#I wrote this on a whim a few days ago but didn't get it edited until today | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

phoenixyfriend · 3 years

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Sugar, Spice, and a Heart to Entice

AKA: Jango Fett speedruns a romance with someone who should be his enemy. (It's okay. We know he makes bad choices.)

Note: Ahsoka uses the pseudonym "Ashla" in this fic. Warnings: slavery, references to drug use, crude sex jokes, undressing of an unconscious person (for medical reasons)

----

The girl that they shove into the chains next to him is... worrying.

(Well, probably a girl--he'll adjust later if it turns out he's wrong.)

She's not that much younger than him, he thinks. It's hard to tell, with the way her skin is taut over muscle and bone, too little water and too little sleep, and probably not enough food for whatever labor she's been doing. He's also, admittedly, not great at gauging ages in the first place, and certainly not for Togruta. Still, he thinks it's safe to say that they're close in age, and that she's probably younger than him.

She's lucky, by some measure. The spice ship is terrible, but it's probably better than the fate tog girls are usually subject to in this industry. They're hazardous conditions, and violent ones, but Jango's yet to see a slave here stripped of their clothing for anything other than a whipping.

He thinks it's probably a matter of money. That kind of violation lowers the profit margins, he imagines. Spice is more lucrative than anything, and pain is a better motivator than... well.

So she's lucky, by that measure, and that measure alone.

They clap her in bindings before he even sees her, even though she's unconscious, and bring her sometime in the night cycle. Jango doesn't have a lot of pity left in him, but some goes out to her. He won't say she's too young for this, because nobody is ever old enough for slavery, nor do slavers have any compunctions about selling babes in arms, but Jango would wager she's already led a hard life.

She's fairly covered, but what little is visible shows enough old battle wounds that he can't imagine she's stayed off of battlefields. He knows how to read a Togruta's markings for stress history, too, and hers tell a story. Her facial marks are thin and delicate, and he'd say they're certainly more complex than the average; the striation on her lekku and montrals is thin and jagged, like marble. It's pretty enough, but it's also a sign of the fact that her life has likely been anything but easy. Some of it might be genetics, and he hopes it is, but with the scars he can see... he doubts it's much.

"Keep that one alive," the overseer orders, eyes on Jango and hand gesturing at the tog girl.

He leaves.

Jango isn't sure what they're hoping to get out of putting her with him. The room is built for four, yes, but they usually don't try to have anyone share with Jango. Maybe they ran out of room, or just assumed Jango was the most likely to know field medicine, or just figured there wouldn't be any trouble until she woke.

As he gets closer, his confusion grows. The tog's got burns all over, ugly ones that aren't going to heal cleanly without bacta. They're going to get infected, as likely as not. He hasn't got much besides water in here, but the overseer's left behind a box of what looks like bandages. If he's lucky, there's burn cream in there.

(He's not lucky.)

He works slowly, careful of every movement. He builds up a story in his head as he does, based on the wounds he finds and what he starts to notice of the clothing. He can't see all the details, not in what little light he has, but there's plenty to notice.

He hadn't realized, with how dim it is, but most of what she's got on as an outer layer is hardened leather, real leather, not synth. There are attachment points for armor at the shoulders and hips, and he thinks he sees signs of wear for vambraces and greaves. She's no Mando'verde, not with how he can see that the fabric at her torso and upper legs is intended to stay light and flexible and uncovered, but the crafting of the leather layers is familiar. He thinks she might have contacts among Mando armorers.

She might even wear beskar, if she's impressed the right person.

The wounds are recent, and unfamiliar, and he thinks she was probably fought into chains, rather than bought in them. She's a captive, not a purchase, or maybe... maybe they just found an unconscious woman, and decided that she was worth keeping.

He thinks she lost a fight, or won but with great injuries, and just... stumbled off and collapsed. He gets the feeling no one on board the ship could have fought this woman, except for himself. It's not based on much, not until he can see her move, but he's got good instincts for that sort of thing.

Jango keeps his assessment of her torso quick and clinical, not even bothering to mentally apologize for stripping her bare. This is medical, and he's not a doctor, not even a field medic, but he's professional nonetheless. Even though there's nothing in the box but bandages, not even the burn cream he'd hoped for, he'd still rather know if there's a broken rib to worry about. He doesn't want to wait for her to wake up and then find out she's got a punctured lung, even if he can't do anything about it. He finds bruising, but... he thinks that if anything is broken, it's hairline at most.

Lucky, he thinks again, in the unluckiest situations.

She doesn't wake that cycle. It's all he can do to get some water in her, dripped into her mouth in a trickle, but it's something.

----

When the Togruta girl wakes up, it's sudden. Jango is wiping down her lekku with a wet cloth in hopes of staving off a fever, kneeling next to the bunk. She opens her eyes, stiffens with a sharp breath, and then twists off the bed. Before he's fully processed this, her legs are up and around his neck, and then he's being wrenched to the side and onto the filthy ground, cheek grinding down into the grit. He feels a bony knee press into his spine, and the growl of a predator.

"Where am I?" the tog girl demands.

"Spice ship," he says, and oh but this place has ruined him for fights; he's having trouble breathing from whatever she's done to him, and she doesn't even have the use of her hands. "Deep space. You're in the slave cells. Don't mess with the collar, it'll explode if you try to remove it."

"Spice refinery?" she repeats, sounding completely baffled. He gives her a second to process, but she blindsides him. "Someone got me in their hands and they went for spice slavery?"

"As opposed to..." he really hopes she gets off soon.

She doesn't answer him immediately, and he can't get a look at her face. He gets his arms out to the sides, plants them to the floor, and shoves back. She doesn't fall off, but she does slide to the side to sit on the floor.

The expression she's got is best described as 'shell-shocked,' he thinks.

"You don't know me," she says, faint and confused. He shakes his head; he's pretty sure he'd have recognized her if he'd known her at all, given the time he's spent cleaning her wounds and trying to keep her alive. She laughs, breathless and a tad hysterical. "You don't--fuck. You don't know me. That's... great. Okay. Okay, I can work with that. Don't know how they missed it, but okay."

"Bounty on your head?" he guesses.

She smiles, thin and unpleasant. "Something like that."

"Thought as much. You're built like a fighter." He intends it as a compliment, but he doesn't think she takes it as one.

"I've never had a choice otherwise," she says, and when she next looks around, it's to find a place to sit. She pushes herself up to the thin mattress of the cot behind her, and Jango mirrors her on the cot across the room. It's not his bed, technically, but it's not like there's anyone to complain. She frowns at him; it's not a rude look, he thinks, but an attempt to put something unfamiliar in place. "What legion were you with?"

He blinks at her. He's been part of an army, but never one that big. "Legion?"

"Were you with special forces?" she tries again. "Or--wait, did you even get off Kamino before--"

"I'm not whoever you think I am," he tells her. "None of that means anything to me. I know what a legion is, but I've never had reason to be part of one."

"But you're..." she trails off, brow furrowed. "I guess just a similar face, then."

"To who?"

"The clones?" she hazards, as if that clears anything at all up. "I have no idea where we are; maybe the war holos never made it out far enough for you to know what they looked like..."

"Which war?" he asks, because he feels like he'd probably have heard of a war that used clones, especially one that had enough holos spread around for this woman to expect him to know what the clones in question look like.

"The... the clone war," she says hesitantly. "With the Separatists?"

None of that means anything to him.

It must show in his face, because her brow furrows, and her eyes go wide in a way he doesn't like. He can't tell if her skin's losing color or anything, but he's pretty sure the curl at the tip of one lek is a sign of anxiety. He's not sure how to help, but part of him already decided he liked this woman, just on the suspicion that she was friendly to Mandalorians.

(It's been a solid year and a half since Jango has had anything approaching a friend. He may be, subconsciously, a little desperate.)

"What's your name?" she asks, voice pitching in discomfort, and tight as a garotte.

"Jango Fett."

She closes her eyes, clenches her jaw, and... he can't see, can't know if she's trembling, but he thinks she is. She lets her head fall back against the wall, and breathes in sharply. It's a shaky breath, and he doesn't like that much, either.

"Fuck," she repeats. "No wonder--fuck."

He gives her a few seconds, but she doesn't elaborate. He asks another question instead. "Do I get to know your name?"

Her eyes crack open, and then she sits up straight and looks him over. Her lips purse, and she comes to some decision, though he's at a loss for what. "Call me Ashla. She/her, if you'd rather stick to Basic."

Fake name. Alright. She mentioned a bounty, so it's probably about that.

"Well met, Ashla."

She laughs, empty and painful. She swears in a mix of Huttese and Mando'a, and a few languages he doesn't even recognize. The Core accent on her Mando'a is strong, but he thinks whoever taught her might have been from Concord Dawn.

"How old are you, if you don't--"

"I'm twenty-one," she says. He was right; she's only two years younger than him. "At least... fuck, okay. What's the date?"

He tells her, and she screws up her brow and mouths something to herself. He's not entirely sure what.

"How long ago was..." she trails off.

"Was what?"

She presses a hand over her eyes. "I don't know what year it is."

Ah. Well, he can help with that much. He tells her that, too.

Ashla drops her hand. She visibly mulls it over, eyes on the underside of the bunk above her. He has no idea what she's thinking.

"Why aren't there other people in this room?"

"Weak ones couldn't sleep because I'm 'too intimidating,' and the rest kept trying to throw their weight around." He shrugs at the look she points his way. "I'm not dumb enough to start a fight with a bomb around my neck, but I'm not letting someone knock me around so they can earn a reputation."

She purses her lips, but lets it lie. "You let me take you down, then?"

"You had the advantage of surprise," he says, and doesn't bother to list every other advantage. She's better fed than he is, has spent less time in spice-suffused air, was unconscious and resting while he was awake to keep an eye on her fever. He's got the feeling she already knows.

When she speaks again, it's low and in fluent Mando'a, heavily accented though it may be.

"You'd get out of here eventually," she tells him, eyes half shut. "But you'll get out faster with my help, Mand'alor."

His stomach twists.

----

"They are either very stupid, or very cheap," Ashla mutters a day later, when he's supposedly helping her change some bandages. It gives him the excuse of leaning in close.

"Probably the former," he says.

She grins, and then stiffens and hisses out a low breath as he pours some of the stolen whiskey over one of the burns. It's not a real disinfectant, but it's the best they've got at the moment. Jango still isn't sure how she managed to get it from the overseers without them noticing, but he's quickly gotten the gist that she's a fair shot sneakier than he is.

"What did they do?" he asks, and she huffs out a laugh.

"I need you to promise you won't try to kill me," she says, and he stills.

She seems to be waiting on his response. Great. "That's not an auspicious start, Ashla."

"Eh, I've survived more than my fair share of people trying to kill me. No offense, bro, but I could take you," she says.

She's probably right in their current circumstances. "Let's hear it."

"I left the Jedi Order when I was seventeen."

The whiskey bottle slips from his fingers.

An invisible hand catches it, and it settles quietly on the floor of their cell. No guards will come running. It's a damning sight, for him.

A Jedi.

A Jedi who--who left.

Jedi committed Galidraan, but she left three years before that, but she was--was--

She has her back to him, trusting.

Or just arrogant.

She phrased it that way on purpose, phrased it so he'd know she left before he--before--

"I was framed by my friend for a terrorist attack," she says, and he can't find his voice to tell her to stop talking. "And sentenced to death by a non-Jedi military tribunal for it. By the time they figured out I wasn't guilty, I'd already been kicked out."

He forces his hands to his knees, grips at the bones that are too close to the skin, and orders himself to breathe.

Ashla turns on the spot, blinks at him. "I'm telling you this because it's how we're going to get out."

"Your people killed mine."

"I wasn't a Jedi when Galidraan happened," she says. There's more she wants to say, he's sure, but she keeps the words locked behind her teeth. That might be a good thing.

"And I'm just supposed to trust you?"

"Only for long enough to get out of here," she tells him. She shrugs, easy as anything. She's done this before, maybe. "Trust me, I have plenty of reasons to hate you, too, but I'm a little more concerned about getting this ship taken into custody, and having all the slaves freed."

"And you can just... make that happen."

"I told you, they're either stupid or skint," she says, with that same disarming grin. "I had lightsabers on me, and they kept them on the ship. They haven't drugged me since I woke up. They put me in normal cuffs, Jango."

He hates the way his name sounds on her tongue.

He hates the fact that he sees her plan already.

"You don't even need me," he points out, resisting the urge to try to kill her here and now. He doesn't have his armor. He doesn't have weapons. He's good, but she's got the Force and thighs that can crush a bantha skull.

"I'm not exactly... legit," she admits with a grimace. "Once you're back in Mandalorian space, you at least have an identity. People that will give you a place to stay. A chain code."

"And you don't."

She smiles, brittle. "Give me a week to scope out what I need and get us out of here, and maybe I'll explain."

A week. Fine.

And once they're out of here, and he has a blaster and a meal and a good night's sleep, he'll handle her.

----

He hates the fact that he likes her, still. People had already noticed, even just one day in. The first time someone notices he's giving Ashla the cold shoulder in the workroom, they joke at him about her not putting out. He's known her one day, and they think--

He stops the thought in its tracks.

Jango doesn't start fights here, but he is tempted.

"Oh, he wouldn't dare," Ashla simpers, sweet as spun sugar. "I bite."

She smiles, every pearly white tooth on display. The fangs near glint in the light. She eyes the speaker, squeezes the tool in her hand. Her tendons strain, but the metal bends with a creak.

The overseer shouts for them to get back to work.

Jango steps closer to her, lets his elbows brush against hers, and glares off anyone that tries to get too close.

"I don't need protection," she mutters to him from the corner of her mouth.

"I keep my word," he replies, hating himself for it.

He said he'd have her back. He may hate what she is, but... she left the Order. She's not a Jedi anymore. If he thinks it enough, he can believe it.

----

There's always a camaraderie in shared suffering. Jango is aware of this, and he feels his fondness for Ashla grow against his better judgment. They're both slaves on a spice ship, and he can't change that. It makes him tolerate her more than he sensibly should.

She acts like a Mando soldier, sometimes. She's not at all like Haat Mando'ade, but she knows some of the jokes that Mandalorians grow up with. She walks like a woman used to beskar'gam. She knows a drinking song or two.

(They don't waste the whiskey. It's for injuries, not intoxication.)

"I had brothers, once," she tells him, late at night. "A lot of them. They had a Mandalorian parent, sort of, but he'd never seen fit to really... let them have the culture. I lost them all, mostly to slave chips, and a few to just normal deaths, but... I learned what I could about Mandalore, after, for their sake. In their memory."

It's not a terrible reason, he thinks.

"Irony for you to end up in chains, then," he mumbles, and she barks out a sharp laugh.

"Tradition, more like," she says, and explains before he can ask for her to keep talking. "My... teacher was born a slave, and I... have a suspicion he ended up back in chains after we lost contact. His teacher was enslaved at least twice that I know of."

"Shitty tradition," he says, because there's nothing else he can think of.

"Could be worse," she tells him. This time, she doesn't elaborate.

----

He likes her more than he should.

----

He likes her so, so, so much more than he should.

----

She steals datachips when nobody's looking, using the Force instead of her fingers. She wraps dismissal around her like a cloak to access computer terminals without anyone but Jango noticing. She slips spice into the drinks held by guards and overseers.

She moves through the ship like smoke, in the dim lights of the false night.

Someone notices. Someone always notices, in Jango's experience, but they have no idea who's doing it. They lock down the cells for the sleep cycle, turn down the temperature, leave all the slaves shivering in their beds.

He pulls Ashla into his cot without hesitation, fits their bodies together to conserve heat, and ignores the rest. They're both soldiers; there's no shame in survival for those like them. The lekku at her back drapes over his neck like a scarf, and he almost wants to laugh.

He's pathetic. His men would be so damn disappointed in him, sharing bunk with a Jedi.

"You're thinking too loud," she mumbles, shifting somehow closer. The chill clings, creeping in through the thin clothes and thinner blanket, but he feels like it's bearable with Ashla here.

----

When they enact the plan, it's so much quieter than Jango would have run it. Ashla holds his hands in the early morning, before anyone is awake, and smiles. When she closes her eyes, sinking into a light meditation, the collar around her neck just... comes apart. Nuts and bolts and curves of metal float about her like a wretched parody of the mobile hanging above an infant's crib, and then land quietly on the nearest cot. When she opens her eyes, hazy and distant, she looks at his throat, and frees him with a thought.

It's a heady thing, freedom.

"Come along, Fett," she goads, almost crooning the words, backing out of the cell with his hands in hers. Nobody is awake yet, or at least they shouldn't be. Her words curl in the air like something cloyingly too-sweet, and he's sure it's her way of trying to piss him off. It's only working a little. "We've work to do."

Said work involves slipping past guards with a Jedi's timing, commanding them to sleep with a whisper and a poke to the forehead, and drugging the ones that she claims are resistant to Jedi tricks. The work is, as such, mostly hers to do. They hide the bodies, but the alarm goes off by the time they get to the weapons locker.

That's fine, because the weapons locker is where they were headed.

"Oh, hell yes," she hisses through a grit-tooth grin, and a matched pair of lightsabers float to her. Jango turns off the energy field by the time they reach her, and she hooks them onto her belt. Beskar plating follows, exactly the pieces that Jango had guessed from wear and tear. It's real beskar, too, not even an alloy, and Jango doesn't ask the questions on the tip of his tongue. She straps it on in practiced movements, without hesitation and almost without thought.

"See anything better than what you got off the guards?" she asks him. "Or did they all take the best blasters for themselves?"

"The latter," he says.

(His eyes trace over the armor she wears, and while she does wear it well... he's jealous.)

(He misses his armor.)

(Envy is unbecoming of anyone, but he thinks he can be afforded a little leeway.)

There are people in the hall by the time they exit, a dozen blasters at the ready.

The people in the hall are... not a problem.

Ashla had called it the Sword and Shield maneuver, when walking him through her experiences working in a Mando/Jetii team. He'd laughed, because the saber was the shield. She'd smiled at him, and he'd cursed himself for it.

If he'd had his armor, they'd have been able to move forward as a pair of unstoppable monsters. As it stands, they're... still doing that, really, just a tad slower.

"You're a Jedi!" one of them shouts. "You're supposed to be diplomats! You're not supposed to kill!"

Jango could laugh at that horrible, horrible lie.

"I am no Jedi," Ashla says, and the words cut through the air like something she's said a million times, and will say a million more.

Jango could do a lot with that line, tucked away in his memories for later.

There's a moment, though, where they're stuck at one end of a hallway, and the door to the bridge is just on the other side, and Ashla grins at him, a challenge in every inch of her body, and asks, "You wanna see something cool?"

He can't help it.

"You planning to show off, Jedi?" He can say the word without flinching, and it's... absurd. It's absurd. What in all the hells is she doing to him?

(He's been told that war makes for strange bedfellows, but he's long known that trauma does the same.)

He takes cover when she moves, and oh, does she move.

Ashla's a whirlwind, dangerous as anything and beautiful in her careful, precise violence. She knocks people out, more often than not, but there's more then one dead body left in her wake. It appeals to something in him. She flips and twists and throws people with the Force. She slices and kicks, and smacks people across the face with the blasters she lifts of their comrades. She headbutts at least two people, and then jumps to bounce off the ceiling and back down so she can land feet first on an enemy.

He hopes he'll get his common sense back when he's had time to put himself together, because the sight of those sabers doesn't make him flinch. After all he's been through, after all his nightmares, it really should. The sound alone should have him shivery and shooting.

Maybe there's just too much spice in the air.

A head drops to the floor in a different direction from the body it had previously been attached to. Jango's throat goes dry in response.

When Ashla stands at the end of the hall, a saber in each hand and the floor behind her littered in both bodies breathing and bodies bereft of life, she looks back at him over her shoulder. She deactivates her swords, and smirks. She's smug, and she makes smug look very, very good.

"So," she says. "Verdict?"

Fuck.

----

The bridge is easy enough to handle. They land the ship on a Republic planet, one with relevant authorities and at least some reputation for actually handling things with a degree of kindness and transparency. Ashla does the talking, letting Jango lurk behind her. She lies.

"Half-truths," she later tells him, in a low voice. The smile she wears is amused and self-assured, just a twist at the corner, and the slightest of pouts. He can't see it, when she leans in to murmur in his ear. "I certainly used to be a Jedi. They don't need to know this wasn't an officially-sanctioned infiltration."

Her breath hits lightly against his ear, and he wants--he wants--

"Have a comm code for any old friends?" Ashla asks, stepping away. Her face twists unpleasantly. Frustration, he's sure. "I've got credits, but no contacts."

He eyes the little pack she's got around her waist. "Stole that from the slavers?"

"We'll consider it payment for services rendered," she tells him, with an impish grin Jango wants to kiss off of her face, because apparently he's kriffing suicidal and wants to bed a Jedi. "I'll give you most of it, if you want. Call it the two years of backpay they owed you."

He snorts before he can stop himself. "Just one year, sorry."

"Oh, it's hazard pay," she insists, blinking innocently. "Dangerous conditions having been what they were, of course."

She presses a comm--probably also stolen--and a few credits into his hand, then loops her arm through his. She sets off at a lazy walk, ignoring the people who stare at them with distaste and disgust. "We'll find a hotel. We'll shower, with real water, and fancy soaps, and a little sonic just for the clothes. I'll run out and get you a basic outfit, and then we can go shopping, and once that's done, and you've had a chance to comm a companion, we can reunite you with your buddies, and you can go hunting for your armor, and I'll split and--"

"Stay."

She tilts her head at him, though she doesn't stop walking, and he feels his face burn. He hopes it's not visible. She hums lowly. He can't learn anything from it. "You hate Jedi, though, and I might not really be one anymore, but I'm still more Jedi than not."

"You wear beskar and speak Mando'a," he says. "You helped the Mand'alor. You're halfway to being one of mine already."

"One of yours, huh?" she mutters, eyes somewhere distant. He doesn't know what it is that she's seeing, but he's gotten used to it. "Alright, let's have this conversation again after you've had some sleep and clothes and a good meal, yeah?"

He can take that compromise.

----

"What do you mean, you're from the future?!"

#Jangosoka #time travel #Jango Fett #Ahsoka Tano #slavery tw #drugs tw #Phoenix Posts #I wrote this on a whim a few days ago but didn't get it edited until today #anyway have a nonsense

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neptunetheplanet7 · 3 years

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𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐰𝐨 - 𝐢𝐜𝐞 𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦

DM ME IF YOU WOULD LIKE TO BE PUT ON THE TAGLIST!!

;mikasa ackerman x fem!lesbian!reader

;modern au, band au

word count: 2.1k

warnings: swearing, floch’s bad flirting

bold italics is a text conversation

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disclaimer again!! i wrote this a long time ago. i know there are things that need to be fixed and things that don’t fit right. i plan to edit this story more in the future but today is not that day :)

You took a shaky breath in as you stopped midway of putting a clean sheet on the bed Mikasa would be sleeping in. The room still had some of her old stuff in it, it's just no one ever came in here after she left. You looked around at all the items she left behind. Smiling fondly at an old picture of you two, you noticed a small figure crossed out in the background. Glancing at the rest of the photos on the shelf, you noticed that every photo had something crossed out.

After looking at each picture, you came to the conclusion the figure was Jean. She must have only taken the photos without him and did this to the rest. You frowned and walked back to the bed. Carefully, you climbed onto it and propped a few pillows up to support you as you leaned back.

For the first time in two years, you got a good look around the room. On the side of the room with the door, there was a large glass window overlooking the balcony above the living room. You always found it strange that she chose a room like that when she usually kept those blinds shut. Her bed was in the middle of the room with a tv mounted on the wall across from it. On the other side of her bed, there were a couple of bean bags below the bay window that looked out on the driveway.

You sighed and took out your phone, pulling up old texts with Mikasa. The last time you texted her was three months ago when you got too drunk at one of Reiner's ragers.

mikasa

mikasas pleasdse

come home

i miss you

i miss you so much

we all miss you so much

come home to me.

She didn't respond to that and you wouldn't know if she even looked at it. She turned her read receipts off for everyone after the first week of trying to contact her. The only time she had ever contacted anyone was two weeks after she left the house.

Don't look for me. Don't contact me.

You got a lot of your friends asking if you got the same message. She sent the same thing to everyone who tried to get in contact with her. You still didn't know where she was or what she was doing. The only thing you knew was that she was coming home the next day. You sighed. Suddenly, you didn't feel like cleaning anything else. You briskly walked out of her room and dialed the number of your best friend.

"Hey, Y/n! What's going on?" Sasha's cheery voice rang through the line.

"Hey hey, Sasha. I'm doing great. At least, I think I am. Do you wanna go somewhere? You can pick me up? Or I can pick you up if you like."

"I'll come to pick you up, honey bunny, don't you worry." You heard her struggling with her keys on the other side of the line and snorted at the noise.

"Need some help, Sash?" You grinned while skipping steps.

"Fine, thanks." She grumbled. "I'll be there in fifteen! You stay put!" She briskly hung up.

Sasha had been your best friend ever since Eren's nineteenth birthday party. She caught you and Eren coming back inside just as she was about to leave, with half the pantry in her arms. She asked for your number to make plans to hang out and chat sometime. You happily obliged, which was probably the happiest thing you had done that night.

You tossed your phone onto your bed as you walked into your room. Your room was on the first floor. You got first pick since you were the one who inherited the house. The house was big and beautiful. It was also on a lake. Perfect for the parties Eren and Jean loved to host. Perfect escape from paparazzi.

Your room had big glass doors that opened to the balcony that wrapped around the back of the house. You had a great view of the lake. The room was painted white. There was a black marble fireplace in one wall with a small wardrobe you used for storing memorable items to the band. You didn't need to use it for clothes since you had a walk-in closet in the big bathroom you partly shared with your bandmates. Jean liked to use the large bathtub.

You collapsed onto the bed and stared into the vanity mirror next to it. It was then when you realized you were still in your pajamas. "Oh shit." Your eyes widened as you hurriedly stumbled over to the closet, falling over once.

You grabbed a pair of baggy sweats and a big t-shirt. With duck socks, of course. The outfit didn't look much different than your pajamas but Sasha would probably be wearing something similar.

You threw your hair into the easiest hairstyle you could muster. You grabbed your boots and hopped up and down while trying to put them on while also leaving the room. "Jesus." You muttered.

Your phone vibrated, signaling that Sasha was here. "I'm heading out with Sasha! You're on your lonesome!" You called out to wherever Armin was in the house.

"Okay! Don't be back too late!" He shouted back.

You laughed aloud as you realized how much he sounded like a dad. You opened the front door and ran to Sasha's car. "Let me in!" You knocked on the passenger window as she reached around to find the button that unlocks the door. Once it was unlocked, you swung open the door and hopped inside.

"Nice outfit," was the first thing she said to you. You glanced at her outfit and scoffed. Your predictions were correct, she was wearing something similar.

"Gee, thanks." You gave a lopsided smile and rolled your eyes.

"Where to, honey bunny?" Sasha said, giving a mock salute while her other hand rested firmly on the steering wheel. You giggled and thought about it. You called her on such a whim that you forgot to even plan anything.

"Uh how about Brain Freezes? I could really use a catch-up with Connie right about now." You suggested.

"That sounds like a great idea! Turns out you do have a brain up there." Sasha snickered.

"Oh good one, because you're the real genius here, clearly."

After a lot of lighthearted banter, you arrived at Connie's workplace. Sasha aggressively grabbed the door handle and slammed it open, causing the bell to fall off its perch and land on your face. "Oops." You grimaced and bent down to pick up the bell. You rang it in front of her face.

"Sasha! Y/n! My two favorite customers!" Connie jumped up and down on the other side of the counter. "How can I assist you ladies today?"

"I'll have the usual." You gave a half-hearted smile, head still impaired from the bell. Sasha had quite the habit of accidentally hurting you.

Sasha snatched the bell from your grasp and started ringing it. She announced her very long order that you could barely keep up with, but Connie was used to this kind of thing, especially with her.

You noticed one of his coworkers scowling at Sasha. You didn't like Floch, to say the least. He was always inviting himself to your parties but he was rude to all of your friends at the same time. He noticed your gaze and smirked.

He strutted over to where you stood, pretending to become very interested in toppings. "How are you, Y/n? It's been a while huh?" He leaned over your shoulder in a way that workers shouldn't with their customers. You made a hasty effort to slip away from his presence.

"It really hasn't. I came here last week. I come here every week and you say that every time." You usually tried to be nice to Floch, but today you didn't feel like being nice.

"Well, even a day without you feels like an eternity." He flirted horridly. You stared blankly at him until he awkwardly cleared his throat and traded spots with Connie at the register.

Connie took off his apron and handed you and Sasha your orders. "Sorry about him. That guy really can't take a hint even if it's right in front of his face." He shot Floch a venomous glare. "Luckily, you guys got here right as my shift ended! Wanna get out of here?" His previous anger seemed to dissipate in an instant.

"Yeah, I do! Where should we go?" Sasha beamed with her spoon still in her mouth.

"Can we just drive around? I've got something I wanna tell you guys." You played with your spoon in the ice cream, averting eye contact.

"Sure thing, Y/n. Let's go." Sasha and Connie said in unison.

Sasha let you drive her car since she was preoccupied with her mountain of ice cream. Connie didn't have a car, he failed his driver's test every time he took it. You'd think he'd learn most of the material by now. "Hey, Y/n?" He asked from the backseat.

"Yeah?" You nodded to him.

"Are you gonna finish that?" He said, referring to your cup of ice cream in the front cupholder. You sighed.

"Go ahead." He thanked you over and over as he leaned over and snatched it.

"So, Y/n? What was it you wanted to tell us?" Sasha wiped her hands on her pants and set the empty container in an extra cupholder.

You gripped the steering wheel harder then relaxed. You took a shaky breath in. "Mikasa is coming home tomorrow."

Connie started choking on your ice cream. "I know, I had the same reaction." You quipped.

"Mikasa..is...WHAT?" Connie managed between coughs.

"After all this time? It's been two years. Tomorrow? That's so sudden! Are you even ready to see her?" Sasha's mouth was gaping open. You leaned over and shut it for her.

"Yes, tomorrow. I still have to get the house ready. I couldn't even make it through her old room without calling you. Jean told us this morning. I don't think we should be worried about me being ready to see her. I think we should be more concerned about her and Jean." You informed. "But, then again, she told Jean about her return first. Plus he's picking her up tomorrow at the airport. So based on that, I think they're on better terms."

"You don't think they'll get back together, do you?" Connie said, his eyebrows furrowing.

You snorted. "Of course not. You know Jean is with Marco now, and he seems pretty happy with him. They've been together for two years now, probably longer if I'm being honest."

"Then what do you have to worry about?" Sasha asked, confused.

"Are you joking? I mean, what if she has found someone? What then? What if she quits the band forever? What if we argue? She dropped off the map two years ago. Completely. She stopped responding to me, to all of us. For two years I thought she lost her interest in everything and went to live a new life, with people better than me. And now she's coming back, out of the blue! It's too much." You stressed.

Connie and Sasha made quick eye contact. "Y/n, I think you're reading too far into it. I doubt anyone could lose interest in you. You're too cool! Let's look on the bright side, she's ready to come home and you finally get to see her again," Sasha said in an attempt to lift your spirits. You smiled graciously. You really were lucky to have a friend like her. "Right, Connie?" She gestured to Connie who looked very deep in thought.

"Didn't you and Mikasa go out in high school?" You almost crashed the car from the shock of the question.

"Briefly, yes. But we weren't 'going out' so to speak. We just, like, made out a couple of times." You could feel your face grow hot at the subject. You thought you were over your crush on Mikasa, but after hearing that she was coming home, the familiar feeling was coming back.

"You're going red, Y/n. I think it was more to you than just a make-out." Connie grinned while Sasha wiggled her eyebrows.

"You're totally in love with Mikasa!" Sasha sang.

"Shut up, you two. I don't wanna get into the details right now." You couldn't even try to hide your heated face since you were the one driving the vehicle.

"Not right now? So maybe somewhere down the line, you will?" Sasha raised her eyebrows and broke out into another infectious grin.

"Whatever, Sash. Enough about Mikasa and me. I really wanna hear about you and Niccolo." You gave her a similar grin while she slowly turned red.

"Nice one, Y/n!" Connie cheered.

"You idiots should just shut it!"

posted: 8/24/21

no reposts, edits, or modification to my work by anyone other than me.

#mikasa x reader #mikasa x you #snk fanfiction #aot fanfiction #mikasa ackerman #band au #modern au

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