙈 no but this is fantastic. After Spain, Leon’s like I’m out and the president is so grateful to him that he lets him go so he’s like I want a simple easy job and priest is what he lands on

And so he finds this middle of the nowhere chapel that basically has next to no parishioners (they’re all old and make the trek to the chapel for like spiritual emergencies or like holidays such as Christmas and Easter).

So basically he’s just living in the middle of the woods just keeping to himself when you happen to be passing through (to see family, let’s say it’s Christmas). And you’re car gets stuck cause you forgot to put on the chains for your tires

But you remember passing a little chapel literally two minutes ago so you make the short cold trek to it before it gets too dark and this stacked, hot as hell priest opens up the door after you knock and you’re just like uhh help? 😅

And he invites you in as you tell him your car trouble and he’s listening but his face is totally unreadable so you’re just like I can just call someone and get out of your hair? And uh oh the phone lines are down and there’s no service :( so you’ll have to wait til the morning but in the meantime Leon offers you his bed but you’ll have to share cause there’s no central heat and his little room only has a small fireplace :( 🤭

You’re so flustered and sweet that Leon wants to bite you, just eat you up and it’s kinda driving him crazy cause he hasn’t felt this way before (but he also hasn’t seen anyone younger than 70 in ages lmao)

So when you’re both lying in his bed, you keep squirming to get comfortable which just leads to rubbing against Leon who’s getting hard until finally he just can’t take it anymore 🤭

He’s all over you, biting you and sucking marks all over your skin, telling you how sinful it is to tempt a priest and how you’ll have to pay for it with your body 😵‍💫 😵‍💫 he’s just so rough with you, completely animalistic that by the time daylights weakly streaming through the windows of his room, he’s still buried in your cunt as you plead for forgiveness 🥴

Sorry I totally went way overboard with the reply 🤪

And no sweat about writing! I love getting your asks which is basically the same thing 😉 and Leon in a Speedo is 🤤 🤤

[spyruce]

I’ve been on a binge all yesterday and today. Just watched Solve It Squad, How the Grunch Cribbed Christmas, Holy Musical B@man! and Me and My Dick all for the first time. And I’m dropping my short reviews:

SIS/HTGCC are definitely worth the watch, tons of fun. I feel the need to put Scrags in a jar and shake him around a little bit. Depressed sad little man. (The way my jaw dropped when he explained how Cluebert was a replacement for his absent father HELLO 😭) Esther is great, their whole fucking with Christmas song was great. I thought the drug thing would get old but they find so many ways to keep it interesting. Keith is silly as fuck you go king I hope you get laid one day but please move on from Gwen girlie🙏 And uhh I don’t remember a thing about Gwen whoopsies. I’m working my way through the livestream episodes right now, I adore how cartoony it all is.

HMB! I probably have to rewatch I was multitasking. But whatever tf Batman and Superman had going on was great. Loved the way Batman and Robin were more of a brothers dynamic than father-son. I am once again amazed by how Joe feels so different in every role. Jeff fucking killed it he was made to be a joker-type beat mf. (tbf I tend to like Jeff a lot I think he’s great). But yeah this was fun. Will probably watch again eventually.

I cannot tell you wtf happened in MAMD but uh????? I am… once again amazed by how Joe feels so different in every role. The whole show was weirdly charming? I was expecting to enjoy the more crass humor since that’s just how I am but yeah the whole story was more captivating than I expected?? I very much enjoyed it. By far the funniest joke was the main guy just being named Joey Richter 😭 one big bullying session fr fr the Heart really went for his ass with his line about the jaw. …Yknow if I had a nickel for every time Joe and Joey played different parts of the same character I’d have two nickels???? Which really isn’t a lot but it’s weird that it happened twice.

With this, I believe the only Starkid/TCB musicals I haven’t seen (not counting side shows or things not staged) are A Very Potter Senior Year and ANI. I’m happy to talk about any other show if anyone would like to discuss but I’m expecting this post to be lost to the void lmfao I just needed to get my thoughts out!

[queen-haq]

Fic: Alive - Part 22

Summary: Aidan traced the thin chain around his neck, rubbing the infinity pendant between his fingers. No longer a symbol of their everlasting love, it was something he touched in anger when he thought of Sage. It was the only thing of hers that still remained with him after eight years, the last possession which still connected them together. When he 4did find Sage again, and he would no matter how long it took, he planned to destroy the pendant - and her.

Taking place across two timelines, Alive tells the story of Aidan and Sage, high school sweethearts driven apart by who they are and where they come from. Once enemies then lovers, their relationship runs full circle when they meet again in the present, now prepared to destroy each other.

My Masterlist (contains links to previous parts)

Aidan lay in bed, staring up at the hotel room ceiling while his mind reeled with thoughts about his daughter. The image of the little girl watching him with big doe eyes was etched into his brain. At one point she'd even seemed afraid – the possibility of which made him physically ill. He knew all too well what it was like to be terrified of a parent and it was sickening to think he provoked that same fear in Ziyah.

"Ziyah."

He said the name out loud several times, sounding it out. It was such an uncommon name, at least for him, and he liked it. Apparently it meant shining light in Arabic which seemed to fit their situation perfectly. If not for the beacon of hope that was Ziyah and the desire to keep her safe and happy, he probably would have let the darkness in him destroy Sage already. After years of wanting to hurt her, it was difficult not to give into the bitterness and anger she made him feel.

He glanced at the clock. Although it was close to two in the morning here, Theo was in California where it was several hours behind. Picking up his cell, Aidan dialed his best friend's number, hoping Theo would pick up even though they hadn't spoken in weeks – not since their last argument when Theo had ordered him out of his life. Fortunately, Theo answered after several rings.

"What do you want? I'm busy."

"Busy getting laid?" Aidan joked.

"I'm hanging up now."

"You still pissed at me?"

There was a brief pause at Theo's end. "Depends. You still an asshole?"

"Yeah."

"Then, yeah. I'm still mad."

"I'm in Toronto."

"I don't care."

"I found Sage. She's been living here for a while."

"Great. You want a fucking medal for stalking her?"

"And she has a kid. My kid. Ziyah."

"What?" Theo asked, shocked. "What the fuck are you talking about?"

"Sage was pregnant when she took off. I have a daughter, and I'm..." Aidan exhaled a sharp breath. "Scared shitless."

"Holy. Fuck."

"Tell me about it."

They were both silent for several minutes, the air thick with tension.

"This means I'm an uncle," Theo said after a while. "Forget it. I'm not babysitting."

Aidan chuckled. "Jackass."

"How old is she?"

"Almost eight. Brown hair, brown eyes. Looks nothing like me."

"You sure it's yours?"

"Sage insists she's not but I'm not buying her bullshit."

"You're going to do a paternity test, right?"

"I don't need a fucking test to prove anything. I know she's mine. Sage wasn't the type to fuck around."

"Take one just to be sure. You don't want to get saddled with someone else's problem, you know?"

"Bro, don't piss me off. Your sister already did that tonight."

"Which sister?" Theo snarked.

"Fuck off."

"Sounds like Sage is still in one piece after your meeting."

"Yup, alive and breathing. No need to call the cops yet," Aidan deadpanned.

"Give it up. You're not going to do anything to her."

"Really, you sure about that? You remember my old man, don't you?"

"How many times do I have to fucking say it? You're nothing like him."

Aidan hesitated for a few seconds before answering. "My whole life I've been so fucking afraid of that asshole. I don't want my kid to feel that way about me."

"She won't. You know why? 'cause you're never going to do what he did."

"You're right. I'm not going to lay a hand on her. Ever. I swear it."

“I already know that. You don't have to convince me."

"I'm going to be the best fucking dad in the world."

Theo snickered. "Okay, let's not get too carried away."

"Come on, dude. I can do it. Don't you think?"

"Yeah, but it's not gonna be easy. And you can't give up when things get hard."

"I know."

"And if the kid is anything like you or Sage, she's gonna be trouble."

"Whatever, man."

It was Theo's turn to sigh loudly. "Can't believe I have a niece. Shit."

"I can't wrap my head around it either."

"How long you planning to stay there?"

"Dude, I'm here for good."

"Sage knows that?"

"She'll find out soon enough."

"How do you think that'll go over?"

The anger in him resurfaced. "Who gives a fuck? This isn't about her."

"You sure?"

"Yeah." Aidan took a deep breath before continuing. "She doesn't get to dictate if I have a relationship with Ziyah or not."

"Ziyah, huh?"

"Yeah, I know. It's weird but I like it."

"You always were a freak."

"Shut up." Aidan yawned. "What's going on with you and that Cadence chick? You engaged yet?"

"I asked. She turned me down."

"You serious? What the hell is wrong with her?"

"Nothing," Theo replied. "She's not ready for something that serious."

"Nah, it's 'cause she knows you're hot for me."

"You wish."

"So how you doing? You alright?" Aidan asked, knowing exactly how it felt to be in Theo's position. It hurt like hell, and Theo was the last person who deserved that kind of rejection.

"I'm okay. We're okay. Taking things one day at a time."

"Wait, you still with her? Why?"

"Because I love her. I'm not just going to dump her because she wants to take things slow."

"You deserve better than someone who treats you like shit."

"Says the guy still chasing his ex after eight years."

"Touché." Aidan smirked. "Fine. Do whatever you want, just don't be a miserable old fuck."

"I'll try," Theo replied. "Anyway, I gotta go. I have a meeting tomorrow morning."

"Yeah, I have big plans too."

"Anything I should be worried about?"

"You? No. Your sister? Probably."

"Great," Theo muttered. "I'm not flying out there to bail your ass out of jail."

"Yeah, yeah."

"I'm serious. Don't do anything stupid."

"Don't worry. Not gonna give Sage any more reasons to keep me from my kid."

"Man, I'm never gonna get used to hearing you say that."

Aidan chuckled. "'night, asshole."

After the conversation ended, Aidan returned to pondering his future plans. As much he wanted to crush Sage, it was no longer an option. Instead, he had to find a way to deal and work with her in order to be a part of Ziyah's life – and that wasn't going to be easy. But he was ready, and prepared, to do whatever it took to win this battle.

*****

Sage sat back in her chair, closing her eyes for a few minutes. As soon as Aidan's face flashed across her mind, she sat up and turned her attention back to the computer screen in front of her. There were a million emails to respond to and phone calls to return, and she was too distracted to do any of it. All she could think about was last night and the sudden reappearance of Aidan back in her life. Just then her assistant, Kenisha, knocked on the door. Usually, the young black girl was spunky and vivacious; right now, however, she seemed more hesitant than anything. And Sage knew exactly why. "I'm going out for lunch. Do you want anything?" Guilt flooded over Sage at how nice Kenisha was being, especially considering Sage had snapped at her earlier. "Mind if I go with you?" "I'd rather not be bitched out during lunch." Most people would be wary of speaking to their bosses so freely but Sage and Kenisha shared a great relationship and worked well together. And until today, they've never had so much as an argument. "I had a bad morning and I took it out on you. Sorry." "I'll forgive you, as long as you buy me one of those super fancy lattes." "I was going to buy you lunch but a latte sounds easier on the wallet." "Lunch and latte?" Sage stood up, gathering her things together. "I don't know if I can afford that." "I saw the paperwork for your last sale. You can." Sage chuckled. Shortly after they were sitting at a nearby cafe, enjoying their lattes and sandwiches when Kenisha broached the topic of their argument again. "So why were you so angry? Is everything alright?" "Nothing I can't handle," Sage replied. "You know you can talk to me. Anytime. I may even listen." "Gee, thanks." Sage smirked. "But what we need to talk about is your application deadline coming up. What did you decide? Are you going back to college?" Kenisha scowled. "I don't know. I'm still thinking about it." "Why the hesitation?" "It doesn't make sense to quit my job and go back to school when the whole point of college is to get a job in the first place." "But you would have so many more opportunities with a college degree," Sage pointed out. "The secretary thing is only temporary. I want to keep working, like you. I know I still have to get my license and stuff but it doesn't seem like it would be that hard. Besides, you make good money so it can't be that bad." "It's not as easy as it looks." "Sorry," Kenisha offered with an apologetic smile. "I didn't mean to imply it was." "When things are good, it's great, but when there's a dry spell it can really wear you down." "You've been pretty lucky then. You make decent money." Smiling, Sage knocked on the wooden surface of the table. "Maybe I'll be that lucky too," Kenisha said in a hopeful tone. "You're only 21. Why limit yourself to something you're just meh on when you can go to college and find a career you can be really passionate about?" "What's the big deal? You seem to like it just fine." "I do now, but when I was your age I was a single mom with a young kid. I didn't exactly have a lot of options available to me. Working in a real estate agency was the only job I could get that paid a decent wage. And I was lucky Raj saw potential in me, helped me get my licence and set up a client base." Sage took a sip of her coffee. "My senior year in high school was horrible, but it was the thought of college that got me through it. I used to dream of going away to a brand new place, meeting new people who weren't anything like the ones I was around." "And occasionally go to classes?" "Yeah, even that," Sage replied with a wistful sigh. "I always wondered what college would be like." "You could enrol now." Sage snickered. "Yeah, right." "Why not?" "Because I have a mortgage and going back to school isn't exactly a practical option for me." "Don't you just hate when reality gets in the way of dreams?" Sage shrugged her shoulders. "You get used to it. Besides, your reality is a hell of a lot different than mine. If I were you, I would not be tied down to a full-time job. I'd be out there exploring the world, maybe even travelling." "Can I ask you something personal?" "Don't you always?" "Do you ever wonder what your life would have been like if you didn't have Ziyah?" Sage traced the rim of the coffee cup with her index finger. "To be honest, I'd probably be dead without her. Before Ziyah I was alone, miserable, and in a shitload of trouble." "Really? What kind of trouble?" Sage locked eyes with Kenisha. For a moment she was that terrified girl again, walking into something horrific that she couldn't even begin to process, let alone handle. "I know you don't really like to talk about stuff that bothers you, but maybe talking would help," Kenisha suggested. Sage shook her head 'no'. "It doesn't matter now. I'm over it. I left all of that behind me when I moved here from L.A." "Are you sure?" Sage nodded. "I know it sounds crazy but having Ziyah saved me. Finding out I was pregnant was probably the best thing that could have happened to me at that time. She gave me a reason not to give up, to be hopeful. I finally had a purpose again." Kenisha smirked. "She's lucky to have a mom like you." "No, I'm the lucky one. I know I sound like I have regrets about not going to college but I don't. When it comes to Ziyah, I'm just really grateful things turned out the way they did. It could have been much, much worse." An image of Aidan popped into her head just then, reminding her that her words weren't exactly true: if he didn't leave, her situation really was about to worsen. "We should probably get back," Kenisha said. "I have a ton of stuff to file." "Just promise me you'll think about college." Kenisha rolled her eyes. "Fine, Mom." Sage laughed, taking her wallet out to pay the bill.

*****

They entered the office building a few minutes later, both shivering from the chilly breeze outside. The receptionist greeted them with an enthusiastic smile, gesturing them to come over. "Guess who walked in a few minutes ago," Carrie said, practically bursting with excitement. "Jesus?" Kenisha suggested. "Nah, not in this part of town," Sage retorted. "This is more antichrist territory." "You guys are so lame," Carrie huffed. "There's an actual celebrity inside this building right now." "A list or C list?" Kenisha asked. "It's Aidan Carrington." Sage froze instantly, her heart pounding in her chest. "Who?" Kenisha asked. "I've never heard of him." "He's big in L.A. You've probably heard of his dad. Christian Carrington?" Kenisha shot Sage a questioning glance. "Doesn't ring a bell. Do you know him?" Sage didn't respond, still unable to speak. "His dad was a big time Hollywood producer but now he's in prison. You really don't know the story?" Carrie asked. Kenisha shook her head 'no'. "What did he do?" "He was convicted of rape," Carrie replied. "Some people think he's innocent." "Those people would be wrong. That man was a monster," Sage stated, finally finding her voice. "I'll be in my office. Kenisha, hold my calls." "Actually, Raj is in there with Aidan Carrington right now." It was difficult but somehow Sage managed to maintain her cool composure. "In my office?" "Yup." Carrie flashed a bright smile. "He's really, really hot. I've seen pictures of him on those pap sites but they don't do him justice. He's so much hotter in person." "Who cares?" Kenisha fired back. "His dad is a rapist. That's creepy!" Walking away from them, Sage headed towards her office. She spotted the pair right away. Raj was sitting in her chair, facing her, but she only had a view of Aidan's back – and that was enough to make her stomach clench with anxiety. "Sage, you're back." Raj stood up to greet her. "We've been waiting for you. I believe you know Mr. Carrington. You guys went to high school together, right?" Raj's words barely registered as Sage kept her gaze fixated on Aidan. He was standing up now as well, feigning a polite smile even as his eyes twinkled with both mischief and menace. Dressed in jeans, a grey knit sweater and a black leather jacket, he looked good – and she hated herself for noticing. "Maybe she doesn't remember me. I guess I didn't make that much of an impression on her," Aidan drawled. He was taunting her, daring her to argue. "Sage, are you alright?" She cast a brief glance at her boss before shifting her attention back to Aidan. "Of course I remember you. You tend to leave your mark on people." Aidan smirked. "Stop. You're making me blush." "It wasn't meant as a compliment." Raj shot her a concerned look, and rightly so. Usually she wasn't the type to behave unprofessionally but Aidan did have a tendency to bring out the worst in her. Whatever Aidan was here for, she had to deal with him alone or risk raising questions. "Raj, why don't you give us a few minutes alone?" Sensing his discomfort, she gave her boss a reassuring smile. "Aidan and I have a lot of catching up to do." "Okay." Raj hurried out of the office; she followed behind to close the door. Pausing briefly to regain her composure, she took a deep breath before turning around to face Aidan. He was leaning against her desk, his long legs spread out in front of him, watching her intently. She didn't speak; neither did he. "Never pictured you as a real estate agent," he remarked, finally breaking the silence. "What do you want, Aidan?" He reached out to pick up the picture of Ziyah sitting on her desk, studying it for several minutes before leveling her with a hostile glimpse again. "I'll give you three guesses." "I'm not interested in playing games." "Come on. It'll be fun. I'll even give you a hint. It has something to do with wanting to be a part of my daughter's life." She marched up to him and grabbed the photo frame from his hand, careful not to make any physical contact. "We went over this. She's not yours." She returned the picture back to its original position. "Liar." "Why would I lie?" "Because it's who you are. Because it's a Monday. I don't know. Pick a reason." "Are you so bored with your own life you have to harass me to feel some excitement?" "Don't flatter yourself, Sage. I'm not here for you. My only concern is Ziyah." Just hearing Aidan say her daughter's name set her teeth on edge. "Don't pretend like you care about her." He stood up to his full height, peering down at her. "She's my daughter." "No, she's not. And your inability to accept that I fucked around on you just makes you look more pathetic." He smiled, a cheshire cat grin that made her even more nervous. "I told you this in high school but you probably don't remember. You have a tell when you lie. It gives you away every time." "Go to hell!" She turned to walk away but he grabbed her arm. "Let me go!" "You've kept her from me long enough." "She's not a fucking toy for you to play with." "That's right, she's not. So stop acting like you own her. She's our child and I have a right to get to know her." He eased his grip on her wrist. "I don't want to take any legal measures to right this. Don't force me to." She yanked her hand away from him. "Why now?" "Because it took me this long to find you." "Are you kidding me? That's the best excuse you can come up with? I've been here for the last eight years. I didn't move around."

"But you did change your name. That was a nice touch." He picked up one of the business cards from her table, smiling wryly at the name she used professionally. "Sairah Noor. It's a beautiful name. Sounds like it belongs to someone nice and sweet and totally not you."

"Fuck off."

"Sage, you were never a stupid girl. Don't be one now. I'm here because I'm willing to compromise and do things on your terms." His words took her by surprise. "Meaning what?" "Meaning I have no interest in taking Ziyah away from you. I just want to spend some time with her, get to know her." She eyed him suspiciously. "And then what?" He shrugged his shoulders. "We'll cross that bridge when we come to it." "You might be playing nice now, Aidan, but I know how you and your family operate. I'm not going to do anything to risk Ziyah's safety." Hurt flashed across his face. "You think I'm going to hurt her?" She swallowed an audible breath. Although her instincts screamed that Aidan wasn't capable of physical violence the way his father was, she didn't trust her own judgement. "Yes." His jaw clenched, he tore his gaze away – almost as if her words had stung so badly he couldn't even bear to look at her. "You really believe I’d hit a child?" Say yes. Just say yes. If she played on his insecurities, maybe he would leave altogether – but she couldn't bring herself to do it. "No, I don't think you would do that." His gaze sought hers out again, and she spotted a glimmer of hope in them. "But I know you, Aidan. You have a blind spot when it comes to your family and friends. Which means if any of them were to ever threaten Ziyah, hurt her, you wouldn't do anything to stop it. You'd stand idly by." Anger returned to his face. "You don't know me at all, do you?" "I wish I didn't." "Yeah well, you can't change the past. And as much as you might hate it, I am Ziyah's dad." "You haven't earned that title." "Then give me the chance to prove myself." "If I don't?" Picking up the picture again, he flashed a cold, intimidating smile. "Then I’ll make your life miserable." He sauntered towards her, a predator stalking its prey. Getting ready for the kill. He was standing directly in front of now, in such close proximity she could feel his breath humming against her skin. "I would love to fucking destroy you, but I don’t want Ziyah to see someone she loves suffer because of me." Sage struggled to stay stoic but it was difficult with his gaze lingering on her face, wavering from her eyes to her lips and back again. "Don't be stupid, Sage. We're adults, we can find a way to work through this. And like I said before, I'm even willing to play it your way to make things easier for Ziyah." Her breath caught in her throat when, suddenly, he leaned in closer. That same longing was still there, strong as ever as it rushed through her blood - but she forced herself to ignore the butterflies in her stomach. If he knew about her inner turmoil, he would use it against her. And she wasn't going to let that happen. "You should know." His index finger was on her skin, tracing along her hairline, making her insides quiver. "I bought the penthouse suite in your building, which means we'll be seeing a lot more of each other. And I'll consider this a housewarming gift from you." Before she could react he strode out of her office, Ziyah's picture in hand, leaving Sage stunned as she watched after him.

To be continued...

@tiki-tequila​ @idaofinfinity​ @bustlingcrowdsxorxsilentsleepers​

[self-loathing-angel-of-thursday2]

Beautiful Spouse’s Rewatch Thoughts SPN 09x16 Blade Runners

“Let’s watch slutty men on TV”

Cain and Abel: The First Brothers

“They had the same daddy” “I don’t quite understand this human blood thing” He’s basically a junkie now

“What does it do to him? Makes him more human?” He gets feelings and shit. 

“I guess I would have figured it out if I waited 8 seconds”

That’s usually how it works

“CASA BLANK-A” “What’s up with the work boots?” “Does it say Packing Slip Encloser-ed? It’s es I guess” “I remember this guy dying” “That’s a good eye flick” “Is this how we’re going to paint our driveway?” IF you want to alienate our neighbors more, sure

Laughter

“Then just have like a little speaker with the exorcism being spoken every time there’s motion detected” “Who’s Snooki?” She was on Jersey Shore

“Is she the real one?” yeah

“Not a very good actor” “Idk. Not my thing. I guess everyone’s got a type” “It’s getting crazy” He’s reading Little Women

“That’s a lot of shopping bags” “So is a capybara a large rodent?” “I mean you’ve got a book to finish. Get back to work” “I suppose they’re on point with the music” “Might be rehab time” “He’s not entirely accurate - the Challenger Deep is the deepest part of the Mariana Trench” “I mean he kinda is” “Don’t they want to fkn kill this guy? I suppose he doesn’t have the blade yet” “yeah” “excuse me?” Then laughter

“That would be a yes” “yup” “Isn’t that obvious?” “Can’t he just demon-punch the vending machine or something?” “that was convenient” “oh god” “Which one of them has a thing with the old ladies? I thought it was Sam, but she’s really giving Dean the business” I mean who wouldn’t give Dean the business

“Is the mint on the pillow for morning or evening? I just eat them when I see it” “Is any scotch good? I don’t like scotch” “people they kicked out then?” “Just him casually reading a porno. I mean, why not? He reads it for the articles” “the fuck is going on? Just walk into it. No worries” “Don’t bother asking question” “It looks like that one Russian museum we went to. Minus the vampires” “Is that a fkn word even?” “who else said that? Said they were all librarians” Dorothy

“Is there some sort of significance? You’ll tell me later right?” “the fuck? I need that spell. Just disappear people” gay

“Why’d you say that?” Companions are gay

“Oh shit he just got kidnapped. Nice” laughter

“Is he hulking out or some shit?” “cooking? Oh it’s a spell” I mean cooking is spellwork

“Just throw the bowl. It’s easy” “what the hell? He’s Men of Letters; you can’t use him for anything? Holy shit” “Is he going to stab him 37 times? Or 66 times? What’s the magic number?” “nope. Not going to stab him extra” “They fucked up the white balance. Unless it’s snowing out” “to be fair, repainting that would be a lot of work” “Donkey teeth. I like that” “that way he can carry a little ass around in his pocket”

[standingontheoverpassscreaming]

chapters man

so one of the more interesting thought trains I’ve ridden in the last few weeks has been all the ways in which I am my father. stubborn, prideful, fix-it type. seemingly laid back, but big temper when it blows. friendly, likeable, will do almost anything for friends and loved ones. but fucking terrible at communicating. at being vulnerable. at letting the walls down.

and I mean, I’ve made a lot of progress. I’m not so stubborn and prideful now and I’m working really hard to be more vulnerable and communicate better. finding healthy boundaries. letting things be a little broken.

but it makes me think a lot. years ago, my best friend diagnosed me with “dude brain.” and tbh I’m kinda enby so sure, but it’s not that. I think I must think a lot like my father. I mean, different directions for sure because I’m a queer leftie and he’s the opposite. but the same style of thinking. I’m working on it.

but I’ve been talking to the couple I picked up last weekend all week and they’re both lovely. I’m not poly, so I’m kinda just seeking friendship, but I’m starting to feel more of a friendship connection with the boyfriend in the couple. which makes me kinda sad because the girlfriend is so cool and fun and sweet and I really want more femme friends. but I always connect more to dudes.

and I realized in the shower last night, or rather remembered, one time when I was in college I was asking my mom why my dad didn’t talk to me about shit. he would send messages through her basically. and she looked kinda sheepish when she told me that my dad has always been bad at talking to women. and I was like “but his own daughter?”

and here I am, queer and afab, with the same issue. I guess I’ll spare some empathy.

also random sidebar, had a mental image of my old paramour sitting on my couch a couple weeks ago and was like “holy shit sis that was wild you really just hit him up to hook up like three and a half years after the fact” but he showed up didn’t he. I was very much on a different wavelength than I had ever been with him before and the results were astronomical, but I kinda wish I had him more in focus for that. we were in the moment, yeah, very connected physically, but I wish I had seen him. because I don’t think I saw him while he was here. I don’t think I saw him at all in relation to that night until I was face down on my yoga mat in a deep pigeon pose tonight. I forgot… those eyes man. I barely looked at them.

[c0rpseductor]

rambling about plans for my ffxiv fic

doing another round of reading about writing blind characters for y’shtola purposes and i feel much better about the resource i found this time compared to last time, which didn’t have a lot of highly specific day to day information and seemed to forget very often that other disabilities exist. there was a very frustrating post for me as a cane user due to injury/nerve damage where that person was listing little habits people have carrying a white cane, like tapping their fingers against it or leaning with it and saying that sighted people will never experience the feeling of having an extension of themselves like that, which. Holy shit other people use canes too! this one is good about acknowledging comorbidity and intersecting disabilities and stuff.

anyway. i think there’s really so much to unpack when it comes to making decisions about writing y’shtola’s blindness in a way that’s not totally fucking stupid, especially as a sighted person, so i’m happy to be armed with both generalized “here is why x trope is annoying” and “here is how xyz thing actually works in real life” type information. it gives me a lot of detail to think about and try to incorporate, which is important in a novelization with a tone like morningstar’s especially.

it’s frustrating that there’s not much to go off in canon, too. they do the annoying “this blind character has special powers that negate her blindness” trope, and they also don’t seem to be very consistent about how much vision she has left, if any, and kind of handwave it with aethersight because it’s treated as like…functionally identical to sightedness if not better. except for when they remember she’s blind for character moments. i feel like the bit in endwalker where she can’t see the blasphemies because they have no aether implies she’s TOTALLY blind, but the way she interacts with the murals in rak’tika suggests she has vision left, because she doesn’t ask for anyone to describe what they depict and the only distinction she gives about paints is like, that the paint is old. and i think “her aethersight can tell the difference between the aetheric makeup of paint colors and ink and paper and so on” is fucking dumb.

i can’t decide whether i’d rather have her retain some vision or be totally blind. retaining or having some vision is far more common, and there’s no reason she couldn’t. additionally, that would mean her aethersight could be an assistive technology integrated into her remaining vision rather than something that “makes up” for her blindness. that bit in endwalker Does rely on her being totally blind, but then i feel like there’s less wiggle room to write a less offensive version of the aethersight because we’re back to “it’s a replacement for vision.” i’d also been thinking that emet-selch’s soulsight is more like a separate, more conceptual sixth sense with no real mundane corollary that he simplifies to “color” bc linguistic limitation, and given aethersight is essentially the same ability, applying that to y’shtola’s experience of it might…mitigate that?

it’s one of those things where i think there’s going to be some residual ableism no matter what. :/ i want to avoid as much of it as i can, but trying to change too much about her character or removing her aethersight entirely does pretty drastically change the trajectory of the original story AND remove the few moments where it actually does have the potential to intersect with her ability in an interesting way. if i were writing a less canon-compliant fic maybe i’d remove it altogether, but this is really an adaptation to prose with changes as opposed to a totally new narrative. i don’t want to potentially fuck everything up.

i think one big consideration is going to be her relationship with books, because she’s a huge reader and scholar. braille or some equivalent Should exist in the FFXIV universe and i think y’shtola should certainly be literate in it, but i think it’s also true that she’s probably not going to be able to find braille versions of Many of her Dusty Ancient Tomes. i like the idea of a spell that reads books aloud to her in her own voice, but specifically her inside-her-head voice, because that just seems like a fun detail to add to a magic spell like that. (i saw something like that in an emetwol fic i read except it was the sighted MC listening to an enchanted book urianger gave her that read in his voice. y’shtola is not typically a character in those fics so much as a vague amorphous force of stern disapproval and/or dispenser of noncanon soulbonding exposition, but it did kind of feel like. Hey. Why were audiobooks not the blind woman’s idea)

i could probably work her sorceress staff into having a dual function as a cane, maybe by making it lighter? i think any mobility aid she uses has to be something that can be seamless in combat. if her aethersight is like residual vision or if she has some level of residual vision, then it’d probably suit her okay to transition from cane to staff, she’s gotta stay in her ley lines and she has other ways to remain in touch with her environment. a familiar is also a possibility. i think with very few exceptions (like asking someone to describe a specific sight to her), she would reject any kind of assistance from a human guide; it’s not that she’s above connections with others or interdependence, i just think she plays her emotional cards really close to the vest in the same way matoya did and doesn’t particularly like engaging in that sort of vulnerability. but just like her asking urianger to describe the sky as a moment of emotional resonance and demonstration of trust, i could see that being relevant in other ways in morningstar, like maybe her intending to lead by example for pfeil.

i think their relationship is actually far more important than i initially gave it credit for given their relationships to disability. thancred is also real life disabled in my fic in that he has no vision in one eye, but i think he just has a less intense relationship with disability compared to the two of them if that makes sense? they have different motivations for what they’re doing to themselves but pfeil and y’shtola both take inordinate risks and completely wreck their bodies as a reaction to disability. i think for y’shtola it’s more a sort of dignity of risk thing, where she’s willing to do absolutely anything to get to where she wants and doesn’t necessarily have any internalized negative impressions of her own blindness by shb — maybe part of this is her relying on a variety of assistive technologies rather than JUST residual vision and aethersight and being reckless in other ways. for pfeil it’s actively a “moral” (read: obsessive-compulsive and fawning response) thing; he thinks he’s obligated to hurt himself because his physical disabilities represent a failure to live up to the role of Warrior of Light.

that’s a big source of tension between the two of them, bc pfeil thinks she’s still operating on the internal ableism he’s operating on (and even immediately after being blinded i think hers was never so intense as pfeil’s). conversely y’shtola recognizes that the way he thinks of himself is INCREDIBLY fucked and alarming and that his relationship to risk is actively and intentionally self-destructive as opposed to incidentally like hers. y’shtola didn’t jump after the antidote with the thought of martyring herself; pfeil in her shoes would’ve considered martyring himself the only morally defensible choice, because he’s got worms.

i also think that y’shtola is a person he deeply admires and respects, even though they butt heads not infrequently given she’s a lot more pragmatic and brusque and pfeil is a very bleeding heart on his sleeve type. i mentioned earlier there’s a lot of like, “oh no y’shtola knows i’m banging emet and doesn’t approve!” in m/f emetwol and it’s usually kind of weirdly misogynistic and racist (we HAVE to shit on the WOC for not supporting this deeply white couple!), so initially i wanted to avoid pfeil asking for her take on the relationship after they’ve broken up, but i think actually that’s very in keeping with their relationship and my instinct was correct. y’shtola is more or less a member of his family whose opinion he holds in very high esteem, of course he’s going to want to process something like this with her. i don’t really want to center it on her approval because of course they both agree it was a stupid decision, more on the insight that she has into people that he doesn’t as someone with both autism and limited/stunted social experience due to the horrors.

Jesus this post is long. drives me insane that I can do this but can’t just write the next chapter already

[chernayawidow]

The way I ran to tumblr when I remembered it’s Sunday and this would be getting posted today, HELL YEAH HERE WE GO!!! Last chapter, meaning no more cliff hangers WOOHOO!! 🤙 Had a very long and busy week so this feels like a fantastic end to it 🤣 SO LETS DO THIS!!

“And yes, you used the word roommate, because he hadn’t seen fit to give it any other label.” — I would be so fricken petty about that too

“You had to nag him about cabinets left open, dirty boots left right in front of the door to your shared apartment, and hell, actually going to his therapy sessions.” — Oh god he really is the worst roommate ever 💀

“And the therapist was apparently getting an earful of Ben’s celebrity encounters, with all the explicit, gushy details.” — That therapist deserves a whole ass pay raise for putting up with that shit oh god 🤣

“However, even with all of this, it also sometimes felt like you were an in-house maid rather than a partner.” — I had a feeling this would happen. Now that their dynamic is different from when she was living with him as a uhh… y’know, his captive 😅, Ben would revert to this kind of behaviour.

“She thought you needed therapy for an egregious case of Stockholm Syndrome.” — To be fair to baby sis, it honestly makes sense for her to think that.

“It was the way he always started his morning, like the old man he was.” — He is such an old man! I love it when you insert tidbits like this that really reflect him and is age!

““Why’re you nagging me like a goddamn wife?” he snapped.” — He needs to learn that if he just stayed on top of these things in the first place and didn’t leave his boots there, for example, then she wouldn’t have to nag him about it.

“Wife?” you scoffed, crossing your arms. “You don’t even call me your girlfriend.” — YOU GET HIM POOKIE!! I’m actually really excited to see how this plays out omg, because there’s nothing worse to me than the behaviour that Ben is exhibiting. He needs a wake up call! You’d think that this old ass man would actually be the type to call her his girlfriend. 🤣

“First, an exclusive relationship meant exclusive. Meaning no fucking around. (He’d raised a brow at you.)” — Very smart of her to lay down these rules! This first one especially, I don’t blame her for it being the first rule!

“And now, looking at him, you still had no idea if he was trying, or if he was just tired of being alone…and if you were just a convenient bedwarmer.” — I would 1000% be feeling this way too, because if he’s not living up to ground rules that he agreed to, then she’s definitely going to question what he thinks of her. We know he cares about her, but she doesn’t have the knowledge that we have.

““Do you even love me?” you asked.” — Oh shit…

“He couldn’t seem to answer you though…and that broke your heart.” — My heart is aching for her, this would absolutely sting. She’s gone to bat for him so many times and stood by him even knowing the backlash that would bring.

““You know what? You’re right. Smooth and creamy is how I’ll eat out your mother’s sweet and savory vajine,” Frenchie teased.” — I LITERALLY WHEEZED AT THIS!! Holy shit I love Frenchie 🤣

“You nodded at her question. You couldn’t help the tears burgeoning in your eyes. Annie scooched her chair over so she could rub your back in comfort.” — I really do love Annie, I mean sure she can be annoying but at the end of the day, she always has pure intentions.

“Apparently the whole I saved you with my super blood thing was awkward for both of them.” — LMAOOO of course they’d find a way to make it awkward 🤣

“You’re out of practice,” he told you. “You really think you’re ready for this?” — Oh Jesus he’s being such a man 💀 I would struggle to keep cool if a guy I was seeing publicly undermined me like this.

“Sapphire’s here somewhere. I can smell a massive cunt already.” — I have major appreciation for this line right here, it’s very Butcher!! 🤣

““What the hell’s going on?” you heard Ben’s voice on the line.” — Oh god this little princess is going to make a big deal about this isn’t he?

“At the center of it all was a tall woman, rich tan skin, long black hair, wearing a deep blue pantsuit and killer heels. She looked like a boss ass bitch.” — Oh naur… Pookie I’m pretty damn sure that you’ve accidentally found the target…

“You landed painfully on your side, with the wind knocked out of you.” — Ben is not gonna be happy about this 😅

“Sapphire grabbed the end of the line like a fucking moron. Her blue eyes widened in outrage and pain when it shocked 50,000 volts of electricity through her body.” — BRUHHHHHH how stupid do you have to be to make that mistake? 😂 What a dumbass!

“You landed on the middle platform between the first and second floor. This time, you knew you twisted your ankle badly on the way down. You whimpered, holding your ankle and shin, but you knew you didn’t have time to waste.” — Oh yeah Ben is definitely going to get cranky about this, he’ll probably try using this as a reason for why she shouldn’t be out in the field.

“To your relief, M.M. picked you up by your arms.” — FUCK YEAH!!! The cavalry is here!!

“The door behind you swung open, and before Sapphire could fire off a vaporizing blow, Ben raised his new titanium shield in front of you and M.M.” — Fucken oath!! Sapphire is soooo fucked now!

“The blue energy bounced right off, and Ben used his shield to bat the supe right in the face—like swatting a fly. With a shriek, she was thrown hard against the wall.” — This made me wheeze omg, she’s been demoted to a simple fly 💀

“I wanna know what goddamn moron cleared that fucking room,” he barked, but he didn’t slow down.” — I understand his anger but he needs to mellow out, everybody makes mistakes Benjamin!

“Hughie went to help you, grabbing your arm gently with a supportive hand on your back.” — Awh Hughie is so sweet, he and Annie are honestly amazing 😩🫶

“You didn’t see it, but that was when Ben stopped short. His jaw ticked. And he turned on his booted heel. When he saw you struggling to support yourself against the wall, he reluctantly went back. He knocked Hughie’s scrawny hands off you and wrapped an arm around your waist.” — This is so cute omg, I mean poor Hughie, but I adore the way that Ben always comes to her aid. Also “Hughie’s scrawny hands” made me WHEEZE 💀

““Don’t tell me to shut up!” you raised your voice.” — You tell him Pookie!

“You rolled your eyes as anger burned hot in your veins. “What-fucking-ever, grandpa.”” — SHE PULLED THE GRANDPA CARD AND I LOVE HER FOR IT OMG!!!

“Ben’s teeth clicked and grinded together. It took everything he had within him not to toss you.” — THIS MADE ME SPIT WHEN I WHEEZED OMFGGG, I startled my dog and everything 🤣 Benjamin, it’s not nice to toss the love of your life just because she called you grandpa 🫣

““Suck my dick. How about that?” you sassed back, unfazed by his warning.” — She’s acting just like me and I’m so proud of her 🫶

““You’re the fucking grouch,” you shot back. In times like these, you liked to fantasize. Sometimes you wished you could rip out his spine and play Jenga with the vertebrae.” — THIS IS SO VIOLENT AND FUNNY AND I ABSOLUTELY LOVE IT OMG I’M MAKING SO MANY STUPID ASS SOUNDS AS I HOLD MY LAUGHTER IN 🤣 she’s just like me fr!! I had to re-read this just to make sure I was seeing it right! 😂

“He sighed and started to peel off his gloves and untie his boots…but instead of leaving them by the door, like he usually would, he kept walking until he made it to the bedroom he shared with you.” — Thank god! Now who says you can’t teach an old dog new tricks?

“Except you were packing a suitcase—the same one he’d brought to the safe house he’d shared with you for a month.” — Oh snap this really ended up taking quite the angsty turn 👁️👄👁️ and I’m eating it UP!

“Well, you made yourself very clear this morning that we’re just roommates. So I’m going to the guest room.” — The level of pettiness is just beautiful 🤌 it’s like you were in my head when you wrote this!

““Because I fucking love you,” he said.” — AND THERE IT IS!! IT’S HAPPENING OMG OMG OMG ITS REALLY, TRULY HAPPENING!!! ✨🥹

“You knew that wasn’t true…but you couldn’t help it.” — I honestly understand her thought process and I fully support her saying these things, it’s necessary. He needs to hear what’s going on in her head and what’s eating at her mind in order to fix the tension. Now Ben will see why he needs to be vocal and honest about how he feels. He probably thinks that his gestures are doing the talking for him, that what he’s done for her is enough of a testament to how much he loves her. But he can’t just expect her to know the intention behind these actions, especially considering the type of person he used to be.

“But Crimson Countess…Tess…he’d been willing to settle down with her. He’d actually told her he loved her and hadn’t been totally lying through his teeth.” — I love that you’ve brought it back to this, because this betrayal would 1000% impact the way he behaves when he falls in love!

“But one day, I’m still going to fucking lose you,” he said, looking down on you. “Then I’ll be right back where I started.” — I’m so glad that you brought this up!

“Okay, we’ll have that conversation. I promise.” — Ooooo this is an interesting turn of events 👀 I’m definitely going to need to see this conversation unfold…

“Ben chuckled. He rested his forehead against yours. “You’re mine, sweetheart. Don’t you fucking forget it.”” — Heheheheheheh 😮‍💨🤙

“Now, you watched in amusement at the way his lips curved into a pleased grin. “No, don’t you even think about it,” you warned. Though you almost laughed at how excited he looked. “We’re not ready for that.”” — This bastard 1000000% has a breeding kink omfg 😂

“We have time, baby,” you promised, stroking his chin. “We’ll have a family…just give us some time.” — Fuck yeah!! WOOHOO!!!!! Surely there will be an expansion on this 👀

“What’re the chances that I’m ovulating anyway? you thought.” — Pookie, you’ve probably gone and jinxed it 😅

“You could’ve never known it then, but you’d stared straight into the face of your future.” — That’s so funny to think about that they never knew how important they would become to each other 🥹🫶

“Soon,” you agreed. And you reminded him, even as your throat constricted once more with emotion. “Ben, I love you…God, I love you. And I’ve never wanted this with anyone but you.” — THIS IS SO FRICKING CUTE OMGGGG!!! I’m so curious now about what type of parents they’d be, and about the type of kids they would have!

AND THERE WE HAVE IT!! This is such a satisfying ending to this series and I couldn’t have imagined a better one! I’m speechless honestly, and I’m so relieved that we won’t be saying goodbye to them or their story just yet! They’ve come so far together, and I love that you added this tension and these issues and insecurities into this chapter, because it’s such a realistic and necessary step! It feels more satisfying having them go through conflict only to come out stronger together, as opposed to them immediately having a “perfect relationship” and knowing how to live with each other. So so excited to see what comes next for these two!! 💖💖💖

Break Me Down - The Epilogue

Pairing: Soldier Boy/Ben x Female Reader

Summary: You’re a private investigator by trade, but now you happily sit at a desk — leading a surveillance team at Supe Affairs. After managing to end Homelander in New York, Soldier Boy escapes custody. You are recruited for the manhunt, joining Butcher’s team.

Truly, you joined the S.A. for the right reasons. But after you become his accidental hostage, Soldier Boy will break down every single one of them…

AN: This chapter is set about a month before "Love Actually." So...are you ready?

Song Inspo: For this last chapter, it’s “The Book of Love” by Peter Gabriel. (It’s just lovely. I listened to it while writing the second half of the epilogue!)

Word Count: 7,800 Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! Violence and peril, angst, familiar bickering, smutty smut, bit of breeding kink, tender fluff, hurt/comfort, and an ending…

Epilogue: All My Living Time

“I’m not fucking around,” he said. “I want you to live with me.” 

Your smile was soft and bright when you took his hand. Ben wouldn’t admit it, but something in his chest stuttered to life then.

“Okay,” you said with a nod. “Let’s do it.”

Six months later…

You were frustrated with your roommate.

And yes, you used the word roommate, because he hadn’t seen fit to give it any other label.

You stewed in your irritation as you also stirred the beginnings of chicken tortilla soup. It was early in the morning before work, and Yvette had been teaching you how to master the crockpot. Hopefully, by the time you and Ben got home tonight, it would be ready and waiting for dinner.

Six months. You had to nag him about cabinets left open, dirty boots left right in front of the door to your shared apartment, and hell, actually going to his therapy sessions.

While that last one had taken months of convincing and cajoling, he’d caved when you suggested that acknowledging and dealing with what happened to him in Russia might help him control the nuclear power inside him. And maybe, just maybe, they wouldn’t have to patch another hole in the ceiling.

Mind you, he wouldn’t actually talk to said therapist about anything related to his PTSD. But at least he was going. And the therapist was apparently getting an earful of Ben’s celebrity encounters, with all the explicit, gushy details.

However, even with all of this, it also sometimes felt like you were an in-house maid rather than a partner.

The latest reason for your frustration returned to you when Ben strolled into the kitchen in search of coffee. He wasn’t yet dressed for work in his supe suit; instead, still in the plain shirt and sweatpants he’d slept in.

He glanced at you, and seeming to sense your mood, he kept to himself as he found his usual mug and poured a cup of steaming French press in silence.

You took in a breath, trying to calm yourself. Maybe he’d had time to sleep on it. You closed the crockpot and went over to him. Your hand on his arm made him pause.

“Hey,” you said, “have you thought about what I asked you last night?”

Ben’s expression remained flat. “I think I already said my piece on that.”

You sighed.

“Why is dinner with my family such a hard thing for you?” you asked. Your brows furrowed. “My sister’s starting to warm up to you! And Mom just wants to get to know you. What’s the problem?”

Ben scoffed. “Your sister fucking hates me.”

You bit your lip. He wasn’t totally wrong, but in fairness, Louisa wasn’t happy to learn about why you’d nearly died in the hospital, when Vought Tower collapsed.

She thought you needed therapy for an egregious case of Stockholm Syndrome. But the more Ben worked with Supe Affairs, helping to clear the streets of out-of-control supes and cleaning up the remains of Vought, you were slowly getting Louisa to come around.

“She just needs time to get to know you too,” you said.

Ben wasn’t having it though. He rolled his eyes and tried to walk away from you with his coffee and a newspaper—aiming to get to his favorite lounge chair in the living room. It was the way he always started his morning, like the old man he was.

You followed him.

“Come on, one dinner won’t kill you,” you said. “And by the way, neither would moving your dirty-ass boots out of the doorway.”

You went over to grab said boots, and in your annoyance, you all but tossed them into the hall. Ben frowned at you, throwing down the newspaper onto the coffee table.

“Why’re you nagging me like a goddamn wife?” he snapped.

“Wife?” you scoffed, crossing your arms. “You don’t even call me your girlfriend.”

But God forbid another man even smile in your direction. Ben was possessive, protective, and claimed with all but words that you were his. And yet, he wouldn’t say it.

You shouldn’t have been surprised that he was afraid of commitment, but you’d been living together for six damn months. Almost seven, if you counted the safe house.

When you found this nice, but cozy apartment in Scarsdale, you’d sat him down at the breakfast bar in the kitchen, like the two of you used to in that house in Medellin.

And you established the ground rules before you two officially moved in together: 

First, an exclusive relationship meant exclusive. Meaning no fucking around. (He’d raised a brow at you.)

Second, you were his partner, not his slave. You expected him to carry his hefty weight, not only in the relationship, but around the house. (He’d most definitely rolled his eyes at that.)

And finally, don’t be an asshole, you’d decreed. “Be honest when you’re not feeling right about something. But don’t be a dick about it.” 

That cut both ways, of course, just like the other two rules. He’d agreed to all of these, albeit begrudgingly. You hadn’t really known then if he meant it.

And now, looking at him, you still had no idea if he was trying, or if he was just tired of being alone…and if you were just a convenient bedwarmer. You bit your lip once again, this time with a growing fear blooming anxiety in your chest.

“Do you even love me?” you asked.

Ben blinked down at you, and his lips pulled into a deep frown.

“Stop fucking around,” he said.

“I’m serious,” you insisted. Your crossed arms tightened, as if to protect yourself from what he might say. “You’ve never said it once.”

“And the fact that I agreed to live in this mediocre fucking apartment doesn’t mean anything?” he said, gesturing around him with a hand. “I take you out, I buy you shit. Matter of fact, I fucking spoil you.”

“And you take off whenever you feel like it, especially after missions,” you shot back. “Sometimes I don’t know where the hell you’ve gone for hours. For all I know, you’re out there doing blow with a caravan of strippers!”

While that did sound like a damn good time, that hadn’t been Ben’s M.O. in recent months. And in his mind, you should’ve known better.

“I haven’t fucked anyone but you since we moved in here,” he snapped.

Even longer than that, if he was honest. 

Meanwhile, you wanted to trust his words, desperately, but you just didn’t know if you could. 

“Even if I believe you, what’s the problem here?” you asked. Your gaze fell from his as you worried your bottom lip. “Am I doing something wrong?”

You didn’t see the way Ben’s brows knitted together, his eyes softening a bit.

“Other than annoying the hell out of me right now, no,” he replied. 

“Okay,” you nodded with a sigh. You looked up at him again. “Then just tell me the truth. What are we doing here?” 

“What the fuck do you mean?” Ben’s hands went to his waist, and once again, he frowned in irritation. “I’m here. What more do you want from me?” 

“Do you love me?” you asked. “And don’t lie to me.” 

He knew very well that you would be able to detect if he was lying. Which was why, you suspected, he hadn’t tried to. 

He couldn’t seem to answer you though…and that broke your heart.

Shaking your head, you walked away from him to get ready for work.

Your attitude at work was snappish at best. Annie had pulled you from the Surveillance department on your lunch break to join her and your friends in the breakroom, but you couldn’t enjoy yourself like you usually would.

“Smooth and creamy, all the motherfuckin’ way,” M.M. said. Sitting across from him in the breakroom was Frenchie, pelting him with a roasted peanut.

“This is why you are an unsophisticated, bourgeois, fucking fuddy-duddy,” Frenchie remarked. He was also vaping, as Annie was trying to get him to stop smoking indoors. “Extra crunchy peanut butter is the only way to do business.”

“What’s the point? Just eat peanuts if you want it that crunchy,” M.M. countered. He blocked each roasted nut thrown at him and organized them in a perfect pile on the table.

“You know what? You’re right. Smooth and creamy is how I’ll eat out your mother’s sweet and savory vajine,” Frenchie teased.

M.M.’s deadpan face was priceless. But when a peanut projectile strayed and hit you in the cheek, you leveled Frenchie with a glare.

“Can you guys not act like children for five goddamn minutes?” you snapped.

His brows raised, along with his hands in surrender. M.M. and Annie looked at you in mild surprise, and the latter with concern after the guys eventually left.

“What’s going on with you? You’ve looked tense as hell all day,” she asked. You sighed, holding a hand to your brow.

“I know. I’m sorry,” you replied. She gave you a knowing look.

“Is…something going on?” she asked. “Is it Ben?”

Most of the S.A. was still wary of Ben, while M.M. tolerated him at best. (You understood how hard he was trying.)

You appreciated Annie though. She was a good friend, and along with Hughie, she’d been another who started to come around to the idea of Ben. Not only as he occasionally worked with the S.A., but to the man himself, after she’d seen the way he did his best to save you, Yvette, and her son Devon.

You nodded at her question. You couldn’t help the tears burgeoning in your eyes. Annie scooched her chair over so she could rub your back in comfort. You sniffed and tried not to break down here in the middle of the breakroom, over your sad ham sandwich.

“We had a fight,” you admitted. Annie’s gaze was tight with concern.

“Did he…hurt you?” she asked. Her brown eyes were as direct as her words, promising her protection as well as retribution, depending on how you answered.

Your glassy eyes widened. “No. He’s not like that, he…believe it or not, but he’s never hurt me, Annie. Not once.”

After a moment, she nodded. “Okay, good. Well, tell me what happened.”

You wanted to. But before you could, both of you got an incoming text in the team group chat. It was from Grace Mallory.

She had a new mission.

Grace asked you to join the team on your first field mission since you’d returned to work three months ago. She also called in Ben, as in her words, it was another “all hands on fucking deck” situation.

Ben and Butcher eyed one another with similar stoic frowns, before they proceeded to ignore each other. Despite how you felt about Ben right now, the brief exchange almost made you smirk.

Apparently the whole I saved you with my super blood thing was awkward for both of them. You knew Ben had seen it as a means to an end. You still didn’t know how Butcher felt about it, but it seemed as if a begrudging respect had formed between the two men.

Or at least, they were civil, anyway.

“All right,” Grace said, once she saw that everyone was in attendance. “Let’s begin.”

A supe named Sapphire had been giving the CIA trouble for years now. She was moving drugs from South America to the States, to the Middle East, whoever would deal with her. And she was smart. She had a network of spies that transcended continents, and so she had evaded every attempt at arrest.

She was also a powerful supe, with the ability to channel vaporizing energy not unlike Crimson Countess had. However, this supe could spear blue shards of light through her enemies as well.  With her damn eyes.

Grace turned to you after she finished explaining the details of the mission.

“Sapphire’s internal security is advanced. Our system can’t penetrate her firewalls. You’ll need to get a hand on the mainframe from there, shut down her system. Then our Surveillance team can back you up here.”

You nodded, but in the corner of your eye, you noticed Ben frowning as he crossed his arms.

“What?” you asked.

“You’re out of practice,” he told you. “You really think you’re ready for this?”

“Why wouldn’t I be? I train every day,” you snapped back.

Ben’s expression fell into irritation. “Not the same, and you fucking know it.”

Butcher, Annie, and the others watched the exchange with mixed wariness and discomfort. Grace looked between you and Ben with curious, narrowed eyes.

“Is this going to be a problem, you two working together on this?” she asked.

You turned from Ben’s annoyed face and met Grace’s gaze directly.

“Not at all,” you said.

Sapphire had been spotted doing business in the Meat Packing District. By day, the building was a beef butchering factory. By night, it was apparently one of the most massive drug running operations in the city.

As such, her security team was extensive—at the front, the back, and the roof. So while Butcher, Kimiko, and Ben broke through the front, making a lot of noise and distraction, the rest of you went under.

Unfortunately, that meant the sewer. Annie lit the way through, while M.M. followed a set of schematics to find the right spot.

“It’s not my first time in the bowels of New York City, but please God, let it be the last,” Hughie quipped. You tried not to breathe the foul smell through your nose.

“Watch the fucking rat,” M.M. said with a grimace, before he set up the double-sided ladder he brought. He and Frenchie climbed either side of it up to the metal ceiling which, according to the building’s schematics, led directly beneath the factory basement.

They took up welding guns and masks to carve a large hole into the metal and cement above. And soon enough, they pushed up and slid over a large portion, creating a gap you could all crawl through. 

M.M. helped Annie up first, and she shot a few star bolts at the three men inside, who had been smoking and eating deli sandwiches. Each of them went down, alive, but groaning in pain. That allowed the rest of you to climb up and into the basement.

“We’re in,” M.M. said into the Bluetooth communicator in his ear.

“We’re cutting through her goon squad,” Butcher said. “Sapphire’s here somewhere. I can smell a massive cunt already.”

“Gross. Thanks for that visual,” Annie remarked.

From there, you all took off toward the stairwell. It was your task to find the operation’s security control room. So Hughie and Frenchie went with you as backup, while M.M. and Annie went to join the fight and find Sapphire.

It took you a few tries to find the right room. Most of them were offices. One contained wagons of discarded meat parts (disgusting). But eventually, you found a large room filled with computer equipment and a huge wall monitor with several panels of camera feeds. You and Frenchie raised your guns and took out the team inside.

Then you and Hughie went to the controls. Frenchie watched the door while you worked to disable the firewall first. You instructed Hughie on how to knock out their communications as well. And within a few minutes, your work was done. You were able to make a call to the S.A. Surveillance team.

“Hey, friend!” a cheerful voice greeted you. You smiled; it was your coworker Jess, who you’d worked with for the past two years. 

“Jess?”

“Yep! I’m helping out on this one. What do you need?”

“I shut down the firewall. I’m giving you the I.P. address now so you can connect.”

“…Okay, got it. I’m in. I can see all twenty cameras, and you! Hey, there.”

“All right, where’s Sapphire?” you asked.

“Looks like they haven’t found her yet,” Hughie said, pointing at the camera feed in the main room, filled with rows of conveyor belts, and a massive fight as Ben, Butcher, and the others made their way through the building.

“We’ll just have to help them clear each room,” you said. “Let’s go. Jess, keep an eye on us, but look out for Sapphire.”

“Will do. I’m patched into your comm now too,” she said. So you hung up your cell, and you left with Hughie and Frenchie.

You ran into more security when you left the room, more than the three of you could realistically handle as a fire fight began. You guys ran in the opposite direction, but while you veered right around the corner, Frenchie and Hughie ran left. Bullets tore in between, making sure that none of you could cross the hall to join back up.

“You guys keep going. I’ll find my own way out,” you called out to them. Neither of them liked that idea, but Frenchie nodded and pulled Hughie away when Sapphire’s security team closed in.

You kept running down the hall. You knew you were being chased. Several heavy footsteps thundered behind you. 

“Jess, I need a way out of here,” you commed in.

“You’re on the second floor,” she said. “The closest stairwell is the one you’re running away from.”

“What’s the second closest?” You panted as you ran.

“Hmm, you can cut through room 234. The exit stairwell is right on the other side.”

 “Is the room clear?” you asked.

After a moment, Jess answered. “Yep, it should be.”

"Should be?”you said dubiously.

“What the hell’s going on?” you heard Ben’s voice on the line. You heard the edge of his annoyance (and underlying worry), but you didn’t have time to talk to him right now.

“Looks clear on my end,” said Jess,“but this connection is a bit wonky.”

Damn it, Jess, you thought. When you reached room 234, the door was solid gray. There was no window to peek into, and you didn’t have time for caution, as a stray bullet nearly caught you in the head.

You ripped the door open and ran in, slamming the door shut behind you and locking it for good measure.

You turned around and stopped short. A gasp caught in your throat.

The room was huge, and it was filled wall-to-wall with white packages, of what you could only assume was cocaine. A few men were continuing to stack them. At the center of it all was a tall woman, rich tan skin, long black hair, wearing a deep blue pantsuit and killer heels. She looked like a boss ass bitch.

But unfortunately, she was also looking straight at you, raising a brow.

“Ah,” she said. A smile curved her lips, painted with a dark plum lipstick. “You’re one of the little bitches making a mess in my office.” 

Her eyes glowed blue, and yours widened. You dove for the nearest shelter—a wall of cocaine parcels. White powder exploded and wafted in the air as you ducked and ran across the room (and tried not to inhale). You drew your gun and shot out the legs of her men underneath the long stretch of table, but you yelped as bullets continued to follow you.

“I found Sapphire! Need backup in 234!” you shouted into the comm.

But when a blast of blue energy rocked into the wall directly behind you, you screamed as you were thrown forward. You landed painfully on your side, with the wind knocked out of you.

After a moment, you drew breath into your lungs and were able to pick yourself up. The exit door was close, a mere few feet away, but the second you reached for it, you had to pull back as narrow blue shards of light pierced the door. 

Sapphire was quickly approaching, just a yard or so away from grabbing you.

Instead of shooting your gun, you went for the taser at your belt and shot fast. Sapphire grabbed the end of the line like a fucking moron. Her blue eyes widened in outrage and pain when it shocked 50,000 volts of electricity through her body.

You took your chance, and you ripped the door open and fled. You just didn’t expect the bolt of energy that shot after you when you reached the stairs.

It didn’t hit you, but trying to dodge it made you lose your balance. You uttered a short scream as you were forced to jump the first flight of stairs.

You landed on the middle platform between the first and second floor. This time, you knew you twisted your ankle badly on the way down. You whimpered, holding your ankle and shin, but you knew you didn’t have time to waste.

It was a struggle to claw your way up to the guard rail. You could barely put pressure on your right foot, but you had no choice as you scrambled down the rest of the stairs. Already the door to the stairwell was blown open, and a pissed supe was on her way down behind you.

After shoving the door open on the first floor, you stumbled out and took another painful spill across the concrete floor. To your relief, M.M. picked you up by your arms.

The door behind you swung open, and before Sapphire could fire off a vaporizing blow, Ben raised his new titanium shield in front of you and M.M.

The blue energy bounced right off, and Ben used his shield to bat the supe right in the face—like swatting a fly. With a shriek, she was thrown hard against the wall.

Sapphire sunk to her knees, then the electric blue flickered out of her eyes as she fell unconscious to the floor.

When you all returned to Supe Affairs, Ben thundered down the hall towards the Surveillance department.

“Ben!” You hurried after him the best you could with a sprained ankle, bare-footed and wrapped, while M.M. and Hughie trailed behind. The others were busy getting Sapphire into custody.

Hughie was concerned for you though, while M.M. also wanted to know how you were going to try and reign in Soldier Boy.

“What the hell are you doing?” you called after Ben.

“I wanna know what goddamn moron cleared that fucking room,” he barked, but he didn’t slow down.

M.M. called your name from behind.

“Get your boyfriend in check,” he warned.

You sighed in irritation. At this point, you didn’t even know if he was your boyfriend.

But you struggled to reach him. You were practically hopping on one foot. The moment you tried to put any pressure on your right one, you faltered with a cry as you all but crashed against the wall to catch yourself. Hughie went to help you, grabbing your arm gently with a supportive hand on your back.

You didn’t see it, but that was when Ben stopped short. His jaw ticked. And he turned on his booted heel. When he saw you struggling to support yourself against the wall, he reluctantly went back. He knocked Hughie’s scrawny hands off you and wrapped an arm around your waist.

When he tried to just gather you into his arms to get the weight off your injured foot, you snapped at him.

“I can walk!” you said. “Let’s just go home please.”

His nostrils flared in irritation, but he helped you try to walk back toward the exit instead. You winced in pain with every small step.

Ben growled in annoyance. Fuck this. 

He hefted you effortlessly into his arms. You gasped and clung to his shoulders, and afterwards, you glared at him.

“I said I can walk!” you insisted.

“Shut up,” he grated out, swiftly heading for the exit doors down the hall. M.M. and Hughie watched with wide eyes while you and Ben devolved into what you did best.

“Don’t tell me to shut up!” you raised your voice.

He glared at you. “You’re in rare fucking form right now.”

“You’re the one being an asshole!”

“And you’re being a disrespectful brat!”

You rolled your eyes as anger burned hot in your veins. “What-fucking-ever, grandpa.”

Ben’s teeth clicked and grinded together. It took everything he had within him not to toss you. 

“You really wanna fucking get it, don’t you?”

“Suck my dick. How about that?” you sassed back, unfazed by his warning. 

Ben bulldozed through the double doors with a swift kick that shook them on their hinges. The bickering continued long after you two exited the building. 

Hughie just stared, mouth gaping, while M.M. crossed his arms. 

“That is some volatile shit,” Hughie remarked. 

M.M. scoffed, with a subtle shake of his head. 

“Nah, man,” he said ruefully. “That’s true motherfuckin’ love.”

Meanwhile, in the car, Ben drove home to Scarsdale. You simmered in the passenger seat. He glanced at you.

“Are you gonna be a hissy bitch all night?” he asked. You glowered at him.

“You’re the fucking grouch,” you shot back. In times like these, you liked to fantasize. Sometimes you wished you could rip out his spine and play Jenga with the vertebrae.  

“And you’re the one who nearly got yourself killed,” he retorted.

You took issue with this, your brows raising high.

“Excuse me? You’re really blaming me for what happened with Sapphire? You were ready to take out my friend for making an honest mistake.”

His gaze briefly left the road, turning to you in frustration. He didn't understand how you couldn't get it through your thick skull. You had been one shaky step shy of being fucking vaporized today.

No blood. No body. Just...nothing.

“Case in point, you’re the best in Surveillance," he said gruffly. "You don’t need to be in the field."

His compliment stopped you, warming you a little, but he was missing the point.

“I go where I’m needed, just like you,” you said. “You don’t get to tell me how, when, or where to do my job.”

Needless to say, it was tense for the rest of the way home.

Ben helped you inside, after which, you were determined to get to the bedroom by yourself. He watched you hop away from him with a frustrated shake of his head.

He sighed and started to peel off his gloves and untie his boots…but instead of leaving them by the door, like he usually would, he kept walking until he made it to the bedroom he shared with you. He sat on the edge of the bed and took his boots off there.

He watched you ignore him as you closed yourself into the bathroom.

You came out of the shower a little while later. Your hair was damp, but unwashed as you hadn’t been able to stand there for very long. The wrap on your ankle had gotten wet, so you grabbed the spare one that the paramedic had given you.

Ben didn’t look at you as he took his turn heading into the bathroom. After the door shut, your shoulders slumped with a sigh.

You tried to put on some shorts, but you quickly gave up and instead put on an overlarge shirt over your underwear. You remembered then that this shirt was an old one of Ben’s, and now a favorite of yours, because it still smelled like that earthy mix of his cologne and aftershave.

Frowning, you sucked in a deep breath. And you made a decision.

By the time Ben came back out with a towel wrapped around his hips, he found you still in the bedroom. Except you were packing a suitcase—the same one he’d brought to the safe house he’d shared with you for a month.

You were stuffing clothes into it from your side of the dresser. Something churned uncomfortably in his stomach, and he approached you.

“What the fuck are you doing?” he demanded to know.

You glanced up at him, but continued packing.

“Well, you made yourself very clear this morning that we’re just roommates. So I’m going to the guest room.”

“All right, don’t get all fucking hormonal,” he said, reaching out with a hand to stop you. You snatched your hand away from him. His brows raised in disbelief.

When you tried to get past him on the way to your closet, he held fast to your arm. With an angry frown, he then grabbed your suitcase and spilled it over onto the bed. You didn’t need a fucking suitcase to move one room over. Not that he planned to let you go any-damn-where.

“Enough,” he said sharply.

You met his intense stare with your own, but your eyes were shining and red. In that moment, you both stilled. The silence was palpable. For you, it was heartbreaking.

“I can’t do this anymore, Ben,” you confessed. Tears welled up in your eyes, but you refused to let them fall just yet. “I put my all into this, and I just…I can’t be with someone who won’t be honest with me.”

You started to grab your suitcase again, along with your discarded clothes. Ben stopped you. 

“I said enough,” he snapped. 

You then threw the heap of clothes to the floor, suitcase and all.

“Why?” you tearfully retorted. “Why should I listen to you?” 

His deep green eyes searched yours. For what, you didn’t know.

Eventually, you started to see through the cracks of his anger.

“Because I fucking love you,” he said. 

You blinked up at him, with hope stuck in your throat. But you were stubborn in your denial.

“You’re just saying that to get me off your back,” you argued. “Either you’ve just gotten used to having me around, or you just don’t feel like being alone. But you don’t really care about me.”

You knew you were saying words you didn’t mean.

You knew that wasn’t true…but you couldn’t help it.

You were more upset than angry now, seconds away from dissolving into pitiful tears. You were just stubborn enough to hold them at bay.

“Just shut up for one goddamn second,” Ben said. He held you by your shoulders, though his hands soon moved down to grip your arms. It wasn’t a painful hold, but it was firm, and quite possibly pleading.

Despite your better judgment, you gave him time to speak.

“You really think I’d stay here in this shithole if I didn’t want you?” he asked. “If I didn’t care about you?”

You unconsciously held your breath. For a long moment, he hesitated to continue.

Again, you waited for him.

Meanwhile, Ben knew he was being a coward. He’d been holding back. Not because he wasn’t serious about you, but because he’d been burned before. 

He knew he’d spent his life being a fucking bastard, in most ways. He knew he’d been wrong, and hadn’t given two shits about it. But Crimson Countess…Tess…he’d been willing to settle down with her. He’d actually told her he loved her and hadn’t been totally lying through his teeth. 

Yeah, he’d fucked around. Flirted with other women in front of her. He knew he was a hypocrite. Still, in whatever way he could at the time, he thought he’d loved her. 

And she’d lied to him. She’d gone through the motions of being with him. For fame or fear or whatever her reasons had been, she went along with it. And then she’d sold him out, along with the rest of their team. 

For nothing. Just to get him the fuck out of her life—out of the world. 

So what was he supposed to do with you? Just let you walk the fuck in, give you the deepest parts of him? A dark fucking space that he’d never given to anyone.

Well, he knew now if he didn’t, you were going to leave. But he wasn’t willing to let go either.

So…he relented. For once in his life, he told the truth.

“I love you,” Ben admitted. “In my whole damn life…I think you’re the only one who’s made me feel it for real.” 

Tears finally slipped down your cheeks. You reached out and grasped his wrist, mostly for stability as you took in his words. He took that hand, held it to his warm chest. Always warm. 

“But one day, I’m still going to fucking lose you,” he said, looking down on you. “Then I’ll be right back where I started.”

Alone. 

You looked up at him with a sad, rueful smile. 

“Not exactly where you started,” you replied. He wasn’t the same man you met last year. You pressed your free hand to his cheek.

“Taking Compound V doesn’t guarantee I’ll come out like you, with a longer lifespan.”

“It’s something the CIA can work on,” Ben said. 

“You want Dr. Baker to experiment on me?” you asked, quirking a brow. The CIA had recruited her, ironically enough.

Ben closed his eyes for a second, letting out a slight huff. “That’s not what I’m fucking saying.”

You nodded and soothed your fingers through his hair. 

“Okay, we’ll have that conversation. I promise.” Then you smiled. “But let me just have this moment…my boyfriend loves me.”

You looked into his eyes and you knew he meant it. His hands moved to your waist, around to the small of your back. You clung to his shoulders and shifted off your aching ankle with a wince. Ben noticed, and he raised you up to him. It had the added benefit of letting you reach his face easier.

He guided you into a searing kiss. You responded in kind, delving into his hair again and opening your mouth to his demanding tongue. With the tips of your toes, you pushed up from the ground and he helped you wrap your legs around his waist.

The towel he wore was starting to slip, and you shoved it the rest of the way off with your foot, until he stood in the center of the bedroom in all his glory. 

He smirked into your lips and walked you to the bed. But before he could lay you down, you broke the kiss and held his face.

“You really love me?” you asked, just to make sure. It was the part of you, perhaps still scarred deep down, that had to ask.

Ben chuckled. He rested his forehead against yours. “You’re mine, sweetheart. Don’t you fucking forget it.”

You grinned, and you kissed him this time, only breaking when he lowered down to the bed. Once your back met the plush mattress, all bets were off. He wrenched your shirt up over your head, and you reached for him again.

Your lips drew a hot, wet path from his jawline to his neck, biting and sucking all along the way to that sensitive spot between his neck and shoulder. His hand clenched in your hair, a deep sound caught in his throat when he felt the sharp sting of your teeth, playfully biting, then soothing with your tongue.

Your nails bit into his skin, but merely felt like teasing down his back, making a shiver trill along his spine. He all but pressed you into the mattress as he made his own descent.

Your fingers trailed up and into his hair while his mouth worked its way down between your breasts, stopping to lavish attention on each one. You made sounds of pleasure when he took a hardened nipple between his lips, between his teeth, dragging deliciously over your skin.

Your thighs wrapped around his hips again, He bucked teasingly into your clothed core, making you moan when you felt his wet tip dampening your panties.

“Ben…”

His lips curved, but he didn’t answer you. His fingers were pressing into the flesh of your thigh as he continued to tease your breasts. You’d felt how hard he was already and frankly, you were surprised he was taking his time.

“Listen,” you panted in his ear. “You’ve gotta wrap it up this time. Do we even have condoms?”

You knew for a fact that Ben didn’t buy them. 

But his brows furrowed. His mouth left your breast as he looked up at you.

“What?”

“I haven’t replaced my IUD yet,” you confessed. Its five-year lifespan had been up, and so you’d gotten the birth control device removed a few days ago.

Now, you watched in amusement at the way his lips curved into a pleased grin.

“No, don’t you even think about it,” you warned. Though you almost laughed at how excited he looked. “We’re not ready for that.”

“Why fucking not?” Ben asked. His pressed his length against your core more insistently. The idea of fucking you raw, spilling into you, putting his seed deep inside you without resistance, had his cock throbbing with anticipation.

“Ben!” You had to laugh. You two hadn’t even been living together that long, and you had just gotten on the same page after six months of trying to figure out what you were together.

“Don’t tell me you don’t want kids,” he said. And he began to ply you with tantalizing kisses along the column of your throat, down your neck, the scraping of teeth making you shudder in delight.

“I do,” you could admit. “But is right now really the best ti—”

He choked a moan out of you as his fingers pushed your underwear aside and spread your folds, then delved right in. Your core pulsed, hot and wet as his thick digits sunk deep inside you.

“God,” you uttered, gripping his hair tight. He stretched and explored your inner channel with two fingers, while his thumb found your clit with ease.

“When then?” he asked. But his hand was unrelenting, working you over until your toes curled and the coil in your lower belly began to tighten. You looked up at him helplessly.   

“Can we talk about this later?” you keened. Ben smirked and suddenly withdrew his fingers from your dripping pussy. He snatched your underwear, ripping them down the middle and making you gasp.

“No time like the fucking present,” he insisted. He lined himself up to your entrance, but you stopped him with a warning look. You knew if you let him inside you now, he was going to try and get his way.

“Ben,” you warned.

He sighed and let you stop him, but then his teasing edge faded.

Ben pressed a hand to your cheek. When he leaned down to kiss you, you felt the need and wanting behind it. 

He pulled away to meet your eyes. You softened looking up into his, because you understood what he wanted.

“We have time, baby,” you promised, stroking his chin. “We’ll have a family…just give us some time.”

He was disappointed…but he nodded. Sighing again through his nose, he clenched a hand into the now tangled mess of your hair.

“Say it,” he demanded. “Say you’re fucking mine.”

Your eyes widened. In all of this, you’d forgotten to be honest yourself. 

“Of course I’m yours,” you said. “I love you, Ben. So much, I can hardly take it.” 

He closed his eyes with furrowed brows. It had been a very long time since he’d heard those words. Maybe the first time someone had said them with any real sincerity, besides his mother. 

You encouraged him to look at you, both with your voice and your hand gently touching his face. And when he opened his eyes, you marveled at the depths there. 

Smiling, you guided him back to your lips. It was slow and sweet…until it wasn’t, deepening in passion and urgency again. Need burned inside you, so deep and strong that you couldn't take it anymore.

You slipped a hand between you to grasp his still hard cock. You caressed him a few times, letting your thumb circle around the sensitive head. Ben couldn’t help thrusting into your hand, releasing a grunt. His eyes briefly closed again as you pressed open-mouthed kisses to his neck, down his chest.

“I need you,” you whispered against his skin. Ben nodded while you held his length poised at your entrance. He raised your hips, tucking your ankles over shoulders. For your injured one, he rubbed your calf.

“What a fuckin’ trooper,” he said with a smirk.

You smiled, but it soon fell into a moan as he began to push inside you. Every time, he stretched and filled you completely. Your inner walls wrapped around him and already fluttered with heat.

“Fuck, baby doll. Got me tight as a damn glove,” Ben remarked. You had to giggle, but that just squeezed him harder. When he began to move, it was all you could do to cling to his shoulders.

As basic as the position was, you liked being able to see his face. You knew when to spur him on, and when to just hold on for dear fucking life. But above all, he was a skilled man, and you enjoyed watching him work.

You were so consumed by it that when he came, it took both of you by surprise. He spilled into you hot and deep, but he still filled you with ragged thrusts, which hit that special place inside that made your entire body shudder with pleasure. You couldn’t help but come apart with him.

Your nails bit fruitlessly into his skin as your voice rose on a high moan. The two of you panted for breath, and he pulled out and let down your legs back to the bed. Once you felt the telltale dripping of his release slipping down from between your legs, your eyes widened. 

Oh shit, you thought. “We forgot the condom.”

Ben stared down at you, first in confusion, then in surprise. And finally, with a broad, Cheshire-like grin.

You laid a hand over your eyes as you relaxed into the pillow behind your head, trying not to laugh.

“I can’t believe we just did that,” you said.

“We? I was following your lead,” Ben said. He moved to lay beside you in full satisfaction, folding his hands over his chest. He looked like the cat that caught the horny-ass canary.

"Haven't you heard of, oh, I don't know, pulling out?" you quipped. Ben rose a brow at you, still with that smug look on his face.

"Not my philosophy, sweetheart," he said.

Your mouth dropped open incredulously. Your gaze narrowed, but looking into his gleaming eyes, you really just had to laugh. His smile grew.

Ugh. Whatever, you thought. For now, you closed your legs and moved over to rest your head on his shoulder. He welcomed you with an arm wrapping around your waist.

What’re the chances that I’m ovulating anyway? you thought.

After a beat, you huffed another laugh. With your luck, you’d definitely have to stop at a drugstore for a pregnancy test.

And yet, in times like these, you were happy that you caved when Ben insisted on installing a TV in the bedroom. After you both got cleaned up, it was nice to fall into bed like you used to and find something new to watch together.

There were so many things you wanted him to catch up on, and he was generally game for whatever you thought he might like.

Three episodes of The Office later though, you stopped laughing so much and fell into your thoughts. Ben noticed, tugging on a loose strand of your hair.

“What’s the matter?”

“You really think our apartment is a shithole?” you asked.

He shrugged. “I might’ve embellished.”

“Seriously. If you’re not comfortable here—”

“I’m comfortable,” he said, turning his gaze to you. “Why’re you asking me that now?”

“I don’t know,” you said. “I just want you to be happy here. I want this to feel like home for both of us, but not like, boring either.” 

He smirked. “Hence the caravan of whores and blow.” 

You shook your head with a laugh. But he still saw you trying to stem off that worry. That all this wasn’t enough for him. 

Well, Ben could complain about being cramped in this three-bedroom apartment…but he knew that when he came home, he wouldn’t be alone. 

He’d be able to see your stuff on the nightstand, by your side of the bed, your half of the closet, your sweet-smelling soaps and lotions in the bathroom. All of that was familiar to him now. 

It was home, he supposed. And so were you.

The beginnings of a softer smile curved his lips, but he edged it into a smirk.  

“You’ve got something they don’t,” he said. 

“What’s that?” you asked, raising a brow. 

“You try the ever-living fuck out of my patience,” he said, “unlike anyone on the planet.” 

With a giggle, you rolled over onto his arm and chest, resting your head on his shoulder. 

“Buuut…?” 

He conceded with a nod, if also a roll of his eyes. His arm lifted to once again slip around your waist.

“But no matter how fucked up it got, you stayed.”

With me, his tone implied.

“That’s more than anyone else in my goddamn life,” he said.

And that made you tear up all over again.

“So you’re staying,” you clarified, only half-teasing.

It reminded you of when you’d sat tied to a chair, wondering why the hell Soldier Boy would want to let you live. You could’ve never known it then, but you’d stared straight into the face of your future.

You didn’t know if Ben was remembering the same thing, but he smiled a little, brushing away your tears with his thumb.

“I’m staying,” he replied. Your smile brightened, and you leaned up for a kiss.

“Then we’re square,” you whispered against his lips. 

He chuckled and deepened the kiss. He turned off the TV, chucking the remote further down the bed and turned to trap you beneath him again.

“Nope.” You finished wiping your eyes and pushed against his chest. “You’re not finessing me twice. Go find a damn condom.”

He gave you a grumpy look. “Fucking killjoy.”

“You’re ridiculous,” you laughed. You reached up and took his face in your hands.

“I promised, didn’t I?” you reminded. “We’ll get there.”

His gaze searched yours.

“Soon, not someday,” he said. You nodded, soothing your thumb across his cheek.

“Soon,” you agreed. And you reminded him, even as your throat constricted once more with emotion. “Ben, I love you…God, I love you. And I’ve never wanted this with anyone but you.”

Ben paused, but after a moment, he nodded in acceptance. You were grateful for it. Even though you weren’t quite ready yet, he wasn’t the only one who wanted a family.

While your fractured past and upbringing made it hard for you to move past your fears, your insecurities, you knew that this man made you feel safe.

For the first time in your life, you also felt whole.

Soon enough, you’d be brave too.

AN: That's all, folks. Been a great ride...

Ha! Just kidding. I'm nowhere near done with these two, even with this long-ass epilogue lol.

But honestly, no matter what part of the journey you jumped into with this story, thank you so much for sticking with me until the end. It's truly been one of my favorite stories ever to write. And I'm so glad I got the chance to share it with you. 🥹💚🥹

Next Time:

Ready for Part 2 (of 3) of "Love Actually"?

(AKA: Ben is forced to attend Christmas dinner to meet his girlfriend's whole family.)

Here's a sneak peek:

“Hey. What’s taking so damn long?” he asked. His brows were furrowed, mouth set in an aggravated frown. “I already told you. I’m not planning on being at this thing all night. So if you don’t come down here in the next ten minutes, I swear to fucking Christ—” 

Ben stopped short, as he heard your footsteps at the top of the stairs. When he looked up with expectant, pursed lips, his face subtly froze. 

“What? What’re you gonna do?” you teased. Tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, you grasped the guardrail and carefully made your way down the stairs. These heels were no joke...

😂 Until then, let me know what you thought of the BMD finale! 💚💚

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[olderthannetfic]

This has been simmering in my head for a while, so excuse the bucket of salt. Sincerely fuck “protecting the children”

I’m someone who discovered their kinks at 8 years old, someone who’s been having disgusting sex thoughts long before I knew what sex was. My brain has been shoving the worst murder-suicide fantasies at me since I was 12. All that “child appropriate” fiction did was make me feel more isolated and more abnormal.

So picture me, 11 years old, watching age appropriate cartoons and absolutely devouring every scene the villains were being villains. Replaying those scenes over and over on my shitty DVD player and wondering “what’s wrong with me??” over and over.

When I discovered older rated fiction I stopped myself. I took a look at it, remembered what I was told about being “too young”, and went “okay sorry I guess I’ll save this for when I turn 18”. Murder mysteries and cop shows were fine, because I’d gotten my mom’s permission to watch them when I was 12-13. Those were fine! Because they were helping people! Nooo I don’t want to look at the dead character, I just want to see how the good protagonist helps the victim’s family! I don’t want to see guts, I just think surgery is fascinating because it helps people!

I found out about this game called Boyfriend To Death (dubbed a “murder sim” it’s gore-porn) when I was 14 and it nagged at me until I turned 15 and downloaded it in shame. I’m a legal adult now and I still feel shame creeping up as I’m typing this. But holy shit that game helped. It was so relieving to find that I wasn’t alone in my thoughts

Finding dark disgusting kinky fiction when I was young helped me more than any fluffy sfw “uwu good representation” did. It was things like Diabolik Lovers (anime full of violence and noncon), like boyfriend to death, like the myriad of nsfw webcomics and manga I’d find on pirated websites and read in secret that helped me. I had absolutely horrendous thoughts in my head, and finding fiction that understood that helped me more than any “age appropriate” things did

So when I see antis going about “protecting the children", I just think “you wouldn’t protect me. You’d tell 12yo me that they’re fucked up. You’d ostracize me like you do to the adults. You’d use the guise of grooming and whatnot to justify infantilising me. You’d want me in a glass box where the only person I can hurt is myself and you’d applaud my self harm”. They only care about protecting the pure children, not the disgusting little freaks that created their own alphabet to write icky fiction

--

[elysianslove]

please use this ask to elaborate on mattsun’s dick <33

AH YES THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR ASKING gotta do this before i start fasting lmfao.  this ended up being sadder than i thought, but it just ends up being kinda sweet and sorta hot. also this was way longer than i intended. post in reference.  

warnings; big dick mattsun, throwing up, pain kink (?), painful sex, insecurities, consensual taping  

okay remember when i mentioned the insecurity thing? let’s dive deeper into that; third years and mattsun are at some sleepover thing. it’s a little before graduation, and they don’t when they’ll see each other next, so they’re trying to make most of the time that’s left. the conversation progresses to sex, as it naturally does, and each of them admits some horrifying or embarrassing sex story. 

iwaizumi had sex with a girl who was extremely kinky and asked him to slap her, but— they don’t call him ace for no reason. 

oikawa lost his virginity to this girl and she started her period halfway through, but he was really young and didn’t realize that was something that could just happen? it wasn’t that he was immature about it. it was more that he fainted. 

hanamaki found out he was allergic to flavored condoms when he lost his virginity, and it was not fun. 

but then it was mattsun’s turn, and they’re all waiting for his embarrassing sex story, till he hits them with, “i’ve never had sex though,” and each and every one of their eyes bulge out of their heads. it’s the last thing they’d been expecting from him, from cool, suave, charming mattsun, but he continues to swear by it. and when they demand the reason — surely you’ve gotten the chance to before? — he admits it to them: “apparently my dick is too big.” and it’s comical to say out loud, because he’s only gotten with a handful of girls, barely any for it to be firm hypothesis. he thinks he’ll one day meet someone that doesn’t think it’s too big, it won’t fit, um i can give you a handjob, if that’s okay? 

all that evidently leads to a dick comparison, because how big can it really be? and once mattsun sees his best friends’ eyes widen at his hardened dick, it sinks in. shit, he really is big, isn’t he? 

“holy shit, mattsun,” makki says, and he’s bashful as he stares at his best friend’s dick. “how would that fit inside anyone?” and mattsun’s already growing soft, tucking his dick back in his pants and moving to wash his hands after kicking makki rightfully in the chest. 

college comes around, and he passes by a thousand girls crying about how the boy from last night’s dick was so small, ugh i wish i had an 8 inch, and the things i’d do to have my guts rearranged. he sees a little light in this tunnel of endless blue balling, and meets a girl, takes her back to his dorm with his lips biting at her neck and her hands fumbling with his belt. as soon as he falls onto the bed, as soon as she straddles him, naked, and moves to slip off his trousers, anxiety meets him halfway again, and he holds in a breath as she pulls at the hem of his pants and takes his boxers with her.

the gasp his half hardening cock pulls out of her is confusing. he can’t tell what to make out of it, but she spits on her palm and grips his hefty cock in her small palm, unable to have her fingertips meet. her eyes are wide, but she seems determined, even tilts her hips forward, but she resorts to, “can i just suck you off?” 

and mattsun thinks alright, that’s an upgrade. 

when she ends up throwing up because she underestimates his size and overestimates herself, mattsun offers her his bathroom to clean up, and grabs her a bottle of water as she leaves. 

he ends up losing his virginity to some masochist, and it’s not very memorable or anything he’d ever imagined it be. it sits high on his list of regrets: he cums way too early, and hurts the masochist too much for it to be enjoyable in any way. but he texts the old third year groupchat and types in “i lost my virginity 😎” and receives the praise he had expected. 

for months to come, he fucks his fist every other night to amateur porn and watches as some camgirls’ cunts swallow inches and inches of plastic cock. he hooks up with some girls only to have them sit on his face and kitten lick at the head of his cock. some swallow a little bit of his cock, some fondle at his balls, but none ever let him fuck them. oikawa sends him links for sex toys, and mattsun feels as pathetic as ever, but he buys a fleshlight anyways and finds purchase in how tight it feels around his cock, how wet and slippery it is, how it properly milks him dry. makki meets him during a break and offers to suck his dick for him, but mattsun flips him off and kicks at his stomach again. 

it’s during his third year that he meets you. 

you’re sweet and charming, , and you have pretty hair, and he likes your style, and you laugh at his stupid jokes. you call him handsome, and you call him pretty, and you compliment his hair when it’s at its curliest. you send him the weirdest memes and tell him it reminds you of him, and you pick him up at obscure times because you’re craving nuggets or ice cream or ramen or licorice. he asks you to be his girlfriend and when you say yes, he blushes so forcefully that he has to scrunch up his face to try and hide it. he lets you meet his friends through a screen, and he buys you matching rings because he enjoys the subtlety of it all, and he orders donuts to be sent to your place  during your exam week. 

being with you is a dream, so much that when he hovers above you, kissing at your lips like he always does and sucking at your neck the way you love, and you murmur that you want him, want all of him, his hands fumble and shake. he tries to hide it, but his breath is shakier and his chest is flushed, his eyes a little hazy. you’re so gentle with him, and he hadn’t known he needed it until you’re straddling him and slowly smoothing your hands down his chest, palming him through his too tight briefs, squeezing softly. 

when your hands reach for his briefs, his own snap to your wrist, and he dares to beg, “please stay,” and you kiss him in response. your breath hitches at the sight of him, and your hand shakes when you spit on it and grip at his cock, but despite your initial hesitance you don’t falter. 

you stroke tentatively at his cock, squeezing him tightly, and fall closer to him, hovering your lips by his as you ask of him, “stretch me— stretch me for you.” 

there’s only one word to describe everything mattsun had been feeling in that moment, and it’s overwhelmed, but it’s somehow in the most positive way. he sits up straight, keeping you on his lap. his fingers find your dripping cunt and he pushes one, two, three, four fingers inside of you. he makes you cum twice, fingers curled and rapidly thrusting into you, other hand occupied with your sloppy clit and mouth latched onto your nipple. you praise him and thank him and cry for him and writhe in his hold as he pleasures you, and when you’re breathless and limp in his arms, he waits for the ball to drop, for you to give into your anxiety and hesitance. 

except you don’t. 

you lift yourself up on trembling knees, hands settled on and gripping his shoulders, and with teary eyes, you say, no, you beg, “make it fit.” 

he has stars in his eyes as he grips his cock tightly with one hand, the other holding you to him by your waist. it’s slow, it’s painfully slow, but mattsun has never treasured time as much as in that moment. he takes in everything, from the way your body tenses at the first intrusion when his tip presses against your hole, to the small gasps and moans as you take more and more of him in, at the sweat that beads at your temple and that rolls between your breasts. he marvels at the heave of your chest and the roll of your tummy as you curve in yourself, and he revels in the press of your lips to his, in the pull your arms looping around his neck and pressing his chest flush to yours. 

he does cum too early, but you don’t chastise him. you only continue to ride his soft cock, his cum messily dribbling out, and he ignores the sting from his sensitivity in favor of rubbing at your clit, sending you over the edge eventually. 

he texts the old third years groupchat that night again, with you sleeping soundly by his side, comfortable beneath his blankets, “why didn’t you guys tell me sex was this good? fake friends,” and sends a picture of him shirtless, sweaty, and with a post-sex flush to his cheeks and messy curls, with the middle finger. 

maybe you shouldn’t have let him have a taste of you, because he fucks you in bed the next morning, sleep still settled deep in your bones, and then he fucks you in the shower, and then he eats you out splayed out on his dinner table. he videotapes you sucking him off, with your permission, and watches it when you’re too far out of reach. he sends you pictures after a shower, gripping his cock through the briefs he’d quickly slipped in, hair wet and curly and matted to his forehead, skin damp and glistening. and when you react so positively, he blushes, to his dismay. you meet his friends and they joke about how you’re still alive, but you brush them off and tell them you’ve never felt more satisfied. 

with every single time he watches his cock sink into your warm, tight, sloppy cunt, and every time he watches you swallow around him, and every time he makes you cry and leaves you braindead, leaves you mindless and begging for more, his confidence grows. so much until he learns to be cocky about it, so much that when he barely preps you and pushes into you, he shivers at the way you whine and tense up, at the way you flinch and lightly thrash. because you’re a good girl, aren’t you? always take my cock so well, don’t you? nobody but you, nobody like you. 

and it’s true; it’s nobody but you for him. in every single way.

hello what the fuck am i doing. i did not think this was gonna escalate like this hfskjfns but anyways, big dick mattsun for the win <3 

[captainsimagines]

the warmth of winter || two

Summary: You’re home for the holidays after landing your dream job. When your dad’s old army friend stops by for the month, he makes waves immediately. Your little vacation is disrupted... for better or for worse? Nobody has to know.

Pairing(s): Bucky Barnes x (F) Reader

Based on the Song: ‘Illicit Affairs’ by Taylor Swift

Mini-Series (2/6)

Warnings: 18+ ONLY; conversations about workplace sexual harassment; exhibitionism kink; unprotected sex; oral sex; heavy drinking; strong language; suggestive language; age difference kink (Reader is 25, Bucky is 39)

Word Count: 11,800+

Author’s Note: Mmm, here we go with the smut and fast-paced romance! Enjoy this filth as we gear up for holiday season!

    “He’s!—” You rest your hands on your knees and try to suck in large gulps of air. Wanda always wins these races: your pace matches hers, she looks like she’s losing momentum, then on the last turn back to her shop she dashes full sprint and beats you to it. She does a little victory cheer, wiping the sweat off her forehead as she checks her miles on her apple watch. You suck in a breath, and finally say, “He’s too pretty. Like, too pretty. To be… oh my god, Wanda how do you do this?”

Wanda laughs as she watches you suffer, all while unlocking the shop door. The smell of the flowers overwhelms you, but it’s a nice distraction to the taste of blood on the back of your tongue. You honestly don’t know why you keep doing this: you’re not a runner. She locks the door again and starts up the coffee maker she had prepared before leaving. 

“Practice.” Wanda says, tone almost sarcastic. “So, this James. Bucky. Too hot?”

You laugh and lean back on the large green sofa nearest the cash register. A few leaves poke at your head. “Immensely. My first thought looking at him was, ‘now this is the type of man I’d fuck if I went older’.”

Wanda’s eyebrows shoot up. “How old is this guy exactly?”

“Thirty-nine.”

“Kinky.”

“No! That’s not—!” You groan and slide the lower half of your body down the couch so you’re resting at an awkward angle. Wanda just watches with a knowing smirk. “He’s not one of my dad’s regulars, you know? I haven’t known this guy for years. He didn’t teach me to swim like Sam did. He didn’t teach me how to throw a good punch like Captain Rogers did. He didn’t hammer the quadratic formula into my brain at twelve like Bruce did.”

“So, because this man has never known you as a child, you automatically want to sleep with him?”

“Be cruder, Wanda. Helpful.”

“I mean—” Wanda pauses. Not because she’s collecting her thoughts, but because she lets out a loud cackle. It’s a powerful one too: she throws her head back and everything. You slide down the couch until your knees hit the floor. “I get it. The other men in your life are all father figures. That’s all you’ve ever had. And here comes this Bucky, who isn’t a lifelong acquaintance, and who flirted with you the second he saw you.”

“But he is a lifelong acquaintance of my dad’s.”

“Hmm,” Wanda hums, opening a water bottle. She knows about Bucky, vaguely remembers meeting him a few years ago, but most of the stories she’s heard are from Clint’s perspective — not the most reliable source. “Then get to know him. Isn’t that what this trip is about for him? Maybe once you learn about his hobbies, and his likes, and the way he takes his coffee, you’ll finally see him differently.”

You struggle to stand from the floor. You grab the sports bag you brought this morning and start slumping towards the register. “You’ll see what I mean when you see him tonight.”

“If he’s given you this much of a headrush then I’m really excited to get to know him.”

“Good, maybe you’ll snag him instead.”

“You want me… to sleep with him?” That’s not what you meant at all, but Wanda’s face does the most hilarious thing you’ve ever seen it do. 

So you shrug. “I feel like it’s forbidden for me.”

“That just makes it hotter.”

“Wanda…”

“So, I sleep with him on the last holy night of Hanukkah, because you can’t?”

“I am not—”

“Wait until Clint here’s about this!”

“Wait until Clint hears about what?” Clint asks, jogging into the room while carrying similar roses as the ones yesterday, except these are pink and not red. 

“Our little bumblebee wants me to try out the goods before she samples them.”

You quickly interject, “Nope. She lies. Wanda’s a liar.” You point your index finger at her. “Don’t touch him.”

Wanda smirks and goes back to drinking her water. 

After your late night talk yesterday in the kitchen, you don’t know what to think. The logical side of your brain says that Bucky was only teasing — that he’s probably a massive flirt to everyone. Then your conscience wakes, slaps the shit out of your logical side, and says: No, this is the man who saved your dad’s life at the young age of eighteen and has graciously accepted your hospitality. He may be a flirt, but he has been nothing but kind in the two moments you’ve had with him. 

“Still trying to find a con?” It’s like Wanda can read your mind. But that’s exactly what you’ve been trying to do for the past twenty-four hours — find a negative so you can wrap up these impure thoughts without trouble. 

You sigh, “I’m not gonna find one, am I?”

Clint chuckles deeply, “Stop tryin’ to find one irregardless if you end up fuckin’ the dude or not. Hell, his ears are probably ringin’ like a bitch with how much you’ve been thinkin’ about him!”

Wanda snorts then shoots you a smile that says she agrees with Clint. You figure he’s right. 

“You know, when I speak of him I don’t mention fucking at all.” You give them both a thin smile. “Why is that on everyone’s mind? I mention the dude’s hot and you all think I can’t keep it in my pants?”

“Can you?”

Your mouth drops as Clint wiggles his eyebrows. “Shut the fuck up, Clint.” The three of you fall into hysterical giggles. “I think I’m reading too many of those cheesy, Hallmark romance novels at work.”

Wanda and Clint share a look, gasping. 

“Now it makes total sense!” Clint screams triumphantly, alarming the woman just outside the store. There’s Christmas music playing over the speakers in the cafe next door but Clint’s voice overpowers Jingle Bell Rock. Sometimes you wonder if he was this loud even before he lost his hearing. “I forgot all about your job!”

“Gee, thanks,” you reply sarcastically, then go to smack away his arms as he tries to envelope you in a hug. But that only leaves you wide open for Wanda’s sweaty attack, and once she wraps her arms around your waist, in comes Clint. 

     Baseball stats. Fantasy football’s going good even if he needs to get rid of that fucking wide receiver he thought would do good this season. No one will trade him. Basketball stats. Fuck, he misses Kobe. Taylor Swift released the newest version of Red. He should give that a listen. 

And — FUCK — that got him hard again? 

It’s been ten minutes since Bucky woke up with a raging hard-on at seven in the goddamn morning and he was actually getting somewhere. Thinking about numbers usually kills the blood flow. Who the fuck likes math?

But Taylor Swift? Everyone loves Taylor Swift whether they care to admit it or not. 

He can’t escape the image of your ass in those night shorts you wore to bed. Hell, he can’t get your face out of his mind, especially the expression you made when he tried to flirt by calling you an outdated pet name. And Bucky never uses pet names unless the person warrants one. Steve is punk, Sam is pal, Bruce is Mr. Smart, Clint is Hawkeye, and his sister is Becks. Everyone else goes by the name they tell him.

Anyway, Bucky should roll over out of bed and take a cold shower. Maybe even go on a run. You mentioned running this morning with your friend Wanda, so at least someone is occupying their time with physical activity. Then Bucky curses again because he has this stupid thought about gym clothes but his depraved mind is obviously wrong because it’s fucking freezing outside and you’re probably bundled up. 

Bucky cannot, and he repeats, cannot find his friend’s daughter attractive. It’s not right. He cannot, will not, cannot cannot cannot—

He slides his flesh hand down the naked expanse of his chest, scowl on his face and a quiet mutter of ‘forgive me’ under his breath. He hooks his briefs below his balls and feels his hardening cock flop back onto his stomach. The heater in the house hasn’t been turned on and the guest room is sizing up a chill, but Bucky’s body is producing flame after flame of body heat that he barely feels it. He shivers for a whole other reason: an embarrassingly wrong reason that he’ll recite a couple Hail Marys for later. 

He wraps his hand around the base of his cock, hard and heavy, and sighs audibly. It’s like the first touch of a puberty-high, a touch like no other. He isn’t watching porn or thinking about an old fling. Bucky’s never really been the type to think much about anything anyway when jerking off. He usually imagines the feeling instead of an individual. 

But now, as he tugs his cock slowly, trailing higher and higher until the open part of his curled hand squeezes his tender head and collects the premature bead of pre-come, Bucky’s imagining his friend’s daughter. 

Bucky doesn’t even know Hail Marys so he’ll burn in hell instead. 

He moans quietly and tries to stifle the volume in case anyone gets home. Overtime should be wrapping up soon and Bucky’s not about to be caught jacking away on the first fucking morning of being a welcomed guest. 

He does the same maneuver a couple times: grabbing the base, hand loose, then tightening his grip as he jacks upward, squeezing his drooling red tip until his hips arch off the mattress and he feels his eyes glaze over. He pauses momentarily when he remembers he didn’t pack lube, but did pack vaseline. It’s a mini container that Bucky seriously doesn’t want to waste but fuck, now he’s imagining how you would look all sweaty after a run and if that same image matches what you would look like riding his dick. 

He groans in both annoyance at himself and in pleasure. Once he retrieves the vaseline from the bathroom, slathering his flesh hand in what’s acceptable, he gets back to work. 

It’s always better when he’s lubed up. The grip is slippery but it allows him to move faster. He bites his bottom lip as that blissful feeling begins to pool at the base of his tummy. The vaseline is quieter than lube, thicker, but it still creates that naughty squelching sound as he jerks faster. Bucky catches the whine that threatens to burst his throat open. In a quick second, Bucky repositions himself so he lays face down. It’s a more difficult angle to jerk off but he still gets a rather pleasant rub to the hot skin of his cock and friction against his pebbled nipples. And he’s able to dig his face into the pillows to muffle his sounds. And Bucky’s making a lot of sounds. 

He thinks he’s speaking coherently, like he’s muttering versions of your real name or pet name he just gave you, but it’s really coming out like restrained uh-umfphs that he’ll be embarrassed about afterward. He angles his hips up so his fist can move and then he’s back at it for real. 

He slides a tight fist up and down, massages his leaking slit with the pad of his overturned thumb, then abandons that technique to roll his balls and his hips down into the mattress. 

He’ll wash the sheets later. Maybe that’ll make up for not memorizing a single useful forgiveness prayer from any damn religion. 

“Uh, mmm, o-oh!” Bucky barely recognizes his own voice. Granted he’s holding back a lot, but Bucky hasn’t been this vocal since he bought himself that prostate massager. 

The thought of bending you over the kitchen counter. You’d be so confused but curious, looking up at him with those magnificent eyes, questioning his actions and motives. And Bucky would describe them, intimately, softly in your ear as you shudder underneath him. You’d absolutely bend for him, beg him to ruin you until you’re a mess of limited vocabulary and sticky skin. 

Bucky comes hard, shooting off long strings of come onto the bed sheets. He tries to prolong it, slack jaw with tense eyebrows, and he milks himself of all he can. Slowly, the sudden punch of pleasure dies down until Bucky’s simply a bulky pile of loose limbs and dumb thoughts. He lies in his own spent for another minute, hazy vision and a random ringing in his right ear. 

He’s in deep trouble. 

     ‘Miss you —Brock’

“How? How do you miss me, Brock? We aren’t dating!” you whisper-yell, grasping the kitchen counter for leverage as you rock back and forth. It’s driving you crazy, it really is: this guy just won’t take a damn hint. 

You’ve already reported him to HR but since he isn’t actually saying anything remotely sexual or touching you inappropriately, the advice you were given was just to ignore it. Dream job but their HR department made you want to burn the place down. 

Fuck. It really shouldn’t bother you so much to have you angrily sipping your coffee. He’s literally making your coffee taste bad. It’s like you have to occupy your mind immediately after reading his messages. 

“What’s got you so annoyed?”

Bucky’s voice is new and rougher, throat a little scratched because of the morning hour. It startles you: it takes you a few days to get used to every new visitor. And since this new visitor is one you actively try to avoid having impure thoughts about — his voice just does things. 

“This guy from work doesn’t know how to take ‘no’ as an answer.”

You chuckle a little to try and show that it’s really not that much of a big deal, but Bucky’s eyebrows furrow and his lips part. “Excuse me?”

Bucky mimics like he’s just waking up and rubs the “last” remnants of sleep from his eyes. He hurries to the coffee maker.

“He’s not like… threatening me or anything. We went on one date and I told him I wasn’t looking for a relationship. Well, I wasn’t looking for anything with him but he took that as ‘let me keep on trying until she changes her mind’. So yeah, he’s really annoying me with these random text messages.”

Bucky swirls the fresh coffee around on his tongue and stares at you hard. His gaze is intense, and as much as you’re trying to search for any other emotion, you’re getting a really big ‘protective’ vibe from this. 

Wait. No, he’s puffing out his chest and breathing in deep, mind working behind his eyes, and you’re half expecting this big shovel speech and now you wanna die—

“I can kill him, if you’d like.”

A few seconds pass before you release one of the loudest laughs your body has ever produced. When your dad gave this speech a while back to your high school partners, he always joked afterwards and told you not to worry: ‘it’s just my job!’ 

But Bucky actually looks serious. He smirks, sure, your laugh startled the fuck out of him and he truly sees the humor in the situation, but he’s literally telling the truth. 

Bucky, with all his mind and soul, does not like men who cannot take ‘no’ for an answer. He’s dealt with them before, has had to throw a couple of them out of his bar and on their ass, and it’s never a happy scenario. Most of the time women whisper to him sweetly, eyes pleading for a way out, questions of ‘did you see him put anything in my drink?’ Bucky rarely even waits for confirmation — the guy is immediately barred from returning and threatened with a call to the police. The metal arm does wonders as well: no one dares square up when that thing whirs. 

So to hear that someone is harassing you at work, a place that’s supposed to be safe and without this massive concern, it angers him to his core. He doesn’t like comparing women to each other, but he can’t help but hear the same timid crack in your voice as you brush it off. 

“Are you… are you serious?”

Bucky forgets to change his hard expression. He relaxes his eyebrows almost instantly and hopes the wrinkles in his forehead have smoothed over. “I own a bar. I’ve had my fair share of experiences with those kinds of men. Hell, I’ve had to kick touchy men out because they wouldn’t stop touching me.” 

“Oh,” you say quietly. “Sorry you’ve had to experience that.”

“Same, doll.”

“It’s just weird, you know? Most of the time he’s tolerable and he never texts me. But he’s got this deadline coming up and when Rumlow has a deadline… he can’t seem to get me off his mind.”

Bucky digests every word. He’s not so much in the killing mood anymore — he’s actually quite curious as to why this dude does what he does. You would think this Rumlow fella would actively avoid any other human being while under stress, but from your explanation it seems that he finds you relaxing… or stimulating. Either way, it’s kind of creepy. 

“You report him?”

You groan softly and take a sip from your half-finished coffee. “I have. But then he lays off and avoids me, and everything’s great! Team functions well, morale is up, books get published. I even feel guilty reporting him after that.”

Bucky puts down his cup. “Woah, woah… don’t feel guilty when someone else makes you feel uncomfortable. You have a right to not like them. You’re just second guessing yourself but from what you’re telling me, this guy repeatedly does what he does then makes you confused, so you question it.” His little speech falls off at the end and his eyes go soft.

“That’s deep,” you say, stupidly, because Bucky’s words have actually broken through. Now you just feel guilty for neglecting your conscience. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Bucky hums and decides that he’s not going to blow smoke out his ears this morning. It’s his first full day back to his childhood home, his childhood memories, and he wants this day to go well. 

“Listen, you enjoy the coffee. Watch some TV. I’m heading up to take a shower real quick to get all this morning run off me, then we’ll head to the store, okay?”

Bucky smiles, refills his cup until it almost tips over, and salutes you goodbye. The gesture pushes out an innocent giggle from your chest. It makes something in Bucky’s head give him an instant rush. 

    Wanda beat you to the shop first so you’re buying the round of drinks tonight. You never were much of a jogger, but ever since college it sort of became a tradition to meet up with Wanda whenever you could. And since she worked overtime during the holiday seasons and you were only visiting for a short while, you braved it and bought some running shoes. Doesn’t mean you still don’t curse every time you have to stretch out your thighs.

It was freezing this morning and even though you worked up a good sweat, you change the temperature throughout your shower. Cold to begin with, then warm. You wash the back of your neck instead of washing your whole head, then slather down the rest of your body with as many bubbles as you can. 

No matter the thousands of thoughts currently running through your head, you always seemed to revert back to the nice man downstairs. You don’t know if it’s because of the holiday season and you always develop this hopeless romantic idealism, stemming from the countless books you read on a daily basis, but it’s both weird and exciting all at once. Last time you truly liked someone, it didn’t last long until you realized it was merely infatuation. Daydreaming, laughing a little too much at their jokes, and wanting to see them every minute of every day. Even when they did something wrong your messed up idealism would simply excuse them. Afterward, you came to the same conclusion: infatuation. 

You figure that’s what’s happening now with Bucky. He’s sweet, handsome, and treats you good. It’s the bare minimum, but you don’t want to class this as anything else. The feeling will go away during his stay… it has to. 

“Fuck,” you curse yourself, then turn the shower handle to cold and take the torture. 

    “You eat chips?”

“‘Do you eat chips?’ What kind of question?”

You hold your hand up feigning self-defense. “Yes or no?”

Bucky gasps audibly and throws about four bags of chips into the shopping cart. Doritos, both regular and ranch, kettle potato chips, and pretzels. “That answer it?”

“Do pretzels even count as chips?”

“Don’t know, doll. But they do for me,” Bucky smiles then practically skips down the rest of the aisle in search of anything else on his list. You simply push the cart and grin as he adds yet another item you’re surprised he eats. He has his oat milk, his sourdough bread, his mini donuts, cranberry juice, and even a hair dryer. He doesn’t listen to you when you say he can just borrow yours. 

“You’re paying for all this right? My hospitality only stretches so far.”

Bucky snorts, “And if I were to tell you that your dad told me that you gotta pay for everything… that I shouldn’t lift a finger. Oh! And he said you’ll be making my dinner. What would you—”

You bump the front of the cart into his backside, sending him yelping and scurrying away. He laughs hard, the crinkles turning his eyes into lovely dark slits, and he throws his hands up. “I yield!”

You roll your eyes and push the cart straight past him. “Think you’re so funny?”

“I think I’m goddamn hilarious.”

You roll your eyes. “So I hear you also live in New York.”

“Mm-hmm! Own my own bar and everything!”

“Where?”

“Brooklyn. And before you ask, yes, my roommate is Steve.”

You try to whistle, but it comes out more like a puff of air. “I haven’t seen Captain Rogers in years.”

“You live in New York,” Bucky says and squints. 

You shrug, “I live in Manhattan, though. I don’t travel to Brooklyn much.”

He moves to the front of the cart, effectively stopping you from pushing it any further, and leans forward. “So what? You sayin’ you’re not gonna visit me?”

He purposely made his voice deeper. You caught it. And you know he knows you caught it. “Do you want me to visit you?”

“I think we’re getting along quite well, no? Or did I make a bad impression?”

“You made an impression.”

“That’s all I need to hear, doll.” Bucky turns on his heel. “I’m gonna go get some turkey slices down by the deli. Could you get me shavers?”

“Mm-hmm,” you answer and try hard not to watch him jog away. He’s surprisingly energetic this morning. You head over to the bathroom aisle and search hard for men’s shavers. When you find them, you decide to get three boxes — one for Bucky, one for your dad, and one for yourself. They’re surprisingly cheaper than the ones marketed towards women. 

“I love seeing happy couples in the grocery store. So domestic. Especially when one makes the other seem and act several years younger than they truly are.”

The British accent is a shock. The woman who has easily uprooted your definition of subtlety is elderly, really old judging by her voice, with white feathered hair that reaches her shoulders and brown eyes that look shiny underneath the harsh lights. She’s short and hunched over, the top of her head meeting your shoulder, but she pushes a full shopping cart with ease. She looks you up and down as if waiting for you to agree, then she maneuvers her way around your cart to snatch the remaining little bottle of red nail polish. 

“What?”

She smiles delicately, then points down the aisle where Bucky had left. “Your partner. Oh, he looked at you like you were some tasty treat! I remember that feeling. Men down at the docks couldn’t get enough. Granted, I was sleeping with men much older than your partner when I was your age but—”

“Oh my god.”

She brings her hand up to cover her mouth and laughs behind it. “Sorry, darling. I forget how to talk to strangers sometimes. Not everyone enjoys my ramblings.”

“It’s good, you’re good.” Without her noticing, you reach down to pinch the inside of your elbow. It hurts, stings, and so you only minimally accept that you’re living in a literal Hallmark movie. “Sorry, it just caught me off guard.”

“By how blatant I was?”

“Y-Yeah.” You clear your throat awkwardly. You’re not so freaked out by a stranger talking to you but more so because she sees the same thing everyone has been seeing: how easily you and Bucky get along. “And he’s not my partner.”

“No? Well, why not?”

“Excuse me?” You look around to make sure no one else overhears this. You’re getting the third-degree by a total stranger and it’s a little embarrassing. 

“I’m usually good at seeing such things. Maybe I need to get my prescription checked,” she mumbles, then rubs at her eyes.

“What made you think—”

“Oh, darling, the smile on that man! You said not but a couple words and he reacted like you gave him his first flower!”

“I wasn’t trying to—”

“Well, trying is not important. I saw it. Anyone with eyes saw it.”

“I’m blind.”

She snorts, and reaches for a bag of Hershey’s kisses. You didn’t even notice you’ve been walking down the aisle together. “Promise me one thing: that the second he makes you smile like he gave you your first flower, you recognize it.”

She’s sweet, kind, and you admit her words are making you blush like mad. At least she spoke of her own sex life and not the possibility of yours igniting. “Who are you?”

“Margaret. But I tell everyone to call me Peggy.” She hums low, and smiles up at you as you repeat the two syllables softly. “They let us out every Friday morning to buy our snacks with our weekly allowance. I make at least one new friend each time.”

“I bet,” you laugh. “How come I’ve never seen you around? I grew up here.”

She huffs and squeezes your upper arm like she’s about to tell a sad story. “Oh, I’ve been in that nursery home since you were in diapers, darling. I’m old enough to remember Pearl Harbor.”

Your two best friends are your age. They’re the people you’re closest to. But you also have friends who rival your years, and you are nowhere near their life experience. But if there was one thing that you knew about yourself, it was that you attracted old souls and the god’s honest truth is that you’re probably one as well. “Every Friday morning, you say?”

She nods, happy. “It’d be good for you to remember. I want to know how this story ends!”

Before you can roll your eyes at her comment, Bucky comes rushing down the aisle with the wrapped meat from the deli. “Hey, doll. I’m all set.” He looks over at Peggy and tilts his head in her direction. “Who’s your friend?”

He immediately shakes her outstretched hand and shines that famous empire shattering smile. Peggy rests her other hand over his, introduces herself, and exclaims, “Oh, even the nickname sends me back!”  

Peggy waves goodbye and says, “It was nice meeting you, uh…”

You tell her your name, and just like you did with hers, she repeats it back softly.

Bucky turns to you once she’s out of hearing range. “How long was I gone?”

You simply tell Bucky that she initiated small talk about the most random topics and that she was easy to talk to. He mentions how some of his favorite customers are the older crowd because they have a lot of history in their heads. You think about Peggy and wonder if there’s enough time in the world to hear hers.

     “Whatcha readin’?” You ask Bucky, who sits on the large lounge chair in the living room. It’s facing the fireplace, which is up and crackling at three in the afternoon. Bucky looks up from his page to you. He turns the book closed to peek at the title. The glasses on his face catch you off guard. 

Scholastic. That’s the first word that pops into your mind, as stupid as that is. 

“‘The Chronicles of Time Travel’ by Loki Laufeyson. Don’t ask me about it because I’m kind of angry right now.”

“Are you serious?” You hold your hands out, palming them open and closed rapidly in excitement. “I edited this book!”

Bucky bookmarks his page and hands you the book. “Are you serious?”

“Insanely! Oh my god, it was one of my favorite reads! I couldn’t put it down!”

“Well I wish I was just as enthusiastic as you.”

You scoff, and hug the book to your chest. “Tell me what’s got you pissed. I’m all ears!”

“Okay… Okay!” Bucky decides, and sits up straighter. Your eyes dart down out of habit, not searching for anything specific, but you can’t miss the fuzzy red socks Bucky has on. He even makes sure his feet are still facing the fire as he sits up. “The main character, Mobius, why in the hell would he trust Sylvie again? After everything he knows about her, why trust it? She left his ass in 1613 to burn in the Globe Theater and he just… accepted her back in the club?”

“She saved someone else instead! She knows Mobius can fend for himself and in turn, completed the mission.”

Bucky grumbles, “You don’t leave friends behind.”

You catch yourself before you argue that point. One thing an audience looks for when reading a book or watching a movie is how relatable the characters are or subject matter is. If it’s too outrageous and odd, chances are it won’t sit well with the consumer. And Bucky, who has relatable experience, has found a flaw. “Yeah…” you say, but shrug your shoulders casually. “Think he realized that in 1692 when she was about to burn at the stake.”

Bucky chuckles a little, and accepts the book when you hand it back to him. “I would have saved her, too. But I wouldn’t forgive her.”

“I don’t think he forgave her. But he does understand her.” You look at the pile of books Bucky brought. They’re stacked one on top of the other. It’s a little funny how Bucky dragged them all out of his suitcase but you figure he’s just a fast reader and wants to be prepared. 

“What else are you reading?” you ask, but your hand stops outreached before you can pick up the next title. “No…”

Bucky moves to shield the pile, an index finger raised like he’s ready to prove a point. “It’s Christmas time!”

You gasp dramatically and clutch at your chest. “‘A Christmas Carol’? Seriously?”

“It’s a great read!”

“It’s a cliche read!”

Bucky scoffs, but there’s a hearty laugh mixed in with it. “Are you kidding me? Don’t you edit all those cliche Hallmark-inspired books?”

You squint at him. “Touche. But this is supposed to be for pleasure, not convenience!”

“And it brings me pleasure!”

You stand there trying hard not to cackle. Bucky looks like he’s in the same predicament. Finally, you bite your tongue, turn on your heel, and walk toward the staircase. “Come on…” you tell him. He stays put, eyebrows furrowed. You groan softly. “Come.”

Bucky follows you, pausing outside your bedroom at the doorway as you begin fumbling around. You didn’t invite him in, but Bucky thinks it’s weirder to just awkwardly stand there. So he lets himself in, and scans the room with his arms to his sides. “Nice room.”

“Thanks, I’ve done absolutely nothing with it since I was eighteen.” You grab the book you were looking for and hand it to Bucky. “Here.”

“‘Una Donna’,” Bucky sounds out. “By Sibilla Aleramo.”

“Early twentieth century read. Emotional, angsty, fucked-up. Feminist read, really.”

“Any other suggestions?”

You blow a short raspberry, staring at Bucky hard. He’s serious, clutching Una Donna to his chest like he’s a high-schooler who just checked it out from the library. You sigh, then drop down to search through the bottom of your bookcase. “I promised myself I would never let anyone find these…”

Bucky tilts his head slowly, eyes caught on your ass. You’re bent on your knees, the perfect angle, and Bucky marvels at how fully you fill out your pants. He catches himself biting his lip, guilty, but he doesn’t look away until you move to stand back up. But your hips do this incredible swivel, and your back dips and slightly arches, and Bucky feels his throat clench. “‘Indigo’ by Beverly Jenkins. Underground Railroad romance… with smut.”

Bucky’s eyebrows raise slightly. A smile tugs at his upper lip. “You’re giving me a sex book?”

“It’s not a sex book. It’s a book with sex. And you’re borrowing.”

“It’s a sex book,” Bucky replies, as if it’s legal fact. You roll your eyes and reach for the book, but Bucky holds it above his head. 

You don’t even try to reach for it again. “You’re an avid reader. Don’t even try to lie to me about never having read a book that has hardcore smut.”

“I’m not denying anything. I’ve just never been given a book to borrow that’s got that.”

“Well, consider me one of your firsts.”

Bucky swallows hard. The words digest differently in his unclean mind. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

     Wanda, Pietro, and Clint arrive together, decked out in matching knitted Hanukkah sweaters and with trays of food. They aren’t the most traditional and they haven’t celebrated with their family or parent’s friends since their passing. The day your dad brought up the idea of lighting the last candle together, Wanda and Pietro were delighted to start their tradition. 

Clint tags along, eats the food, and practically tackles Bucky when he sees him. Bucky’s got the same massive smile Clint has. You didn’t know it was possible but Bucky’s matching Clint’s pitch — they’re loud as shit as they talk about what they’ve been up to for the last few years. You even hear Bucky joke about Clint being the third Maximoff sibling. Clint beams.

Pietro does the honor of lighting the last candle and starts to recite a prayer when Bucky joins. Together they pray and all the while you’re wondering how Bucky’s possible participation tonight had gone unspoken all day. You hit each other with the cart a few more times after meeting Peggy, raced to the car, sang loudly at the top of your lungs on the ride home, and even had lunch together — sandwiches — then Bucky retired to the fireplace with a novel in hand and his glasses tipping low on his nose. 

You simply close your eyes and enjoy his velvet voice as he speaks fluent Hebrew. 

The food is devoured quickly. It’s only the six of you and your dad is having the most fun: he’s laughing at all the jokes (even the ones that are only a little funny), has scarfed down a ton of fried food, and even repeatedly proclaims he has to get up early tomorrow as he beats Clint at Connect 4 for the sixth time in a row. Seeing him this happy literally makes your heart hurt and you curse inwardly for not visiting sooner, even during the summer. Work has been demanding, but it was no excuse. 

When your dad finally announces he’s beat, it’s ten. The party gets moved to the bar, where Kate yells each of your individual names as you enter. Only a few customers acknowledge her. It’s not packed yet, but it’s getting there. Bucky mentioned having to call a few of his employees back home to see how the bar was doing and how Alpine, his cat, has been holding up. So when Kate asks you where your new fella is, you promptly flick her off. 

Kate lines up a couple shots for both you and Wanda but before you can get to them, Clint and Pietro down them without so much as a second glance. Thus, it’s a challenge to see who can get the most smashed on this beautiful holy night.

But your only one blissful drink in when your phone vibrates with a text message.

‘When are you coming back to NY? The office is lonely without you here. -Brock’

“I… I can’t with him. Here’s my phone. Go stupid,” you say angrily, handing your phone to Wanda. She downs her tequila shot in one go and flashes you a silly grin before taking the phone for herself. She inspects the message like it’s some undercover assignment, squinting and humming her recognition — it’s quite cute.

But you’re too annoyed and frustrated to acknowledge it any more. 

“What should I say?”

“Anything. I really don’t care.”

Wanda hums again and types in the first thing her buzzed mind comes up with. 

‘Neat!’

Your snort is loud. “Yeah, that’ll work.”

Wanda catches your sarcastic tone instantly. “You sure?”

You give her a side-eye and simply lay your phone upside down. If Brock texts again, you’ll just will it away. Or block him. You can’t exactly do that, but it’s fun to dream, right?

“You know what you need? You need to get laid.”

“Oh? I need that, now do I?”

“Yes! When’s the last time you’ve gotten a good fucking?”

Two men on the other end of the bar instantly raise their heads. You inwardly roll your eyes — Wanda gets too loud when buzzed.

“Forever.”

“Like, a good, nice, hard and deep, fucked-out fucking?”

“Wanda, jesus fucking christ.”

“What? I’m being serious… half-serious. Well, mostly.” She nudges your shoulder with hers. “C’mon, I know damn well Brock is pissing you off and that kinky side of you is thinking, ‘lemme fuck someone good and well while he keeps sending me those desperate texts.’”

“You’re crazy.”

“Am I?” She cocks an eyebrow. The loud conversation you're having finally attracts Kate’s attention, and she motions that she’ll join you guys in a few minutes. Wanda says, “Anyone here catch your eye?”

You look around briefly, not really looking, but you do notice how the bar is getting more packed. It’s Friday night after all. “Not at the moment, no.”

“Then let’s hang out for another hour! If there isn’t anyone that catches your eye, I’ll give it up.”

“Promise?”

“Promise. Pinky swear. Cross my heart.”

“Hope to die,” you mumble, and Wanda nudges your shoulder harder this time.

She laughs, “You’re nasty when you drink!” 

“I’ve had one shot.”

She leans over the counter and discreetly swipes a beer from the basket Kate hasn’t shelved yet. “Ooof, then you’re just nasty.”

One of the men from the end of the bar leaves their seat, runs a hand through their hair, and holds out his hand for you to shake. He’s awkward on his own two feet and he thinks his easy smile is making up for it. “Hey, couldn’t help but overhear—”

“Run.”

He swiftly turns back around, “Yep.”

Wanda cackles and Kate sends a ‘I’m sorry about her’ look to the man you’ve just turned down. Thankfully out of hearing reach, Wanda says, “Okay, I agree with you there. Not even blackout drunk would I think he was cute.”

“Trying to get laid in this crowd?” Kate quips, and pours two shots for both you and Wanda. Then her eyes widen a little and she quickly shuffles around to pour a third. Before you can ask, someone sits in the barstool directly beside yours. 

“Who’s trying to get laid?” Bucky Barnes asks, easily inserting himself in the conversation and making the two other women beside you immediately gush. He thanks Kate for the shot, then downs it, all while looking directly at you. 

Wanda points at you, then pokes you, and loudly complains when Kate whispers over to her that she’s temporarily cut off until she drinks a full cup of water. Bucky raises his eyebrows and waits for your response. 

“Didn’t think you would actually join us,” you say, and casually push the small tray of peanuts in his direction. He smiles, breaks a peanut open, and eats it.

“Seemed fun! It’s Friday night, thought I’d catch up with the town.”

“Bar is the go to?”

“Used to work here,” Bucky says and cracks open another peanut. “Plus, it’s where you are.”

Your chest halts mid-breath and to try and cover it up, you smile at him. But it’s an involuntary thin smile, cheeks tight, and you feel them quickly heat up. 

You scratch at your neck to try and calm your nerves. “Uh, how’s your cat?”

“Ayo’s got it all under control. Think Alpine likes her better than me.”

“You look like a cat person.”

“Oh?” Bucky glows at the statement. “What is it about me?”

You shrug, half of you hoping Wanda will do what she does best and interrupt (or maybe Kate), but they’re obviously in their own conversation on purpose, giving you the privacy you didn’t think you needed. But you know your friends: if you strain your ears hard enough, you swear you can hear their snickers. 

“You’re kind, fluid in your movements, you wear fuzzy socks,” you describe, and clear your throat as Bucky’s smirk grows larger. “That’s the vibe, I guess.”

Bucky nods and looks away in thought. Finally, he says, “Didn’t think you saw my fuzzy socks.”

You laugh, “It was the first thing I noticed when you cuddled up by the fireplace earlier today.”

Bucky seems to want to add onto the subject, but Kate interrupts. “Bucky! We were just discussing how long it’s been since I’ve gotten laid!”

You practically stab Kate with your bulging eyes as you spin around. Wanda backs her up. “Same here! Bumblebee is probably in the same predicament. How long did you say it’s been again?”

There it is: the first piece of your soul crumbling to the depths of Hell. You literally felt it break off. 

“I didn’t say—” You try to save yourself, but Bucky suddenly makes a startled noise and points at Kate and yells, “Me too! I think everyone hits a dry spell during the holiday season, though. No big deal!”

Again, you’re shocked into silence. You can say anything really, but you opt to just nod and smile. 

“No one catches my eye anyway,” Kate grumbles. “Bet Bumblebee can mark a couple on the scoreboard tonight.”

You give her pointed glare. “You want me to fuck a whole soccer team in one night?”

Kate shoots a finger gun. “Bet you can. Bet you can get more numbers than any of us here.”

“Now, woah. Woah. I'll take you up on that bet,” Bucky says. “You in, doll?”

“What, to fuck a whole soccer team?”

“Just one?”

Bucky has this playful gleam in his eyes. His cheeks turn a bright shade of pink and he’s even taken off his gloves. He’s comfortable, and it makes you unreasonably giddy. 

“You’re on.”

As if on cue, the bar fills to capacity. There are people you remember from your childhood enjoying hot wings with their grandkids, couples using whatever free space they find to dance to the soft Taylor Swift playing (Kate had told everyone to ‘suck it up and respect my girl during Friday nights’), and the winning high school football team is in the underage section, scarfing down victory sandwiches and wings. Pietro is shooting shots with Clint and talking about discount prices on Christmas bouquets that he’ll definitely forget about in the morning. And it seems both you and Bucky recognize this relaxing atmosphere — you’ve both been away for so long and although not all your friends are here to celebrate, it feels full. The sparkly lights twinkle after each song change and the crowd cheers as Kate’s playlist plays a 70s classic instead. Kate promptly flicks everyone off from behind the counter. 

Bucky initiates the beginning of the bet with a rise of his eyebrows. He clears his throat, smiles triumphantly, and heads over to the first table he sees. There are four women huddled together, laughing and drinking, all over thirty at least. You can’t hear the specifics, but the closest woman with whom Bucky’s making the most eye contact laughs loudly, throws her head back, and gently places her palm on his jacket-covered forearm. You’re certain he’s going to choose her, and not because she’s the easiest catch. They’re similar in age, she’s beautiful with the way she carries herself, and she’s drinking a virgin. It’s almost perfect, but Bucky says one last thing that makes them soar joyfully, then heads back over to you and Wanda. 

“What are you doing—?”

“Happily married, pregnant with her third child, and was so fucking happy with the attention and sorry for the rejection she offered to buy me a drink—” Kate pours the beer in a tall glass in front of him, “— your turn.”

Blindsided, yeah, that’s what you are. In the matter of two minutes, Bucky’s made nice to a whole group of women, made a woman’s night, and scored a free drink from it. It’s not even that much of a major accomplishment but it’s enough to see the melting feeling in action. Like you’re experiencing it vicariously through someone else. 

“Yeah, Bumblewumble, go get some dick!”

You throw back your shot to hide from Kate’s crude words and from her high five with Wanda. Wanda’s too tipsy to see the horror in that statement. 

You stand, pull up your pants, and suck in a deep breath. Wanda double-checks your lipstick, smacks your cheeks gently to get your blood flowing, then slaps your ass to send you off. You scan the room searching for the first handsome face you don’t recognize as anyone from high school, and find two. The first is a woman with dark black hair and equally dark make-up. She drinks champagne like she’s the main character in her own movie, and she sips with her lips puckered softly. She glows under the holiday lights and it’s then that you see she’s wearing an ugly Christmas sweater. But before you can dive in, another woman slips into the booth and gives her a massive smooch on her left cheek. Her frown literally turns upside down with her arrival. 

The second option is a guy around your age, maybe a year or two older, and he’s already looking at you. He’s a darkish blonde, somewhat built, and he’s enjoying a beer while watching the basketball game on TV. 

Hook, sink, catch, reel. 

“Haven’t seen you here recently,” the man says as you near his high table. His voice is too deep for your liking— it’s somewhat hard to hear him over the bass of the music.

“Visiting for the holidays,” you answer, and sit at the empty chair beside him. “Why? I catch your attention?”

“Of course. You’re hard to miss.” He reaches over to twirl his finger through one of the loops of your thin sweater. You let him, even though there are alarm bells ringing over your head. 

“So I assume you come here often. You live in town or just outside of—”

“What do you say you and I go back to my place?”

Your mouth snaps shut. There’s a sudden urge to laugh and awkwardly walk away, to willingly admit loss to your friends. 

“If it’s alright I’d like to speak with you for at least ten minutes before I make that kind of decision.”

The man sighs but agrees. You two chat about the most boring and mundane subjects, all the while you’re sending Kate, Wanda, and Bucky little stares of disbelief. They seem to be having the time of their lives watching you. 

“Now, I’m not against it, so I would totally be up for it.”

You have to blink a few times as your eyes glaze over. You turn back to the man beside you. “Hmm?”

“I don’t usually go for redheads but I gotta admit she’s hot.”

“...I’m sorry. Huh?”

“Your friend over there.” He points to Wanda, who sees and quickly ducks her drunken head. “I’m not opposed to it. I’ve had plenty of threesomes before.”

Your mouth drops in disbelief. This has got to be the funniest thing that has ever happened to you. Ever. You don’t even know what vibe you gave off that let it happen. Something like this doesn’t just occur for shits and giggles. 

“Oh my god.”

“It feels like my lucky night. Let’s see if we can talk the sexy bartender into it as well—”

“You ready to go, doll?”

Thank fuck. 

Bucky beams, the cheesiest smile on his face, and he holds his jacket out for you. You look up at him like he’s your knight in shining armor. 

Bucky fucking knows it, too.

“Definitely!” You slip into the jacket with his help and relish in the sweet feeling of Bucky patting down the sleeves for you. “It was nice meeting you!”

The man’s eyebrows are furrowed and he looks rightly confused, but just as quickly as Bucky’s rescue he reacts like a lightbulb has just lighted. “Oh! I’m not opposed to this either!”

Now you really have to turn your head as a loud laugh is expelled from your chest, wet and happy as a newborn. Bucky pulls you into his right side and holds you up as your laugh attack threatens to tip you over. You catch your breath long enough to tell Kate to take Wanda upstairs to her apartment and to keep her away from that man. Kate gives you one enthusiastic thumbs up. 

You and Bucky stumble out the bar, still laughing hard, and bet forgotten. The short hour inside the bar brought a fresh trickle of snow, though it’s minimal on the sidewalk and only lightly coats the road. The sun’s down, obviously, but the amount of streamed holiday lights contest that.

“Well that didn’t work out!” you say, clutching at your chest. 

Bucky wipes his forehead and hums his agreement. You two laugh it out some more before calming down. 

Bucky focuses on the way the red, green, and gold lights make the color of your eyes seem brighter — there’s a thin layer of laughter tears on your waterline and because of your constant rubbing, your mascara is slightly smudged near the outside of your left eye. But your lipstick stays perfectly intact, and you’re smiling so big, and your cheeks rise enough for your eyes to crinkle, and Bucky takes a step closer. He doesn’t think too much of it. 

He doesn’t remember the butterfly situation all that well — he’s older and wiser, not really ever looking for anything too serious since he thinks he’s exhausted any possible chance at true love at his age — but it’s a different feeling than the one he vaguely remembers, he knows. It starts deep in his chest, sort of ticklish, then slowly drips down into his abdomen until it settles peacefully. 

He can’t really describe it — it’s not that cliche, stupid fluttering almost all his romance novels describe. It’s softer, more delicate — he feels like something’s melting. 

You watch as he steps closer and as his eyes drift lower to your lips, and you slowly count to three. Whether it’s the lights, or because of the holiday season, or because Bucky makes you feel happy, you go for it. 

Gently, Bucky cups your cheeks and pulls you in. His pink lips are smooth over yours, exploring with just the faintest touch before you close the remaining gap for him. You press against him deeper, reveling in the soft groan that pushes out of Bucky, and slowly part your lips to let him in. Now he kisses with purpose, admirable pecks until his tongue pokes through, sliding over your bottom lip, and delving into your parted mouth to meet yours. It’s not at all sloppy — it’s sweet and slow and your noses bump naturally as each of you turn your head. Bucky’s hands simply hold you close to him, one weathered and one cool, and it takes him only a few moments to figure out what you currently taste like: the faintest lime. He must taste like craft beer. 

Slowly, regretfully, you pull away when the sudden sound of loud ‘boo’s! erupts inside the bar as yet another pop song begins: one from an original Jonas Brothers album. Kate tells everyone to ‘shut the fuck up!’

Bucky rests with the tip of his nose nudging your cheek. It’s a little cold, as shown by the redness it’s sporting, but you don’t move because of it. It’s quite an innocent gesture and although his nose is cold, his warm breath makes up for it. 

“Guess neither of us is getting laid tonight, huh?”

Bucky chuckles against your skin and the vibration makes your knees weak. He pulls back and his blue eyes glint with that mischievous, nonverbal word. 

Bet. 

     You make it halfway up the stairs before both of you tumble and land awkwardly on top of each other. Bucky has his flesh hand gripping the railing so the two of you don’t slide down further and his metal arm wrapped tightly around your waist. You meet his eye, granted a little awkwardly considering the twisted position you’re in, and try hard not to burst out laughing. Bucky looks like he’s struggling with the same thoughts. The two of you keep still for another few seconds, just hoping your dad doesn’t come out of his room to investigate. 

But nothing happens. There are no sounds besides your heavy breathing and the whir of Bucky’s metal arm. It’s cold against your tummy — your shirt has slid up and Bucky noticed earlier because he’s rubbing sweet tiny circles near your belly button. It’s the softest type of intimate touch you’ve ever received from a man — and it’s delicate and erotic at the same time. It causes a rush of activated goosebumps and here, now, you’ve never been so turned on. 

“I think we’re good,” you say, twisting a little so Bucky can give you a small push. You help each other and tip-toe the rest of the way to your room. It’s in that moment, when you lock your door and Bucky presses you against it with his hardening cock against the inside of your thigh, that you realize your room is closer to your dad’s. The guest room would have allowed for more privacy, more of a chance to whimper at least, and a locked door isn’t enough. 

“Fuck, doll. Are we really doing this?” He lost the battle in his own head. The feeling of your soft lips instructs him to worry about it later. 

Your throat goes dry as you try to formulate a response. Bucky’s trailing wet and sloppy kisses down your exposed neck, stopping wherever he sees fit to bite down just a little. He’s careful not to suck or bite down too hard — he’s saving you the awkward stumble of lies you’d have to spill to anyone who asked. And he’s so big: bulky in all the right places and so goddamn warm. His thighs are massively constructed, grinding upward as you grind yourself down. You didn’t even know you were desperately humping the strong muscle until now. 

“You so don’t get to back down now,” you mewl, turning your head slightly so you can mark up his neck as well. He tastes like salt and soft skin, warm to the touch and lovely, lovely Bucky. You swear he tastes as he smells: distinctive tones of cinnamon here, and mild whiffs of cologne there. “I wanted to get fucked tonight. Guess it has to be you, no?”

Bucky growls and practically rips your sweater from your shoulders. Once he discards it, he does the same to your shirt. His hands are large and the pads of his fingers are rough — the fingers of a working man. You’re so used to the soft hands of men who worked in offices, in education, who never got roughed up. But Bucky has the hands of a worker: hands that have seen combat, hands that have worked hard jobs, hands that are full of experience. 

Maybe that’s just it — Bucky feels different, smells different, tastes different because he’s older. More mature. And you’re so tiny compared to him: trapped against him and the door as he kisses his way down your throat to your heaving chest. He reaches back quickly and easily snaps off your bra. 

“I’m sorry, doll.” He groans as he catches his first full glance at your naked breasts. You try not to peacock, but Bucky licks his lips and you can’t help but whine and push your chest out to him. “But that guy wouldn’t have done the job. You wanna get fucked? I’m here, babygirl. I’ll fuck you so good.”

It takes everything within you not to moan obscenely. Bucky seems to want you to, however, because the moment he finishes speaking his filth, his mouth attaches eagerly to the round swells of your breasts. He licks and sucks and molds your breasts with his hands like he’s hungry for it, desperate to have every inch of your available skin on his taste buds, in between his incisors, hot on his pink lips. “I’ll fuck you so good, doll. I’ll fuck you so good and well that I’ll have to gag you so you don’t wake up your dad, huh?”

“Mmmpf.” It’s a pathetic little mewl, you know this, and the sad little thrust of your hips does no better. Bucky knows what he’s doing to you: god, he can feel the welcoming heat radiating through the fabric of your thin jeans for christ’s sake. 

“Fuck, that gets you off?” His voice gets deeper each time he curses. He’s so hot and hard against you; you’re curious as to how he hasn’t come untouched. “The thought of me fucking you nice and deep while your dad sleeps peacefully in the other room?” 

“Fuck, Bucky. If you don’t fuck me right now I might just kill you.”

Bucky chuckles low and in one swift movement, grips your ass and walks to your bed. He plops you down, relishing the way the momentum causes your tits to jiggle. He wastes no time and climbs onto the bed to help remove your jeans as well. After he undresses, leaving his boxers on simply for teasing you further, he reattaches his mouth to your breasts. 

The metal arm glints in the little light the room provides but you’d know it was there even in the dark. Bucky makes sure to not lay it directly over your skin for risk of the sudden cold, but you wouldn’t mind. Hell fucking no, not with the way he lightly trails it down the side of your stomach to grip your ass; the cold of the metal and heat of your skin produces a new sensation you’re absolutely drunk on.

The bed creaks with his added weight; the sound of the sheets ruffling and his tiny gasps in between each gentle bite causes your thighs to shake involuntarily, and Bucky has to plant one of your knees down onto the bed to keep you open for him. 

“Bucky, shit, please,” you whine quietly, voice high-pitched and desperate and for a second you can’t believe that sound even left your mouth. You’re on fire, burning through every crevice of your slightly sweaty body, and you can feel your clit pulsating. The flimsy piece of lace you’re wearing keeps rubbing you so good, pulled and yanked by Bucky spreading you open, so you buck your hips upward just to feel the nice rub. 

“Where do you want me, doll?” Bucky teases, voice raspier than it was a few minutes ago. His curls have gone all directions now, flopping lazily across his forehead and some higher on top. “You want me here?” He kisses a sloppy kiss just above your belly button. He grins against your skin as your hips buck up higher. “Or here?” The next kiss is right below and he pokes his tongue out a little just to see you jump. His index fingers hook through your panties. “Or here?”

Bucky doesn’t pull your panties down at all and instead buries his face to your mound, lapping at the wet spot you’ve accumulated. It’s enough to make you yelp. 

“Shh!” Bucky chastises, the vibration and breath of hot air too much. You bite your lip to prevent another broken cry, but it’s pointless. Bucky mouths expertly at the spot you need him most, devouring your covered heat like it’s his last meal. It’s slightly uncoordinated, but Bucky shows commitment and expertise that not even your best one night stands have shown. You slap your own palm over your open mouth once he finally slips your panties down your thighs and gets down to business. 

“Fuck,” Bucky breathes out. You’re wet and messy and so perfectly made for him that he sees double for a good second. It’s enough to make the brain cells firing their delayed signals to kick back into gear — he leaves your heat for a second to stand and then kneel, pulls you by the back of your knees to the edge of the bed, and throws your legs over his shoulders. 

“Oh!” You writhe and rut upwards, gasping from how good Bucky licks at your clit. “Buck—, oh shit! Fuck, yes, yes!” Your screams are merely gentle cries, broken and wet and practically sobs when Bucky begins sucking. He laps at your left lip for a few seconds, moaning against you and chuckling when your thighs vibrate in response. He moves on to the right, then slips low down to your perineum, and swipes right back up. The action makes you snap right up, hands going directly to his messed up curls and pulling him into you harder. 

Bucky’s close to coming. It’s embarrassing and so fucking ridiculous for a man his age, especially with his experience, but he can’t fucking help it. You’re so goddamn wet, drenched down his dimpled chin, mouth parted in a silent gasp with these tiny whines escaping no matter how hard you try to keep them in. The skin of your thighs against his bearded cheeks is driving him crazy that he’s seeing white, the softness activating a trigger in his brain that tells him he has to finish on you. It’s almost like a primal need: to spill on your young skin and claim you as his. 

The thought makes him lap at you faster, swirling his tongue with as much accuracy as he can muster up as his brain fires more ideas throughout his skull. Coming on the inside of your soft thighs, watching as it drips inward and close to your fucked-out pussy. Coming inside of you, filling you up with his come and watching as it drips out and down onto your bed sheets. Coming in your mouth and having you swallow his spent down, that fucking little smirk on your plump lips as you do so. Bucky wants to come on every available surface of your body until he’s convinced you're his, that he’s made his mark, that this archaic and primal instinct gets him off more than he thinks it will. 

He groans low as he continues swirling and sucking, and he reaches down to squeeze at his cock. He’s aching, a sweet wet spot at the front of his boxers that matches yours, and the next little moan you let out has him squeezing the base of his cock harder as he groans again. “Doll, come on,” he urges, pads of his fingers digging deep into the meat of your thighs. 

It’s enough for you — if you could compare that rasp in his throat to anything, it would be honey in tea next to a crackling fireplace — and you’re coming with a tight groan and your palm turned sideways in your mouth. Bucky holds your hips as you writhe uncontrollably, working you through your powerful orgasm, even massaging the sides of your ass. It isn’t until you plop back down onto the sheets that you realize you were even mid-air. 

Bucky emerges with the proudest smile you’ve ever seen. It actually makes you scoff. “Well, I’d be a goddamn liar if I said you weren’t the fucking best lay so far,” you admit.

He grins wide and throws your legs up again, this time around his naked hips. He cock stands proudly, leaking from the tip and an almost angry red. Bucky tugs at himself a few times before his eyes shoot up to yours. 

“Good?”

Fuck. You’re about to fuck your dad’s friend. A guy way older than you. In your childhood bedroom. 

You shimmy the slightest bit down and open your legs wider, resting your sweaty palms against your own thighs. “Fuck me.”

It’s a desperate plea, one Bucky will certainly treasure for as long as he lives. He dips down and lays over you, planting a messy kiss against the underside of your neck. It tickles, but you’re so distracted by his weight, pressed chest to chest, the soft light from the moon illuminating the olive skin of his shoulders. You leave your own pattern of kisses along them, nipping gently and marveling at the soft little chuckles it causes him to expel. 

“You gotta be quiet, okay?” Bucky whispers, voice already hoarse as he runs the tip of his cock across your wet slit. It’s such a dirty movement, one that not many people you’ve slept with have taken the time to do. But Bucky seems to relish each moment, hungry for more. “You gonna be quiet for me, doll?”

“Mm,” you whine and push your hips higher as the tip of his cock runs against your sensitive clit. It’s not the answer Bucky wants so he presses down against you harder, running his cock over you a couple more times until your eyebrows scrunch and you’re voicing your displeasure in waiting. “I’ll be good.”

Bucky halts with his lips over yours, breathing in your beer-infused puffs of air. The air is quite literally knocked out of his own lungs and the air you’re supplying is all he has. 

‘I’ll be good.’

Now there’s a kink Bucky didn’t know he had. Granted, he didn’t think he’d get off fucking his friend’s daughter just two doors down.

“Say that again,” Bucky literally begs, voice raspy as he finally breaches your tight walls. He pushes slowly, not even half way in, and savours the way your neck stretches like an open invitation. He ruts once, pushing in deeper, and nearly comes from the smallest whine your chest produces. “Tell me you’ll be so good for me. Can you do that?”

There’s a slight burn, delectable and a bit restrained, but it’s the best thing you’ve felt in months. Bucky’s cock is the perfect girth, stretching you further than any toy or person, and even though he’s not all the way seated inside, the ridges and veins of his cock are obvious. He’s already touching spots you didn’t even know you had.

Bucky wants you to be good. This is bordering on Babygirl and Daddy kink and if you were asked a week ago, any interest in this roleplay would have never been raised. But you have the sudden urge to please Bucky, to be absolutely ruined and reduced to tears, to be spanked and called dumb. The mere thought is getting you off. 

“I’ll be good,” you gasp, nails leaving little crescents in his flesh arm. He pushes all the way in and rolls his hips against yours to situate himself and rub against your needy clit. The shock of it causes you to clench down around him and Bucky grits his teeth. 

“I need you to be quiet, doll,” he repeats, breathing in slowly as he thrusts a couple of times. He’s so goddamn deep, threatening to send you into a weeping mess. Bucky lifts himself up and grips your thighs hard, then begins to pound into you like you’ve been begging him to. 

“Oh, my,” you struggle to gasp out, mouth hanging open in a parted scream. “Oh, fuck!”

He knows he should chastise you, but the screams are just egging him on. He holds onto your thighs tightly, slamming into you with so much force you’re being thrust higher up onto the bed. It should hurt — you’ve had guys slam their dicks into you and hit your cervix spot on and send you yelling in pain rather than pleasure — but Bucky’s cock spreads you apart like it’s the most delicate thing in the world, massaging your tight walls with each noisy thrust. The nasty sound of skin slapping skin drowns the once quiet night and you’re certain that sound is louder than anything your vocal cords have produced so far. 

“That good, doll?” Bucky teases. He’s got a nice sheen of sweat over his body — the shine somehow makes his build seem larger, thicker, and the metal arm looks so damn good near that shiny olive skin. “You like taking my cock?”

Dirty talk. You really don’t want to be thinking about your other sexual exploits but jesus fucking christ Bucky is ruining them all. He’s hotter, older, the dirty talk doesn’t sound forced or cringy, his cock hits all the right places, and his hands are gripping and molding your skin like he’s studying it. It’s impossible not to compare — Bucky is shattering your initial beliefs of sex and you’re close to crying from sheer joy. 

“Yes!” It’s one damn syllable and you choke on your spit. “O-oh, yes!” He’s literally fucking you stupid. 

“Fuck, fuck!” Bucky moans between a laugh. “So fucking tight. Look at ya.” And just to make sure he’s being fucked stupid along with you, you purposely clench down as he drags out, giving him the perfect tight slide as he drives home again. “Oh, god.”

You smile lazily and a shaky laugh escapes your parted lips. “Fuck, Bucky. You’re fucking me like you’ve been dying for it.”

Bucky hits a particularly sensitive spot inside you and it causes you to release a short scream. You don’t exactly come, but your thighs jiggle from the impact and the oversensitivity. Bucky groans deep and hooks your legs around him tighter. 

“Been wanting to fuck you since I walked through the front door, doll. First night I thought about being balls deep inside your tight cunt. Came this morning just thinking about your ass.”

This time you involuntarily clench and it makes Bucky release the most perfect whine. It’s that type of whine only guys close to coming make after being edged for so long. But Bucky continues, slamming into you until the base of his cock and even his lower stomach are drenched with your juices. 

There’s a knock at the door. 

Bucky stops, still deep inside you, and leans down until he too is settled on the bed. 

“Bumblebee?”

“Shit,” you whisper-yell, burying your face into the sweaty crevice between Bucky’s neck and his metal shoulder. “Yeah?”

You struggle to make your voice sound normal, but there’s still a little bounce at the end of your words. 

“You okay in there? I thought I heard you groaning.”

“Yeah, dad! I’m fine! Just… period cramps…”

It’s an okay lie, and the man balls deep inside you chuckles quietly as if he’s saying just that. 

“You need anything? It’s like, one in the morning but if you need me to run to the general store—”

“No, it’s okay!” Your voice is this close to sounding bright and normal again and it’s at that very moment Bucky decides to start thrusting again. It’s slow, but hard and deep, repeatedly dragging against that special spot Bucky’s been hitting for the past several minutes. “O-oh!”

“You sure you’re okay?”

Bucky practically slaps his palm down onto your mouth. He thrusts fast, slamming into you a few times until your eyes water and your pussy pulsates, then stops. He uncovers your mouth. He looks down at you with this gleam in his dark eyes and a smirk pulling at his cheeks. 

“I’m good!” you try, then are immediately shut up again as Bucky slaps his palm down and repeatedly thrusts. Again, your pussy pulsates around him, wild with want. Your chest heaves with each sound you’re being restricted. 

“Okay, well. Don’t want to sound rude, but try and keep it down? I work early and we don’t wanna go waking James.”

Bucky fucks you fast. He’s surprised the bed hasn’t broken or that your chest hasn’t exploded. He dips down and takes one of your nipples into his needy mouth, sucking and biting as he thrusts. 

“No! We don’t want that,” you try again, tiny gaps between each word. 

“Lemme know if you need anything. Night Bumblebee.”

You don’t bother voicing a goodnight in return. Bucky covers your mouth and fucks you hard, eyes locked with yours. There’s a lovely crease in the middle of his forehead and in between his eyebrows, and he crinkles up his nose in one of the most innocent ways you’ve ever seen. Which is ironic considering he’s currently fucking the living hell out of you, but it’s glorious. His cheeks are pink and his lips are wet with his spit and all his curls are flopping like they’re having the time of their lives. He looks young, euphoric, and all-around god-like. 

“Don’t wanna be waking him up again, now do we?” Bucky laughs, then groans when you clench down around him. “Fuck, you wanna get caught?”

Your eyes widen a little and Bucky lets his palm fall to the side of your head where he claws at the sheet instead. “What would everyone say if they knew I was fucking you, huh? People in this town know me. They know you. They — fuck — How do you think they’ll react knowing you’re about to come your pretty little head all over my cock?”

“Bucky…” It comes out like a broken sob. You’re so fucking close, teetering over the edge as each delicious slide of Bucky’s cock hits the perfect spot. You crave it — having him come deep inside you like some forbidden piece of fruit and fucking it deeper into you — and you know Bucky wants that too. His little speeches basically give it away. “What are you waiting for, hmm? Come on, Bucky. Come inside me. Make me yours.”

Bucky’s eyebrows furrow only briefly, like he’s trying to discern whether or not he heard you right, then he’s fucking you with precision and care. He’s careful when lifting your hips up higher, both his flesh and metal hands gripping your waist as he does so. Then he drags the metal hand down over your stomach, massaging a little, until his thumb rubs over your clit. It’s cold, but you’re so wet and hot that it’s barely noticeable. 

“Oh my—” Your yell gets cut off, and good too, because your scream would have been incredibly loud. Bucky smacks his flesh hand over your mouth and catches all of your blissed noises: little grunts and broken whines that occur in time with each wave of your orgasm. Bucky watches the space where his cock spreads you open, mouth falling open as your cunt squeezes down like he’s never felt it before. Bucky catches the loud moan he almost lets out — grateful he does because that would be a lot harder to explain. 

Bucky leans down and replaces his hand with his mouth, kissing you deep and sloppy as he grunts low and finally reaches his own high. He spills into you, gasping against your plump lips, and gives a few more admirable thrusts that help him ride it out to the fullest. 

It’s suddenly too hot, too sweaty, but you like Bucky weighing you down. He’s still buried deep inside you, lips dragging slowly against your heated cheeks. Bucky tilts his head, then brings both hands up to cup the sides of your face. 

You know what the effects of a good orgasm do to you. Your legs get weak, your chest gets a little sore, and your head is a little dizzy. All those things you’re currently feeling. 

But Bucky meets your gaze, eyes searching yours for anything — words you haven’t said yet, emotions you haven’t expressed. Then he does something. Something that no one has ever done, and you promise you won’t compare him to anyone else after that.

Bucky smiles. Enough for those crinkles near his eyes to multiply. 

All those wonderful feelings within you are there but so is something else. Your chest is sore, sure, but there’s a weird pulse behind your sternum: like a lovely little tickle that melts across each individual rib. Melting.

You place the pad of your thumb on the dimple in his chin. 

Yeah, you’re in trouble.

xxMoni

[no-droids]

Ask Me Again Tomorrow

gif credit @pedros-pascal​

Part Sixteen of the Rough Day Series

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 16.3K

Warnings: SMUTTTTT, following/stalking, some fluffy moments but mostly just a lil action and interaction, I don’t think there’s any other warning besides language and the smut (comm sex WITH A TWIST YALLLLL) but if you happen to find something else that warrants a tag, please let me know and I will do so accordingly!

A/N: The response to this story has grown beyond anything I could’ve ever imagined and I genuinely thank you all from the bottom of my heart for the privilege of writing for you.  Hope this one ends up being okay and I’ll get to work on the next chapter soon!

***

Headstart—12:17pm:

The sky is so pretty.  There isn’t much to look at on the surface—rolling hills and plains, grassy but with dry bare spots breaking up the green stretches, but the sky.  It’s an oil painting above you, pastel swishes of yellows and pinks and purples with an enormous ringed planet taking up half the horizon and another sizable moon hanging high.

You should probably be running.  Like, for real sprinting, but you can’t push yourself to go faster than a brisk walk.  It’s so… free out here, more hills springing up every time you get to the top of the next, warm air filling your lungs.  Even though you know realistically that the beginning will likely be the hardest—where you need to focus most on running and putting distance between you instead of hiding—truth be told, you’re not foreseeing making it more than a full day.  You’re going to try, obviously, but in the grand scheme, you wouldn’t be surprised in the least if he finds you tomorrow.  So, instead of wasting all your energy going as fast as you physically can right out of the gate, you just decide to stroll and think for a little bit.

You know what your goal is.  Obviously, to last as long as you can, but more specifically… well, if Din is going to chase after you, then he’s going to try to think like you.  Anticipate your movements, if he can’t already see the tracks you leave plain as day.  Very soon, he’ll be walking this same exact pathing, following the footprints you’re leaving behind, but if you’re ever able to shake him or throw him off course, he doesn’t have a tracking fob.  He doesn’t have any mechanical device that points him in your direction—if you can lose him with the footprints, then he’ll have to rely solely on predicting you. Which means you need to think… exactly the opposite of yourself if you want to outsmart him.

That’s harder than it sounds though, because… is he going to predict you predicting him?  At what point does it stop?  You somehow have trouble seeing this as an advantage the way he said it would be—you almost wish you had someone else chasing you, someone you didn’t know and someone who didn’t know you if only so this paradox could end before it begins.

You’re walking for about ten minutes before spotting a dirt road in the distance.  There’s a person following it in the direction of the sun—you don’t know this planet’s magnetic field but you do know it’s after noon and the sun would set on Arvala-7 in the west, so that’s what you’ll call it for now.  You call out to them as soon as you’re in range, and the stranger turns to you.

“Excuse me!”  It’s a woman, you see it as you get closer.  “I’m so sorry to bother you, but can you tell me where this road leads?”

She removes a sheer yellow shawl covering her dark hair and gives you a friendly smile.  “Hello,” the lady greets, before spinning around and pointing back the way she came.  “Osiruu is a few hours that way.  There’s not much there, but it will take you to G’ila, a transport hub with many opportunities for drifters, or Nariss, the capital.  I’m on my way to Shabeth,” she points in the other direction.  “It’s far—a day’s walk, but it’s a holy place and offers quite the view.  I would be glad for the company, but I understand its lack of practical appeal.”

So this place is safe enough to be inviting strangers along on your travels, noted.  You’re going to have to make the decision right now, then.  Which path should you take?

Something deep inside you tells you that you want to see this holy place, and just from a few sentences, you already like this woman and feel safe with her.  But then all of a sudden, you remember something.

Last known locations tell you a lot about a quarry, Din’s voice drifts back to you, sounding soft and distant from the dark forests of Naboo.  Smart ones go to populated planets, planets like Coruscant, planets that make it nearly impossible to find people.  Brave ones go to dangerous planets, suicidal ones try their luck in the Unknown Regions, idiots continue to go about their business on their homeworld without caring.  But planets like this—like Naboo… those are the pacifists.  The ones that don’t ever put up a fight.

You suppose you should decide what kind of quarry you want to be.  Friendly company and a view is something you normally crave—it’s something your soul speaks to after going without it for so long during your previous life.  You never pictured yourself as the fighting type.  When Din first asked you, you told him you wouldn’t run from him if he was chasing you, and choosing to accompany this kind stranger to her destination is essentially just that.  Sacrificing a chase for a pretty view.

“Does Shabeth have a sizable population?”  You ask her, and she shakes her head.

“It’s the sight of an annual pilgrimage that happens in a few months, but it’s beautiful there and I like to go whenever I can,” she tells you with a soft smile.  “But there’s nothing for miles outside it, I’m afraid.”

Your footprints will lead directly there.  He’ll find you easily.

“It sounds very nice, but I need to find somewhere with a lot of people,” you give her an apologetic smile.  Truly, you think she would’ve made for a nice friend.  “Thank you for your help, though, and good luck with your journey!  I hope we meet again.”

“Do you need any food or supplies?”  She asks you, and you stop short of passing her by.  “I don’t have much with me, but know what it’s like to be a newcomer to Sanctuary II.  I’d be glad to help.”

Good Maker, is this how everybody is here or did you just hit the jackpot with this lady?  She seems like… you, almost.  Her voice is gentle, she looks like she’d give nice hugs.  You’re about to politely turn her down, but then you realize the brilliant opportunity that’s presented itself in her image.

“Actually, this might sound like a really strange question, but…” you tell her, before looking down at her feet.  “Wanna trade shoes with me?”

***

Headstart—6:12pm:

You don’t think it’ll work, but as you walk into a small settlement a few hours later in a unfamiliar and worn pair of sandals, you decide that you’ll need to do this as often as possible.  You can’t come up with anything else that’ll throw him off your physical trail besides constantly switching shoes—is that bad?  Are you just an idiot with no hope?  You’ve had—you check your watch—like, five hours to think of a game plan, and all you’ve come up with is shoes?  You’re screwed.

At least there’s food here.  Plenty.  There’s vendors stationed along the street, multiple people passing by and going about their business.  Osiruu, that nice woman said—not much here, but you think she was wrong.  There’s children giggling and jumping rope on the corner, a shopkeeper sweeping her storefront, a graying man with an empty cup plucking an unfamiliar melody on an unfamiliar instrument—and while your tummy growls and you know you should quickly buy supplies and be on your way, you still stop for just a few minutes to listen.

It’s a lovely tune.  You drop a few credits in his cup after he finishes and find yourself humming it as you look at the plethora of goods being offered by the vendors.  Water, food—you buy enough of everything to sustain you for at least a couple days, not wanting to go hungry but also feeling realistic over optimistic.  The cuisine is foreign and you just point to things that look appetizing since you’re not sure about the name or pronunciation, but after paying and taking a bite into a rather large piece of purple fruit, your eyes nearly cross at how sweet and tasty it is.  Holy Maker, that might just be the best thing you’ve ever tasted.  You ask for two more after you finish the first, tucking one in your backpack next to your blaster and munching on the other as you keep browsing.

Suddenly you see shoes—yes.  Fucking shoes, your salvation.  You take a good look at all your options, of which, there aren’t many.  Generic men's, women's, and children's, all in the same color and design.  It’s good in a way—you see most people walking around in the same type of clothing here and you pray there’s not a way for him to track your gait or the whole thing is a bust, but truthfully, what you’re most worried about is the fact that you’ll create a brand new set of footprints wherever your old ones disappear.  Unless you trade with someone else, you won’t ever have a back pathing, you know that Din will probably be able to easily spot it.

“Three pairs of these, please,” you point to the correct shoes and tell him your size, but then—“Oh wait, actually, can I actually have one of them that’s the next size up?  And another that’s the same but in men's?”

The man behind the counter gives you an odd look but acquiesces, measuring the size of your preferred pair to multiple men’s shoes to find one that looks roughly the same—you doubt he’s ever had a request like this, but you’re also a generous tipper.  His smile is grateful when you tell him to keep the change and then you’re stuffing the new shoes into your backpack and moving onward.

Would there be some kind of map here, you wonder?  One that shows distance so you won’t waste time trying to reach a place you won’t be able to walk to?  That lady said a transport hub and the capital are through this settlement, but she didn’t provide much information beyond that.  You don’t want to be in the middle of nowhere when he finally catches up to you, you’ll need some place to hide.

When you stop to ask an elderly gentleman as he passes by, he freely provides you a basic gist.  There’s a large forest beyond Osiruu—after it will be a road that passes through a few notable places, with a town called Sijua to the west that leads north to G’ila, and Devain to the east that leads northeast to Nariss.  Both are within walking distance, though it may take a couple days to reach your destination.

Alright then.  Through the forest, you suppose.  You probably should’ve asked which way is east, but he’s already leaving and you don’t have the nerve to ask him to stop again.  You have a finger point, that’s all you need.  Making sure to use one of the small restrooms near the square before heading out, you eventually decide to make your way towards the direction he said this forest would be.

***

Headstart—6:58pm:

A bus.

You’re not going to take it, of course, but it’s the perfect solution to the problem you’ve been mulling over.  It’s at the very edge of the small settlement, and you quickly speed up into a half-jog as soon as you hear its engine running.

“Last call for the seven o’clock!”  A large man stationed near the doors yells as you approach.  “Last bus to G’ila until tomorrow!”

The sun is setting and you have to extend your hand out in front of you to not be blinded by it.  “Hello,” you give him a smile, before grabbing one of the handles on the side and stepping up onto the metal platform.

“Ah!”  The man quickly stops you, moving to stand in front of the open doors.  He’s as wide as he is tall, big enough that he blocks the entire exit.  “That’ll be ten credits, miss.”

“Oh,” you say, patting your empty pockets and pulling your eyebrows inwards, trying not to move too much in case the sizable amount of credits you have stashed in your backpack happen to rattle.  “Oh, no.  I think I lost my wallet.”

He sighs.  “Off the bus then please, miss.  Come back tomorrow if you find it.”

You nod, leaning your forearm against the paneling and beginning to take your shoes off.  “Will it be parked in the same place exactly?”

The driver looks curiously at you, clearly confused at both the strange question and your strange actions.  “I’m sorry?  Please—off the bus.”

“One second,” you tell him, now barefoot on the platform and digging into your backpack for the slightly larger sized shoes you bought earlier.  The sound of credits clink against your blaster, but you hope he takes your lead in purposefully ignoring them.  “Does the bus to G’ila park in this spot every single day?”

“Yes,” the man tells you impatiently, eyeing the way you’re stepping into the new pair with a subtle look of distaste.  Everyone is polite here, it seems.  “It will arrive back at seven am sharp with passengers from G’ila, in the same exact place.  Please get off the bus.”

“Thank you, sir,” you tell him with a smile, watching him step to the side to allow you to drop down into the dirt again and continue on your way.

Brilliant, if you do say so your fucking self.  Eliminate the need for a back pathing.  All footprints facing this direction are going to be the first footprints, and all of them facing the opposite way are going to be the last; if Din manages to figure out you didn’t take the bus, then he won’t be able to tell which new set are yours and which belong to the other passengers.  You pray the helmet can’t track gaits, but while you’re still paying enough attention, you make sure to keep your steps just slightly longer and even try placing more weight on the edges of your feet to make it look like you have a slightly higher arch than you actually do.  You’d put a pebble inside of them or something, but you know you’re going to be walking through the night and you don’t want to commit to having your feet hurt more than you already know they’re going to.

Eventually the quaint shops and small houses disappear behind you, and the sun setting over the horizon turns the clouds above turn more dusty green and brown than yellow and pink.  You hope Din opened up the ramp after you left.  You want him to see the sky.

***

Headstart—9:34pm

The forest here is different from Naboo, too.

Maybe it was because you only saw it while you were in crisis-mode, but that forest seemed much scarier and darker than this one.  The vegetation there was thick and overgrowing, but these trees look like they’ve never had leaves on them at all.  No twigs or small branches that sprout from the trunks—the branches are all thick and gnarly, criss-crossing with each other with how close they’ve grown together.  You bet their roots are practically one at this point, stretching for miles and miles but all sharing the same system.

Because there aren’t any leaves, there's nothing to block the moonlight shining clear and crystalline through the twisting maze of branches.  Sanctuary II appears to have a sister moon—Sanctuary I, perhaps?—that’s likely a similar size, because it’s the same one you've seen all day and it’s barely moved a few degrees that you can tell.  It must orbit incredibly close and be tidal-locked with this one then.  Two massive satellites swinging around each other as they circle a ringed gas giant, but it makes a stunning view and reflects more than enough light to see.

The sky is deep blue and maroon and you’ve been walking in a straight line for hours, using the stationary moon overhead as your guide.  The only issue with this plan that you’ve been able to come up with is that there’s no widely traveled path through the trees—even you can see your footprints and the clear trail you’re leaving behind.  You’ve been trying for a while to figure out another clever evasion tactic, but it’s harder than it sounds.  Can’t just change shoes again, that’ll be a dead giveaway.  How do you lose him?

You stop for a second, reaching into your bag to grab some water and stay hydrated.  Looking up once more at the beauty of the swirling colors peeking through the branches above you, you find yourself pausing after returning the bottle to your pack.  There are… an atrocious number of branches up there, and all of them are long and tangled and thick.  Sturdy.

You’ve… never climbed a tree before.

Without thinking much beyond that, you decide to bend your knees and jump, grabbing hold of one of the strong wooden tubes over your head and then swinging your legs up.  Ouch—the bark scrapes against your palms and you have to hold on tight with your thighs while you shimmy yourself upwards, but at least the wood is solid as fuck.  It takes you a minute or two, but you’re eventually able to shuffle yourself around so you’re straddling the thick branch, and then you look out to see the large collection of them criss-crossing in every direction around you.

Oof, this is dangerous.  You know it even before you start.  The gaps leading to the ground are bigger and more numerous than your potential pathing forward, but the only thing that gives you reassurance is how thick the wood is—you’re almost certain the branches aren’t going to break as long as you’re careful.

Okay.  Shoes, these are too big for the kind of dexterity you’re going to need.  You take them off slowly, being extra careful not to drop them, and then exchange them with the better-fitting pair you bought earlier, making a mental note that the sandals and the larger shoes are the two you’ve already worn.  If your pursuer manages to catch on to the multiple footprint changes, your most recent ones should ideally just… disappear right there, shouldn’t they?

You grin, before struggling into a low crouch and looking around your wooden cage for a safe way forwards.

***

Headstart—11:37pm:

Water.

A blessing, and not because you’re thirsty.  You have clean water in your bag and decades of habits formed in the desert to ensure you’re taking breaks and drinking enough—what you need is a way to disguise your footprints once you get back on the ground again.  This was good; scuttling your way along thick and twisting branches for as long as you have was time-consuming and exhausting, but it allowed you to avoid touching the ground for at least a mile or so, which means he’ll have to comb that entire radius to look for your drop.

And it was fun.

You even found yourself giggling as you ducked and scooted, ignoring the bark scraping your skin and your panting breaths, the way your face got sweaty and hot.  You had to do some brave maneuvers at tricky spots—jumping, balancing, hugging—but it almost just felt like an exciting little obstacle course for you and you’re honestly having a fucking blast right now.

Water, though.  Water is an unexpected beauty, even more than you’ve always considered it to be.  Water is an eroder.  Not only powerful enough to smooth down the rough edges of strong elements over time, but it will hide your footprints as soon as you create them and leave no indication that you were ever there.

Eventually you see it—a babbling stream cutting a considerably wide line through the trees.  You creep forward and hang tight to a branch above you to make sure you won’t fall, wiping the sweat on your brow with your other hand as you study the terrain.  The water is… a considerable distance below you, maybe about ten or so feet, and there’s quite a few branches on either side that extend and hang out over it.  You could probably find your way to the other side somehow, but something tells you to avoid the road beyond the forest if you can.  It leads to multiple places, it would be better to follow the stream until you can eventually merge with it later.

That means you’re… fuck.  You’re going to have to jump, aren’t you?

It’s the only way—you can’t leave footprints which means you’re going to need to land in the water.  The trees clear too far from the shoreline, so you can’t shimmy down the trunk of one for a shorter fall.  You’re going to have to climb out on one of those long branches until you’re suspended over the stream, and then you’re going to have to lower yourself as far as you can and then let go.  With your height already accounting for at least half the distance plus the length of your arms as you hang, you should only have to drop two or three feet before reaching water, and then maybe another two feet to the floor under it.  It looks forgiving enough—the moonlight shines and the stream is clear and you can mainly just see sand at the bottom, no sharp rocks or other potential dangers to be found.  This… this is doable.

Okay.  If you pull this off, you’re a badass.  If you don’t break any bones or seriously injure yourself in any way, you deserve some kind of commendation.  This is probably kiddie shit to Din, who keeps literal rockets strapped to his back and jumps out of ships flying thousands of feet above the ground, but this is a challenge for you and you’re feeling just excited enough to be up to it.

You’re eventually able to climb onto the thickest, sturdiest branch you can see that happens to hang over the water, straddling it and beginning to scoot.  Your thighs are killing you at this point but you’re holding deathly tight to the wood, your movements becoming more and more cautious the further away from the trunk you get.

You’re directly above the water now, but you need to go out a little further.  Aim for right in the middle so you don’t accidentally leave any tracks or prints on the shoreline if you need to catch yourself.  The unfamiliar wood in this forest is admittedly sturdy, but the branch begins to subtly sag with your weight as you keep slowly scooting forward, and you’re just about to the correct spot when—

Day 1–12:00am:

“Sweet girl.”

—You nearly fucking fall.

“Maker,” you gasp, suddenly scrambling to catch yourself on the branch before you can plummet.  It creaks and groans under your weight but supports you nonetheless, and when you’re one hundred percent certain it isn’t going to break, you jerk your head down to the communicator and see that it’s midnight, on the dot.

Shit.

Your heart slams against your ribs and your arms shake with adrenaline while you study it for just a moment longer, trying to calm the fuck down.

“Hey,” Din’s voice comes sharply from your wrist, crackling and tinny through the comm, nearly scaring you again.  “Answer me.”

You don’t want to sacrifice your grip right now, but you have no doubt he’ll fly the Crest out to you if you don’t respond.  So you quickly let go to press a button on the front face and then latch onto the branch tight once more, raising your voice because you can’t risk bringing your wrist up to your mouth to speak.  You hope he’ll be able to hear without the microphone picking up the sound of the stream below.  “Uh.  Ahem.  Hello.  Yes?”

“You’re too quiet,” Din’s disembodied voice immediately informs you.  “Or something on your side is too loud.  There’s an earpiece built into the side of the communicator, take it out and use it instead.”

You study the wrist brace without moving, until you finally see what he’s talking about.  It’s a small, wireless piece of machinery hidden on the left side of the electronic display, and you quickly pop it out and stuff it into your ear just in time to hear the sound of hydraulics clanging through the speaker as you clutch the branch again.  You’d know that sound anywhere, it’s the ramp of the hull closing.

“Are you already on the move?”  You ask him incredulously, your thighs starting to go numb with how deathly tight you’ve been squeezing this tree.

“Can’t sleep,” Din murmurs, sounding so much closer and deeper than before.  Does he have his earpiece on under the helmet or something?  Stars, is that why his voice sounds that good?  It’s like it’s coming from inside your own head, bassy and rough.  “Ready or not.”

You huff, your tummy going warm.  Of course he can’t sleep, of course he’s going to look for you as soon as he’s allowed to.  If he waited until morning, you’d probably be slightly offended.  You try to slow your heart rate into something acceptable, but being this far above water and hearing his baritone murmur directly in your ear make it difficult.  “But I’m… sleepy.”

“You’re always sleepy,” he tells you, and though you can’t actually hear him walking, the sound of his footsteps shake through his voice just slightly as he speaks.

“Hang on,” you huff, ducking your head to drag it against your shoulder, keeping the sweat from your eyes without using your hands, “you’re gonna make me stay up all night just because you do?  This isn’t fair—”

“Fair wasn’t part of the rules.”

Well.  Fair.

Stars, you can’t stay here.  You don’t know how long he wants to check-in for, but you’re also not confident with this branch’s ability to hold you for an extended time when you’re this far out from the trunk.  You need to get in that stream one way or another, but now that he’s here, you have an extra problem.  Din is going to hear you no matter what.

“Um.  Can you give me a second?”  You ask him, glancing around to make sure there’s no better way of doing this.  Nope, you realize very quickly—this is the best idea you’ve got, and you don’t really know what that says about the quality of all your other ideas.

“What?”  Din grunts shortly, but you just clear your throat.

“I need to… mute myself.  Give me like… five minutes.”

“What are you talking abou—”

“You of all people cannot be upset about asking for five minutes of quiet,” you return testily, looking down at the distance to the stream once more.  That’s a long way.  You… you can’t swim obviously, but again, the water doesn’t look too deep.  Just a couple feet likely, shouldn’t go past your knees.

It’s fitting that he doesn’t say anything, which you eventually take as disgruntled acceptance, so you quickly press the proper button on your wrist to silence the mic and then take a few deep breaths.  You have a time limit now, you have to do this.

With incredible patience and precision, you eventually slide until you’re clutching the branch upside down like an only slightly quicker and less coordinated sloth, before slowly dropping your legs and hanging over the water.

It’s… admittedly a bit further down than you anticipated, or maybe that’s just you making things worse than they actually are, but you’re committed at this point and there’s no going back.

You close your eyes, count to three, and then you let go.

The sandy floor meets your feet with considerable force and you make a hell of a splash doing it, nearly falling but just barely managing to keep yourself balanced and upright at the last second.  The water is cool and comes up just over your knees, your backpack miraculously didn’t get wet and all your limbs remain shaky but unbroken.

Okay.  Okay, fucking success.  It feels… thrilling, accomplishing a dangerous feat, and you quickly let out a loud whoop before clearing your throat, trying to sound normal as you press a button on the communicator’s face once more.

“Mando?”  You ask, slightly out of breath.  “Sorry about that, I’m back.”

Okay, now which way do you go?  Downstream seems like the easier path after getting in so much unexpected exercise, so that’s the one you go with.  As soon as you lift your foot from the sand bed, you watch your footprint almost immediately disappear through the moonlit water, and you bite your lip at just how well everything turned out for you.

After a moment though, you realize he hasn’t answered you.  You look down at the communicator again to make sure you pressed the right thing.  “Hello?  Shiny?”

“Did you trade shoes with someone?”  Din’s voice suddenly comes through the earpiece, sounding absolutely incredulous.

“Shit,” you tell him, trying not to smile.  “Hoped that was gonna buy me more time.”

“It… might’ve, if you kept walking in the same direction as they were,” he informs you after a moment.  “Your shoes went south, but this other pair got all the way out here just to turn back around again?  Good idea, but the execution needs work.”

Maker, he’s smart.  It was the first attempt at a footprint change so you weren’t thinking much beyond tricking the tracking mechanism in his helmet, you ignored his logic completely.  Essentially, the exact opposite of what he told you to do.  You like to think you’re getting better at it by this point, thinking beyond just the original exchange, and you’re hoping you’ll be able to trick him with at least one of the other fifty times you changed shoes today.  You’ll have to see tomorrow night, if you can make it that long.

Also, the road you were on apparently goes north-south, that’s important information you make sure to take note of.  The man in Osiruu said Devain and Nariss are to the east, and that Sijua and G’ila are westward, right?  Remembering that you thought south was west earlier, you do some quick calculating and immediately come to a stop in the moving water as soon as you figure out your positioning, turning around and walking upstream instead.

You want to go to Nariss.  The capital, and the biggest city in walking distance.  Smart quarry go to populated places, places that make it nearly impossible to find people.

“Alright.  Mando: one, Me: zero,” you finally acknowledge, swinging your backpack around and unzipping it to dig inside for another piece of fruit.  You’ve been hungry for hours but had to use both hands to stay safe and far above the ground, it’s the perfect time to eat.  “How’s the baby?  Behaving himself?”

“He kept trying to follow you after you left,” comes Din’s response, and you stop with just your teeth piercing the flesh, wondering if you heard him right.  You actually open your jaw and pull the fruit away with just a bite mark in it.

“You’re joking.”  No fucking way, not that little demon.

“Wish I was,” he tells you solemnly.  “Made a fuss, tried to open the ramp a few times.  Didn’t cause any trouble after, just… pouted.”

That’s… that’s exactly how he responded the very first time Din left the kid on the ship with you instead of bringing him along.  He threw a fit, tried to ditch you for his dad multiple times, and then ultimately just looked cute and mopey with his limp ears until Din came back.  Do you think it’s just him rebelling against change?  That has to be it, right?

“He better not be giving you any hints about where I am,” you warn his father.  “I’d tell you to put him on but I don’t want the earpiece getting lost forever.”

You hear it.  The softest laugh—barely a breath, coming after years of learning to make it just quiet enough not to be registered by the helmet.  It gets picked up by the communicator in all its understated beauty when normally it’d be silent, and it’s just jarring enough to make you careless.

On your next step, you accidentally lift your foot too high and make a splash, and you already know you fucked up before he can say a single word.

“What’s that sound?”

You immediately stop moving, allowing the cool water to move as silently as possible past your stationary knees.  Shit.  “Uh.  What sound?”

You think he purposefully doesn’t say anything.  Probably because it feels a little like cheating, doesn’t it?  It’s to your disadvantage, having him be able to catch hints from your environment when he’s the one who made check-ins mandatory, but then again… how smart do you think he is?  Something tells you that he might not need to track you at all—what are the chances he stumbles upon this little stream and just naturally assumes you were clever enough to use it to hide your trail?  Did you waste time trying to engineer a vanishing act when it’s not going to matter regardless?

Oh well, too late now.  You quickly decide to change the subject.

“You should try the big purple fruit that one vendor sells when you get into Osiruu, by the way,” you tell him pleasantly, taking a big chomp out of it and then letting out an extended hum of delight that only really fucking good food or sex causes a person to make.  “I’m eating one right now, it’s so good.  Be the best thing you’ve ever tasted.”

“Mm.  Doubt it,”  immediately comes his low response.  Fucking immediately.

“Mando,” you gasp, scandalized and giddy enough that juice dribbles down your chin a bit.

“Are you having fun?”  Din asks, instead of pushing the conversation any further in that direction.  You don’t know if you’re thankful or disappointed with how quickly he decided to abort, but you take a moment to consider his question while swallowing and wiping your mouth.  Not the answer, you know the answer—but why he bothered to ask.  Did he know you were going to enjoy yourself as much as you have?  Your only possible lament is how you’re talking to him through a communicator instead of having him next to you.

“I am,” you say warmly.  “Be… be better if you were here, though.”

“Give me your coordinates,” Din proposes, and his voice is just low and rumbly enough to make you pause.

You’re really, really proud of yourself for only considering it for a few seconds before scoffing.  “Psh.  Nice try.”

“Was worth a shot,” he sighs through the earpiece, and you smile, taking another bite of fruit.

“Ask me again tomorrow,” you offer, grinning at the implication.

“We’ll see,” you hear him return, and though his tone doesn’t really change, you know he’s probably rolling his eyes.  He won’t have to ask for your coordinates because he’ll already be there, but it’s nice to pretend for a while longer.

And then you both walk all through the night, sharing casual banter with each other for hours.  He never once implies he wants to disconnect, even when you hit him with more nonsensical questions—

“What’s your favorite food?”  (“I don’t have one.”)

“Okay, well what about just a food that you like?”  (“I don’t like food that much.”)

“What do you mean?  Everyone loves food.”  (“Not me.”)

“Alright, well um.  What’s your favorite color, then?”  (“I don’t have one, either.”)

“Come on, you must have some kind of color you like.”  (“What’s your favorite color?”)

“…Brown.”  (“Then that’s my favorite, too.”)

—until the sun rises and you both say your goodbyes.

***

Day 1–6:15am:

You resolve to waiting until you see another person to allow your feet to touch dry land, figuring the longer you stay untraceable, the better off you’ll be.  Your toes are wrinkly and your pantlegs and shoes have been drenched for hours, but then you finally spot a few fishermen standing upstream with their backs to you, speaking to each other in the dawning light.  Two look to be full-grown, but there’s a smaller one in the middle, maybe a teenage boy, and you pause for a second, looking at the riverbank next to them.  All their valuables—water, food, bait, extra rods, but also… their shoes.

Quietly, you reach into your backpack and remove the pair of men’s shoes you bought earlier.  The ones closest to you on the shore seem to be the smallest, so you sneak over as silent as possible and rapidly make an exchange, fitting the new ones on your wet feet before allowing yourself to touch dry land and then speed walking away.

The ones you left him are newer and roughly the same size anyways—yikes, maybe slightly smaller now that you’re thinking about it—but at least you have a back pathing.  If that kid decides to take your offering and the shoes fit, Din will follow him, and if he decides to go barefoot instead, he should still follow him, right?  You’re not really aiming to trick him outright, mostly you just want him to waste more and more time.  This likely wouldn’t work if there wasn’t a time limit attached to this hunt, but you’re going to do everything you can to disappear while he’s still far enough behind you.

***

Day 1–7:06am:

You get to Devain remarkably quickly after finding the correct road.  The pit stop is much bigger than Osiruu, big enough to call an actual town instead of just a settlement, but still not large enough to feel concealed.  You want a city.  This place at least has cars and ships moving about and overhead respectively, but you’re looking for somewhere with lines.  Somewhere that feels as cramped and busy as possible.

Still, you find a restroom to use and then decide to grab some more food for your trip, happily spotting your new favorite purple fruit in one of the shop windows.  As you’re reaching out to hand the storekeeper the appropriate amount of credits, Din’s gruff voice comes through the earpiece so suddenly that you jump, nearly dropping them all on the counter.  “Hey.”

“Holy shit, what?”  You gasp, earning a confused look from the lady in front of you.  You quickly shake your head at her and mouth an apology while Din grumbles in vexation.

“You were supposed to stay on foot.”

Ah.  So he got to the bus, then.  Okay.

“Oh,” you answer ambiguously, exchanging the money for your bag of food and giving her a polite smile.  Din stays completely mute while you grab your snack, stuffing the rest of the goods in your backpack and then turning to leave—mute for so long that you have to double check you didn’t accidentally do it yourself.

“…Smart girl,” you finally hear him say.  Quietly muttered under his breath, half proud of you and half frustrated for making his job more difficult.  “Which one of these is yours then?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” you announce, before taking a large bite as you leave the establishment and talking with your mouth full.  “You really gotta try the purple fruit, it’s great.”

The communicator abruptly clicks to silence on his end without anything else and you laugh so unexpectedly that a few pieces of it fly out of your mouth.

***

Day 1–1:32pm:

Somewhere miles away from you, Din jerks to a halt in the middle of a forest.

He looks around the dirt floor, walks a few paces and hears the kid coo gently from his cradle.  Behind the visor, the red footprints he’s circling are the last ones around for hundreds of meters, as far as his display can read.

His helmet slowly tilts upwards, and follows the endless maze of thick branches overhead.

With the beskar hiding his face, no one can see the way he slowly breaks into a beautiful grin.

***

Day 1–9:51pm:

Oh.  Oh stars, you’re tired.

You’ve been walking all day without really seeing anything, not having any place to disguise your tracks in the wide open plains.  You could’ve stuck to the road, but you started to feel the exhaustion creep in during the early afternoon and you wanted to be far away from other travelers and potential danger if you needed to rest.  You knew this would be a long journey when you left Devain earlier—over a day’s walk, a group of children told you—you even tried skipping or jogging a bit to see if that would inspire more energy in you, but it didn’t help much.

The large cup of caf you bought while in town was drained hours ago and it didn’t help much either, probably because your exhaustion is more physical and not necessarily mental.  It just felt like a sweet warm drink to sip before you go to sleep, that’s how much the caf helped.  Still, you kept walking, kept moving forward even as you squinted in the setting sun, your feet aching from traveling for this long wearing unfamiliar shoes.  The last time you changed them was hours ago, pulling another bus maneuver but with an air shuttle instead.  Still, you don’t think it’ll be enough.  You don’t even know where Din is but you already feel like you’re losing ground just knowing that he’s the one in pursuit.

You feel it—the hair standing up on your neck, the tingles in your hands, the stirring of your tummy—whatever the incessant gogogo that your instincts happen to scream when you’re in first place but you know the person behind you is quickly closing in.  It’s day fucking one, it’s day one and you feel him in the wind as it brushes through your hair, you can’t even pause to rest because nobody knows better than you that he’s an absolute fucking machine when he wants to be.  The kid may have powers beyond that which can be explained by the laws of nature, but Din is a force all his own.  He drives you forward when everything inside you is telling you to stop.  He keeps you awake and determined when you just desperately need to rest.

But that only goes so far.  You’re bordering on two full days without sleep, and though you’d normally be able to suffer through, the constant movement is just brutal after being confined to a stationary ship for so long.

There’s a lone tree in the distance, you think.  It’s hard to see.  Not because it’s dark—well it is, just a bit darker tonight compared to last, but mostly because your eyelids have grown heavier and more burdensome than the bag around your shoulders.  That looks like a good place to just sit for a second, right?  Maybe eat some more food, try and wake yourself up?  Yeah, that’s a good idea, you’ll head towards the tree and just… sit…

***

Day 2–12:00am:

Completely dead to the galaxy and sitting on your ass with your back against rough bark, the comm clicks and Din’s voice comes through the earpiece.

“Wake up.”

It startles you enough to make you lurch forward and jerk your head around in a panic, looking for any flash of beskar so you can instantly break opposite to it.  You scramble on all fours to look around but you don’t see anything, not even behind the trunk when you crawl, and then you take a deep breath and use the bone of your wrists to rub your eyes vigorously after a moment, knowing your hands are filthy.  “Fuck, how’d you—”

“You’re always sleepy,” Din repeats, and you collapse back into the tree with an exhausted groan, not entertained but not even having the energy to get mad about it.

“I… I gotta sleep,” you tell him, already feeling your body let go of its tension and search for the darkness of unconsciousness once more.  “Shit.  How d’you… mm.  Stay awake all the time…”

“Sleep,” Din encourages, you can still hear him walking.  “You need rest.  I’ll see you soon.”

No—

“No,” you whine like a child, moaning and shoving yourself upright.  Maker, you’re trying to focus, but asking that of yourself is almost impossible right now.  Everything swims—you were dreaming, you think, but you can’t remember and it’s not important other than to emphasize how woozy you are.  Things still feel like a dream, somehow.

You think he can hear your struggling through the comm, because the sound of his footsteps pause.  “Go to sleep.”

“You go to sleep,” you tell him bluntly, giving your head a violent shake to try and wake you up.  You want to slap your own cheek but you don’t want him to hear it.  “I can’t sleep if you don’t.”

“I’ve have at least a couple more days in me before that happens,” Din murmurs, and you bet he knows exactly what the fuck he’s doing to you.  You start to slouch, hearing the voice he uses when he’s curled around your body in the darkness of the hull.  So warm, so gentle.  If you use your imagination, you can feel his fingers drawing slow circles on your back, the vibration of his low voice rumbling against your ear as you lay your head on his chest.  “If I hunt you the way I’d hunt a quarry, I’m going to find you before you wake up.”

“Then I’ll jus’ have to… not let tha’ happen,” you slur.  Even this close to unconsciousness, you try your best to throw in a misdirect.  “Already… paid for the bed an’ everything.”

“Sure you did.  You in another tree?”

You immediately frown even as your eyes drop closed, too tired to fight but still managing to sound upset.  “You makin’ fun of me?”  You ask him with a harumph.  Genuinely, you’re not smart enough to figure it out right now.

“Not hardly,” Din sighs, sounding… you don’t know.  Is that displeasure or not?  It’s not immediately clear.  Does it sound that way because you’re just dumb stupid right now?  Or because Din can’t actually decide how he feels about it?  “Lucky I heard water over the comm last night, I would’ve wasted hours in that forest.”

“Noooo,” you whine in response, trying to push yourself off the tree but tipping sideways in the process, “that’s not fair—”

“Fair wasn’t part of the rules,” he repeats himself again and… nope, you don’t even have the energy to snark something back.  You just grumble your best imitation of him while you do everything you can to heave yourself upright.  It’s pitiful, you lose your balance not even halfway through and just plop on the grass for a second and groan.

“Stop,” Din eventually orders through the earpiece, tired of it.  “What’s sixteen times itself?”

You’re loopy to the point where you don’t even question why he decided to ask you that.  You just furrow your brows for a second and try to think about it, before suddenly realizing you… don’t know, you can’t remember.  Multiplication tables and squares up to twenty are elementary to you, you know them by heart.  Sixteen times sixteen.  One forty-four.  No… no that doesn’t sound right, is that twelv—

You take way too long answering what would’ve been an immediate response two days ago.

“I’ll stop here for tonight,” Din tells you with a resolved sigh.  “I won’t move until you wake up.  Go to sleep.  You’re putting yourself in danger, you can’t even do the basics.”

Later, this moment will come back to you.  That problem isn’t basic, not many adults would be able to tell you very quickly that the answer is two fifty-six.  You don’t even think Din would.  You would, though.  On Naboo, you used rapidly applied trigonometry in your head to find his location, and that was barely two minutes after waking up.  You should know this.  And he knows you.

But for right now, you don’t pay it a single lick of attention.

“You promise?”  You ask quietly, voice incredibly small as your head tilts back towards the sky, already feeling yourself beginning to fall back into the darkness again.

“I promise,” he vows in return, gentle but a promise nonetheless.  He doesn’t have to do this.  You wouldn’t be able to keep going even if he didn’t offer up this temporary truce, but knowing he isn’t currently gaining ground on you makes the idea of sleep so much more welcoming, something you want to seek out instead of fight.

“Will you, um…” your expression furrows.  How do you say this?  You sigh, giving up before even trying to figure it out.  “I’m… not in a bed.  I’m outside.”

Din doesn’t say anything when you pause, and even through the haze wanting to take over, you know it’s going to sound needy.  You want him to stay.  Even in the midst of an adventure, you want him to stay, you want to hear him breathe as you rest, but there’s not really an integrous way to ask.

You don’t need to ask.

“I’ll keep the comm open and wake you when the sun rises,” comes his lulling baritone before you can elaborate anymore, enveloping you in comfort in this dreadfully uncomfortable bed of grass and dirt.  “Sleep, sweet girl.  I’m right here.”

***

Day 2–5:34am:

The sun shines over the hills and you lift your head up to squint your eyes at it, confused as fuck.  Looking down at your wrist to check the time in the warm rays, hands and clothes dirty from laying on the ground that long—you stay groggy and clueless for just a moment longer, before your heart lurches when you remember Din’s promise to you.

You open your mouth to address him but then catch yourself just in time.  Wait.  Don’t panic.  Listen.

Breathing.  Slow and relaxed through the earpiece, a rhythm now branded into your memory from months of nights spent in pitch black.  He’s… asleep.

Din is asleep?  Seriously?

You can count like… twice that this has happened, and one of those was because he got you to touch him just right after closing up a wound on his back, and his body couldn’t handle the strain and passed out.  You’re never awake when he’s asleep—you’re just not, it doesn’t happen.  Din… sleeps like it’s just a choice for him, he doesn’t ever really need it.  Almost like how he used to eat before he started sharing meals with you, he said he doesn’t even like food that much.  You think he just severed all of those things long ago, things that are basic fundamentals of survival and operated like a bounty droid that lost its voice box.  It’s… nice, feeling like you’re somehow giving back some of the things he lost.  Unintentionally encouraging him to find sleep again.  Making sure he eats more, listening to him speak.

You struggle to your feet as quietly as possible, hearing him continue to breathe slow and relaxed through the communicator.  This isn’t purposeful, you don’t think he actually allowed it.  He promised you, and Din doesn’t take shit back.  If he tells you he’ll do something and he doesn’t follow through, it’s either out of his control or a mistake, it’s never been purposeful.  He didn’t mean to fall asleep.

And, in other circumstances, you most definitely would not find some way to take advantage of this.  You’d let him sleep and do other things in the meantime—make some food for you and the kid, find something on the Crest that isn’t spotless and clean until it is, or just… lay there next to him until he woke up.  But… these circumstances are their own.  You have to capitalize now, this is your chance.  You passed out last night around… ten pm, you think it was, and then he promised to stop at midnight.  That means you have to walk at least two hours before he wakes up if you want to prevent any loss of ground—you don’t know where he stopped, he could be a few miles back even.

You have to find Nariss—you have to.  It’s your only option, if you keep trying to run, it’s just going to make it so much easier for him.  Now is the time to hide.  You know it hasn’t been long, it’s barely been two days since you first left the Crest but it feels like you’re already in endgame, already making moves in self-defense instead of actually planning your maneuvers ahead of time.

The capital should be half a day’s walk from here, then.  As long as you get there, you think you’ll be okay.

***

Day 2–8:28am:

Din’s groan suddenly comes through your ear.

You immediately stop, seeing a busy road in the distance and glad you haven’t quite made it there yet, before trying to disguise your voice as drowsy.  “Mm?”

“Shit,” he breathes, and you hear him get up, the sound of beskar moving as he grunts.

“Mpph,” you groan back, squinting your eyes to see if that’ll help sell the act.  “I thought you… Mando, fuck, y’said you’d wake me when the sun came up.”

“I… fell asleep,” he admits, voice rough with it, sounding just as confused as you felt earlier.

“You said you had days in you before that happened,” you murmur, taking a deep breath and stretching your arms up above your head.  Stars, your back hurts, how does he possibly manage to carry a fucking jet pack around all the time?

“Yeah, I…”  He pauses for a moment and you bite your lip, not liking the quiet as soon as you hear it.  “How long have you been up?”

Op.  Not good.  “Wha?”

He’s not falling for it.  “How long?”

How in Maker’s name?  This is impossible.  How can you hope to hide from him when you can’t even manage to hide the smallest fucking truth from him?  Can you salvage this somehow?  “…Like ten minutes.”

“Least a few hours, then,” he sighs, and you get ready to hit him with the same line he used when you complained about his leg-up, opening your mouth as soon as you hear him speak.  “That was smar—”

“Fair wasn’t part of—”

Oh.  Well.  Apparently you didn’t have a reason to feel shitty about deciding to haul ass while he was passed out even though you kind of ended up doing so anyways.  There was no agreement besides that he wouldn’t move until you woke up.  Reason is on your side, but it still feels a bit like you fucked him over.  Is that valid or are you just so used to being nice that putting yourself first feels like a wrong you’ve committed?

“Don’t feel bad,” Din tells you, and you hear a soft coo in the background.  It makes you smile the smallest bit, your shoulders relaxing even as they ache from carrying your pack around.  “You should feel bad about stealing that poor kid’s shoes, though.  He walked home barefoot.”

You smack your forehead.  “It was just….”

“Yeah,” he scoffs when you don’t finish your sentence, and you can’t keep back a giggle.  “Alright, I’m up now.  See you when you get here.”

And then the communicator clicks, and you’re…

Uh.  What the fuck was that?

No.  Nope, you’re not going to get played.  That was a brilliant attempt at fucking with you, but you’re not falling for it this time.  You’ve grown since that night on Canto Bight, you know him, he can’t just say shit to fuck with your head and then smile at your flailing response from under the helmet anymore.  You normally would stew in that last comment until it got to you, made you make a mistake most likely, but the more you think about it, the more certain you are that he has nothing.  He was just trying to see if you’ll abandon your entire plan just by implying he already knows it.  That’s beginner shit, you’re not falling for it.  Din wanted to leave the conversation with the upper-hand since you gained at least an hour of extra ground while he slept.  You’re certain of it.

***

Day 2–12:35pm:

Nariss is big.  Nowhere near the size of Coruscanti sectors of course, where billions of people are packed from surface to exosphere and require oxygen recirculation towers to breathe at the very top, but just slightly bigger than you expected.  It’s bustling and you haven’t even made it through the city gates yet—you’re approaching them and the large number of people waiting in line, seeing buildings stretch out for miles in front of you and grinning.  Yes, this will work nicely.

As you peek over shoulders in the sizable crowd, you see only two or three people allowing people to enter one at a time… is that a biometric scanner?

Oh.  That looks good and it also doesn’t look good at the same time.  If Din’s safety meant nothing to you, you’d have no trouble whatsoever getting in line and waiting to do a retinal scan, but you immediately pause and consider the potential consequences.

Your dumb ass almost weighs the option of clicking the communicator on and asking his opinion.  You’d give away your location in a heartbeat (if he doesn’t know it already) just because you’re worried he’d… what, exactly?  Stand in line for an hour, take his helmet off in front of a crowd of people, have the system ping his scan, and then hang out and wait for New Republic reinforcements to show?  You have to stop worrying about him.  He’s not a baby, he can handle himself and you need to stop considering the possibility of taking a loss just so he doesn’t have to, even if the self-destructive sentiment feels ingrained in your nature to do so.

So you wait in line, moving at a slow pace but at least moving.  While you’re standing there quietly, a man in front of you decides to strike up a conversation.  You don’t come from a place with an excess of people, but the ones in your sector were friendly and did this kind of thing often, so perhaps for that reason, you decide to chat.

“Do you have some place to stay?”  He asks at one point.  So far the conversation has revolved around him—every time he asks about you, you deflect.  He doesn’t need to know.  “Nariss isn’t kind to drifters.”

This catches your attention, though.  This is relevant.  “What does that mean?”

“It’s expensive?”  He scratches his blonde hair, giving you a soft smile.  “Food, housing, all of it is way out of my price-range.  I stay with my uncle and work overnights at the eastern docks.  It’s not much, but it’s enough to keep a roof over our heads.  We used to live in Gibrath, but then we moved to the city because he’s a good architect and they’re always expanding.  It’s nice, of course, but really expensive.”

He’s handsome, you think… in kind of a boyish, charming way.  Blonde hair, sparkly blue eyes.  He doesn’t look much older than you, and maybe in another lifetime you would’ve found him appealing, but… you like darker features, you think.  Someone a little less expressive.  This guy… talks a lot.

“I thought this moon was a safe world for people displaced by the Empire,” you offer, taking a step forward as the entire crowd shifts.

“Sanctuary II is,” he comments.  “The capital is safe, too—what, with all the orangies walking around,” he tilts his head to two jumpsuited guards trying to organize the glob of people so the line can move faster, rolling his eyes as if they’re some kind of joke.  “But not… welcoming, not if you’re looking for a place to settle.  You would’ve been better off in G’ila.”

“Is there anywhere you know that would take me for free?”  You ask.  You have quite a few credits left, but you don’t think it’s a good idea to stay in an inn.  It’ll be the first place Din checks.

“Are you a virgin?”  He returns, and you immediately pull back at the unexpected question, your heart thudding at the possibility of danger.  The man’s sandy eyebrows shoot up at your response and he quickly apologizes—“Heavens, I’m so sorry to ask like that!  It’s just… the only place I know is the Holy Keja Orphanage on the northern outskirts.  Their signs say they only house children and teenagers, but I’ve heard from other girls your age that they’ll accept any woman as long as they’ve stayed pure in the eyes of the Maker.”

“Oh,” you say after a moment, leaning sideways to see just a few people standing in front of him.  Good, this is almost over.  “Um.  Yep.  That’s me.”

He smiles at you once more, giving you a nod.  “When you get to the city, just go straight through.  It’s about a mile outside of the gates, no more than a day’s walk from this side of town.”

Okay, that’s… interesting.  You think about it while you thank him and begin to exchange polite goodbyes, moving up another step until he’s next in line.  That might actually be a good move.  Din could spend a long time in the city without ever finding you.  Smart quarry go to populated places, but… smarter quarry defy the expectations placed upon them, right?  He knows you’re smart, and even though you’re confident his “See you when you get here” was purely psychological fuckery, that also implies… at the very least, that he’s assuming there is a here to get to.  Meaning, he knows you’re not going into the wilderness to evade him.  He’s not going to comb the outskirts when there are so many places to hide within the city gates, with an entire perimeter of New Republic guards stationed around it.  Even if he does, the signs will say only children and teenagers—categories you do not fall into.

The unnamed man is soon ushered forward but you stop him quickly.  “Oh, by the way.  I doubt this will happen, but if a man in a big metal suit with a tiny green baby happen to ask you the same thing, please don’t tell him what you just told me.”

He furrows his eyebrows at you and cocks his head, but smiles and agrees nonetheless.

***

Day 2–5:43pm:

You have an idea.

You’ve been working on it all afternoon, but you were hit with it the second you were looking for another pair of shoes to buy and find a clever way of putting on.

The cheapest ones were ridiculously overpriced, blonde dude was right.  You blinked down at the tag and asked the salesman where the cheapest shoes in this part of town were, and then he just wrinkled his nose at you and shooed you out of the store.  Granted, you slept in dirt and spent two days walking—you bet you reek, but he didn’t have to be like that.

Though, the man’s displeasure with you had an upside.  You were holding a possible pair of pants and a shirt to buy when he threw you out, not yet having checked the atrocious pricetag on them, but it appeared as if he’d rather let you have them for free than rip them from your… admittedly, pretty filthy arms.  Oh well, you weren’t complaining.  Fancy clothes for free, score.

But now you’re here, and you have the best idea.  You don’t need to change shoes, not yet.  Why?  Because you’ve figured out how to turn your incessant detriment into an advantage.

You’re in the middle of downtown, you think, maybe just some random crowded square, and there’s an inn in front of you.  It’s fucking enormous, and you already know it’s gotta be incredibly expensive just looking at the sheer number of stories.  It’s an eyesore, it sticks out.  But that’s okay, because you’re only planning on staying for a night.

It’s also… right next to New Republic headquarters.  Or fuck, at least a station of some sort, because they’re swarming in and out of the constant crowd, passing by the valet doors.

At first you naturally wanted to steer away from the jumpsuits, since you know they’re bad news for Din, but then you remember what he said before you left.  I’m only telling you so that you’ll know your advantage and find a way to exploit it.  I can’t be seen by any officers, or they might arrest me.

It’s to your advantage, he said so himself.  Everything lines up perfectly—the street is bustling, the inn is well protected, it’s nice—it’s everything you’re looking for.

And there’s another upside, see.  An omnipresent, omniscient ghost in the form of a communicator clipped to your wrist right now.  If Din is always going to be able to predict you, he’s always going to know when you’re lying, always be able to read you… then you’ll just have to let him.

Let him know.  Let him know exactly where you are.  Right in the middle of the most populated street you’ve seen thus far, a constant barrage of people walking by and New Republic officers patrolling.  If you were planning on staying in the city, this would probably be your best option to hide.  He could waste days here if you’re smart about it.

The concierge doesn’t appear too pleased with your lack of cleanliness and neither do you, honestly, but at least he allows you to book a suite for the night.  It’s… not as bad as you were originally assuming, credits-wise, but it’s worth more than half your stash and you’re going to have to conserve from this point on.  It shouldn’t be too bad—your destination is a holy orphanage, you’re sure they’ll have some extra food and a bed for you even if it won’t be ideal.  Still, you think you’re going to enjoy some lavish experiences for once in your life before you go.

***

Day 2–11:54pm:

Alright, so this was the best idea ever.  This is the shit.

You’re leaning back against a fluffy stack of pillows, squeaky clean from an absolutely glorious bath and watching the flickering drama on the large holonet display in front of you.  You don’t have any idea what’s going on, as it’s being broadcast in Rodian, but you haven’t been able to change the frequency because it’s so fucking intense—somebody’s sister is their mother, you think?  No, that must be a mistranslation, right?

You’re also in a robe.  Yes, there is a motherfucking robe in here.  And… and slippers, it’s like a dream.  Do people normally wear slippers in bed?  You do.  Hell, maybe you should stay here, screw the credits and the chase.  This mattress is even better than the one on Naboo and you’re basking in the luxury after being outdoors for so long.

The lights are off other than that and you’ve opened the drapes wide, knowing you’re on something like the fifteenth floor and nobody would be able to see you anyways.  You just like being able to turn your head and look out at the sky.  Violent and periwinkle tonight.  You wonder if he’s looking, too.

Luckily, you snap yourself back out of it and glance down at the time on your communicator, quickly pressing a button on the remote to mute the Rodian show and then opening the line the moment the hour changes.

Day 3–12:00am:

“Hiya, Shiny,” you say before anything else, laying back and running a few fingers through your damp hair.  Your eyes close against the flickering light, taking a slow, relaxed breath.  Maker, this feels nice.

“You sound happy,” Din comments.  Astute, you feel happy.  Well… you’d obviously feel happier if he was here.  Your eyes flick over to the open bathroom door, still steamy from your bubble bath earlier, imagining him walking through it completely naked and then climbing over you on the covers.  You can only really picture it from the neck down—no, hang on… you can see his shaggy brown curls, that one spot on his forehead you know, how his facial hair would be dark and frame his mouth.  No face, though.  Missing just one fraction of him from your imagination, feeling incomplete but also somehow… complete in a way.

“I feel better after sleeping last night,” you tell him, purposefully leaving out the softness of the sheets underneath you, the sheer comfort of all this extravagance.  You don’t need it, you’ll never need it, but it feels nice to have for once.

“I do, too,” he replies quietly, and your eyes flutter closed.  You… miss him.  This mattress would feel softer with him next to you.  He’d probably be able to translate this show for you, even though you already know he’d fucking hate it.  You can imagine it—you with your eyes closed, him propped up on an elbow next to you and grumbling vague descriptions of the nonsense happening on screen just to hear your chuckles.  Adventures are great, but maybe they aren’t as great by yourself, you think.

“You should sleep tonight, too,” you encourage, but he scoffs.

“Not a chance,” Din mutters.  “Oh, before I forget, we need to charge the communicators today.”

“How am I supposed to do that?”  You ask him, glancing at all the multiple wireless charging outlets stationed around you.  “I’m in the middle of nowhere.”

He doesn’t even take a fucking second before responding.  “Good one.”

You grin up at the ceiling, warmth flooding you.  You love him.  Literally every single time, he just knows.  Your curiosity is too overwhelming after this happening so often.  Your plan to distract him relies on him being able to read you, but that doesn’t prevent you from wondering how he does it so accurately, time and time again.  “How do you know?”

“You slept outside last night,” he immediately tells you, like that should mean anything to you.

Does he… does he truly know you well enough to know how much your back and shoulders hurt today?  How much you were aching for a shower and clean clothes?  A bed to sleep on that isn’t dirt or metal?  You give into the accurate prediction with shameless honesty, not caring if he knows it’s the truth.

“This bed is soft,” you murmur gently, dragging your hand across the mattress next to you.  “You should be here.  I’d make you feel good.”

Admittedly, your comfort is making you a bit drowsy and you said it in the easiest way possible, but you didn’t necessarily mean it sexually.  Well… you sort of did—you’d make him feel so good in this bed—but what you meant was more… comforting.  He could take a bath, or a shower, and get all the grime off him.  He could feel clean and unburdened, take a break instead of constantly moving around.  The baby could have a whole bed to himself if he wanted, though you know he’d probably want to be on this one instead.  You could all look at the sky together.

Din is quiet for a little bit, before his voice comes back through the earpiece.  “Are you in an inn?”

“No,” you say, a little too quickly.  Perfect, that sounded just right for a lie.  You are lying, you absolutely are in an inn, the only difference is that you want him to catch on that it’s a lie, so… why does he take way too long before responding?

“Hm.”

What the fuck—why… how is it even physically possible?  He read you that deeply from one single word?  You’re not sure if he’s somehow psychic and figured the whole fucking thing out or if he just knows there’s something off, but it’s still enough to blow you away.

“Are you doing this on purpose?”  You blurt without thinking.

“Doing what?”  He grunts, sounding like he’s stepping over something, his breath changing intensity as he walks.

“If I look out this window right now, am I gonna see you standing out there just messing with me?”  You don’t even know what to believe anymore.  How do you beat this?  If you don’t want him to know the truth, he’ll figure it out, and if you do want him to know the truth, he’ll still figure it out.  His perception is unbelievable.

After a moment of silence, he murmurs gently through the comm.  “I thought you said you were in the middle of nowhere.”  It sounds like he’s smiling.

“I…”  your eyes shift around awkwardly, “am…”

Din lets out a deep sigh.  He’s right, that was bad, even for you.  “I found your bed a few hours ago,” he admits.  You close your eyes as you listen to him make his way closer to you, step by step.  “I’m nowhere near the city yet.  You have time to sleep.”

Your expression furrows and you frown.  “Why are you helping me?”

“Why do you want me to think you’re in an inn?”  He tosses back, and you huff.

“Because I’m trying to outsmart you but you make it really fucking difficult,” you grumble, not happy about him catching on so quick.

“You’ve also gained about four hours on me since we started.”  His voice is gruff.  You don’t know if he thinks it’s a good thing or a bad thing.  “You should give yourself more credit.  I thought I would’ve found you by now, never expected you to get all the way to Nariss.  It’s… not good for me.”

The honesty creeping in makes you go soft.  It makes you want to reciprocate, even if it’s dumb and you haven’t thought it all the way through.  “Wanna know a secret?”

“Tell me.”  His voice is a bed all its own, deep and gentle and safe.

You say it before you lose the nerve.  “I might just turn around and walk back.”

His footsteps stop and you hear a small sound in the background, a quiet little baby noise that suddenly makes your heart ache.  You’re comfortable but incredibly aware of how alone you are.  People pass by on the streets below, cars and hoverbikes honk in the distance and you’re by yourself.  For the first time in over a year, like you have been for years, you’re by yourself.

“Sweet girl,” Din sighs, and all of a sudden… you can feel his arms around you with it.  You feel so… known, somehow.  Every sentiment you could’ve possibly given in your last sentence, he relays his understanding back with his.  He makes you feel loved with it.  “Never wants to run.”

You don’t say anything, because you suddenly realize you’re totally fucking whipped, up down and sideways for his metal ass and the little floating grimlin that follows him around, and you would throw away the fifth quarry, adventure, the sky—literally everything if you could be with the both of them right now.

But again.  You don’t have to say anything, he already knows.  “Give me your coordinates.”

Your eyes pop open and you bite your lip.  Oh, stars.  You hate that you do genuinely consider it.  He could be here, and very soon.  With the jet pack, both of them could be here in less than an hour, probably.  He could take a shower.  Watch these stupid shows with you all night without needing to be on the move, help you build a bed of pillows for the kid on top of this one.  You could be with both of them again, even if it’s only for a little while.

“Ask me again tomorrow,” you finally whisper, looking down at the soft white fabric of your robe, the way one of your slippers is falling off your foot as the holonet program continues to play on mute.

Din’s footsteps eventually start up again, and you both relax in silence together.  You, squinting at the screen because your eyes are getting heavy; him, continuing to travel step by step and gain ground on you.  Let him come.  You’ll be long gone by the time he even makes it to the gates.

It’s been about ten minutes of shared, quiet existence before you hear him bite into something and chew, and your face suddenly lights up.

“Are you eating the purple fruit?”  You ask, your slipper falling off with excitement.  You don’t know why, but it’s like… you’re stoked for him.  Just as proud of him for doing normal things as he does when you step out of your own comfort zone.  You like to think you’re both better that way.  Balanced.

“Mm,” Din replies with his mouth full, and you grin down at your bare legs peeking through the robe while he swallows.

“Is it not the best thing you’ve ever tasted?”  Your voice goes a little breathless with it, and you hear his footsteps stop once more.

“Close,” Din murmurs lowly, sending a small shudder through you.  It suddenly feels a bit warm in here, doesn’t it?  This morning was one of the rare times you were awake while he was asleep… it’s almost always the other way around, and just from the implication in his tone, you’re reminded of the thing he likes doing most when you’re resting.  Maybe he’ll let you do it to him, next time around.  The thought gets you hot enough to warrant the other slipper falling to the floor.

“You’re alone, right?”  You whisper, knowing he must’ve pulled the helmet up to take a bite of the fruit.  He must still be following your path through the hillside, then, not yet reaching the road.

“The kid is awake,” Din tells you, sounding like he’s trying to stop everything before anything starts.  His words are short and clear in their meaning, but…

This has a very small chance of success, you already know.  “…Do you want to—”

“No,” he responds quickly, already way ahead of you.  “We can’t.”

Something in his voice… you don’t know, there’s just something there that makes you feel just a little reckless.  Should you push it?  You’re by yourself in this suite, what can go wrong?

“You can’t,” you correct him quietly, shifting around on the bed just a bit and biting your lip.  It’s a thrill—being able to tease him without having him in front of you, drive him crazy knowing you’re just out of his reach.  “But I can do whatever I want, can’t I?”

There’s a pause, a tense and knowing silence suspended between you before he eventually speaks.

“I’d be real careful,” Din mutters low in warning, but what is he gonna do?

“What are you gonna do?”  You whisper to him devilishly.  Quiet and breathy, beginning to snake your hand down.  Stars, your heart is already pounding.  You’d only likely mouth off like this in person just to see how hard he’d fuck you, but this feels extra dangerous for some reason.  He’s stuck, he can’t do anything about it right now, and you know it’s playing with fire.  “You could hang up if you don’t want to hear me.  Or you could find me before I’m finished.  Come make me stop.”

Din doesn’t say anything but he very much does not hang up, nor does he come busting into your room like you imagine he’d like to.  The sheer fact that your door is still closed and locked tells you for sure that he isn’t just hanging out in the hallway, just letting you have your fun.

You start pressing your fingers against your robe at the apex of your thighs, humming at how nice the pressure feels.  You don’t even spread your legs or push the fabric away, you just sigh into it and wiggle your hips a bit, pressing hard against your clit and listening to him breathe.

“Do you want to listen?”  You ask quietly after a moment, and Din still doesn’t respond.  Likely because there’s not a real answer, both yes and no would imply the wrong thing.  “I’ll talk.”

Still, nothing from him.  Dead silence through the comm.  You’re starting to understand.  For two days, you’ve felt like he could read your every thought just by the cadence of your voice.  He’s staying quiet so you can’t even attempt to do the same to him—if he doesn’t talk, you can’t find a weakness and pounce on it, you can’t feel any more confident or reassured about your own ability to read him.

You’ll just have to push a little harder, then.

“Hm.  If only this fancy communicator could…” you pause to look down at your wrist for a second, studying the menu.  You don’t think you’ve ever really looked at it, you never had the time.

Din’s growl is sudden and sharp through the earpiece.  “No, don’t even think—”

“Ah,” you smile, tapping the face and immediately finding the correct screen.  “Take pictures.”

He’s deadly quiet for a moment, and you bite your lip with excitement.  When he does speak, his voice is a pure threat, chilling you to the bone as much as it burns deep in your tummy.  “…You wouldn’t.”

Ignoring him, you suddenly locate a menu option that sounds phenomenal right now.  “Oh shit, does this holocall?  Or is it a video option?”

“Holo,” he says very seriously while you study the lack of complexity of the built-in camera in skepticism, “and the kid is awake, so you can’t—”

“Oh, it’s definitely a video,” you unclip it from your wrist and he curses as you sit up, and then you press a button and wait impatiently for him.  “Pick up.”

Din takes forever before responding, and you hear the continuous beeps as it attempts to connect, before his quiet baritone rumbles in your ear.  “What if I don’t?”

You feel your mouth pull down at the corners, not so much frowning as you are dubious.  He’s going to turn down the opportunity to see you and your surroundings when his whole goal is locating you?  Really?

“You sure?”  You ask softly, raising an eyebrow.  “You’d get to see me, where I am.  What I’m…” your eyes dip down to the loose robe riding your curves, your skin glowing against the white fabric, “…wearing.”

The beeps continue on for a few more seconds, until they finally stop.  You frown down at the black screen of the communicator, not seeing anything at all.  Did he decline the transmission request?  No… there’s a little red light next to the small lens that wasn’t there before.  Why can’t you see him?

“Why can’t I see you?”  You ask.  You want to look at him looking at you, you don’t want to always be stuck on the other side of a one-way mirror.

“I… have it linked to my helmet, but it only has a front-facing camera,” Din tells you after a moment, and he sounds… slightly out of breath.  “Easier to see, the watch is useless now besides the controls.”

Wait, does that mean you’re… being shown on the inner-display of his helmet instead of his wrist?  Right in front of his eyes, as if he were actually here with you?

“Nobody can see me but you?”  You clarify, and when he doesn’t respond, you bite your lip and lean back into the pillows.  You lift the watch up slightly, extending your arm out until you can get the angle as wide as possible.  “Can you see… this?”  You ask softly, before hooking your fingers in the collar of your white robe and slowly pulling it open for him.

“Where are you?”  Din asks instead, and you hear his footsteps through the earpiece, as if he’s walking away from something very quickly.

You don’t answer him, parting the soft fabric until your breasts are completely exposed and you sigh, closing your eyes and snuggling back into the pillows once more.  “I’ll tell you where I am if you keep watching me.”

“Why?”  Din grits in frustration, coming back around to the same dangerous question he had earlier.  “Why would you do that?”

“I don’t know.”  You slowly tilt the camera down until you can spread your legs and the robe falls open with the movement, letting him see your pussy peeking through in the flickering light of the muted screen in front of your bed.  “Can you see that?”

“Yeah,” he says shakily on the end of a breath, and you feel yourself get wet.  Fuck, he sounds so fucking tempted, the sight making his voice come without any of the self-assuredness as it usually has, but… he could also just be saying that.  How do you know he’s telling you the truth?

“What am I doing?”  You test him, lifting your knee just the slightest bit so you really give him something to look at.

“Spreading your legs for a camera,” Din responds without hesitation, voice scraping against your ear, making you shiver and your nipples harden.  Fuck, the way he says it, like it’s wrong and bad even though he’s the only one who can see or hear you do it… it makes you feel even more naughty and emboldened.

You bite your lip and reach your hand down to spread your lips for him, too, hearing his breath immediately catch on the other end.  Already your pussy makes your fingers slick against your soft skin, the sash of your robe still holding the fabric together on your body but also loose enough to allow it to part in the right places and reveal everything you want him to see.

“I am in an inn,” you whisper teasingly, letting your finger drop to brush against your clit and then sighing in soft delight.  Oh stars, that feels nice, it feels so good to treat yourself after being completely nomadic for two days, getting to be clean and soft and comfortable while you feel this pleasure, and Din’s voice growls through your communicator like you’re doing something painful to him.

“Fuck,” his breathing picks up while you begin circling your clit.  “Where?”

“Nariss,” comes your quiet moan, turning your head on the pillow to blink slowly at the camera.  Wanting him to see your eyes as well as your finger slowly dip into where you’re the hottest, caressing the sensitive skin there knowing he’s watching.

“Where in Nariss?”  Din’s voice is as pleading as it is sharp, desperately trying to keep either you or himself on track.

“I don’t know,” you say again.  Truthfully, you don’t—you don’t know the cross streets, you don’t know the part of town, you don’t know much of anything at all besides physical descriptors.  You quickly move the camera to the side as far as you can hold it and let him see you from a different angle with the window as a backdrop.  “But the window is open.  And there are lots of people outside.”

“Can they see you?”  Din immediately challenges.  Of course they can’t, you’re fifteen stories up and the room is darker than it is outside with all the city lights and swirling colors of the sky, but you suppose he doesn’t know that.  You think he just needs to relax—if this is what he’s always like during hunts, you now know exactly why he comes back to you all riled up and tense.

“I don’t know,” you murmur back, starting to rub your clit a little faster, trying to make it feel like him.  It doesn’t—your fingers aren’t large or strong enough to give you those perfect circles; you just feel like you’re meandering yourself towards ecstasy instead of picking you up and hauling your ass there like he does, but it’s okay.  Hearing Din’s rough breathing come through the earpiece, knowing his hands are probably clenched tight into fists, wondering if he’s hard yet… all of it culminates into a power trip unlike any you’ve experienced recently.  It makes you bold, tells you to open your mouth.  “Does it matter?  I’d still let you fuck me against it if you were here.”

“Stop it,” comes his growl, but what is he gonna do?

Your leg lifts a little wider so you can slowly slide your fingers down and push two of them inside yourself, and Din swears as you moan, “Come find me.”

“Give me your coordinates—”

“Are you giving up?”  You offer breathlessly, lifting your eyebrows and your hips up slightly at the question, but you’re… not expecting the extended silence following.  You assumed a growled no would immediately come next, or just another empty threat said with enough force to make you tremble with excitement, but not… nothing.

The response makes you pause just for a second, easing your fingers out and dragging them across your thigh to clean some of the wetness off before extending your arm out towards the communicator.  Din stays quiet while you navigate through the menu with trembling fingers, eventually finding your coordinates and hovering over the unchecked share location box.

You wait with your lip bit, confident he knows what you’re doing and you don’t have to narrate or repeat yourself.  Fuck, you knew you were considering abandoning this entire adventure just to be next to him again, but you had no idea.  No fucking idea that it could ever be a thought in his own mind as well.  You… assumed he likes this, hunting is what he does for a living and he’s the one who conceived of the idea in the first place.  Is he just that aroused by you?  Or is there something more?

“No,” Din eventually murmurs, and you immediately navigate out of the menu so you don’t accidentally press anything catastrophic, before pulling your hand away from the communicator with a resolved hum and settling back into the pillows again.  Making sure to look directly into the lens even if your eyelids are heavy with heat and desire, you slowly lick your fingers and then reach down once more.

His deep, shaky breath is so telling.  Exhausted after all this, but still not hanging up, still doing his hardest to tough it out when he’s only miles away from you and has jets attached to his back.  You don’t want to drag it out but you also do, you want to be kind but something about Din makes you also want to be as formidable as possible.  You’ll never be able to threaten like he does, you’ll never have anyone cower just because you walked into the room, you’ll never be as powerful or strong as he is, but you can still put up a fucking fight against him in your own way.

You whimper softly, your breathing beginning to find a quicker pace as surely as your fingers do.  It begins to spark and build, a red hot flame being kindled by the knowledge that he’s as close as possible without actually being close, right here with you when he always seems so far away.

“Mando,” you whisper, though your expression pulls inwards just slightly because it… in a scenario as sensual and intimate as this, it almost doesn’t sound righ—

“Din,” he whispers back, so quiet you almost don’t hear it, like he almost doesn’t want to but has to anyways, and then you just start to fucking burn.

“D-Din,” you whisper instead, trying to keep your voice as quiet as possible through the rising swell.  He’ll be able to see it, you think.  The way your tummy and chest start to heave, how your body begins to brace for it—and yeah, Maker, he sees it, because his voice suddenly changes.

“Stop,” Din growls roughly, knowing exactly how you cum—knowing exactly what it looks like, the way it sounds in your breathing, what it tastes like, how it feels on the inside.  It’s been so long since you’ve touched bliss without him, months and months since you brought yourself to completion on the floor of the Crest by yourself, and though he’s rarely ever denied you, your own high on newfound control causes it to slip.  He barks your name and tells you to stop once more, but it’s too late.

“I’m gonna cum, Din,” you breathe out—

“Don’t—”

It tears through you, rapid and surging, and he snarls a curse, something loud snapping and thudding and… did he just punch something?  You can’t think, it’s delicious and hard as fuck and everything you needed after two days of near constant movement and thought with little rest, and you bite your lip to keep quiet but a pained whimper still shoves its way out of your tense vocal cords regardless.  It sounds like it hurts because it does hurt; the orgasm shatters your body into pieces and you’re left trembling by yourself on this soft bed, wishing he was with you on a metal one.

You sink into the mattress in the moments following, sluggish and exhausted and just conscious enough to keep the watch facing you.  You bet the camerawork was terrible, shaky at best, but you can’t find it in yourself to care right now.  You just lay there and listen to his harsh breathing while you work to slow your heart rate, reveling in the filthy little show you just gave him and wanting to finish it out properly.

“Come find me,” you breathe out once more, lazing soft and naked for him, blinking dazedly at the watch as you pan it over you.  Your thighs are still twitching and there’s a thin sheen of sweat clinging to you, but you drag a finger through your swollen lips and carefully wipe the wetness across one of your nipples.  “Clean me up.”

“Fuck,” Din suddenly spits through the earpiece, furious.  “You think—y-you think—”

“What?”  You hum, basking in the afterglow and so, so curious.  Truly, you’re dumb as fuck, you have no clue what you’re thinking, but if anybody would be able to tell you, it’s him.

There’s a moment where his breathing stops.  It’s completely silent on the line, before you hear another few heavy footsteps on his end pick up and then halt just as quickly.

“You think you can taunt me?”   He murmurs, dangerous and deadly quiet.  “Show me exactly where you are, disappear and then make me waste forever trying to get there?  You think that’s gonna work?”

Your eyebrow lifts, considering.  He… may or may not have predicted your strategy perfectly, but his insight has stopped surprising you by now.  “Maybe…”

“Maybe you shouldn’t fall asleep tonight.”

Ooh.  That one sends goosebumps down your arms, but you’ve gained four hours on top of a twelve hour headstart.  He can’t scare you with that tone, not when you’re still woozy with pleasure and he isn’t right in front of you.  Instead of wilting beneath the hard threat, you just blink gently at the communicator, finding strength in being the only one to get him this mad when he’s always so composed, this talkative when he barely says a word.  “Maybe I’ll just stay here then?”

“Maybe you wanted me to know you’re in an inn because you already found someplace to hide that isn’t one,” Din reasons very, very adeptly.  Stars, your heart subtly begins to pick up, your legs continuing to tremble as the small red light next to the lens stares you down.  “Can’t be planning to stay with someone you just met because you’d already be there, can’t be going to a hostel because you found the one city on this moon built for commerce and not aid.  Not staying in another inn, you can’t afford it—the view looks high up, that robe is expensive, and you already bought food and at least five pairs of shoes in two days.  I don’t think the place you found is even in Nariss.  You think you can outsmart me, sweet girl?”

The chill down your spine doesn’t reach your eyes, you won’t let it.  You just feel yourself smile, tilting your head at him and licking your lips while your finger brushes one of your nipples, but Din doesn’t accept your silence the way you’ve always accepted his.  He wants an answer from you, right now, and it’s clear in the dark rumble of his voice, the danger slowly brewing beyond what you originally planned for.

“Tell me,” he orders, unamused and leaving no room to disobey.  “How long do you think you can keep running?”

Your eyelashes flutter, suddenly deciding… why not?  What have you got to lose?  Nothing that you didn’t already go into this situation completely expecting to lose anyways.  What’s the worst he can do?  Find you?

You close your eyes, pinching one of your nipples and wondering if you might just go for another one since he’s still here.  “Ask me again tomorrow.”

But then, instead of immediately responding, you just hear Din’s footsteps suddenly pick up, faster than any pace you’ve been able to keep over the past few days.  You don’t think it sounds like a run necessarily, but you know that his legs and strides are far longer than yours and it’s probably pretty much equivalent to a run for you.  You hear the rhythm of your demise speeding up, coming closer and closer, and everything in you both fears it and welcomes it.

“We’ll see,” he tells you, and then the red light vanishes and your earpiece clicks to silence.

***

Day 3—2:23am:

Even though it takes you much longer to do so than it normally would on a bed so large and comfortable, after such an exciting interaction and not being used to flickering light when you try to sleep but wanting to experience the rarity anyways, you’re eventually able to pass out.

But, not even a few minutes into a restless dream, you turn over and accidentally knock your communicator off the wireless charging station on the side table.  It blinks with four percent battery life.

***

To be continued!!