#the mental image of him running into dreams room and holding out the tiny little device for approval is so cuuutee

[dwtdog]

sapnap running to go show dream how he helped 😭❤️

'gotta go see if it's good enough 😊'

[titan-fodder]

Prima Vista Part IX

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

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

- NINE YEARS -

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 "And, the other girl you saw is—"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 "Happy to be working with you." 

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

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

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

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

 "Wow, everyone really… cleared outta here."

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

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

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

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

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

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

 "Thanks. Mobs made it."

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

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

 "Here."

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

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

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

 "Do you, though?" He asks. 

 "Do I what?"

 "Look forward to working here."

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

 "Very big."

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

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

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

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

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

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

 "Yeah, for sure. I'll be around."

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

 He needs to fucking call Erwin. 

 "Hey, bro, what's up?" 

 "Dude," is all Mike says at first. 

 "What?" 

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

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

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

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

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

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

 "It—Wait, what did she say?" 

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

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

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

 "No, I'm not twenty-two anymore."

 "Could have fooled me," Erwin snorts. 

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

 "Could have been better too."

 "What? How—"

 "Could have bent her over the desk and—"

 "Dude!"

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

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

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

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

 "Yeah, yeah."

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

 *

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

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

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

 "Hitch—"

 "Breathe!"

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

 "What are you, my therapist?" 

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

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

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

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

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

 "Agreed."

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

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

 "Okay, and Erwin? What'd he say?" 

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

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

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

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

 "Uh, yeah."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 "Why would you—"

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

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

 "Oh my god, we have to call Marie."

 "And, Maddie."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 "Why?" You question with a head shake. 

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

 "No, I—"

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

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

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

 "Then, talk."

 "Mm, pass."

 *

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

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

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

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

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

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

 "Uh, yeah?" 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 It is not a productive work environment. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 "Don't play dumb, Zacharias."

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

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

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

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

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

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

 "I don't wanna talk!"

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

 *

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 Mike frowns. "Uh, no?" 

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

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

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

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

 "Well—"

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

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

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

 "I'm hanging up now."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 "I didn't say anything!" He laughs. 

 "You don't have to. I know."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 "Where'd you even find those?" 

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

 "So, you went… dumpster diving?" 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 "Ew."

 "Just spitball. Throw it at me."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 "What of it?" 

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

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

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

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

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

 "It was a frat boy car."

 "You were a frat boy!" 

 "And, now I'm a professional."

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

 "Most of the time."

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

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

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

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

 Then, you shake your head. 

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

 "Oh, sorry, I just—"

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

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

 "Yeah?" 

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

 "Tomorrow?" 

 "I mean, if that works for you."

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

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

 "I've always been an early riser."

 "Not from what I remember."

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

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

 "Kept up? Like you didn't wanna be?"

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

 *

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

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

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

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

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

 “Rhi?” He looks incredibly surprised.

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

 “Didn’t see that coming.”

 “Neither did I, honestly.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 So much for letting the past stay there. 

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

 “I really think we do.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 “Then, what are you saying?”

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

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

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

 “Do you not feel the same way then?”

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

 “You were in love?”

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

 “Sorry.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 *

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 “Okay.”

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

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

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

 “Oh, thank god, fuck, thank god.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

 “Oh, fuck.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 “Oh my god—oh, god—fuck, Miche.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 "That's my fuckin' girl."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 "Jesus fuck!"

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

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

 "Miche, please."

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

 "Good enough to fuck me?" 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 "I—I—I—..."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 Another day.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 But, not yet. Not yet. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 "Yes, yes, wanna feel you…"

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

 "Jesus fucking—"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 "We were, weren't we?" 

 "Mhm."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 He doesn't have the same, short refractory period he used to otherwise he'd fuck you against the tiled wall, but he's content to stay like this, sucking on your lip and pressing against you. 

 Even after you've been given the chance to get your thoughts in order, you still blink up at Mike, water droplets dotting and falling from your eyelashes as you tell him, "I love you. I still love you. I don't think I can stop."

 He holds your head in his hands, brushes his nose against yours as his chest swells with more emotion than he thinks he can actually handle, and his own confession is easy: "I love you, too." Another soft peck to your lips before he adds, "I think you already knew that, though."

 "Wasn't positive."

 Mike knows there are logistics to consider, but the two of you can work on that later. For now he just wants to finish rinsing off and crawl into bed with you. 

 He should probably change the sheets, though, and find you pajamas, so Mike does exactly that as you traipse back out to the kitchen for some water, wearing absolutely nothing and making him bite his lip. 

 He puts new bedding on the mattress, then digs through his dresser for a t-shirt and boxers. Something catches his eye, printed material that almost makes him laugh out loud. He doesn't know why he still has the shorts, especially since he ruined the shirt a long, long time ago, but he's so glad he does. 

 Pink and covered in palm trees, he can't even fit into them any more, but it's fine. He thinks he knows how he can repurpose them. 

 But first, he needs to call his mom. 

 *

 It's an easy fix, really. Before the Sina project even comes close to wrapping up, Mike finds a place for you in his department, something you hadn't thought possible, but apparently he's kind of a big deal in the field. 

 When he makes you the job offer in the conference room, he's able to keep it professional for a whole three minutes before you agree to the terms, and then he's out of his chair and picking you up to swing around. Just like that, the whole fucking office knows about the two of you. 

 "Ha! You owe me fifty bucks, Moblit!" Hange shouts for everyone to hear, and you shake your head as the quiet man asks if he can Venmo them. 

 "I fucking knew it! I knew there was something going on! God, that's so satisfying. I'm not even mad that you're leaving us."

 "It's been going on for a long time now," you snort. 

 Hange leans against the wall and wriggles their eyebrows, "Yeah, what, like, the whole three months we’ve been here?" 

 "Try ten years," Mike mutters, and the eyes behind Hange's glasses nearly roll out of their head. 

 You and Mike have to sign a few things, contracts and couples disclosures and what not, but you don't mind. 

 The first thing you do is ask for a few days off in order to move, and Mike naturally does the same to help. You live just over three hours away, but are able to recruit some help in the form of your old friends. 

 You let out a shrill scream when you see Erwin step out of his car outside of your apartment complex, all but throw yourself into his arms so that he laughs and squeezes you tight against him. It's been a couple years since you've actually seen him, the distance between you just a little too far, but it's so nice to stare at his stupid face again. 

 Nile is also there with a very pregnant Marie on his arm, and Hitch and Rhi arrive as all the guys are carrying down the first load of packed boxes. 

 "Damn, it has been a long time since we've all been together," you say, looking around at everyone and grinning after you tape up another set of cardboard flaps. 

 "Yeah, kinda weird how we all just get along now," Hitch giggles. 

 "It's almost like we're adults or something," Rhi adds. 

 You pass her the box, but she just groans and passes it to Erwin. 

 Everyone takes turns making trips to Mike's apartment, and the moving effort takes three days in total. You really need to find a way to repay all of them, maybe suggest a nice dinner. 

 "God, why do you own so much shit, babe?" Mike asks after loading the last shelves of a bookcase into his car (that you still hate). 

 "Because everything has sentimental value. Don't judge me."

 "Oh, I'm judging. When'd you get so soft?"

 You roll your eyes and reach past him to close the trunk door. 

 The others are all standing in the parking lot with you, antsy and excited for the two of you, or so you assume. 

 "I really can't thank you guys enough. You've made this so much easier," you tell them. 

 Erwin grins widely and pulls you into a hug, and to your surprise, Hitch slides around you to hold you from behind. It makes you laugh and call them dumb, but when they step back, you're hit with the realization that they weren't just being goofy; they were strategizing, keeping you shielded from Mike who is now kneeling on the asphalt and chewing on his bottom lip. 

 Your eyes grow wide, and you step back only to run straight into Erwin's chest. He puts two, grounding hands on your shoulders, and you can almost feel his smile as Mike reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small box. 

 A small pink box. 

 A small pink box with pieces of fucking palm trees wrapping around it. 

 "Did you get that fucking upholstered?" You shout, and Mike lets out a giddy laugh, his eyes so narrow from grinning that you can barely see the green. "I don't even wanna open it. I cannot believe—"

 "Good thing you don't have to open it then," he chuckles. “I do.”

 "You are fucking impossible, you know that?" 

 "Yeah," he agrees before prying the ridiculous box apart and revealing a ring that makes you tear up. 

 It isn't huge, but it's far from plain, sparkling stones wrapping around it with a larger, round cut in the middle. It's extremely pretty and very you, and oh, you wanna put it on, you wanna put it on right now. 

 "Don't look too impressed. Mom helped me pick it out, and it’s all ethically sourced, of course," Mike says, and you wipe your eyes while giggling. 

 "Oh my god, she's crying!" Rhi yells. 

 "Shut up, it's because of that atrocious box."

 Mike looks behind you at Erwin. "I knew she'd love it."

 "Yeah, good call, bro."

 "I hate both of you."

 "Still gonna marry me, though, right?" Mike is still grinning, but you can see the barest hint of worry in his eyes, and you can't blame him because this is big. This is commitment. Marriage. He wants you to marry him. 

 And, some will say it’s too quick, that you’ve only been actually dating for a couple of months, but it makes sense because if you’re being honest, you never really fell out of love with Mike. He’s always been nestled deep in your heart.

 "Against my better judgement," you smirk. 

 He stands up quick enough to make himself dizzy, has to brace a hand on his car as he kisses you. 

 "Finally!" Erwin shouts, clapping his hands and being joined by the others. 

 Mike slides the ring from the terrible box, pushes it onto your finger with shaky hands, and when you admire it in the sun, you look at him and nod. "Very nice, Zacharias. Even in the parking lot setting."

 "I just wanted everyone to be here! If we went somewhere fancy, you would've figured it out."

 That's true. Going to some nice restaurant or quaint little park would have definitely tipped you off. 

 "Also, you know once we're married, you will also be Zacharias."

 "Yeah," you nod thoughtfully. "Yeah, I guess I will be. Hey," you look at him with raised eyebrows. "Wanna shotgun beers at the wedding?" 

 Mike laughs loudly. "That is how it all started, isn't it?" 

 "Yeah, this stupid frat boy in a Hawaiian shirt came up to me and demanded I shotgun a room temp beer."

 "Sounds like an asshole," Mike chuckles. 

 You shrug as he pulls you into his chest and sigh into his shirt, "He turned out alright, I guess."

[beyondspaceandstars]

While You Sleep

Chapter 15

Relationship: Bucky Barnes x Reader Warnings: mentions of panic attack, mentions of violence Summary: Soulmate!AU - Throughout life, you’re given glimpses of your soulmate through dreams. As you sleep, memories flash in your mind showing you the life your soulmate has lived. Everyone around you raves about how their soulmate reads great books or volunteers in their spare time. But you can’t relate as your dreams end up being more like nightmares. Through initial images of death and violence, you come to learn your soulmate is the Winter Soldier.

Masterlist | Series Masterlist

“Would you like to explain to me why you’re here?”

“I think you already know why I’m here.”

Your therapist eyed you annoyingly at the bitter response. After your little episode during sex, Bucky had finally put his foot down. He realized you clearly weren’t getting anywhere on your own and he wasn’t the most equipped to give you the care you needed, so he set up a therapy appointment for you. 

The therapist was under the same practice as Bucky’s own but he made it very clear you two couldn’t see the same doctor. You’d never admit it, but you were thankful for that. You couldn’t imagine sitting across from the woman who Bucky also dumped his trauma onto. 

So, that was how, after some intense back and forth with Bucky, you ended up in front of a therapist you couldn’t remember the name of. It was pathetic, really, but in your defiance, you hadn’t learned her name. As if that somehow kept you disconnected from the whole process. At best, you knew her name started with a G and that’s all you were going to go off of.

“Sure,” Dr. G shrugged and glanced at your file. “I know what happened to you but why are you here? What made you want to see someone?”

You sighed. “It was just time.”

“Why?”

You slammed your hand on the side of the couch in frustration. It had been this weird back and forth for the last ten minutes. Honestly, you were hoping you could just drain the time but this doctor wasn’t giving either of you the luxury.

“What would you like me to say, huh?” You spat out, a new kind of anger springing within you. The dam wall had broken. “Do you want to hear about how for almost my entire life I haven’t been able to escape the nightmares of my soulmate? Or about how I get one little moment of peace with him and then it all goes to absolute shit? Because that’s just how the cookie fucking crumbles, isn’t it?” You bit your lip, holding back from the sob rising in your burning throat. But you certainly weren’t done. You forced on, “Maybe you’d like to listen to me ramble on about how my own goddamn apartment feels like a prison. Or how I can’t even have sex with my soulmate because everything, every little fucking thing, reminds me of that night. And it’s not just enough to remember it, I guess. Huge shoutout to whatever kind of soulmate bond this is.” You paused. “I was barely gone for two days and somehow it hurt me, it damaged me. But, really, it shouldn’t have, right? It was nothing compared to-,” Him. His experiences. Your words got stuck as you gasped, letting the sadness roll over you. The tears were flowing freely now. 

You just didn’t understand. You didn’t understand your reaction to any of this. You were barely touched, never even experimented on yet you couldn’t seem to actually escape it. You were flinching at touches. Backing out of sex. Not to mention the images of Bucky. Real images, no longer just dreams, but almost like your memories came into play. You were forced to be stuck in a tragic playback of that time. Over and over, every night, and you were to move on? Yet how does all of this come about from being gone for a few hours? You felt there was maybe more to this all and anxiety gnawed at you about it.

Your therapist sighed and placed your file on her side table. She leaned forward, hands clasped together. “Trauma is trauma, no matter how small or insignificant your brain thinks it is.” She passed you a tissue which you accepted.

You dabbed your eyes. “It’s just not fair,” you mumbled. “I finally found him and now I fear I’m ruining it.”

“You aren’t ruining it,” the therapist insisted. “You went through something catastrophic and your mind is reacting. It’s beyond justified. Don’t you think he, out of everyone else in this world, understands that?”

You gave a pathetic shrug knowing she’s completely correct. But that wasn’t how this was supposed to work. You should’ve been his rock, right? 

“Well,” Dr. G sighed as she leaned back in her seat, “I think he understands and you have no reason to beat yourself up over it. You aren’t responsible for any of it. You’re just responsible for recovering and, sorry to say, that isn’t exactly done overnight.”

You scoffed. “Well, where does it begin?”

“Talking,” she said. “Brainstorming. Shooting the shit. Whatever you want to call it, just find a way to let it out of here.” Dr. G motioned towards her heart. You felt your own pounding.

***

Bucky was right where you had left him sitting in one of the chairs in the corner of the waiting room. He didn’t notice you at first as he was engrossed in some technology magazine. You couldn’t help but notice how interested yet relaxed he was. He really did have a bit of a nerdy side to him. 

“What’s so fascinating?” You asked, taking a seat next to him. He jumped a little at your sudden appearance. You held back a chuckle, finding it quite amusing you could surprise the ex-assassin.

Bucky looked back at the magazine and shrugged. “Some new tiny cameras this company in Europe developed. Smaller than your pinky yet has the quality of a full-fledged camera, or so they claim.”

You smiled at his light skepticism. For a man that was easily wowed by the world he sure was hesitant to indulge in it - hence the flip phone he still kept insisted on. 

With a sigh, Bucky closed the magazine and placed it back on the table. He looked towards you again and asked, “How did it go?”

Truthfully, you didn’t want to talk about it, but that also sort of beat the purpose of getting guidance from a therapist. She emphasized that communication was a major key - for both of you. You didn’t want to dismiss that advice right away but you also didn’t exactly want to make your soulmate more concerned than he already was. He had insisted on coming with you to this appointment despite being confined to the waiting room. Bucky didn’t mind, clearly overshadowed by the worry showcased on his face.

“I have to tell you a few things if you’d like to accompany me back home.”

“Home?” He frowned. “Home as in-,”

You shook your head. “My apartment.”

Wordlessly, Bucky stood and outstretched his hand towards you. You mustered up a smile the best you could, letting him guide you out of the building and onto the city sidewalk. 

For as many concerns as you had running through you, you were finding some new sense of pride walking down the street with Bucky. Your soulmate. You had felt something there beyond it all. 

How many times had you walked these streets simply letting your gaze wander about hoping to just spot him? And then you didn’t even find him in the most conventional way. 

But you had to remind yourself of that hopeful gazing you partook in for many weeks. All you had to go off of was his actions. His violent, albeit unwilling, actions. And yet, in all that, you still wanted to meet him. Wanted to hear his voice and maybe get a peek into what he may be like. You certainly got way more than you had bargained for. And you wanted to keep it. Maybe you had been forgetting that in your worries of ruining it. These worries stemmed from wanting. You just had to remind yourself. 

You two had been lost in your own worlds. You were quite surprised by how quickly you had arrived at your apartment building. Everything outside of it was the same like the world had just stood still. You dropped Bucky’s hand and began fumbling for your keys. He kept a protective arm around your waist, trying to offer some comfort for the daunting task. 

After a shaky moment, you led him inside and up the stairs where your apartment door sat, seemingly untouched. You knew that wasn’t exactly the case. Agents had been in and out of your apartment upon your disappearance, Bucky had explained, but they must’ve been stealthy ones. It looked like every other door. 

And, really, that’s all it was, you told yourself. It’s just a door. It’s a first step, your therapist had claimed, but it was also just a door. You had wrestled with yourself over this concept for a while now and here it was in front of you. 

“You don’t have to do this.” Bucky’s voice broke your concentration. “You’re more than welcome at the compound. No one would blame you if you - you wanted to stay.”

“I know,” you sighed. “Thank you but I don’t want to wallow in it.”

Bucky didn’t say anything more and just nodded his head once in understanding. Taking a deep breath, you unlocked the door and flung it open.

You didn’t know what you were expecting. Part of you was ready to be ambushed by Hydra men. Another part of you thought the place would be a wasteland. But neither of those was the case. It was just...normal. It looked exactly how you remember leaving it in all its worn-down glory. Relief washed over you. 

You walked in as you had a million times before and threw your bag on the couch. You headed straight for the kitchen, pulling a bottle of water out of the fridge. Bucky didn’t comment on anything and just took a seat on your couch, waiting.

Making your back to the couch, you offered Bucky water but he declined. Amazingly, you floated around the apartment with no worries. It felt like you never left while also felt like you were reclaiming. 

You took a seat next to Bucky, keeping some space between your bodies.

“What’s on your mind, doll?” Bucky suddenly asked. You glanced back at him nervously. If he was at all anxious, he sure wasn’t showing it. Damn that assassin mentality.

“That nightmares have come back,” you admitted. The words landed like a million little bombs around the apartment. Bucky leaned back on the couch, his eyes wide with concern. 

“What?” It was all he seemed able to manage to say. 

You shifted on the couch uncomfortably, mentally working up the courage to continue on. “It all started back up after that… that night,” you explained. “I-I was suddenly seeing you fighting those men. I was seeing pretty much into your brain, feeling all that anger and relentless rage.” You paused. “I couldn’t believe it, really. I hadn’t had a single nightmare ever since we got together and now...it’s like a million steps back and I don’t know how to fix it. The doctor suggested talking and that’s what I want, Buck. You can’t turn away. Not right now.”

Bucky wasn’t looking at you anymore, instead taking strong interest in picking at your couch cushion. He seemed quite uncomfortable, which was beyond understandable, but he also had to have heard your pleas. 

“Y-You see all that?” He finally asked, his voice just barely above a whisper. “Just on a playback loop? Despite us being connected, really connected.”

You didn’t know what to do besides nod in confirmation. Bucky let out a deep sigh.

“And this, on top of everything else, hasn’t been helping you to recover, has it?”

You shook your head. Bucky now looked like he wanted to put his fist through your door. Tears welled in his eyes. 

“Of course not,” Bucky mumbled. “I-I thought it was supposed to get better.”

“Me too,” you admitted. “I didn’t tell the therapist this but I… Well, I fear there’s something faulty with this bond.”

The thought had initially popped in your head out of nowhere. One night you were half-awake, already witnessing the shine of Bucky’s arm as his hand contracted around the goon’s throat, when you began trying to think about the good memories. The reader Bucky you got to see. How lovely that was to bring up. How the conversation that followed was refreshing, fun. You wouldn’t be able to bring anything like that up again because you lost them. It took a bit for your theory to prove certain but once it was, you realized, you were stuck. 

But you also hadn’t exactly wanted to act on this theory, figuring this could be handled on your own. Date night proved wrong. 

Bucky eyed you, curiously. “What do you mean?”

“It’s very challenging to recover from something when it’s the only thing you’re reminded of, right? Well, that’s the case, nightly. Despite how serious we are in this relationship, it’s cutting through, even though it seemed like in the beginning…” Your words trailed, a bit unsure. You changed the focus. “The memories and thoughts are still transmitted disturbing reminders. I can talk about it until I’m blue in the face, but I just don’t think that’s all there is to it. The bond isn’t letting me move on regardless of our circumstances. Everything you saw...”

Your soulmate nodded in his attempt to understand where this was going. You even had to admit, it was sounding a bit bizarre. You did think it was just trauma and in many ways, it is. It all comes back to the trauma derived from the situation but to have to relive it through your soulmate’s eyes. To have to see him personally killing someone was just… It was a whole new level of memories. You were personally attached to them. You weren’t just living through it in some fucked up metaphorical way - you actually had lived it. Besides - it shouldn’t be this way.

“You think we need to see someone about it,” Bucky concluded.

Hesitantly, you confirmed his suspicions. “Are there really doctors who study it? I've heard rumors but I’ve never seen someone.” Thinking of it now, you never knew why you didn’t. Probably because those who studied soulmate bonds were truly myths. There wasn’t exactly anything tangible to study. Who was going to waste their time?

Bucky shrugged. “I think I may know someone.”

[mxvladdy]

Diavolo- True Form

Whoooooooo weeeee! ‘Pologies for the wait on these longer posts. I’ve been hit with a one two punch of house emergencies and sudden costly ass repairs, so my creative juices have been rightly squashed as of late.

Plus side I got my drawing tablet and drafting table back so I can neaten up my blog lay out now (yay!) 

Anyway this one was a challenge in the best possible ways. I really like Diavolo because of how little we know about him so it gave me some wiggle room. Or at least what I know of him- im only on like chapter 23 of the stories. Idk if I did him justice as this is angsty af but I sure had a blast writing it!

Hope ya like! Next up: Beelzebub 

Trigger warning: Mention of blood, and swearing. 

Diavolo-

He'll never show you, so don't ask. His true form is god-like in its own right and such knowledge, such truly raw demonic power in its natural form is not for your mortal eyes.

No matter what your lineage, it would break you. And despite his roles and being the literal devil, he doesn’t want you suffering.

Sometimes when he thinks you wouldn't notice he relaxes his hold on reality, just a fraction. He wants to relieve some of the tension that is always building just below the surface. Like closing your eyes when you have a tension headache. The mental energy he has to exert to keep face is enormous. Regular glamour doesn’t work nearly as well as his own, or Barbato’s magic.

But you see hints during your downtime spent in his company. A ripple in his reflection on the window pane. Unexplainable shadows dancing across his exposed skin. Too many teeth in his mouth when he laughs. Sometimes when you stare into his eyes you see something indescribable staring back behind them. His usually warm and inviting gaze darkening. A barest flicker, a hulking bestial thing kept locked behind in his golden gaze. It's enough to freeze the blood in your veins.

On certain nights when you can slip away from the brothers you stay in his room. Lying  awake, you watch his magic wane and shift as he slumbers. Sometimes you see runes, or at times letters. You are tempted to write them down and ask Solomon. But something stops you each time.

The worst images are the faces. Unknown souls trapped beneath his flesh clawing to be freed. Silent screams fading back into his body as he dreams. Your fragile fingers trace the patterns they leave as you wait for the next day wrapped in his embrace.

Only once have you seen more of his form then he would ever wish. The depths of his strength and mental fortitude were unknown to you so the slip up took you both by surprise. He masks the error well, but the sudden shift in energy in the room couldn’t be suppressed .

You are suddenly so aware of the oppressive weight of gravity on your frame. Your bones grinding together under the force of his aura. You panic, desperate by the need to breathe, but are unable to draw even the smallest bit of oxygen as it is robbed from the room. Time and reality wrapped too, distorting in ways only you thought only Barbatos could do. You knew in that moment the sudden dread of death, how mortally was but a rusty shackle tethering you down.

He collects himself, dispelling the energy and locking his glamour down tight to protect you. But that split second of fury felt like an eternity to you as you sink to the floor. You hiccup a shaky sob and shiver. Your fragile human mind bowing under the strain of what it cannot comprehend. Scolding hot tears fall from your cheeks, before splashing crimson the stone below you.

You didn't approach him again for over a month. No matter how strong you are, some things were better off unseen.

Mini Fic

He didn’t know. For once in his ancient pitiful existence, he had been unaware of his surroundings. It had been for just a moment, one tiny crack in his veneer. The foolishness of Mammon and Belphegor’s actions finally poked the right nerve. He wouldn’t hurt them, for Lucifer’s sake. That prideful demon would never forgive him if he did. But he could scare them. A quick look at his true self; a flash of the deepest bowels of hell. Enough to give them a reminder of their positions and standing in his court. He had expected their whimpers of fear, could taste the acidic tinge of it exuding from their pores. What he didn’t expect though was your blood curdling screams alongside.

Ironically, he would have to thank the second eldest later. His fast thinking is the only thing that saved you from complete damnation. His body shielded yours, taking the brunt of the stronger daemons hellish might for you. What little magic Mammon still had left used to protect you. Though, while your vision was blocked, you could still feel his oppressive presence. It racked your mortal flesh. Diavolo knew what affects his power had on humans. He spent years breaking and consuming damned souls with zeal after all.

The brothers had run from him after that, screaming for Simone. Barbatos following close behind, a look of consternation on his usually impassive face. You had been so limp in Mammon's arms. Diavolo could do nothing, shocked by his own weak will and realization that he might have ruined everything. You had been whisked away so quickly by his faithful servant and the brothers that he hadn’t had a chance to look you over himself. But the brief moment he saw will haunt him for years to come. Your eyes red from the sudden haemolacria, the blood staining your clothes and face. Your fingers digging away at your soft skin, black and purple blotches staining what he could see. Mouth opened wide on a silent scream. He knew what you must have seen. The souls of the damned trapped under his glamour breaking free to latch on to your unmarred soul trying to drag you back with them.

Against his butler's advice he stands at your door now days later trying to see you. He couldn’t sit around and just hear updates second hand. The brothers had been keeping guard most days in a valiant attempt to keep him away. But he could only be waylaid for so long before he used his rank against them.

He had arranged a full council meeting. Every one of the brothers knowing full well it was to get them out of his way. Yet, the order was absolute. This time none of the brothers could reject it. Barbatos would keep them in that room for eternity if he so wished for it. He hated using his age and power against them, but he saw no other way to get to you.

It was foolish now, standing as he was in front of your door. A part of him hoping you would turn the knob and let him in. Let him comfort you for once, instead of the asinine distractions the brothers offered. He could help too. Hells, he wanted to. He wanted to be closer to you. Power discrepancy be damned. The other part of him knowing it was for the best that you didn’t. Your guardian and tormentor all in one. He listens to your muffled sobs for a moment fighting with his feet to stay cemented to the floor instead of heading back in defeat.  

"When my father was still around he took me down to the deepest depths of the kingdom. Where the worst of the traitors and sinners are imprisoned." His deep baritone rumbles through your door during a break in your crying. "It’s a place few seldom go; even now I have yet to return. Back then he told me ‘there will never be a human soul that is undeserving of punishment. Even the ones destined for the celestial realm are tethered to sin.’ At that time I believed him. The things I saw in your realm... " The prince chuckles wearily.

He remembers the ever present scowl on the old King's face. His dark eyes looking out at the sea of damned souls he controlled. Even as a young daemon, fresh into his wings and still sharpening his horns to impress others he could tell how much his father detested his position. How it had warped him, turning him bitter and cold, even to his mate and only child.

Diavolo never wanted to be like that. Not to the ones he supposedly cared for at the very least. "I think that is why he hated the other realms so much.” He continued. “Humans, for their ability to choose which realm they would eventually end up in after they pass. That even the worst sinners could find redemption enough at the last moment to get to the pearly gates. While daemons, no matter how well they served, or the duties they did for the good of their own would never be seen as equals to our celestial counterparts or yours. That this existence is all we'll ever be destined to have. Nightmares and monsters, stories to tell little human children to keep them in line.” He pauses, collecting himself. “I believed wholeheartedly that every human deserved the punishments only my kind could dowel out. But, in this past year I have spent with you, I find myself changing. You are so undeserving of such torment. Somehow you are understanding and forgiving beyond measure to us. You handle our ill tempers with such grace. For daemons such as us, it is staggering, and humbling. I regret that I have hurt you so deeply and have broken your trust. I swear it as the head of this realm I would never intentionally do so." He looks at the door handle willing it to open. " I am so sorry."

Your crying picks up again. Huge heaving sobs that rattle your chest. Great Father, he just keeps making it worse. Clearing his head Diavolo turns.

Rejection of this nature was new to him. No one had ever dared to ignore him, especially such as this. The royal in him- his father's blood- seethed that he would even stoop so low as to grovel to a short lived thing like yourself. Even deeper yet, it demanded another taste of your essences. You little soul kept safe behind your rib cage. He wanted it added to his collection, kept tucked away deep within his maws.

It was sick; it was wrong. He chokes on the idea. The intrusive thought burrowing deep. How deplorable was he? Perhaps the angels were right to keep him out of heaven.

You didn't show to class the following day, or the days after. Unsurprising to him and the seven of the inner council. He figured the other day wouldn’t change anything. But it was utter agony to him. These days trapped in his office only getting short and curt updates on your health from Lucifer. It had been a special kind of torment.

Today he sat once again at his desk staring at some godforsaken bitching of a royal cousin. He knew this whelp. Some backwater thrice removed eons ago. Yet he was demanding an audience? The gall. The ink of their eligible handwriting makes him cross eyed. Would this day ever cease? He looks to his hourglass, the sands within seemingly frozen in time.

"My Lord, perhaps you should take a moment to stretch your legs?" Barbatos moved from his corner. Gloved hand coming to rest on top of the same three lines he had been reading for the past two hours. "This work could wait another evening I’m certain ."

"Did I do the right thing my friend?" Diavolo doesn't even bother answering the question his servant posed. They both knew he wouldn't. "This program. Our human exchange students. Solomon is one thing, but-"

"Your will and path is absolute." Barbatos states. "There are no mistakes within you, merely stumblings onto different paths."

With a gentle push Barbatos moves the hulking demon out of his way to collect and organize the scrolls and letters scattered about the large desk. "You made the right choice bringing them here. Look at what they have done. They are entertainment to you are they not?"

The prince rose knocking his desk aside and descended on his butler. His true form out in all its unholy glory now. His highly condensed magic distorting the study as if he was a black hole. The axis of the room shifts. His priceless collection of books and toys disintegrating from the cold radiation he emits.

It was all for show really. There was nothing he could do to an ancient being such as Barbatos. So he lashed out, throwing a tantrum in the security of his office. The hopeless agitation he felt fueling the flames of his rage. His butler had only added holy water to his already festering wounds.

Barbatos had been by his side for time in memoriam. The crafty bastard had helped raise him. Had shaped him into the ruler he was today. If anyone could break and remold him it would be his oldest companion.

The dark haired daemon waited for the waves of agitation to dry up. Moving only when the prince was in his more presentable demonic form. Large barrel chest heaving as he reined himself in. “Are you back to your senses?” He asks coolly, already categorizing the items to replace and furniture to be mended.

"I had not meant for it to go like this."  Diavolo croaks into his hands collapsing back on what remained of his desk. Building a bridge between realms, yes. That noble idea was the greater purpose of this program, but the rest of it. The classes, and dances. The parties where he threw his newest toys about to see how they would react to things other mortals worshiped? That had been for his own curiosity and amusement. Lesser beings navigating a foreign world blind to the dangers that were right under their very nose. Bring a mortal with no magic into his realm? Deep down he knew this was an inevitability. Especially with the freedoms he granted them. He just didn’t think he would get so attached.

“No one believes that you would hurt them on purpose.” His butler cuts off his downward spiral. “It would ruin the program. That is what you are so stressed about, right?” Barbatos eyes him skeptically. Diavolo, himself, and Lucifer had spent many sleepless weeks constructing and negotiating this program. If the Arch Angels heard a mortal was hurt down here it could very well end this little escapade. But the look in the prince’s eyes told a different story.

A warm glow emanated from his cheeks and he was unable to meet the old daemon’s gaze. Ah. "Or perhaps things have changed?" Barbatos smiles coyly up from beneath his bangs. "You are your mother's son after all. Neither of you were ever able to stem your bleeding hearts for long." Diavolo squawked indignantly but didn’t argue. Instead he merely turns a darker shade of red and curses under his breath.

He skipped out on court that evening. Not that he cared much. The other nobles would no doubt use the time to gossip about his whereabouts and uncouth behavior of late. Truth be told, he was avoiding the brothers more than anything else. They had made it expressly clear (some more then others) how they felt about him currently. He wouldn't doubt that Belphegor had a few more brothers on his side now.

Instead he stood at your door once more with a tea tray in hand. He had bumped into Simone on the way. The angel had come to bring you dinner and to check up on the last of your wounds. Celestial magic worked miracles on those who have been touched by the darker arts. Diavolo was grateful for his talents. And, by some miracle, Simone had made it abundantly clear he was not going to bring this to the higher ups on his end either.

Upon seeing the prince slinking up the house's stairwell the other man had simply smiled and offered him the tray. “I suddenly got a message from Luke. Could you perhaps drop this by our friend’s door?” Diavolo had accepted without preamble, large hands dwarfing the platter of little tea cakes and sandwiches. The young cherubs work no doubt. His cooking was a fine treat, and a great incentive to at least open the door.

“Hello again.” He knocks twice. “I just wanted to check in on you. I know I am the last person you wish to see but I was hoping to talk?” Silence greets him. Were you awake? He breathes deeply and focuses on picking up your vitals. You were up, your heart thumping steady somewhere in the room. That was good. “I also have dinner for you. Simone had an urgent matter to attend to so he- for better or worse- entrusted this to me.”

Diavolo searches hopelessly for something else to say. He couldn’t just leave the food and go. He needed to see you. “I don’t plan on staying long today. I understand when I am not wanted, but I cannot help myself but be worried for you. Perhaps this is just me contritioning, because I know I caused this. The amount of times I have been called a ‘ass’ by Solomon over this have been staggering.” He rambles. After another bout of silence from your end he coincides. “I see- I will leave the food by the door and let you rest.” Defeated he puts the food down and turns to leave.

The door clicks open slowly. One bloodshot eye peeking through the crack. “Oh mio piccolo mortale.” He loses his grip on your shared tongue at a loss. You looked- you must have been in the hall longer then he or the brothers had known. Such damage couldn’t be done in a few moments. Your skin was healing as nicely as Lucifer had said, but the deep purple scarring still remained on the surface. The burn pattern of it all was random. Twisting wounds that reflected an oily sheen from the light of the hallway. “I-.”

“I know-” You cut him off with a raised hand. “and I feel as though I owe you an apology too.” Your voice was so weak and shaky. A mockery of your normally strong and jovial tone. Hearing you laugh at school had brightened the dreary halls. He hadn’t realized it until you weren't there.

“You owe me nothing.” Diavolo says in earnest. He watches you contemplate your next words before throwing whatever you were going to say away.

“Would you like to come in?” Your eyes drop to the tray. “Luke always makes more than I can eat.”

“I don’t think that would be wise.” He backs out. All his plans crashing and burning around his feet. His actions had been irreparable.

“Perhaps not,” You open the door wider taking the tray and heading to your side table, leaving him no room to argue. “But then again, being a lamb among such wolves as yourself and the brothers isn’t smart either.” You meant it as a joke but he couldn’t even muster a chuckle. It was true. Gods. “Dia-” You approach him again but falter at the last second.

As much as you wanted to be close to him again the memories were still so fresh in your mind. The cold hell fire of his magic ensnaring you, searing your skin. The whispered words of sinners long since past still echoing in your head, all in languages you’ve never heard before. The worst though had to be the screaming. Lost souls begging for help. Some sounded so familiar…You shutter involuntarily.

You wanted to hate him for this. Curse him for putting you through this pain. But how much could you blame him? Or any of them? They were daemons. Whether he meant to hurt you or not, it truly had only been a matter of time before it happened. It would be hypocritical of you to fear or hate him forever over this. Six of the seven brothers have threatened your life before, and you have forgiven them. Hell, one of them actually killed you. What’s more was that Diavolo’s wrath hadn’t even been directed at you.

Wrong place at the right time; seemed to be your forte. “Please, come in.” You repeat again firmer than before mustering up either courage or sheer human stupidity to order him in. You couldn’t tell the difference anymore. “We need to talk.”  

He enters, following at your heel like a lost puppy. All air of princedom gone as you clicked the door shut. Diavolo fiddles with his hands, old habits from childhood coming with his nerves. He didn’t know what to expect anymore. Yelling? Some kind of beratement? A plea to go home and never look back?  He would let you.

You pass by him, giving him a large berth of space to get to your seat. “Tea?”  

Diavolo jerks his head to you. He had forgotten momentarily the plate of food he had used to get access to you. You smile sheepishly pushing it and a plate of sweets towards him with your unbandaged knuckles. He doesn’t move till your hand retracts back to your lap. You jerk your head to the open seat waiting for him. You weren’t going to take no for an answer.

“I- thank you.” The daemon sits making himself as small as possible in the straight back chair. He takes the porcelain and drinks mindlessly. The scalding hot tea doing little to help the tightness of his throat, but it did thaw some of the ice in his mind.

“Are-how…” He fumbles so unsure of what to do next. “I see you’ve been keeping up with your school work.” Diavolo closes his eyes, wincing internally at his words. That’s what he comes up with? Idiotic.

You smile anyway, eyeing the massive pile of books and paperwork spewn about your bed. “Yeah. I’ve taken to doing my school work with Levi in his room. Mammon and Beel are nice enough to drop it off to the teachers when they are due.” He nods. He knew this of course. But it was nice to hear it from you. But yet, you don’t meet his eyes. Far too afraid to see what hid behind them.

The thought of being dragged back into those dark depths again makes your pulse quicken. You instead stare at your nail beds, finding them more interesting. They were purple now. The nails stained black by the contact with his magic. “Will- will that go away?” He asks. Demonic curses or taints were nigh impossible to remove fully. Disgustingly, he hoped they didn’t. Then your nails would match his. The darker depths of his soul coo at the idea, happy that in a small way every daemon would know your his. Not as good as a pact, but as close as he could get to being a part of your little mortal life.

“I’m not sure.” You reply honestly bringing your hands up to place them on the table. “Simone and Solomon have done what they could. But, it is as good as it’s going to get for now. They say it could fade with time.” You look up at him, eyes gazing to the left of his face. “Luke thinks I should see a stronger angel.” Diavolo winces, the thought stung, and terrified him. “I told him no.”

That surprised him. This was your chance. The celestial realm had been skeptical from the beginning. If they knew, it would be a perfect caveat for them to step in. “Why?” Finally you look at him. The fear was still there. Hesitation evident in your eyes. Yet you forced yourself to look at him, fighting through your trepidation.

“Did you mean what you said earlier? About your father and what you think of me?”

“Of course.” He replies without hesitation reaching for your cold hands. You flinch but don’t move away. It felt-nice. His warmth chasing away the perpetual chill that covered your fingertips. Idly you stroke his strong hands with your thumbs.

“Then, I think we can work on this privately.” Slowly but surely you felt like you could fix this. Not for the program, but for yourself.  

[sevendeadlymorons]

Okay i know you're full right now, but i really wanted to request something🥺👉👈

So this MC is basically a duplicate of Levi(mentally and probably a bit physically), so Levi x GN!MC on a date?

Yes omfg 🥺

Otaku Date Night

Pairings: Levi x GN!MC

Words: 2,134

———————————————

You smiled at your phone as you texted him, watching him goofily send a spam of emojis and talk on and on about his new favourite anime he’s been watching; several links flooding the chat as he continued to send you trailers, pushing you to watch it with him.

Texting Levi was always the best part of your day. It was a time where you could relax and be yourself without fearing judgment. You two were so alike, it made you feel comfortable in his space and you always seemed to blush at the way he poorly tried to hide how flustered he is that he was talking to you so casually.

“Um... MC?”

A message popped up suddenly, his tone suddenly quite serious from what it previously was

“Yeah, Levi?”

You texted back, quite curious of what he’d eventually ask you. He’s normally very jittery, but tonight he was more so; his texts taking a bit longer than usual, his text bubble popping up then disappearing just as fast as if he was carefully planning out what to say

“So I’ve been meaning to ask you something for a while now... and it’s ok if you say no! But...”

You laughed slightly at how cute he sounded nervous. You texted back a quick question mark to urge him on and continue his sentence, his text bubble popping up pretty fast after reading your response. You could imagine him now; sitting in his room, crossed-legged on the floor, retyping his sentence millions of times to get it right. You chuckle as an image of him talking to Henry, his fish, for reassurance pops into your head.

You looked down and he’d already responded, your eyes quickly skimming over the words.

“I was wondering if you’d like to go on a date! With me...”

You stared wide-eyed at the screen. A mixture of pure happiness and shock overwhelming your emotions. Levi had been friend-zoning you for a while now, so you really thought that all hope was lost. But this text... it said otherwise.

You read over it again, taking in his words, still not fully convinced this is real, but it is. This wasn’t a dream. Levi really just asked you out.

You hugged your phone to your chest, almost squealing in excitement before tossing your phone to the side and running out the door to Levi’s room, wanting to tell him yes to his face, and also to see that flustered look he always has on his face.

His door was oddly unlocked for once as if he expected you to come charging in. So you busted down the door, locking eyes with Leviathan who was, as you expected, sat with his legs crossed on the floor, wrapped in a blanket. His face turns bright pink as you scream the words ‘yes’ and throw yourself on to him, toppling over from the impact, desperately wrapping your arms around his neck as he says nothing in return, just instinctively wraps his arms around you as well and squeezes you tight.

When you two pull apart, and the excitement had subsided, you both realised what you’d done and laughed nervously; leaving space between the two of you. You can’t believe you just came in and hugged him like that... you looked at his face, slightly embarrassed, and noticed he looked just as embarrassed as you, but his cheeks and ears were bright red and his mouth was curled into a sappy smile. He began to speak after a few seconds of silence, his voice timid and cautious. “Y-Yes? You mean it?” He manages to stutter out, gripping onto your arms tighter when you nod at him shyly, his sappy smile turning into a huge grin as all his doubts drain away.

He sent you back to your room to get changed since you were only wearing shorts and a baggy t-shirt and Levi learnt that the hard way when reality finally kicked in and he looked down at you and nearly fainted.

You looked at the time and it was a few minutes past 9 at night. You’d both agreed to meet at the entrance at 9:30, giving you roughly a bit over 20 minutes to get dressed. You sighed as you messed with your hair in the mirror. You honestly expected to just relax tonight and turn on some anime and stay up till hell knows what time in the morning, but you guess you were pretty ecstatic for your date with Levi too.

Your cheeks flushed red at the thought and you had to turn away from the mirror. You decided to start picking out some outfits from your closet. But since Levi didn’t actually tell you where you two were going, you felt pretty nervous about what to wear. Do you go casual or formal...? God damn it, Levi...

“Where are we going?”

You shoot him a quick text after frantically worrying about what to wear for the occasion and he replies back almost immediately.

“You’ll find out!”

You sighed, not feeling any better about the situation. You pinched the bridge of your nose and just went with the first thing you saw in front of you. “I guess you can never go wrong with this?” You mumble to yourself, holding up a moderately formal shirt. You strip down out of your pajamas and slip into the shirt and jeans that you found lying on the floor. They weren’t too creased so you thought it wouldn’t really matter. You slipped on your socks with tiny sheep on and walk over to the mirror, admiring your handy work. “I’m sure Levi won’t mind how I look...” You say to yourself, still stressing over the fact he could’ve actually put effort into something for once and made the date a fancy restaurant or something...

You sigh once again, slouching on your bed and picking up your phone to check the time. You still had around 10 minutes so you still had a bit of time to do something with your hair? You’re not sure what but you’re going to try...

After a long, gruelling 5 minutes of dragging your hairbrush through your tangled hair, it was finally somewhat presentable, the ends curling slightly and it actually looked fluffier than ever. You smiled and felt a bit more confident in how you looked, slipping on your shoes to finally go meet Levi at the door.

As you were walking down the stairs, you saw Levi standing patiently at the door, twiddling his fingers and biting his lip nervously. You felt a massive relief rush over you as you saw him wearing pretty casual clothes, like you. “Thank fuck...” you say under your breath as he finally spots you, walking up to you excitedly and you flash him a sweet smile. He holds his hands behind his back, his face as red as ever as his eyes skim over you, letting his jaw drop open slightly from the mere sight. “Nice to know you like how I look, at least. A little heads up of what to wear would’ve been nice too!” You blurt out, startling him and making him visibly nervous with that shy smile of his. You laugh and rub his arm, indicating for you two to go, Levi quickly snapping out of it and rushing after you.

You walk silently down the quiet streets of the Devildom, admiring the lights that cascade around you and hearing the sounds of owls hoot in the trees nearby. You look over at Levi to see him very clearly anxious, his pinky finger subtly brushing against yours as if he wants you to hold it. You turn bright red and hide your face from him, facing forward once again. You take a deep breath and gradually connect your pinky with his, hearing him gasp as he looks down and sees you holding onto him. His heart skips a beat as he thinks back to all the anime’s he’s seen where the two main characters would walk down an autumn road; leaves falling down gently around them while they both shared a scarf.

You felt Levi slowly disconnect his finger from yours, feeling quite self-conscious. Maybe that wasn’t what he wanted...? You look down at your feet, embarrassed, but before you knew it, Levi had grasped your hand in his and you were now walking hand in hand... with Levi

You couldn’t contain your excitement as you gave his hand a tight squeeze, feeling him flinch but more or less stay calm. The walk was peaceful after that. Walking towards wherever the hell you were going with him with his fingers entwined in yours, a comfortable silence filling the air around you.

“A-Are you cold?” He breaks the silence and looks at you, concerned when he could feel you shivering against his shoulder.

“A little...” You reply back, shyly, your shivers even more visible than before as your teeth started to chatter. He digs through his bag and pulls out 2 pairs of gloves and a scarf. You giggle as he clumsily wraps the scarf around your neck then hands you the other pair of gloves, pulling on his own then going back to warming up your hand when you’d successfully put on your gloves too.

“That better?” You hear him say, more confident than usual. You blush and nod, resting your head on his shoulder as you continued to walk with him by your side.

At least 15 minutes pass and you still hadn’t arrived. You looked over at Levi suspiciously. “And you’re sure you actually had something planned?” You ask him, concern in your voice, but it’s not like you actually cared. You were spending time with him and that’s all that mattered to you. He nodded back, keeping his eyes glued straight in front of him. You hummed doubtfully but kept on walking.

You felt the night breeze flutter around you and a chill was sent down your spine. A single crispy leaf lands on your shoulder while you walk underneath a wilting tree. Levi picks it off for you and crunches it in his hand, admiring the satisfying sound it made; your laughs echoing around you both while you squeeze each other's hands happily.

A few moments pass and Levi stops in front a giant tree, causing you to stop in your tracks too and look up at the enormousness of it, your mouth wide open. You’ve never seen anything like it. When you lower your head again, you notice Levi standing behind the enormous tree. A switch in his hand. You raise your eyebrow at him and laugh.

“I was thinking of what to do on our date and I couldn’t think of anything particularly special...” He starts off, his thumb trembling over the power button of the switch as you step closer towards him. “So I really hope... that you'll like this...”

He suddenly clicks the button on the remote and the entire tree lights up. You watch intently as bright colours and flashing lights appeared everywhere you looked, and they only kept coming as the fairy lights spiralled up the length of the tree, filling the air around you with a warm feeling as the lights reached the trees, more light cascading down like raindrops from the sky. You felt tears well up in your eyes when Levi stood next to you, skittishly wrapping his arms around your waist to watch the view with you. He filled it with all your favourite colours so that the sky looked like an endless rainbow and you were no longer stood in the dark, but in what felt like a wonderland.

You turned to face him and wrapped your arms around his waist, thanking him, your tears staining his clean t-shirt until he pulled you away and offered you a large lollipop in the shape of a heart, the words “I love you” drawn on in what looked to be frozen strawberry syrup. You laughed and took it from him, offering him to share it with you as it was literally the size of your head. He steps closer and licked it, making a dramatic “Mmm” noise with his lips and watching you laugh again, his cheeks flushing all shades of pink and red as he realised just how madly in love with you he was. He steps closer and wraps his arms around your neck, burying your face into his chest and nuzzling into your head.

You spend the next few hours sat on a nearby bench with him, watching the lights flicker around you and the glow illuminate the crisp leaves under your feet, Levi’s arm securely wrapped around your shoulder as you huddle together, sharing a scarf.

[kissinginkitchens]

You Bring Me Home—Chapter Seven: How Sweet It Is

a/n: Welcome back friends! Thank you again for tuning in for another chapter of YBMH. It has been so much fun to talk to you lovelies and hear your thoughts, so keep them coming! I have to give a very special thank you to the wonderful @duckyficrecs​ for all of the love and amazing commentary so far, I really appreciate you!! Happy reading! Much love, Mel <3

Pairing: Hawai’i!Harry x Original Character

Warnings: unrealistic standards of men (sorry) 

Word Count: 6.8k

catch up on parts one, two, three, four, five, and six

Alani’s eyes peel open and she squints at the clock on the bedside table that reads 8:53 a.m. The sun creeps in gently behind the thin curtains, casting the room in a soft, warm glow that pales in comparison to the light inside her chest. As she inhales deeply, the arm strapped across her midsection rises, but it doesn’t budge. Alani turns over carefully to face Harry still sound asleep with a light snore escaping from his parted lips. She fondly observes every detail of his serene features, from the tiny freckles atop his cheekbones to the curl of his eyelashes. As her finger glides along the slope of his nose and the indentation of his cupid’s bow, Harry stirs lightly and his arm tightens around her waist with a contented sigh. Alani drapes her leg over his hip and presses a feathery kiss to the middle of his brow that causes the edges of his sleepy mouth to twitch. 

“Good morning, sunshine,” she coos and Harry’s eyes flutter open slowly. 

“Mornin’ beautiful,” he replies with a deep rasp in his voice. 

She massages his scalp gently and he hums, planting a sweet kiss to the spot just over her heart. 

“Y’hungry?” Harry murmurs against her skin. 

Alani’s stomach growls in response and they both giggle. 

“I’ll take that as a yes,”

“Need a shower first,” she decides, sitting up. 

Harry groans at the loss of contact, but he manages to secure a hand around her wrist. “Ten more minutes,”

“Nice try,”

“Five?”

Alani grins before burrowing under the covers again with her cheek fit snugly against Harry’s chest. His knuckles skim over her arm as he fights the drowsiness weighing on his eyelids. 

“Did y’dream anything?” he mumbles. 

“I did,” she admits apprehensively. “But I don’t know if you’re gonna like it,”

“Why not?”

“Well, I sorta dreamt that I was married to James Marsden—the guy from The Notebook,”

Harry laughs gently. “Lucky bastard,”

“What about you?” Alani deflects, peering up at him with curious eyes. “Any dreams?”

“Not really. But I did wake up a few times in the middle of the night ‘cos you were hogging all the blankets,”

“I get cold!”

“Uh-huh.”

Alani presses her chilly toes against Harry’s shins and he grimaces, peeling himself out of the bed to escape her icy touch. With a self-satisfied chuckle, she swings her legs over the edge of the mattress and slips away to the ensuite bathroom, chin held high as Harry trails close behind. 

********

Harry digs out a faded t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants from his closet for Alani to borrow, and although it’s a small gesture, the sight of her in his own clothing fills his entire body with euphoria. He holds out a white t-shirt with the Volkswagen logo on it and a pair of grey sweatpants that she accepts gratefully. While she slips into his clothes, Harry puts on a pair of running shorts and a black hoodie with the image of Earth and the words “Spice World” on the front. Next, he digs through his drawers and produces a red bandana that is used to keep the damp hair out of his face, but Alani has already braided her wavy locks before he can find a similar garment for her. Harry extends a hand and Alani interlocks her fingers with his as they set out for breakfast. 

“Why don’t you go pick out some tunes?” He suggests when they reach the kitchen. “There’s a record player in the living room,”

Alani wiggles her brows and gives him a quick peck before venturing out ito the other room. Her eyes immediately land on a wall full of vinyls, and she excitedly browses them with delicate fingers. The Zombies, Bill Withers, and Sam Cooke are among the first in the collection, but her eyes widen when she spots a familiar blue cover. Joni, she gasps, pulling the record out of its sleeve. Alani quickly switches the player on and navigates the needle over the first track on the disk, turning the volume up and filling the room with the sound of a folk guitar. Harry’s ears perk up in the other room and the music brings a wide grin to his face. A few moments later, Alani reemerges in the kitchen, her hips swaying; she reaches out for Harry’s hands, which are occupied with the switches on the stovetop and a carton of eggs. He puts it down and gives Alani a twirl, which elicits a playful giggle that tugs on his heartstrings. His hands settle around her waist while her arms weave around his neck. They sway for a moment, hips flush with one another, before another soft kiss is exchanged. 

“Looks like I don’t need a ‘kiss the cook’ apron after all,” Harry jokes lightly, their noses still touching. 

Alani rolls her eyes with a scoff. “You haven’t made anything yet,”

“That’s because a certain dancing queen keeps distracting me,”

“Fine,” she starts to pull away but Harry immediately ropes her back in. 

“Not yet,” he smirks, lifting her with a quick spin. Alani shrieks and her arms tighten around his neck. 

“I see the lovebirds are up,” Mitch grumbles, the heel of his hand rubbing his tired eyes. 

The pair conceal their laughter and put a bit of space between each other, though Harry instantly misses Alani’s touch. 

“Morning, Mitch,” she says sweetly. 

The guitarist forces a smile on his face and reaches inside the fridge for a bottle of water. “Morning,” he returns, padding back to the hallway. “And keep it down, you crazy kids. Some of us are hungover and not in the lovesick way.”

Alani’s cheeks flush. “Sorry, mom.”

Harry snickers and he returns to the stove with a gentle shake of his head. 

They scarf their breakfasts down with legs woven together under the table and fingers interlaced. While their meals are identical, they take turns feeding off of each other’s plates and stealing sips of the other person’s drink. Harry feigns annoyance over the spilt orange juice on the t-shirt that he lent to Alani, though a part of him hopes it will leave a stain as a subtle reminder of this moment. It amazes the both of them just how quickly they had fallen into a shared rhythm, as if breakfast was a sacred ritual engraved into their muscle memory. But despite the natural ease that comes with each other’s presence, there is an impending sense of dread looming over Alani and Harry’s heads about the inevitable end to their domestic bliss. 

“I should probably get back soon,” she sighs, thinking of her younger sister waiting alone at the house. 

His stomach turns. “Do you have to?”

“Afraid so. Need to check on Pua and Freddie,”

Harry nods with a small sigh and collects both of their plates. “‘Kay,”

Alani follows him into the kitchen and her arms delicately wrap around his torso from behind when they reach the sink. “Are you upset?” she asks timidly. 

Harry’s heart cracks, racked with guilt over his petty behavior. It wasn’t her fault that she had to leave eventually, and it wasn’t right to take his disappointment out on her. He turns his back to their dishes and presses a light kiss to the tip of her nose. 

“No,” Harry assures her with a soft, dimpled smile. “Could never be upset with my sweet girl. Just gonna miss you.”

Alani’s chest stirs at his words and she slots her needy lips between his. Now that they had tasted a little less than twenty-four uninterrupted hours together, being apart for more than one moment seemed near impossible. Harry’s fingers slip inside the back of her shirt, and his nails gently graze the outline of her spine with a sly grin. 

“I don’t think I’ll have what she’s having,” Jeff teases, sifting through a bowl of fruit on the counter. Harry grits his teeth and makes a mental note to plot revenge on all of his friends later. 

“Good morning,” Alani offers shyly, pulling away from his warm touch. 

Jeff smiles and waves with a banana in hand. “Buenos días. Always good to see you, Alani.”

“You too,”

He whistles a cheerful tune and roams into the living room, leaving the pair alone again. 

“I think we better go before we get caught.” Alani jokes weakly.  

********

The Range Rover pulls up slowly in front of Alani’s house and Harry’s grip on her hand tightens as he puts the car into park. 

“Where’re your parents?” he wonders aloud, reaching in the backseat for a spare bag that Alani can use to carry her clothes in. 

“Mom had a big surgery this weekend, so she stayed at the hospital to keep an eye on her patient. Dad is in California on this chef’s weekend trip with, like, Guy Fieri or something. Just me and Pua until tomorrow night,”

Harry hums, watching her stuff her belongings into the bag. “You working?”

“Yeah, I close tonight,”

Damn, he swears to himself. There go his plans. “What’re you doing until then?”

Alani shrugs with her hand already on the door handle. “Chores, I guess. You?”

“Probably nothing,” Harry sighs. “Missing you.”

She grins and presses an affectionate peck to his cheek. “Ditto, sunshine. I’ll call you tonight, okay?”

“I won’t miss it.” The new pet name makes his stomach twist, but the butterflies quickly turn to stones when she slips out of the car. 

Alani begrudgingly treks down the stone pathway when she hears loud music coming from the car behind her. Turning quickly, she spots Harry peeking over the roof of the SUV with the song “Baby Don’t Go” by The Supremes blaring from his speakers. She shakes her head playfully and blows him a kiss before retreating back to her house; He catches it in his palm and presses his palm to his lips. The song is still playing softly when Alani closes the door and she momentarily considers throwing all caution to the wind by inviting him inside. 

“I’d ask how your night went, but I think half the block knows that answer now,” Pua smirks with arms crossed as she descends the stairs. 

Alani offers a sheepish smile and clutches Harry’s bag to her chest. “Morning,”

“Are those his clothes?” her sister questions. 

“Yeah,”

“Okay that’s really sweet, actually,”

Alani shuffles through the house to make sure that everything is still in one piece and Pua follows close behind, anxious for all of the details about her older sister’s date. “So I wanna hear everything, but you can spare me the making out parts,” she insists. 

“What? Harry didn’t give you the rundown already?” Alani pokes. “I’m assuming you’re the one who told him about Angelo’s,”

“It may have come up once—casually, of course,” Pua admits. 

Alani rolls her eyes playfully, but the confirmation that Harry had conspired with her sister melts her heart. “Well then, I guess I owe you some thanks for a perfect night,”

“It was all his idea,” Pua maintains with her hands raised in surrender. “But it was? I mean, really perfect?”

“Straight out of a movie,”

“He has that way about him, doesn’t he?”

Alani’s mouth curls gently. She couldn’t describe Harry’s allure better if she tried. “He really does,”

“I can’t believe it,” Pua muses with a starry look in her round eyes. “My sister is dating the Harry Styles. I can practically hear the millions of hearts shattering over the news,”

Out of all the thoughts running through Alani’s mind these days, the public’s response to her blossoming relationship with Harry was apparently last on that list. Fame hardly seemed to be the focal point of his life given how little he had to say on the subject, thus it was easy to forget that he was, in fact, a celebrity, especially when they were alone. But despite his reluctance to open up about stardom, it’s a conversation that Alani figures she should prepare for. 

“Speaking of,” she begins, making her way upstairs. “What are his fans like? You know, what should I expect?”

Pua considers it for a moment, searching for the right words. “Passionate I guess. Loyal,”

“And they’re all in love with him?”

“Can you blame them?”

Alani chuckles lightly and her chest swells as she reflects on her growing feelings for Harry. While she had initially wanted to believe that he was no different from any other guy, it was becoming increasingly difficult to stand by that judgement. His immense thoughtfulness was evident long before he had whisked her away for the evening of her dreams. Afterall, what famous person willingly agrees to help a stranger with their homework? And then there was Harry’s boyish charm and tenderness that no leading man in any romantic comedy seemed to rival in Alani’s opinion. Could never be upset with my sweet girl, his words echo. 

“No,” Alani exhales, her throat tightening with a sudden sense of longing. “I really can’t,”

Pua squeals and envelops her sister in a warm embrace. “God, I’m really so happy for you both. My favorite singer and my favorite sister,”

Alani hugs her sister tight and it temporarily quells the ache left by Harry’s absence. “Me too.”

“But if he hurts you, I will kill him.”

********

“Hey Harry, what do you think about Maui?” Jeff proposes, typing into his phone. “The resort’s got a private pool for every room,”

Harry blinks with a faint smile still on his lips. “For what?”

“Next weekend, maybe. Glenne and Jenny are thinking of meeting us there,”

The thought of going an entire weekend away from Alani makes Harry’s brows furrow. He was going on just five hours now and it was complete torture.

“Can’t,” he says quickly. “I’ve got—”

“You can bring Alani,” Jeff reassures him with a knowing smirk. “But you two gotta promise you’ll socialize,”

Harry blushes and his chest aches at the sound of her name. “I’ll ask,”

“Don’t make me say it,” Mitch threatens from the sound booth. Harry’s head tilts, challenging his friend to continue. The drummer clears his throat and coughs into his closed fist. “Whipped,” 

“You’re just jealous that your girlfriend couldn’t make the trip ‘cos  she’s too busy being a badass rockstar,” Harry shoots back coolly. 

“So we’re dropping the g-word, huh?” 

The singer casts his eyes down at the guitar in his lap and fiddles with the strings to occupy his hands. “Dunno,”

“He’s got it bad,” Tom teases, turning to Jeff Bhasker with a dramatic outstretched hand. “Alani, my dearest, how could I ever live without you?” 

“Oh, Harry.” Jeff raises his voice a pitch. 

Tom drops to his knee, clutching Jeff’s hand to his chest, and the group erupts into laughter. “Say you’ll be mine at once!”  

Harry relinquishes a shy smile and a dry laugh at his friends’ antics in an effort to be a good sport. “Very funny. Oscars for you both.”

 His idle fingers continue strumming the guitar gently as everyone else dissolves into their own conversations. The  phone balanced on his thigh pings, and though the notification has nothing to do with Alani, Harry decides to check in. 

Harry: How’s the weather?

He can’t think of anything particularly witty to say, but the mere action of sending her a message keeps him from dissolving into a puddle on the floor. 

Alani: Google is free, you know

Harry: Ouch. Trying to tell you that I miss you here :(

Alani giggles at Harry’s clingy show of affection. Truth be told, she also misses him deeply and resents the fact that she has to work instead of staying snuggled into his side all day. The smell of his shampoo lingers in her hair and it twists the knife deeper. She decides to snap a silly photo of herself, eyes crossed, and sends it off to him. 

Alani: Missing you too, my little pocket of sunshine ☀️

Harry’s heart nearly bursts from his chest when he opens the attachment, and his cheeks hurt from smiling so hard. He quickly saves the photo to his phone before setting it as his lock screen. 

Harry: My god you’re going to be the death of me

Alani: The feeling is mutual 

It takes less than five minutes of admiring the photo for Harry to decide that he can’t go any longer without the real thing. 

Harry: What time does your shift start?

Alani: 5 minutes 

Swiping his wallet and keys, Harry slips out of the studio without another word. 

********

Alani ties her hair up and adjusts her apron as she heads out into the busy restaurant. She quickly falls into a rhythm of taking orders, clearing tables, and filling drinks while the minutes in her eight hour shift tick by. Before she knows it, an hour has already passed and her mind is completely occupied with her guests, but a familiar voice sticks out among the buzz of it all. 

“Excuse me, miss?” Harry pipes up from the counter, a bouquet of sunflowers emerging from behind his back. “Think these are for you,”

Alani fights back a smile, but it’s no use. She accepts the flowers gratefully and raises them to her nose.

“Why, thank you. They’re beautiful,”

“They’ve got nothing on you,” he suggests, leaning in closer over the counter. His eyes dart to her lips in silent prayer, but Alani clears her throat and scans the busy scene around them. 

“Can I get you something?”  

Harry peruses the menu with a serious dent between his brows. “Hmm sure, I think I’ll have the Chef’s Salad—dressing on the side—a lemonade, and a kiss,”

Alani smirks, accepting the menu from his hand. “The kiss is extra,”

“Make it two, then,” he offers expectantly, but she shakes her head in disapproval. 

“Kissing the waitresses isn’t allowed,”

“Well what if I don’t wanna kiss a waitress?” Harry counters. “What if I wanna kiss my…” 

He intentionally trails off to read Alani’s reaction, but she suddenly feels flustered by the implications of his statement and turns on her heel to put in his order. “I’ll go get your lemonade.”

“Alaniii.” he complains, watching her back away. She shoots him a wink over her shoulder and darts into the kitchen to avoid his further protests. 

The afternoon rush gradually subsides after another hour of Alani racing around the restaurant. Eventually, as she heads back to the counter to refill two iced teas, Harry catches her attention again and holds up his own glass. “I think something was missing in my lemonade,”

She frowns. “What was it?”

“Some sugar,” he replies with a mischievous grin. “Have any to spare?”

Alani rolls her eyes playfully, but before she can quip back with something clever, one of her co-workers calls her to the kitchen. Harry slumps in his seat and picks at an olive on his plate. 

Two more hours go by and he silently watches Alani dart from table to table, hunched over a journal splayed in front of him. Alani’s eyes repeatedly linger in his direction as the night winds down and she knows without a shadow of doubt that more of his antics await, but she can’t resist wandering over to indulge his advances and her own curiosity. 

“Whatcha working on?” she questions with a quick glance at the page in front of him.

Harry beams, shutting the book and leaning against the counter on his elbows. “More pick-up lines,” 

“I admire your tenacity,” Alani chuckles lightly. “How long are you gonna stick around here?”

“How long you got left?”

“Three hours,”

“Then I’ll have another lemonade.” he says with a flash of his infectious smile. 

Alani swipes his nearly empty cup, but before she retreats to fill it again, her head lowers to his level and she plants a chaste kiss to his eager lips. “Didn’t wanna forget your sugar this time.”

Families come and go and tables are cleared as the sun disappears into the horizon. By the last hour of Alani’s shift, the restaurant is practically dead save for Harry, who eventually migrated from his perch at the counter to a more comfortable booth in the corner. The sight of Alani rolling out her shoulders across the room steals his attention away from his scribbles, so he stands and makes his way over. When his warm fingertips meet her tense muscles, she immediately sinks into the touch. 

“That better?” Harry murmurs, feeling her gradually relax as he works the knots at the base of her neck and shoulders. 

“Yeah,” Alani hums. The relief is instant just like it always is when he’s around. After a moment, she reaches up to where his fingers are pressed against her skin and she spins so they’re standing chest to chest, hands clasped. 

“Hi,” she greets softly. 

“Hiya,”

“I can’t believe you stayed here all day,”

Harry shrugs nonchalantly. “It’s better than being at the house missing you. Besides, I got some work done, too, so I’d say it was a success overall,”

The edges of Alani’s mouth turn up and she pulls away slightly with their hands still attached. “Oh yeah? So are you finished with that book of pick-up lines, then?”

“Almost,” Harry laughs airily. “Think it might even be a New York Times Best Seller,”

“Maybe ditch the ‘have any spare sugar?’ one. It’s a bit saccharine, don’t you think?”

“Dunno, that one worked pretty well, if my lips remember correctly.” 

The corners of Alani’s mouth curl and she pulls away with their hands still attached. “Want some pie?”

“What kind?”

“Cherry,” she says, making her way over to the dessert bar. 

“The best kind,” Harry replies, taking his seat. 

Alani cuts out a generous portion and serves it to him. “I’m more of an apple pie girl,”

“A la mode?”

“Definitely,”

“You know,” Harry starts, cutting out a slice with his fork. “I used to work in a bakery,”

“Is that so?” she indulges him, taking a seat on the opposite side of the counter. 

 “Oh yeah. I’m a natural baker, it’s what they all used to say,”

“You’re gonna have to prove it one of these days,”

“Maybe I will,”

Alani rests her chin in her hand and watches Harry finish the rest of his pie, a content glimmer in his eyes. It’s ten minutes to closing time, so she wipes down the counter and starts the routine that she knows all too well. Harry sneaks off to the jukebox and sifts through the selections available, his tongue peeking through the corner of his lips when his eyes land on the perfect song. A gentle piano wafts through the restaurant followed by Diana Ross’ vocals singing a cover of “Bring it On Home to Me.” Alani hums the familiar tune and continues cleaning up before she feels an arm slink around her waist. She stops her work and turns around to face Harry who is singing the lyrics softly. 

“Bring it to me, bring your sweet lovin’, bring it on home to me,”

Alani turns slowly to face him and she watches his strawberry lips carefully, realizing that this is the first time she’s ever heard him sing in person. His voice is low and smooth with just the right amount of grit behind it. She savors the sound, wondering what he would sound like performing his own lyrics before her memory recalls the image of him stooped over his notebook, scribbling something secret. The pair begin to sway gently, Harry still singing as he pulls Alani closer. He slips one hand to hers and lifts it so they’re in the starting position of a waltz. She slips an arm around his neck and her head meets his shoulder, feeling the vibration of his voice against her temple. For the remainder of the song, everything ceases to exist but the two of them: two hearts beating against each other—beating for each other. Harry dips Alani gingerly as the melody begins to fade out and she cranes her neck just enough to grant him another tender kiss. Her lips feel like the first sip of water after a long journey through the desert, and he knows that he will never get enough as he pours every ounce of adoration and longing that he can possibly muster into the kiss. Slowly, he brings her back to standing with their lips still attached before pulling away to catch his breath. 

“I’ve never heard you sing.” Alani murmurs with her heart still racing. “Not like that,”

“I’ve never sung like that before,” he confesses, referring to the emotion behind the lyrics. “Guess I never really had a reason to.”

Alani’s breath hitches. Once again, she finds herself toeing the line between reality and fantasy. It often felt like he was too good to be true and this moment is no exception, but the delicate brush of his fingertips against her arm coaxes her back to the present—and very real— moment. Alani hugs him to her chest to feel the fierce beating of her heart and the drum of her own love song. 

********

“Did that sound weird?”

“Sounded fine to me,”

Harry chews on his lower lip, eyes pinched shut as he locates the correct pitch in his head. “No, it sounded weird. Let’s go again,”

“You got it,” Tom says over the sound system that floods into the recording booth. “Take two of Harry’s untitled thing, rolling,”

“That’s not what we’re calling it on the tape, is it?” 

“We are until you title it,”

Harry releases an amused breath. “Fair enough. Let’s just call it…” he hums and a faint smile creeps across his lips. “Let’s call it Clair de Lune for now.”

Tom scoffs. “Okay Debussy. Take two on Clair de Lune.”

“What does that mean?” Jeff asks, adjusting the levels on the soundboard. 

“It’s French for ‘moonlight,’” Mitch declares. “According to Google Translate.”

Alani peeks inside the back entrance of the dimly lit studio and immediately hears a faint chorus of laughter. She cautiously steps inside and follows the sound down a narrow corridor, treading lightly to go unnoticed. The familiar gaggle of voices grows louder as she reaches the end of the hall and up to the door of the sound booth left slightly ajar. Her head pops in first, index finger raised to her lips, and Jeff silently beckons her inside while Harry and Tom go back and forth over the sound system. 

“It’s fine—”

“—It’s not fine, it’s missing something.”

“So go again, but maybe try head voice instead of falsetto this time.”

Alani observes the scene with her back pressed firmly against the door to remain out of Harry’s sight. His presence at the café earlier in the week had been such a pleasant part of her day that she decided it was her turn to surprise him and show support for his work, which would undoubtedly be more interesting than watching her serve food for hours on end. The impromptu day off cost her a week of doing Pua’s laundry, but it was worth the chance of becoming a fly on the wall in the studio before eventually stealing Harry away for a few hours.

“I think I wanna do a harmony for this bit,” he says finally after a minute of playful bickering with Tom. “Can you send Mitchell in?”

The guitarist flashes two thumbs up through the window and stands, but he makes his way over to Alani, instead, and prompts her to go in his place with a conspiratorial wink. She slips inside the recording booth and Harry casually glances up from his notes, doing a double take and grinning wide when he realizes that it’s her. 

“Sweets,” he beams, hanging up his headphones to scoop her into a tight embrace. 

Alani’s feet hover a few inches from the floor and she giggles into the crook of his neck. “Hi, sunshine,”

“Whatcha doing here?”

“Just wanted to see you,” she admits, pulling away to relish in his dimples and bright eyes. “Well alright, maybe I also planned to kidnap you at some point, too, if that’s okay,”

Harry laughs and plants a kiss to her cheek. “Course it’s okay. Was just about to take a break and head your way, but you beat me to it,”

“Perfect,” Alani smirks. “So I’ll just wait for you to finish up here and then we can head out,”

The singer shakes his head before taking her hand and stepping over to the microphone.

“That’s a wrap for the day. Great work everyone,”

“You don’t have to do that,” she insists. “I can wait—”

“—Well I can’t. I’m dying to see where you’re whisking me off to.” Harry quips back, already escorting her out of the booth with a jaunty spring in his step. 

********

“You can open your eyes now,” Alani bids after putting Stevie into park. 

“Finally,” Harry huffs teasingly. “Missed your face,”

They share a lighthearted kiss before Alani nods to the passenger side window. “Aren’t you curious to know where I dragged you to?”

Harry’s head turns, a cheshire grin spreading across his lips as he catches a glimpse of the sign that reads ‘Akaka Falls State Park. “Hey! Déjà vu,”

“My reason for bringing you here is twofold,” Alani explains, reaching into the backseat for the supplies she had brought along. “I know you’ve been in kind of a writer's rut lately, so I figured some proximity to the falls might help. But I also thought that maybe you could flex your painting skills, too,”

A tote bag full of fresh paint, canvas, and brushes materializes onto the middle console between them and Harry’s eyes light up. He gleefully sifts through the materials before looking back at Alani with a tender expression. “Alani, this is amazing,”

“I want you to draw me like one of your french girls,” she jokes with batted lashes. “Sorry, I’ve been sitting on that one since yesterday,”

Harry’s eyes crinkle with unbridled laughter. “You’re the best,”

“You get me,”

“Well what are we waiting for?” he questions, stepping out of the car and into the fresh air. “We’ve got some masterpieces to create,”

Alani meets him at the hood, and her arm slings across his back as his rests around her shoulders. “Full disclosure: I’m terrible at arts and crafts. I think I was the only ten year old who flunked art class,”

“Nah, I don’t believe it,”

“It’s true!”

“But you’re good at everything,” Harry reasons. “Maybe you’re just one of those artists who weren’t appreciated in their own time.”

Alani scoffs, her gaze occupied with the way their steps fall into sync. “Sure, let’s go with that.”

They venture down the same route as their very first trip to the falls, though this time joined at the hip. The cerulean sky overhead and high summer sun provides the ideal subject for landscape paintings, and though dozens of tourists have also gathered to enjoy the perfect day, Alani and Harry are oblivious to everyone else. His cheeks flush with self-consciousness when she casually mentions the song that she had overheard him working on earlier, and he simply rubs the back of his neck and feigns ignorance when she asks what it’s about. It had always wracked his nerves to let other people hear his music before it was completely finished, but the fact that his current work-in-progress was heavily inspired by Alani only makes him that much more reluctant to share. While her curiosity begs to her to keep prying, she shrugs it off and refocuses on the lush scene before them as they reach Harry’s favorite lookout spot. 

“What’re you gonna paint?” he asks, tongue peeking out of the corner of his mouth in concentration as he picks out his supplies. 

“I don’t know,” Alani ponders. “What about you?”

“Something good—hopefully,”

“Have you ever painted before?”

Harry’s eyes lift to the sky, as if searching the clouds for his answer. “Sure. Loved art class when I was in school. It’s a good way to de-stress,”

“Have any favorite artists?”

“Keith Haring’s pretty great, saw some of his stuff in New York City last time I was there,”

“Oh yeah, he’s incredible,” Alani agrees, mixing some paint on her platter. “Hey, have you ever been to the Louvre?”

Harry nods and the tip of his tongue peeks through the corner of his lip in concentration. “Yes actually, once,”

“Lucky. Paris is definitely on my bucket list,”

“Good to know,” her comment is stored in the back of Harry’s mind for future reference. “Hey sweets, you’ve got something on your face,”

“Oh really?”

“Yeah, riiiiight,” Harry leans in, silently dipping his pinky in a dollop of pink paint before pulling back and smearing it across the bridge of her nose. “There,”

“Hey!” she cries. 

Harry throws his head back and laughs. “I don’t know how you didn’t see that one coming,”

“You are such a child,”

“It’s fun, you should try it,”

Alani’s lower lip pouts. “Don’t wanna,”

“Sure you do,” Harry insists, holding out his plate of colors to her. “Go ahead,”

She releases a sharp breath and turns her back to him, strategically dipping her fingers in her own palette out of his sight.

“Sweets,” Harry coos. “Alani, hey, I’m sorry. That was a stupid—” 

Her fingertips meet the side of his face and slide down to his chin, leaving a trail of yellow, orange, and blue. “Oh, sorry. What were you about to say?”

Harry’s mouth hangs agape and he blinks slowly. “You know what, I’ll let that one slide,”

“No you won’t.”

“No I won’t.” 

Alani springs up from the bench and turns to bolt, but Harry’s arms snake around her waist and lift her in the air with one swift move. She shrieks, but she doesn’t fight his grasp and turns to face him instead, offering her puckered lips in surrender. Harry slots their mouths together with a satisfied smirk, but the spirited kiss quickly dissolves into laughter when their teeth collide.  

********

Alani flips her bedroom light on and ushers Harry inside. “Sorry about the mess,”

He steps inside and absorbs every detail, taking note of all the photos and trinkets on display. The walls are a shade of blush, which doesn’t surprise him, and the bed is tucked neatly in the corner under a skylight. String lights dangle along one wall above a desk piled high with books and magazines. A hanging plant in another corner catches his attention, but it’s quickly overshadowed by the presence of her own record player and collection of vinyls. A red, heart shaped rug in the middle of the room ties it all together, and Harry doesn’t think that it could possibly be more Alani. She plops onto the bed with her completed artwork and motions for him to do the same. When he makes himself comfortable, she turns the canvas over with a wiggle of her brows.

“What do you think?”

“I think it’s amazing,” Harry applauds, admiring the blobs of colorful shapes that somehow coalesce into a perfectly admirable—yet unidentifiable—piece of art. “What is it?”

“It’s you!”

“Me?”

“Mhmm,” she begins, sitting up straighter to explain. “I really tried to go for the Keith Haring thing, but I added a little bit of my own touch to it. And there’s me too, see? The pink one in the back. And that’s supposed to be a palm tree but it looks kinda like a dude with green hair,”

Harry’s heart soars. “You made us into a Keith Haring?”

“I know it’s not as cool as what he would’ve done, but—”

“—It’s perfect,” he asserts. “I love it,”

Alani beams and she sits back on her heels, setting the painting against her nightstand. “Your turn,”

“Alright, well,” Harry clears his throat. “I also tried to emulate your favorite artist, so hopefully you’ll like it,”

He turns the painting over and a light gasp escapes Alani’s lips. She immediately recognizes the waterfall—the same one from ‘Akaka Falls that they had visited together twice now. Alani had had the slightest inkling that Harry was being modest about his artistic abilities, but she hadn’t quite anticipated this level of skill. 

“Harry,” she starts, breathless. “I don’t even know what to say. This is incredible,”

“It’s no Georgia O'Keeffe, but I did my best,” he offers sheepishly. 

Alani shakes her head with a small laugh. “I kind of hate you for saying that. It’s gorgeous. Blows my stupid kiddie craft out of the water,”

“Hey,” Harry tuts. “I love your painting, it’s so creative,”

“Yeah, well, yours is infinitely better and I love everything about it,” Alani states matter-of-factly, admiring each brushstroke and use of color. “So would it be okay if I—I mean… can I keep it?”

“Course you can, made it for you,”

“You did?”

“Yeah,” Harry admits shyly. “It’s kinda like our spot, you know?”

A wide grin splits across Alani’s lips and she slinks her arms around his neck to bring him closer. “Yeah, I guess it is,”

“And the lookout where we saw that rainbow and had our first kiss,”

“Right,”

“Maybe even the café,”

“The whole island,” Alani hums. “And the sun, and the moon, and the stars,”

Harry smiles softly. “The sun and the moon, eh Mahealani?”

“Funny how life works out like that, isn’t it sunshine?”

next chapter

[claralaclarividente-fics]

Life is Dream: A Rosegarden story

Chapter 1- Once Upon A Time

Ruby’s eyes watered as the crisp air breezed in front of her face as she fell.

She had watched as her two teammates swooped down the void, only to be swallowed by a golden glimmer. By then, time had slowed down, and she thought about what could happen. Only to be eclipsed by the thought of her sister alone, wherever she might have ended up, waiting for her.

The battle had been arduous, and she had had a hard time tracking down her friends’ whereabouts during most of it, but when it had all quieted down, when Nora had placed a hand on her shoulder with a million questions in her blue eyes, the roar of the answer thumped in her ears.

Penny had understood right there and then, hugging her friends one by one- ‘do what you have to do.’

Jaune nodded gravely, thinking that if he were in their position, he’d do anything to bring his teammates back. ‘We’ll take it from here on out.’

There was no guidance, no certainty of what could happen, of what laid beyond the darkness. But Blake was trembling, her grasp on Gambol Shroud whitening her knuckles. Weiss held on Blake, afraid she might jump alone.

The decision had been made.

A tingling sensation distracted her thoughts, and with a rueful wonder she realized golden shimmers began to dance on her skin.

‘This is it, then.’ She barely had the ability to think before lighting gold consumed her. She felt herself fall asleep and tiredly closed her eyes.

Oscar opened his eyes at the insistence of Emerald. She had probably been trying to shake him awake for a while now judging by the tender expression she tried to conceal with fake annoyance.

Sitting up on his bed, he noticed that the quarters he shared with the rest of his team was empty.

The sunlight streamed harshly through the willowing blinds, telling him that it was way too late to be sleeping.

“Should have woken you up earlier but you nearly fell asleep on your dinner last night, so we thought it would be better to let you sleep in a bit more.” She explained as she slid open her Scroll, checking the itinerary for the day.

Mind still heavy with sleep, Oscar placed his bare feet on the cold floor. The frigid clay under his soles roused him enough so he began mentally preparing for the day.

“What have we got today on the agenda?”

Emerald rolled her eyes and thrusted a paper bag into the teen’s hands.

“Breakfast rolls with honey. Seriously Oscar, you barely ate last night and now you’re insisting on intermittent fasting? This is why even Little Red’s taller than you!” She jeered at his sudden bouts of sleepiness over the past month.

Oscar smiled, pained. Everyone up until now had been walking on eggshells regarding team RWBY, hushing down when they mentioned them, fearing guilt and sadness. But Emerald, who in her pragmatism did what had to be done, and said what needed to be said, did not care too much about being gentle with expectations.

It was weird. A month had passed since the exodus from Mantle and Atlas, and the remaining members of team JNPR were crestfallen, yet tried to ignore the growing negativity stemming in their hearts. They treated Oscar with care, trying to ignore the four missing links in their lives.

Surprisingly, Emerald and Penny were the only ones keeping hope.

Penny was hopeful and reverent. She had been made of alloy, bolts and dolts. But now she wore shoes, sand was annoying, and she could taste food. Anything was possible in this wide world of theirs.

For Emerald, it was more about seeing impossible feats of ancient wonder, something in her ears whispering that there were more incredible feats of magic to be revealed in her time alive. She felt that third chances in life were rare, and thus, grasped at its stray hairs strongly.

So they stuck by Oscar as the task of repatriation began at dawn and ended at dusk.

It had been a grueling month at Vacuo, nobody was happy to have the Atlesians in their land. The citizens of Mantle fared better, they had been humbled when they huddled close together back at the crater in the Motherland. But the Atlas elite? They could not wait for Mistrali ships to come in hoards to get them to colder ground. They revolted, nothing was up to their elevated standards.

But Theodore was nothing but pragmatic, as all Vacuans were, and a night off in the deserts shut the bunch of them up. The ones who made it back that is.

“Alright, I’ll stuff my face with honeyed bread rolls and spiced tea if it makes you happy.” Conceded Oscar after he tied up his boots and threw on the airy cotton cape on his shoulders. He had decided on a lighter fabric for his stay in Vacuo, the gauzy green tunic emboldened with red and white trimmings, and his loose cotton pants were good enough for the mighty sun that beat on the roofs of the deserts.

Emerald smiled despite herself. She and Penny had taken on the big sister role whenever Nora wasn’t there to mother Oscar to hell and back. It had taken some time to get used to, but for anyone that was not privy to the Fall of Beacon, Emerald was just Oscar’s older sister, who emerged at the Fall of Atlas.

Over the course of the weeks she proved herself, as a true Vacuan, and as a true ally.

“C´mon then. There’s a bunch of convoy ships from Argus and Vale willing to take in some snooty idiots in exchange of supplies. Don’t make Nora wait for you more, she’s missed on her hugging quota for the morning.” With a pat on his head, Emerald walked Oscar to the door, and off they were.

The day blurred by Oscar’s eyes, now and again stifling an inconvenient yawn, but nevertheless, persisted during the course of his workday.

Every day there were less Atlesians to send off, and less Mantle citizens who wanted to leave. Like May tended to say, Mantle knows how to show their teeth.

The migratory system they had built recorded every single citizen that wanted to leave or stay under Theodore’s watchful eye. The controls were harsh since there was no way to know if Neopolitan had blended into the crowd at all. Given that Emerald told Theodore and every staff member in Shade that they were to expect Tyrian and Mercury sooner rather than later, security had been the top priority these days.

In between tending to the wounded and sick, delivering supply packets to the tents of refugees, and breaking up fights, Oscar was beat by dusk.

By that time, Theodore insisted Oscar to keep their sparring sessions until he felt that Oscar moved and fought with more fluidity than the day before.

“Squirt,” Theodore would say, “I know Oz has taught you some things, but he was a dandy and thought that battle was graceful matter.” The rippled headmaster would flex and show him how merciless battle was.

Under the strongman’s tutelage, Oscar’s body ached and grew. With Ozpin’s mentoring in his head, his magic grew and he felt something inside of his soul bubble to the surface.

But at the end of the day, when Jaune was sitting right by his side, and Nora was babbling a ten miles per second into his hearing canal, he felt his shoulders drop their tension. He shot a thankful glance at Ren, who was casually conversing with Emerald, but still kept an eye on the youngest of their group. Penny and Nora, two ginger parakeets with insurmountable force and joy lulled his thoughts, until he sagged forward and faceplanted in his tomato soup.

The resounding splash alerted Jaune who quickly pulled Oscar’s face from the cold soup by grabbing him by the collar of his tunic. Oscar’s lack of reaction, and his fluttering eyelids greeted the blond huntsman, flooding him with worry.

The chatter died.

Nora leaned the boy to her side and grabbed his tanned cheeks, wet with stock, and panicked at his quivering eyelids.

Semi-conscious as he were, Oscar saw the motions at the table like photographs forming a standstill gallery inside his mind, the sounds dull and his feeling numb.

Nora and Emerald crowding over him, worried expressions marring his face.

Penny and her cold hands framing his cheeks, her confused expression.

Jaune’s golden aura around his vision as it tunneled.

Lastly, Theodore’s frown before he closed his eyes and tumbled into sleep.

__________________________________________

Ruby tumbled out of bed confused.

Her heartbeat alert and scared, her eyes darted to the four walls surrounding her. Sweet and spices reached her nose, the colourful walls held handmade tapestries and idyllic paintings. The rug that had cushioned her fall was fluffy, and the blanket tangling in her legs felt like a familiar hug.

“Where am I?”

Ruby struggled to stand up, and once she did, she gasped at herself.

In front of her, a mirror held her image. But it was all wrong. She wore a frilly white dress, with white stockings, red lace and ribbons, and her hair was tied in two tiny pigtails. She looked adorable.

And she hated it.

“Where’s-“ she looked at the nearest wardrove, and opened its doors as fast as she could. Rifling through the cutesy dresses, she was taken aback by a familiar skirt.

Holding the black dress with the black combat skirt, she wondered how her Beacon outfit appeared in the room she was in.

She stopped dead on her tracks.

“I’m not in Atlas anymore, am I?”

Clutching the dress to her chest, she slid down to the carpeted floor. She felt a bubble of panic come over her as she remembered the last events of her life.

“Right, Neo struck Yang, and Yang… She fell. We fought Cinder. And she died. I think. Then we…jumped.”

Ruby looked her hands over, turning them this way and that, as if they were given to change at any moment now.

“And-“ Ruby wheezed, close to hyperventilation. She trembled as she remembered flashes of the fight against Cinder, how Blake evolved her Semblance and fought as three copies of herself, about Neo striking the wrong Blake, and being fallen by the original one. Cinder taunting how she used Jinn, revealing their plans. Penny fell to the golden plateau, and then in a fit of rage, silver.

No more Cinder. Probably.

Her heart running like a wild animal under her chest, she took deep breaths as she tried to calm down. She rubbed the black fabric between her thumb and pointer finger, the texture was light to the touch. In the bottom frill, she found her name embroidered by her own hand. It was supposed to be comforting, but it only fueled her confusion.

A few tears threatened to spill, but then several knocks on the door startled her.

“Darling! Breakfast is ready!” a familiar voice called out to her outside the door.

In a haze, Ruby stood up and let the dress fall from her hands. She marched to the door and opened it in a swift motion, scaring the poor woman in front of it.

“Little Red! What sort of behaviour is this!?” An old woman that looked and sounded like María Calavera chided her, hands on her hips as she glowered annoyed at the teen.

“María! It’s you!” Elated, Ruby swooped in to hug the woman, who patted her back confusedly.

“Oh dear, now you’re calling your grandma by her first name too! Did you hit your head when you woke up this morning? What’s wrong with you?” Not-María held Ruby at arms length, checking her head for any injuries.

“Huh?”

Not-quite-María tutted, before guiding Ruby by the hand to the kitchen area of the cottage they seemed to be in.

“Little Red, you seldom ever visit me, and now you’re calling me by my name! Your mother hasn’t been disciplining you as she should!”

More confused than ever, Ruby sat on the stool offered by Not-Really-María.

The old woman sighed before plopping a plate of sausages, beans with crema and tortillas in front of her.

“Repeat after me, Little Red: Abuela María. Ah..Boo-Eh-Lah. Abuela.” Ruby looked at Abuela María in mild shock.

“Abuela?”

The Abuela María nodded satisfied and patted her hand.

“Now, after we finish mending that cape of yours, please give this basket of goodies to your mother for me. Oh! And thank her for the nice fabrics she sent with you, will you?”

Still starstruck, Ruby stared at Abuela María, not yet understanding anything that was happening in front of her.

“My…mother?”

Abuela María nodded, quite exasperatedly at her not-quite-granddaughter. She flipped her gray-haired braid over her shoulder and began repairing the red cape as she mumbled about ‘youth these days’.

“Yes, dear. Summer Rose. My daughter, your mother.”

More confused than anything, Ruby brought her hand up and mercilessly slapped her cheek. Abuela María looked at Ruby curiously, halting her sewing for a moment before resuming.

“But-but!” Ruby stuttered, holding her stinging cheek under her palm. “We don’t look anything alike!”

“My dear!” began Abuela María. “Silver eyes run in our family! Look!”

Abuela María removed her thick rimmed glasses and pointed at her eyes.

But all Ruby could see was a puckered red bruise, swollen and hurt. It slashed from her right temple to her left, there was not much to be said about eyes, as there were none.

Feeling not quite in a dream, but more in a bizarre nightmare, she stood up, the wooden stool clattering behind her.

Abuela María, with her glasses still removed and acting normally, bit off the last thread on the eye of her needle and folded the red cape neatly, offering it to Ruby.

Smiling sweetly, but with her disturbing red scarring across her visage, she gifted Ruby a basket filled with fruits, cheeses and breads, and pushed her through the cabin’s threshold.

Ruby looked petrified at the old lady that looked like her mentor but was nothing like her.

“Take this basket to your mother, will you? Be careful of the Big Bad Wolf, don’t let it bite you!”

Laughing merrily, the old woman closed the door on Ruby, leaving her alone in the cabin’s porch.

Jarred and perturbed, Ruby walked away from the cabin thoughtlessly, and into the winding roads that crossed the forest.

Only once she reached a small ravine, did she sit on the forest floor and pushed to her face the cape that smelled like home, like Yang and Qrow and Weiss and Blake and everyone she knew, did she weep.

For the longest time she cried, but after a while she felt her tears dry up, her shoulders stopped their heaving, and her heart dulled to a somber beat.

Ruby wiped her tears with the cape and splashed her face with the cool water from the ravine. She looked at her reflection, and disliking the pigtails pulling the hair at her nape, she tugged at the elastics and ruffled her hair. She bunched the skirt in her fists.

Annoyed at her dress, she looked down to it expecting to see white ruffles on white lace, she was caught off guard when she found herself wearing a black version of the dress she had woken up into.

As much as she marveled at this feat of reality writing itself, she feared it.

Taking one last look at her reflection, and tugging on the hood on her cape, she trudged into the deep forest, following the map she was given and hoped for the best.

[im-totally-not-an-alien]

Final Fantasy 7 prompts no. 49

1. Jenova used to be a very large entity, capable of holding entire planets in the palm of her hand.

As the pieces of her flesh were stripped away by the battle with the Cetra and the continued torture at the hands of the science department, her being reformed time after time, until only a miniature, human sized replica attached to her heart remained.

With this being said, she looks at her children and sees how heartbreakingly tiny they are. She views them as little more then toddlers, incapable of making adult decisions or actions, and in dire need of her guidance as Mother.

2. Zack using his puppy dog eyes for the forces of evil...or at the very least, mischief

3. Sephiroth accepting time traveler Cloud as his little brother and trying to do brotherly things with him.

The mental image of Sephiroth with baseball glove staring pleadingly at Cloud is ripping my heart out

4. Zack and/or Cloud one day gain the ability to read minds. The problem is, they can't seem to turn it off. Its not loud or bothersome, but it is kinda freaky.

If they can both do it they start a private mental chat room to bug eachother/ talk.

5. Sephiroth has been able to subtly control/manipulate the thoughts and actions of the people around him since he was a child.

Until one day, he finds someone who his abilities don't work on.

6. Cloud has a secret stash of plushies.

No one can ever know.

7. Cloud is gardening in Aerith's church when he decides a flower needs to be moved. He gently pulled it up out of the ground, only to see a tiny pixie sized Zack tangled in the roots. He gives a cheery, "Hellooo~" only for Cloud to shove him back into the ground, doubting his sanity.

The affronted, "Hey!" made him reluctantly pull mini-Zack back out

8. Reincarnation AU where Zack, Sephiroth, and Cloud remember everything and assume the other two don't.

Both Zack and Sephiroth are secretly in love with Cloud. All three are friends.

They occasionally come across members of AVALANCHE who also remember, but keep quiet due to also thinking that no one else remembers.

Great for both crack and angst

9. Cloud gets thrown into a parallel world...and directly onto his archenemies lap.

The room goes silent, until, "Infinite in mystery is the gift of the goddess" breaks the silence of the room.

He doesn't even check to see who spoke before he bolted, granted, he didn't get far before leather clad hands had him pinned.

Long silver hair creeper into his vision and he wanted to tug on those strands out of spite.

10. "The world is so big. You should dream in pastels."

Cloud didn't know what the little girl meant, even after waking in this weird pastel dream world.

11. Jenova can sense when one of her children are ill, injured or dying. She weeps for each and every one.

12. Cloud accidentally refers to Sephiroth as "my master" in conversation and doesn't even realize it.

Thankfully Yazoo knows when to silence his siblings. He knows its a sign of mothers power over the renegade puppet is growing and to keep it a secret until the blond won't have the strength to fight her off.

13. Au where Zack, Aerith and Cloud are in a poly relationship. Cloud one of thousands of sons spawned by Jenova, one of The Great Old Ones. Aerith is a Cetra, a member of a benevolent and pacifistic fae like race that rarely show themselves.

Then there's Zack, a really really lucky human, who is dating both. He likes the looks he gets when they're out on dates when both of his loves are hanging off his arms.

He adores Clouds pouting and stories of his homeworld and the weird stuff going on there.

He adores Aerith plus her freaky nature powers and how she always seem to know just what to say.

What he does not adore, is that Clouds mom "made him better" and by that, he means she took away his humanity and made him, at least partially, a member of their species.

14. Zack walks in on Sephiroth and Cloud and apologized profusely before shutting the door.

When Angeal came up behind him and asked what they were doing, he panicked and yelled, "TAXES!!!!"

Cloud bust out laughing on the other side of the door. It became a running joke, (and codeword) in their friend group for years

15. Yuffie gets mad at Cloud and terrorized him with the barbie girl song, knowing he hated being referred to as "puppet" or anything doll related.

Alternatively, Sephiroth forces Cloud to sing "Barbie Girl" by aqua and humiliate himself to convince Sephiroth to spar his friends

[itmighthavebeenintentional]

Shadows and Pills - 2

Summary: Some people come away from the Battle of New York with scars and broken bones. Some come away with nightmares and years of therapy ahead of them. Some don’t come away at all. Alexa comes away with a shadow.

18+ ONLY, MINORS DO NOT PROCEED

Warnings: RAPE, Torture, Abuse, Self Harm, Negative Images of Psychological Services/Mental Health Professionals, Hallucinations, Stalking, Supernatural Horror, Prescription Drug Use and Eventual Abuse, Mental Illness, PTSD, Flashbacks of Violence, Flashbacks of Tragedy, Starving Oneself, Isolation, Physical and Mental Exhaustion, Denial, Self Neglect, Gaslighting, Mental Spiraling, Mental and Emotional Abuse

18+ ONLY, MINORS DO NOT PROCEED

Author’s Note: This is not a happy story in any sense, at any point. I could only write this at my lowest places, emotionally and mentally speaking, and I had a hard time coming back from it. This is dark, and it does not at any point get lighter. I relied heavily on my own experiences with mental struggles and took a few pieces here and there from my own experiences with mental health professionals. MY EXPERIENCES ARE MY OWN AND ARE NOT TYPICAL, NOT EVEN FOR ME. If you need mental help of any kind, please DO NOT HESITATE TO REACH OUT TO GET IT. This story was an exercise in mental exorcism, in a sense.

For all the Loki lovers out there, I do not shine him anything like a good or redeeming light here. He is evil incarnate, more or less. I love Loki, I love good Loki and redeemed Loki and misunderstood Loki and just about every incarnation thereof. I needed a villain, and he fit the story.

Above all, please be kind. This was one of the most difficult things I’ve ever written, and it took me years to work up the courage to post it.

A massive thank you to all my friends for support, especially to @glassjacket and @thoughtslikeaminefield . I say it a lot, but you need to know I love you.

18+ ONLY, MINORS DO NOT PROCEED

Word Count: 1 - 3785; 2 - 3513; 3 - 1068

In Case You Missed It: Part 1 ItMightHaveBeenIntentional’s Masterlist

...

Shadows and Pills

2

Morning Routine: Already woken up. Shut off alarm with a shriek of terror by heaving it across the room with enough force that it shatters against the wall. Breathing exercises for thirty minutes to lower accelerated heart rate. Shower until the hot water is long gone and hypothermia is close to setting in, but she still can’t get clean. The thick, mucus-like sensation won’t leave her skin, glue and ashes spread thick over her flesh in a foul assault to her tactile senses that leaves her dizzy and faint if she considers it for too long. Throw out every scrap of food in the apartment; just the sight of it makes her gag and retch. Choke down the meds (the only thing she can stomach, at this point). Throw on clothes she’s mostly sure are on the correct end of her body. Grab her keys, and…

Where…

She always puts her keys in the same spot. Dish on the tiny table by the door. That’s her key dish. She knows she put them there. They are always there. She can remember putting them there; it’s one of the precious few things she knows she can do right these days.

So…

Why aren’t they there?

Thirty minutes turning the entire apartment upside down looking for the keys, ignoring the shadow that follows her from room to room, skittering to a far wall whenever the shadow runs too near, pretending that she is still alone, searching, searching, where the hell are they, I always put them in the dish, I know I dropped them in there, I can hear the clink from when I put them away yesterday where could they possibly have got to it’s not like THEY’D WANDER OFF BY THEMSELVES WHERE ARE MY GODDAMNED KEYS-

A searing, ripping pain tears her from her spiraling thoughts and back to the present where her hands are clenched in her hair, her nails dug into her scalp, and something slick and hot slides between her fingers. She releases her clenched fists, but her fingers come away smeared with blood and clumps of hair, and her shoulders begin to tremble, her mouth quivering and eyes stinging with unshed tears.

“I just...need my keys. I need to breathe. I need my keys. I need-”

<clink>

Her head whips toward the sound, and there they are. In their dish. In the same dish she knows she left them in last night. Where they absolutely were not sitting seconds ago.

“But. I didn’t. They-“

No.

She snatches her keys and flees, followed closely by her personal nightmare.

...

The silence stretches out longer than even Alexa is comfortable with. The constant scratching of the doctor’s pen has quieted, and still Alexa sits, unnerved but unwilling to speak without direction. Answering questions is fine, but if she speaks on her own, she’ll start babbling. And there are a few things she needs to not say.

Like how she’s averaging about an hour of sleep a night, according to her clock. The nightmares start every time she falls asleep. She remembers less and less about any of them, to the point where the only way she knows she was even asleep is the inevitable rip back to consciousness.

And she’s not just missing parts of her dreams. Her days are beginning to blur, individual moments bleeding into others until she’s lost whole chunks of time, hours that are a smear in her memory with no real details. The loss, both of her days and nights, shakes her more than the lack of sleep. What else is she losing, along with her memory?

She can’t tell him why she’s wearing a hat or how she has to set reminders on her phone to stop tearing at her hair, how she has to clean her scalp and hold pressure at least once a day to stop the bleeding and try to repair the damage done by digging nails and ripped follicles.

She can’t tell him about how she can’t look in mirrors anymore. Two days ago, she was brushing her hair out into a ponytail with the intention of wrapping it into a skull-aching bun that might help hold everything inside her head and maybe possibly help her keep her fingers out of her hair, and then suddenly the eyes looking back out at her weren’t her own. Brown bled into ice blue then green in a flash; a wicked, cruel smile curved her lips, and she could feel herself smile, but she wasn’t smiling, and-

So, no, she shouldn’t lead the conversation today. Today Alexa needs a little guidance.

She feels the doctor’s gaze, but there’s less scrutiny than usual. His eyes feel a little more sympathetic than she’s used to, but she still won’t look up. He’s good at getting her to talk, and she needs every ounce of self-control just to keep herself held together and not exploding across his polished, pristine desk.

“Alexa, you don’t look like you’re...How have y-”

She must look pretty wretched if even the doctor is at a loss for words. She wouldn’t know. She has actively avoided all reflective surfaces for two days and has no idea of the state of her appearance. She can’ remember the last time she ate. What’s left of her hair is tucked under a knit cap; she’s cold all the time now, anyway, so the cap is a constant accessory. And it helps keep her hands out of her hair. If her looks are anything as bad as the state of her thoughts-

“I’m sorry it’s so bad for you right now.”

The statement is quiet, sincere, and wholly unexpected. Alexa almost drops her guards, almost meets his eyes. Her hands quake with the effort of maintaining her silence, clutching the edges of her chair with aching, creaking fingers. Her control is as brittle as her nerves; she wants to share, wants to not be alone with the shadow that’s her only company these days, but if the doctor knew…

“Are you sleeping anymore at all?”

She nods once, a sharp, staccato gesture that leaves out more than it says. It’s not a lie. One hour, however broken up in however many fragments, is still one hour, and sleep is still sleep.

“Are you following your medication schedule?”

Another single dip of her chin. She gives herself a little credit for not leaving anything out of this answer. She’s even remembering to follow the dosage increases. Maybe even a couple of increases of her own. Anything to numb, to shut out, to keep...it...away.

“Alexa, are you still with me?”

God, she wishes...everything feels muffled and thick, like her existence is coated in petroleum jelly. She's just so tired, and everything is so heavy and...and difficult…

“I can’t help you if you won’t communicate with me. Help me help you. Anything. Just the basic facts.”

Where to even start? Maybe getting locked up would be worth it if he really can help, can really make this...stop…

“I can ease your pain and get you on your feet again.”

She’s pretty sure nothing can help at this point, so really there’s no need to keep anything back. Being hospitalized can’t be any worse than living like this…

“Relax. Can you show Me where it hurts?”

No.

...no...not here, not…

“Your lips are moving, but I can’t hear what you’re saying. Is there something you wish to confess? The good doctor can’t reach you now, but I am ready to receive your prayers. Speak, Alexa. Tell Me everything.”

Get out, get OUT, I have to go, I can’t, you can’t this isn’t - GET OUT!

“ALEXA! Wake up! You’re safe! Come back!”

Fingers, firm in their grip, but warm and clean and so very present, clench around her hand, pulling her out of her mind and back to the office. The rushing noise in her ears fades until she realizes it is the heaving of her own panicked breaths. She clenches her fingers, catching the doctor’s hand before he can pull away.

She hasn’t touched another person since she left the hospital.

“Please...I just need...a minute.”

He sits in the chair closest to her, holding her hand resolutely, despite any personal protocols to the contrary that he has demonstrated in previous sessions.

“As long as you need.” There is no eagerness, no exasperation, only concern and calm, and it soothes her raw nerves in a way nothing else has. She focuses on the warmth, the sheer thereness of his grip, and breathes, squinting her eyes against the afternoon sun filtering through the blinds.

Too bright, too warm, too…

The fingers in her palm chill suddenly, their embrace tightening painfully. Her hand feels slick, not with sweat, and her teeth begin to chatter. Her eyes squeeze shut as her stomach shatters, and a pitiful mewling escapes her lungs.

“Take all the time you need. I possess the patience of millenia.”

Breathe. Breathe slowly, you’re asleep. You’re exhausted, you just fell asleep. Wake yourself up. You can do this. Just...just breathe and wake up.

And then her hand is free of all contact, and the air in her lungs comes easily. The warmth of the filtered sun returns to her frozen limbs, not overly bright in the least.

“I think our session was particularly productive today.”

The therapist's voice comes from farther away, and she opens her eyes to find him back at his desk, pen in hand, legal pad full of fresh notes. She blinks, swallows, and sits up a little straighter.

“You seem to be making excellent progress with your strategies. Go ahead and up your dosage to the next step. Remember, I’ll be out of town on Thursday and Monday, so I’ll see you again in ten days. You have the emergency number if anything goes wrong?”

She nods numbly, unable to process anything beyond the basic requirements of behavior needed at the moment. He eyes her, his forehead wrinkling in sudden concern.

“Don’t hesitate to call that number at any hour,” he finally says, his fingers steepled to show just how serious, how sincere, he is. “Anything at all, whatever you need to talk about, call that number. The nurse will transfer you immediately if it’s an emergency. Will you call if you need to?”

She nods, a little more vaguely than she intends but her throat is paralyzed, her tongue nerveless and useless. He accepts the gesture at face value, though, and dismisses her with wishes for “continued progress and a good weekend.”

…

Afternoon routine: Stay out as late as possible, put off the inevitable. Stay out all goddamned night if she has to. There’s no point in voluntarily returning home; she knows this with a sense of dread as acute and sharp as the pain in her scalp. So she shuffles on, unseeing and unseen in the city that never sleeps, one of a numberless mass who denies reality for the sanity that fantasy provides, pretending that she isn’t being stalked, that she isn’t haunted by a continuous loop of ghosts and flashbacks of the dead from that day reminding her over and over that she survived while they didn’t, that she must remember them, that she isn't losing her mind, that the shadow isn’t constantly whispering to her, commanding her over and over and over to simply let go.

She pretends that she isn’t blacking out and waking to find herself in bed, night after night, in the midst of torment and debasement that her ragged mind can neither handle nor shut out. The shadow rips at her in a thousand ways, and she feels all of them, every shred of her consciousness pulled apart and examined and manipulated until she can’t remember who she was before this fundamental desecration.

Release yourself. I can break you completely, help you forget the pain and the misery. Let Me shatter you, remake you in My Glory. Only then can you truly be free from pain.

She fights. It’s all she has left, this battle of wills, and she clings to the tattered bits of her remaining self with a tenacity that impresses even the shadow.

How you shine, even in My darkness. Let me turn your burn to an icy one, let Me freeze your pain, let go and drift in My adoration. I shall raise you up; only grant Me entrance, give Me leave, and I will bless you, bring meaning and solace to your piteous existence.

God help her, she’s starting to slip. She just wants everything to end. No one will miss her, no one is depending on her. The only noise her phone has made in weeks are the reminders that she has set. She hasn’t sent in an assignment for nearly a month, and no one has so much as emailed. What is she holding on for, anyway?

You have fought so long and so hard. I can reward your valor, provide you a balm for your suffering. I will keep you safe from pain, from truth, from choice, from other poison devils. I can take the very memories from you, just as I did before, save you from yourself.

What?

And then her mind is flooded with a scene, a memory of the attack, but she sees it from outside herself, as if watching a film with herself as protagonist. She flees as debris falls all around, narrowly missing pipes, concrete, and office furniture as it rains down mindlessly, destroying life after life. By the time she reaches the ground floor of the stairwell, everyone is packed tight and covered with blood, dust, unspeakable filth, and the wretched crowd bursts into the lobby in a blind panic. They reach the street in the same state and turn as one to flee in the direction of least resistance.

Alone in the crowd, Alexa is jerked to a halt, nearly losing her feet as bodies plow around and nearly through her, but she is frozen as if glued to the pavement. There is no safety anywhere. A battle rages around them, monsters everywhere, incomprehensible and terrible, and then the glass lobby doors behind them explode, and Alexa knows the brief but exhilarating sensation of flight.

And then she crashes, and she knows the timeless and terrible sensation of fire. And pain. And crushing weight.

Watching the scene passively, she remembers everything, she feels everything even as her other self does, but now she is also an outside witness to the anguish. She knows the lines of suffering etched on her face and knows that she wears them even now. She feels the words echoing through her mind from that day, a thought, a plea, a silent prayer to someone, anyone who can help, can end her suffering.

How long...minutes...hours...years...just help, please…please, I don't care how anymore, just...end it.

And then a figure drops from the heavens, it seems, falling from one of the monsters’ flying vehicles, and it crosses the street and sidewalk as if drawn straight to her by the waning strength of her silent screams.

An impossibly cold hand grasps hers, pulling her up from the rubble, sliding her from underneath the bits of building as if they aren't present and pressing the life from her, bringing her face to face with darkness. The sun dissolves, shadows descend, and she decides that, as deaths go, hers could be worse.

She is lifted as if she weighs nothing, the fingers pressing into her face. A bitter, gelid frost flows through her veins, and the pain is mercifully dulled, lessened to a mere phantom, and then the god (for surely her savior can be no less to have such power at hand) pulls her into an icy, terrible embrace.

I find Myself in need of a conduit. Grant Me some small space of sanctuary, and in return I shall heal your broken body. Allow Me entrance, now, woman, before you depart this plane entirely. I am your God, your only chance of salvation. Do you accept Me?

His voice is black velvet, midnight shadows slipping across the moon, and she can’t find the will to say no. Giving in is so much easier, hurts so much less, and she feels as if she’s been hurting forever, spent her whole life being crushed to death.

“Yes.”

His lips press to her, but there is nothing tender in the kiss. Ice, death, absence rushes into her, infecting a small fraction of every cell, sinking deep into her psyche before erasing all remembrance of its presence.

Alexa thrashes under the weight of the memories, the weight of the phantom debris crushing her down, only to find the man, the god himself lies atop her, pinning her emaciated form to her ruined sheets. His pale skin glows in the night, his ebony hair falling around their faces in an blasphemous mimicry of a halo. His painful beauty rips one last thing loose within her, and she remembers.

I would that you should allow Me leave to heal you once more, to form you into a proper vessel. I shall alleviate your anguish, and you may sink into My worship with euphoric, blissful abandon.

She is tempted, more so than any other time in her existence. She thought her imprisonment under the shattered building was horrible, but now she knows true torment. And yet, she resists.

Why do you continue to battle? You cannot prevail, and submission will bring you such pleasure as you have never known. Am I not your own personal God to worship? Do you not wish to drown in My blessing, to submerge yourself in My oblivion?

But he is the author of her suffering, as well, this would-be god who attacked her city, killed thousands of people for his ambitions and family squabbles. Who is she to tarnish the world’s grief for her own personal relief?

But he knows what is in her heart and her thoughts; it was there he planted the seed that has grown to strangle her sanity and reality, and he sends pressure through the roots of this vine to dig into her very soul. She shivers beneath him with wordless agony.

His face presses against hers, tongue snaking out to trace a tear track up her cheek, back to its source. Frozen lips ghost over her clenched eyelids, and she swallows the miserable moan that rolls up from her stomach.

I saved you once when I could so easily have allowed you to continue your half-life under the rubble until your flame sputtered and died, as it was meant to. And I shall show Myself once more a merciful, benevolent God. For you, My pet, a gift.

And suddenly there is a space in Alexa’s mind, a blank where something, someone, important once lived, someone vital stripped away. She gets a last glimpse of a smiling woman, proudly showing off a photo of a swaddled infant, of a filing cabinet collapsing, of a curling hand, before Brenda is ripped from her mind like so many strands of hair from her scalp. The pain of Brenda’s death, the horror of her last moments, yes, but also every bit of the love between them.

And then the name is gone, too.

Have I pleased you? Do you see now what relief can be had with submission?

“That...wasn’t...she wasn't yours to take-” But even the memory of the violation is fading, leaving only breathless, panicked horror and dull, aching want in its wake.

The shadowed god frowns, displeasure pressed into every line of his face, and his fingers tighten until the bones in Alexa’s wrists shriek in protest.

Must I nail Myself to a cross or rip out My eye to be worthy of your reverence? I grant you one more gift, then, of choice. One day to consider. Embrace My oblivion freely, willingly, joyously, as you know you should, and feel My pleasure. Or suffer in your belief that this pale, pointless realm offers you anything like what I can give. This shall be My last offering. Submission is sweetest when freely given, but so, too, can I revel in seizing what you so stubbornly withhold.

His lips seal over hers, stealing air and screams alike, and she feels him everywhere at once, emphasizing his threat, his promise. Her traitorous flesh, craving any tourniquet to stem the endless flow of pain, cleaves to his frozen form, curving against his body in a mockery of love making that leaves her stomach heaving.

And then he is gone. His presence, his pressure, his shadow, even his laugh lingers, but his form vanishes with her next thought. She falls from the bed, a perspiring, retching, wailing mess. There is nothing left within her to eject, but her digestive tract makes a resounding effort.

It’s hours until the sun comes up, and she counts every second from where she shivers, wedged tight between the bed and the nightstand. ...

3 (end)

[jesterwife]

lucky (buddy pine/zinnia flynn)

Things were fuzzy when Zinnia first opened her eyes. She couldn’t hear the commotion of the supervillain attack anymore, only soft keyboard clicks. Hadn’t she just been with Mr. Incredible and Elastigirl? They were fighting Syndrome again, she swore she remembered having her camera out. Had it just been a vivid dream? Before she had time to wonder about anything else, a voice rang out in the room.

“Good morning, Flynn!” Lazily moving her head to the right, Zinnia watched Syndrome levitate himself into the room. Landing directly in front of her, he chuckled cruelly. “Enjoy your nap?”

“Nap...?” Zinnia trailed off. Had she fallen asleep? Slowly gaining more awareness of her surroundings, she frantically looked around the room. Mr. Incredible and Elastigirl were nowhere to be found. Even more concerning was the fact that her arms were stuck behind her back—two large, heavy metal balls covered her hands and prevented any movement. Realizing just how dangerous her situation was, she began struggling against the restraints, her breaths becoming rapid and shallow. “Where did you take me? How long have I been out?!” She cried, trying and failing to yank her hands free. 

“We’re in a warehouse at the edge of town. It’s been abandoned for a while, so I use it as a tiny spare base. As for how long you’ve been out, not even an hour. I’d say the supers are probably on their way right now, as a matter of fact.” He smirked.

Zinnia’s shoulders drooped, releasing tension she didn’t realize she’d been holding.

“Don’t let that lull you into a sense of security.” Syndrome sneered. “You and your little escapades have been quite the pain in my ass lately, and that ends right here, right now.”

“...You’re going to kill me?” She squeaked out, her moment of relief quickly morphing back into genuine fear.

“Yeesh, no, relax.” He laughed. “I’m not gonna kill you unless you say something that gives me a reason to. How’s that sound?”

Zinnia swallowed hard, glancing down to avoid any eye contact with Syndrome. She took a deep breath in an effort to conceal her nerves. “I-I don’t think there’s any reason.” She paused, mentally cursing herself for stuttering. “To kill me, I mean.” 

Syndrome’s eyes narrowed. “I can think of a potential one. You’ve spent an awful lot of time around the Incredibles lately! All the battles I’ve had with them recently, you’ve been there—snapping pictures, taking notes, running around the scene, talking to them in private—who are you?” He demanded. “Some kind of personal assistant? A super in training? Someone Mr. Incredible took under his wing?” He pressed.

Zinnia stared back at him, incredulous. “Literally none of those things. I’m just a journalist, I don’t work with them at all. God, you’re pretty paranoid, aren’t you?” she quipped, letting out a bewildered laugh. 

He scowled back at her. “Best to not push your luck with those kinds of comments, Flynn.” He spat. “Besides, why waste your time following them around? The last thing Mr. Incompetent needs is his ego being stroked.” 

For a second, Zinnia wondered why he had specifically been mentioning Mr. Incredible as opposed to the rest of the family, but decided it’d be safer not to question it. “I guess part of me agrees, at this point. I’ve been trying to do a story on his family for a while now, but he and Elastigirl always say they don’t trust the paper to paint them in a good enough light. Because of...something that happened before the ban, I think? I don’t know.”

“See, that’s the thing with supers,” Syndrome began. “It’s always about how they appear to people, haven’t you noticed that? All that matters is that squeaky-clean public image.”

“I guess.” Zinnia replied. “So I try to do my own research instead, and they don’t like that either. They’re constantly getting on my ass for ‘putting myself in harm’s way.’ But, it’s like—I’m an adult, y’know? Trying to get a good view of the fight for my article isn’t gonna kill me.” She snickered. “Unless something like this happens, of course.”

“I already said I wasn’t gonna kill you, Flynn. You sound almost paranoid.” Syndrome grinned.

“You didn’t say that, but okay.”

“Anyway,” He continued. “They think they know what’s best for everyone who isn’t born ‘special.’ Any contribution to their work isn’t necessary if you don’t have powers of your own. I mean, seriously, I invented my first pair of rocket boots when I was ten and Mr. Inconsiderable still thought he was too good for me!” 

His words clicked in Zinnia’s brain. Mr. Incredible was—or at least, used to be—important to Syndrome for sure. Feeling that she was in a secure enough position, she decided to ask about it this time. “Wait, what do you mean?”

“Well,” He began. “When I was a kid, I actually wanted to be Mr. Incredible’s sidekick.” Zinnia blinked in surprise at him. “I know, right? Anyway, I had all these inventions, gadgets that he could’ve put to good use fighting crime, but he didn’t want anything to do with them. Didn’t want anything to do with me. So he tossed me aside and treated me like I was less than, just because I didn’t have powers. And, you know, you don’t need powers to be powerful! I mean, I’m living proof of that!” He exclaimed. “The only reason Mr. Insufferable gives me the time of day now is because I’m a threat to him. So I guess it’ll just have to stay that way! Better to be feared than not noticed at all, right?!” Storming away from Zinnia, he pinched the bridge of his nose and inhaled sharply, trying to calm down. 

“You okay over there?” Came Zinnia’s timid voice. 

Syndrome turned back to her, visibly confused. “Why am I even telling you this?” 

Zinnia shrugged in response. “Kinda seems like you needed to tell someone. I don’t mind, though.”

“Whatever, Flynn.” He huffed back at her.

“You don’t have to keep calling me ‘Flynn.’ It sounds awkward.”

“Don’t care.”

“Alrighty, then.” Zinnia sighed. “Well, for what it’s worth, I was serious. I don’t mind listening if it means you’re not gonna do something horrible to me.”

“Put any of what I told you in your article and I will actually kill you, though.” Syndrome threatened.

“I wasn’t planning to.”

At this point, Syndrome struggled to remember what he wanted to do with Zinnia in the first place. She wasn’t a threat to him—or at least she said she wasn’t. What if she was lying? If she was that obsessed with chasing after the Incredibles for some article, she must’ve been lying, she must’ve been on their side, and now she was probably going to use all the information she’d gotten from him for her own benefit. As soon as he felt his temper flaring up, though, her remark rang out in his head. “God, you’re pretty paranoid, aren’t you?” He sighed deeply, in disbelief about what he was going to do.

“Listen,” Syndrome began. “I don’t—do this, so consider yourself lucky, alright? I’ve decided that hurting you...wouldn’t be worth the time or energy it would take.” He lied. “So I’m letting you go. I’ll disconnect the restraints and you can walk right out the door. No strings attached. Consider it a treat from me, m’kay?”

Zinnia’s brow furrowed. “What are you playing at?”

“Nothing. Honest.” Syndrome held his hands up. “I’m just gonna collect my things and make an escape out the back. Even if you have time to tell the supers, I’ll be far away from here.” 

“You sure you don’t need a helping hand?” She joked.

“What, you’ve got a dark streak now, sweetheart?”

“Sweetheart?”

“Well, you didn’t like ‘Flynn’ very much.”

“It’s Zinnia. You could’ve asked for my name at any point.”

“In that case, yes, Zinnia, I’m sure I don’t need your help. You’d better get outta here before I change my mind about letting you off.” He turned on his heel and sauntered out of the room, a smile creeping onto his face as he left. 

After a few beeps and a click, Zinnia’s restraints clunked to the ground.

[alolowrites]

Cuddling Through the Seasons

Summary: Fatgum’s cuddles never go out of season

Author’s Note: This is my third story for the @bnhabookclub​’s Hero Camp Bingo event. This was also a request from @bnha-homeroom​ (sorry it took so long!) 

The prompt used was Cuddles and this is my first story for Fatgum. Hopefully I’ll do more stories for this guy because he’s deserves the best. 

Enjoy!

Word Count: 1.6K+

Spring

High in the sky rests the glorious bright sun. It’s golden rays shine through the vibrant pink flowers blooming on every tree, emphasizing their natural beauty. Two birds playfully chase each other in between the branches, their lovely chirps in harmony with the soothing sounds of the gentle stream below—Mother Nature is simply a lady with many hidden talents.

Although the grass maintains a healthy green coat, it too is covered by fresh cherry blossom petals blown off the trees—it adds a beautiful pop to the land. Few people arrive and wander through the peaceful park. Some snap a couple of pictures on their phones, their bodies bent in odd angles to capture that perfect Instagram-worthy shot. Others silently take in the whole scenery with their eyes and save the mental image deep in their memory jar—that’s how you are enjoying today with Taishiro.

Both of you sit under a tree that is different from the others; it’s branches are abundant, and some hang charmingly over the water. A quick wind blows through the park, tugging the delicate petals until one slowly falls to the stream. Everything is serene, almost like an abstract landscape painting on display at an art museum.

Closing your eyes, you sink in deeper into Taishiro’s plump chest. A relaxed sigh escapes his lips as you enjoy your massive pillow. His large arms wrap around you like a snuggly safety belt—they are protective and warm. Your fingers affectionately glide up and down his sweater to the beat of the stream. You hum, “Everything is so beautiful.”

Taishiro leans back on the thick tree trunk and glances at you; he cheekily grins, “That’s ‘cause you’re here, darlin’. The cherry blossoms are a nice touch, though.”

You roll your eyes, “You’re such a cheesy guy, you know that?”

“Yeah, but that’s what you love ‘bout me.”

“That is very true,” you playfully tap his arm, smirking up at him. Another cherry blossom falls and lands on top of your head. Taishiro raises on hand to carefully pluck it off your hair and holds it high against the sunlight. The flower is so soft and just the right shade of pink. He thinks it’s perfect, just like you.

Taishiro shows the sakura petal to you, “Here’s a little present.”

Your heart swells, a tiny blush dusting your cheeks as you reach for the flower. You take a whiff of the sweet aroma and lean back against your living pillow. Squeezing the hero’s hand, you look up to flash him a faint smile, “Thank you.”

You never let go of the cherry blossom petal.

༛༛ ༛ ༛༺༻༛ ༛ ༛༛

Summer

Far in the distance lies the vast calm sea. Ocean waves creep steadily toward the fine white sand, kissing the land hello before returning outward. Light puffy clouds float along the peaceful cerulean sky, morphing into different images at the hands of your wild imagination. It’s a fun way to pass the time and relax the mind.

You inhale the fresh, natural air—it smells like freedom. The city’s chaotic and bustling streets are an afterthought. The prying eyes of paparazzi and other media hounds are thousands of miles away from your paradise home. The avalanche stress tied with Taishiro’s hero lifestyle vanishes when the two of you step on the warm sand.

“Whatcha’ thinkin’ about, darlin’?” His voice is loud but soothing at the same time. You feel the gigantic teddy bear stand behind you. It wasn’t long until Taishiro traps you into his loving embrace, giving you a quick squeeze. Your toes wiggle into the smooth sand as a sharp wind whistles by; the waves hear it and crash against the shoreline.

“How a place like this,” you nod toward the dancing water, “somehow exists. It’s almost as if I’m dreaming—” You yelp at the slight pinch, and Taishiro roars with laughter. You crane your neck up to glare at him, “What was that for?”

“Well you’re not dreamin’, that’s for sure.” You elbow into his stomach knowing entirely well it did not phase him at all. Taishiro retaliates by hugging you harder, enjoying the delightful squeals ringing into the semi-deserted beach. Other tourists linger around, but the land is so spacious that you barely see them. It’s easy to think you two are alone with all the privacy in the world, an idea that doesn’t exist back at home—a small price to pay while being a pro hero.

In a way, Taishiro is glad this moment is not a dream. It won’t fade away once he wakes up, but will stay in his memory for a long time. Just as you calm down, a mischievous grin crosses the hero’s lips, and his grip tightens around your waist. You had a bad feeling about this and clenched his hands, “Hey…what are you doing—”

“Hold on!”

“Don’t you dare!”

Your words fall on deaf ears as he effortlessly carries you in his arms and charges toward the sea that is waiting to greet you both.

༛༛ ༛ ༛༺༻༛ ༛ ༛༛

Autumn

Bright yellow lanterns glow above the narrow streets, gently swaying back and forth without a care in the world. Luscious pampas grass decorate the roofs, the creamy-white feathery plumes waving hello to everyone passing through the area. A chubby hand reaches upward; the baby is determined to grab the mesmerizing fluffy grass until something else catches their eye.

An elegant pyramid of tsukimi dango neatly sits on a black plate. There are fifteen white dumplings, each perfectly round and white as the precious moon gleaming tonight. A crowd grows around the delicious display, making it nearly impossible to squeeze through the sardine bodies. Fortunately, the group departs when they see Fatgum approaching with his hearty smile, and you follow closely behind—sometimes being a hero has its perks.

Taishiro greets everyone until a middle-aged man freaks out from his stall, “It’s an honor to meet you, Fatgum! Thank you for keeping our streets safe!”

“It’s no problem really—”

“Please take these dumplings! They’re on the house!”

Taishiro gives you a side-glance, and you shrug. Who were you to deny some free food, especially if they are those moon-like dumplings? You grab the plate from the man’s trembling hands and bow. The hero safely guides you away from the crowd and spots an empty grass field. Plopping down, you dramatically groan, “That was so much walking!”

“Sorry, darlin’! Guess I got a lil carried away,” he chuckles while scratching his forehead. Taishiro takes a seat behind you.  

“I think that’s an understatement, but,” you gleefully raise the plate that barely reached his eyes, “we got free dumplings!”

“They do look good,” Taishiro hums and takes one round treat. You plop the tsukimi dango in your mouth, the rice flavor surprisingly strong, yet pleasing to your tastebuds—it’s a chewy delight. The pyramid crumbles in seconds, and you scoot back to rest your head against the gentle giant; out of instinct, he cradles you in his arms.

A chilly air blows by and makes you shiver despite wearing a cashmere sweater. Taishiro notices and shifts his posture to shield you from the cold—a small act that melts your heart every time. You gaze at the luminous moon until your eyes struggle to stay awake; it doesn’t help that Taishiro feels like all toasty like a fleece blanket.  

It definitely was all that walking, and you yawn before dozing off in his arms.

༛༛ ༛ ༛༺༻༛ ༛ ༛༛

Winter

Snow showers rain down on your quiet neighborhood. The bare tree branches scoff at the fluffy cotton balls falling from the sky; they barely weighed more than a feather. An hour later, the branches are slouching under the heavyweight and weeping for mercy—but the snow never stops.  

A thin white blanket hides the dull, gray streets and vibrant decorations flourish to their heart’s content. Tiny bells chime once Jack Frost blows a chilly wind down the sidewalks. Thick garlands covered in elegant ribbons stretch for miles on some apartment balconies. And others hung colorful Christmas lights that flicker to a very jolly tune.

In a way, the snow ties everything together to bring out the pleasant holiday mood—it’s simply magical. Two pairs of footsteps, one small like a mouse and the other the size of a giant, imprint themselves on the powdery sidewalk. You waddle toward the apartment with arms bundled around yourself; you’re craving for something warm. Any minute longer outside and your legs will permanently turn into icicles.

“O-open t-the do-or, p-please,” you chatter through your teeth while bouncing nonstop. Taishiro chuckles and you glare at him, making his grin widen more. You barge in once he unlocks the door and dust off the snow on your coat. Hasty footsteps rush to the kitchen so you could warm the teapot as quickly as possible.  

Taishiro shakes his head—you quickly get cold. He relaxes on the couch, not bothering to change out of his Santa costume; if anything, the clothes are comfortable and roomy. You wander into the living room and shiver up a storm. A gloved hand beckons for you, “Come over here, darlin’.”  

Shuffling toward the mellow hero, he pulls you on top of him. Without hesitation, his arm wraps around you to keep you steady. One ear sits above his chest, and you focus on the faint sound of his heartbeat. Not even the Santa costume could mask Taishiro’s alluring honeydew scent, which drives you crazy. You contently sigh, “You made so many kids smile today, hun.”

“I’m glad,” he answers while stroking your hair, “Those kids at the hospital deserve all the happiness in the world, ya’ know?”

“Yeah…” A finger lazily draws out imaginary lines along Taishiro’s red velvet coat. An involuntary shiver runs down his spine. Only your charming touches could make him react like this, and he savors them all. You raise your head and squirm closer to the hero’s face. With loving eyes, you whisper, “You make a fantastic Santa Claus.”

“Fantastic enough to get a kiss from Mrs. Claus?”

“Sure,” you giggle and pull down his fake white beard. As you plant a sweet kiss on his lips, you decide that you no longer needed that nice hot cup of tea.

Third prompt is crossed off. Which one will be next? Stay tune! Thank you for reading!

Previous prompt: Betrayal

Hero Camp Bingo Masterlist

[writer1]

A regretful Wolf and his Beauty

Chapter Seven

Beast!Rex x Fem!reader

Summary: As punishment for his actions, young prince Rex was cursed to become a monster by a witch. The only thing that saved him from his fate was an enchantress, who gave him a condition. He has to find true love in order to redeem himself and he only has until the last petal of the enchanted rose falls. Rex's family helps you by guiding your way into his heart. Rex's fate now lies in your hands.

A/N: This is a collaborative fic with @ahsokatano-thetogruta.

Warnings: Self hate, nightmares, panic attack, abandonment, mention of injury, guilt.

The sun blares through the window, reflecting off of Obi Wan's armour in just the right place to brighten up the small room. Cody lets out a quiet yawn and goes to stretch but he can't. He can't believe that he forgot that he was like this, remembering the curse and the events that happened the day before. He sighs, but then ever so slightly feels Obi Wan snuggle into him, pressing himself into Cody's table top as much as he possibly can.

Cody feels himself drift off back to sleep, but Obi Wan begins to stir. Cody chuckles with content "Good morning, Sweetheart."

Obi Wan stretches his armoured limbs out as he lets out a big yawn, his vision coming back to him as he sits up and looks down to see his boyfriend, still a desk, and then looks at himself still fully suited up in armour. "I...I thought it was all just a nightmare…" Obi Wan goes to rub his eyes, but then he hears his metal fingers scraping against his helmet, making him groan. 

Cody wants so badly just to cradle Obi Wan's face, feeling his slight stubble brush against his hand. "Oh, Obi Wan. Are you okay?" Obi Wan shakes his head. "No, I forgot about everything. I hoped it was all just a bad dream and I would wake up to see you...to see your face, and hold you while we cuddle." He sees Cody shuffle to him a bit closer.

"It'll be alright, Sweetheart. I'm right here for you. We'll get through this together. I promise." Obi Wan feels himself smile as he gets up and crouches down, wrapping his arms around Cody in a hug. "Thank you, Cyare. I'm lucky to have someone so wonderful like you in my life."

"I can say the exact same thing about you, Sweetheart." Cody leans into Obi Wan's embrace wishing he could hug him back, but this is the best that he can do while he's like this. A moment later, Obi Wan groans a little in discomfort.

“Are you okay, sweetheart?” Cody asks in a worried tone, Obi Wan stands up, stretching out his back. “Yeah, I’m just a little sore. Mostly in my back.” Cody realizes now that it probably wasn’t a good idea for Obi Wan to sleep on him.

“Maybe it would be better to sleep in the bed from now on, Obi Wan.” Obi Wan sighs, walking over and sitting on the bed. Cody shuffles over to stand in front of him. “I… I just don’t want to sleep without you, Cyare.” Cody sighs, shuffling closer to Obi Wan and pressing against him.

“I could sleep right beside the bed? Then you can place your hand on top of me and know that I’m there. Will that work, sweetheart?” Obi Wan nods, placing his hand on Cody’s scar.. “Yeah, that will work Cody. Thank you.” Cody would be smiling if he could, it makes him so happy that he could help his boyfriend. Obi Wan presses his face against Cody in a kiss, making the desk sigh with contentment. He loves being kissed by Obi Wan, even if it is different now.

“Do you think that anyone else is awake yet?” Obi Wan asks when he pulls away, and Cody hums. “Probably, hopefully the kids are still sleeping, they went to bed pretty late yesterday. And after the whole ordeal they deserve to sleep in, especially Rex.” Cody feels a spark of sadness at the thought of everything that Rex had gone through the day before, he really hopes that they can fix this, if not…

“Do you think that we can find a way to fix this, Obi Wan?” Cody asks, a tiny tremble of fear in his voice. Obi Wan sighs. “Truthfully Cody, I have no idea. Every curse I've ever read about had a condition or conditions set to end it, this one doesn’t.” Cody sighs, he was afraid of that answer. He hopes that they will find a way to end it. If not for their stakes then Rex's stake, Cody doesn’t know how being stuck as a werewolf might affect his Rex’ika mentally. Before him and Obi Wan can talk more, the door opens and both Kix and Jesse walk and float in. Kix’s face looks urgent. "Um, sorry to disturb you both." Kix looks sheepishly as Cody shuffles away from Obi Wan a little. "It's alright, Kix. What's up?"

"It's Rex, he had a nightmare. He didn't want us to come and get you because he said that he doesn't want to be any more of a burden on us than he already is." Kix feels bad that he went against Rex's wish, but he knows that he needs help right now, especially after having a nightmare.

Cody feels sadness and pain, hearing that his Rex'ika thinks that he's a burden to everyone. "Thank you for coming to me, Kix. I'll go and talk to him." He looks back at Obi Wan, who is now sitting up on the bed. "Would you like me to come with you, Cyare?" Cody nods, making Obi Wan get up and walk behind Cody who shuffles over to the door. Kix and Jesse lead the way to Rex's room as quickly as they can.

xxx

Kix stops just before the door, turning around to Cody and Obi Wan. "Rex was still sleeping when we left, so he might still be now." The both of them nod, being as quiet as they can as they push the door open to see Rex still asleep.

Rex looks so peaceful with the kids still sleeping in their same positions as they were the night before, but really inside he is hurting, being torn apart by the thought of what he has become. He whimpers a little and twitches ever so slightly. He was having another nightmare. 

Cody shuffles over to Rex, pressing his leg into Rex's arm, nudging him to try and wake him up. "Rex'ika?" Rex doesn't wake up and he moves his legs, as if he was trying to run away from something, or someone. Cody is finding it so difficult to keep nudging Rex, so Obi Wan goes over to help him out. "Rex? Rex, it's okay, Little one. You need to wake up." Obi wan shakes Rex's arm.

A moment later, Rex screams as he sits up quickly and his eyes snap open. His breathing is heavy as he struggles to get rid of the image in his mind. As Rex sits up, Fives, Kiara and Echo get thrown down. They all let out a startled yell as they fall onto Rex’s lap, after they get up and jump onto Cody, giving Rex some space. 

Rex’s scream also startled Anakin, his first thought was that Ventress had returned to hurt his friend. He jumps up, knocking Padmé off of his shoulder. She screams and keeps her eyes shut tight, too tired and shocked to remember that she can float. Her fall suddenly stops and she is left floating above the floor, she opens her eyes to see Obi Wan, arm outstretched, he had thankfully caught her using the force. 

Anakin feels so guilty “I am so sorry Padmé. Are you okay?” The little angel nods. “Yeah, I’m fine, Ani. Thanks Obi Wan.” 

“No thanks necessary, my dear.” Padme floats over to Anakin, nuzzling against him. Bly and Stutter are on the table beside Ahsoka, they had woken up as soon as Rex had screamed, and jumped onto the table. All three look at Rex, wondering what kind of nightmare he must have had. Rex sits on the bed, taking deep breaths.

His breathing becomes rapid and out of control, starting to hyperventilate. His mind floods with the visions from his nightmare, making him curl up and holding his head, trying to get rid of the horrible and terrifying thoughts plaguing his mind. His ears press back hard against his head. Everyone feels scared as they watch Rex break down, but Kix jumps straight into action. "Rex. Rex it's okay, just breathe for me, you're safe." Rex finds it difficult to concentrate as he sobs and his heart is beating out of control. Kix keeps his worry for his cousin under control. "Okay, could everyone except Jesse, Cody and Obi Wan please leave? There's too many people right now." Everyone nods at Kix as they leave, Anakin picks up Ahsoka as she is the only other one who finds it difficult to get around places. 

Once it is just the four of them and Rex, Kix begins to talk to Rex again. "It's alright, Rex. I need you to focus on your breathing, can you do that for me?" Rex finds it difficult to process what Kix is saying, but a small part of him begins to slow down his breathing. He's finding it difficult to breathe properly with all the sniffles and hiccups, making him lose focus for moments at a time. "Here, breathe with me. Take a deep breath in through your nose, holding it for five seconds…..and slowly out of your mouth. Like that, okay? Can you do that for me please?" Rex does as Kix says, inhaling a deep breath through his nose, holding it and then letting it out as gently as he can through his mouth, trying his best to hold back his sobs threatening to escape. Jesse, Cody and Obi Wan watch quietly. All they can do is hope that Rex will be okay. 

Rex's senses gradually come back to him as his heart rate slows down to a much steadier pace, doing as Kix had told him to. He feels shaky and weak as he tries to stand. "Rex, what are you doing? You need to stay sat down." Rex looks at Kix. "I-I'm fine."

"No you're not, you've just had a panic attack. You need to sit down and rest until your mind and body has recovered."

"I just…" Rex stumbles back down into the bed, letting out a sharp breath. "I just don't want to be a burden on anyone." The four of them frown as they see Rex begin to tear up again.

"You're not a burden Rex'ika, you never will be. We're here for you, no matter what." Cody wishes he could smile at Rex to comfort him some. Rex just looks down. 

"Would you like to talk about the nightmares?" Kix asks, trying not to pressure Rex into talking. 

Rex nods as he takes a shaky breath in and out. "Okay, so my dream last night, I was in the castle with everyone and Ventress was there. It was when we transformed, everything was the same except I was the only one affected. You all stayed the same.” Cody listens to his Vod’ika’s story, he really hopes that it isn’t going where he thinks it is. “When I looked around, you were all glaring at me with the most hateful expressions filled with disgust. You all hated me, even you, Bubby. That’s when I woke up.” Cody feels so much sadness for his Vod’ika, even if Rex had been the only one to transform, they would still love him. No matter what. "What was the nightmare you had just now, Rex'ika?" 

Rex presses his ears back, his expression tensing at the thought of it. "I was back in the ballroom, you were all still looking so disgusted at me. Then...then you all started shouting at me, making me feel scared and vulnerable. It was the way you shouted at me, throwing things near me to scare me off. You all kept backing me up all the way to the door. I had nowhere to go, but the doors opened up and I fell out, everyone was still scaring me away, so I ran...I ran as fast as I possibly could, and then I woke up." The thought is too much for Rex, sobbing as he finishes explaining his nightmare. They all feel so sorry for him, hating that he had dreamt of that. 

Kix and Jesse go over to him and snuggle into his fur to comfort him. Cody presses against his leg and Obi Wan sits beside him, rubbing his back. “That would never ever happen Rex’ika, even if we didn’t transform we would still love you with all of our hearts. I promise, you’re stuck with us.” Rex nods, pressing his leg against Cody, he cups Jesse and Kix on his chest and Obi Wan pulls Rex into a little side hug.

“Cody is right, Little One. that would never happen, whether we transformed or not we would have stood by you always. We love you.” Rex nods, thankful again for his amazing family. “Thank you, all of you.” Cody presses against him more.

“No thanks necessary, Rex’ika. We love you more than anything.” Everyone can hear a soft thumping as Rex’s tail starts to wag against the bed happily. Cody sighs, he’s happy that they could make Rex happy, even if it’s just for a little while. “Come on, Rex. I should check your burn and change the bandages.” Kix tells Rex, who nods.

“We’ll go do that, you guy’s can head down to the ballroom. We all need to figure out where to go from here.” Cody sighs. “Will you be okay with Kix and Jesse, Rex’ika?”

“Yeah, I’ll be fine, Bubby.” Rex smiles as he follows Kix and Jesse out of the room and down the hall, heading towards his medical office. 

The three of them arrive and Rex sits down. "Jesse, could you grab some clean bandages please and take off this one please." Kix gestures at the older bandages around Rex's arm. Jesse nods as he climbs up to the cupboard where the bandages are kept. "Got them!" He hops over to the bed that Rex sits on, climbing up his arm to start unraveling the old dressing. Rex holds his arm out so it's easier for Jesse to stand and info the bandages. Jesse gasps, making Kix float quickly over to him. Kix's eyes widen as he looks confused.

"What's wrong, is it okay?" Rex sounds worried, hoping that something bad hasn't happened. "It's fine. It's more than fine actually, the burn has fully healed and the fresh skin tissue has already repaired itself. There is a bit of a scar there though. Sorry if we worried you, Rex." Kix explains, making Rex feel equally surprised.

"It's okay. Do you have any idea how?" Kix tries to think of an answer for Rex. "Hm, I don't exactly know how, but it may be because you've changed? This new form may have given you an ability to heal quicker than usual? That's my only conclusion, I'm sorry that I can't help you, Rex." Rex shakes his head.

"It's alright Kix, thank you." He pulls Kix in for a gentle hug, being careful not to hurt him. Jesse jumps in as well making them all chuckle. Kix is happy that he could help Rex, even just a little "You're welcome, Rex." 

"Let's head to the ballroom then, if you don't mind Rex." Rex nods at Kix, following him and Jesse out of the medical room. All three head to the ballroom, Rex following along behind them. His legs feel more sturdy today, he hopes to figure out how to walk on two legs today.

They Make it to the ballroom. "AUGH!! Come on!!" They turn to see Hardcase is sitting on the ground, he's been turned into an ax. He's staring at his puzzle in its box, unable to do anything since the poor guy has no hands. Jesse runs over to him.

"Do you need some help, Hardcase?" He nods his head, trying to stop the tears of frustration from falling. "I'm going to stay and help Hardcase, Okay." The two nod as Jesse dumps out the puzzle. 

"Just tell me where you want it to go Case, and I'll put it there." Hardcase nods, telling Jesse where he wants him to put the pieces.

Both Rex and Kix leave him be, the two look around. "Stop playing the music, Wreck!" They turn to see a hat rack whip a non sentient book at the piano. Rex shakes his head, chuckling to himself, it looks like Crosshair didn't change much. All the bad batch are around the piano, it seems that Hunter is a hunting knife while his baby cousin is a book. Wrecker is a grand piano too.

Rex turns to find Cody talking to Obi Wan, Plo, and Kanan. As the two walk closer they can hear what Obi Wan is saying. "I don't know what to do, Cyare. The Knight's on patrol never returned, neither did anyone else that left the castle. Me and Kanan were thinking of going out and trying to find them."

"Rex! Kix, how are you two doing?" The keldor calls out to them as he sees them approach. "We're good." Rex tells him, Cody shuffles around so that he's facing Rex.

"How's Rex's arm, Kix?" Cody asks, he hopes that it's healing alright. Kix smiles. "It's fully healed actually, must be something to do with Rex being what he is. What were you guys talking about? The Knights never returned?" 

Obi Wan strokes his nonexistent stubble in worry. "No, they haven't. Neither have little Kiara's parents or anyone else who left before the curse. Me and Kanan would like to head out and look for them, but Cody's not very happy with that plan."

"Because it's dangerous in your current condition, Obi Wan! If anyone but them sees you, all they'll see is a walking talking suit of armor, they could hurt you or worse!!!" Cody feels fear in his heart, thinking about what they could do to his boyfriend. He shudders.

"We'll be okay, Cyare. I promise you." Obi Wan leans down and presses his face against Cody's table top. Nobody comments on it or seems to mind, they all know that this is their way of showing affection while in the forms that they are in. Cody feels scared "I...I just don't want to lose you, Sweetheart." Obi Wan pulls away and looks at him. 

"You won't lose me, I'll be right back before you know it. That's if we can go?" Obi Wan turns to Rex who nods his head. "Yes, just be careful out there."

"Of course, Rex. Thank you, we'll be as quick as we can be." Kanan agrees with Obi Wan. "Yes, we'll try to stay out of sight as much as we can, if not, we'll try to blend in."

Cody sighs in defeat. "Okay, just...be safe out there. Please." Obi Wan traces Cody's scar with his finger. "We will, don't worry, Cyare." He leans down again to kiss Cody before he gets ready to leave with Kanan.

"Ready to go, Obi Wan?" Kanan walks towards the door. "Yes, let's go. We'll be back soon, everyone!" Everyone waves at them as they leave, the door shutting behind the both of them.

Everyone goes back to what they are doing and Rex looks down to Cody. He seems sad. "He'll be okay Cody, he's strong." Cody nods as best he can. "Yeah, he is…I miss him already." Rex places his hand comfortingly on his brother's table top. 

A second later, Rex's stomach growls, making him feel embarrassed "Uh... I-I'm getting hungry." Cody chuckles a little, hoping that helping his Rex'ika out will take away his sadness. "How about we get you some food, yeah?" Rex nods, following Cody as he leads him to the kitchen. 

xxx

Kanan and Obi Wan are walking through the woods, this was the area the Knights were meant to patrol. Obi Wan and Kanan have found nothing to indicate that the knights would have been here. They are coming to the outskirts of the village, they come across a cottage on the very edge.

"Something's not right, the force feels almost like it was manipulated over here?" Kanan looks over at Obi Wan, he feels the same, but there's something else. The force presence feels… Familiar?

Suddenly Aayla secura comes running out of the cottage towards them, for some reason she had no armor on at all. Only peasant clothes.

"Aayla? What's going on, where's your armor?" She doesn't answer, looking at them in confusion until she looks through the gaps in their armor, seeing right through it to the other side. She runs screaming into the house, something the two knights know is not her usual behavior.

Depa Billaba then runs out. "Master! What's going on!" Kanan yells out to her, he doesn't understand what's going on, it's like they're completely different from the people they knew. But all she does is scream in fear, she lifts Obi Wan with the force and before he can even think he's smashed against a tree. The Knight falls to the ground. Obi Wan groans as he tries to stand. His back was already achy from not sleeping in the right position last night, but this has just worsened the pain, making it excruciating. 

"Obi Wan! Are you okay? We have to get out of here." Kanan rips Obi Wan to his feet, all the suit of armor can feel is pain, screaming as he's basically dragged away by Kanan, who doesn't stop running until they're miles away and getting close to the castle.

Obi Wan is in so much pain, his back hurts so much, he would have tears in his eyes if he had them. 

xxx

Rex is sitting down at the large dining table, finishing up his waffles and strawberries as Gregor brings out some cooked meat for him, to make sure that he won't feel hungry like he was yesterday. Rex gave up trying to use any cutlery, they are just way too small for him to hold now, so he dives into it with just his mouth "Mmm, fank yousho mush." Rex tries to thank Gregor with his mouthful, making him chuckle as he watches the thirteen year old boy enjoy his breakfast. "You're welcome, Rex."

Suddenly, Fives and Echo burst into the dining room, making Gregor, Rex and Cody turn their heads to look at the twins' worried expressions. "Is everything okay, you two?" Rex asks, feeling concerned for the two. "It's Obi Wan and Kanan! They're back, but Obi Wan is injured." Rex's eyes widen, looking over to Cody who would have had tears filling his eyes, but being a desk is making it difficult. The five of them rush to the ballroom to see Obi Wan with an arm wrapped around Kanan's neck for support.

"Obi Wan!!" Cody screams out, making Obi Wan look up to see his boyfriend shuffling as fast as he can to him. "Obi Wan! Sweetheart, what happened?" Cody asks fearfully.

"We…we found…" Obi Wan is unable to think straight because of the pain and how shocked he feels right now.

"We found Depa and Aayla, but they weren't the same." Rex fears that the same thing has happened to them too. "What do you mean, Kanan? Have they changed as well? Where are they?" 

Kanan frowns and shakes his head. "They haven't transformed like us, they didn't seem to remember us at all. The way they acted, the way they were dressed. It was all different. When Aayla went running and screaming from us, Depa came out of the house, that I assume they are living in, and then she threw Obi Wan against a tree. I ran as fast as I could to get him back here." All Cody feels is anger and sadness, not believing that this has happened. He knew that this was a bad idea, but all that matters right now is making sure that Obi Wan's injury isn't too serious.

Kix flies over, Kanan turns Obi Wan over and everyone gasps. His back is quite literally bent from the impact of the tree, they won't be able to fix this medically.

"Kix? What do we do." Cody asks him, a tremble in his voice. He shuffles closer to his boyfriend, pressing softly against the hand that's hanging down. Obi Wan does his best to lift his hand, placing it over Cody's scar. They're both so scared, Cody can feel Obi Wan trembling in pain.

"I… I don't know, Cody. We could get a hammer and bend it back into shape, but it would hurt him. I don't know what we can do that won't cause him excruciating pain." 

"I might be able to help with that!" Everyone turns to see a glowing woman, she has long flowing green hair. 

Her eyes are green as well. She has a long yellow dress and her voice almost sounds like it has an echo. She looks like a goddess, everyone feels absolutely terrified.

"Oh no, not another one!" Cody yells, he doesn't want them to be cursed any worse than they already are. The woman puts her hands up in surrender at the knights that raise their swords towards her and Rex hunches down over top of Fives, Echo, Kiara and Stutter. 

He growls at her angrily, Rex's chest is so close to the four that Fives has to put his candle out in fear of burning his Ori'vod again. "I am not here to curse any of you again, I promise. I'm only here to help you." She glides over to Obi Wan, Cody and Kanan tries to block her but she just floats through them.

Obi Wan looks up at her as she places her hand on his back gently, everyone watches as her hand glows and Obi Wan's back bends back into shape. But he doesn't scream in pain like expected, on the contrary he sighs in content. 

"There, all better. Do you believe that I'm trying to help now." Everyone in the room nods, including Rex. "What's your name, mam." The woman chuckles. 

"I go by many names. The Goddess, The Daughter, Morai, but you may call me The Enchantress." Rex walks over, bowing to her the best he can. " Well, I'm Prince Rex. Are you actually here to help us?" The enchantress nods." Of course, I helped your friend, didn't I." She gestures to Obi Wan, who's standing up and stretching his back out as if nothing happened. Cody is pressing himself into him, doing his best to hug Obi Wan.

"Now let me take a look at you, young man." The enchantress moves closer to Rex, he flinches as she goes to place her hand on the side of his face. "It's alright, I'm just going to look through your memories, to when this all happened. This is the work of a witch, am I correct?" Rex nods, looking a little nervous as her hand emits a warm glow by his face. "Hm, Ventress...that witch will do anything just to use her magic on anyone for fun."

"Can this be changed back, Enchantress?" Rex tries to not let his hopes get the best of him. The enchantress frowns as she finishes looking at Rex's memories, stepping back a little. "I cannot change you back. I don’t have the power to end the curse." Rex’s ears droop, and Cody shuffles over to him, he presses himself into Rex. He knows that Rex still blames himself. “But I may be able to change it.” Everyone including Rex looks up at her, Rex’s ears perk up.

"How?" Rex is confused. How will she be able to change it? "I am able to change the curse so that there will be a way to end it, if you will allow it." Rex nods frantically, looking around at his friends and family, who nod as well. “Yes, change it please.” She nods, using her powers to pick up the rose that Ventress had given them for payment. “This rose will bloom for thirteen years, when it starts to wilt you will have only two years to fall in love, and earn their love in return before the last petal falls or this curse will truly be permanent.” she makes the rose float down gently into his hands.

He looks at it with confusion and worry "Love me? Nobody would want to love something like me." Rex whimpers as he convinces himself that he'll never be loved by anyone. "This will be the only way, Prince Rex. Your fate lies only in your hands and those of your true love's. You must find your true love if you are to break this curse." The Enchantress starts to slowly fade away into glowing dust. 

"Please, there must be another way, Enchantress!" Rex begs her, wanting an easier way to correct his mistake. Once she disappears completely, Rex is filled with fear and regret. He tries to hold back the tears as he just stares at the rose in his hands. "Are you alright, Rex'ika." Rex turns around to see Cody. 

"I... I'm so sorry." Cody looks at Rex confused. "For what?" 

"That all of this has happened. The damage has been done and I feel that I'll never be able to fix this mess." Rex presses the rose gently to his forehead, sobbing a little. Cody shuffles closer, pressing himself against Rex's leg "It's alright, Rex'ika. We'll get through this together, we promise. Whatever you need, we'll be here to help you." Rex looks around to see everyone nod, making him feel a bit more hopeful to know that he has such a kind and loving family.

At least his family has hope now to break the curse, but all Rex can think about is, who could ever learn to love a monster like him?

taglist: @pinkiemme @ellie1366 @captainrexisboo @pro-fangirls-unsocial-life @lightning-wolffe

[bansept]

Let’s dance

/NSFW WORK/

While it’s not the absolute worse, nor the absolute best I could come up with, it’s a pretty nice start of the maybe long series of NSFW scrabbles for my dear Ichihime fandom!

To anyone who was a bit thirsty, I give you this fresh refreshment that I hope isn’t that bad!

DANCER ORIHIME X STUDENT ICHIGO

--------------------------------------------------------

Blurry windows and foggy mirror, heavy breaths and skin burning.

The light was shining on them, their sweaty bodies moving in rhythm with the music, the gentle voice of the instructor ordering them around, making each movement matter.

Now, if anyone had told Ichigo he would be taking dancing lessons, staring at his reflection in half anger, half concentration and listening to young teenage girls giggle behind him, he would have slapped them. Not because dancing was shameful, because frankly, it definitely was not. Well, except for some dances, like the macarena or shit like that. No actually, Ichigo would not have believed himself for agreeing to come to dancing lessons to stare at the instructor.

As in, gawk at her.

.

.

.

Ichigo Kurosaki’s week had started as normally as any other week : waking up early, drinking liters of coffee, going to work on some english literature thesis, eating with some friends and coming back home to work until way too late at night, and starting over again.

Yes, he had been told several times by everyone he knew that coffee was bad when it was too much, yes, he had been told to work better on his thesis if he wanted to study and teach Shakespeare. Easier said than done, and that was why his friends had kept rumbling about either taking a break, thank you Chad, or stoping any distractions and really work, fuck you Uryu.

He was sitting across them, stirring his lunch leftovers slowly while the tall half Japanese half Mexican giant was pushing his hair out of his eyes, looking around them as Uryu was probably talking to him. Ichigo tended to not care much.

“So you better get back on track before your old man decides to stop…”

“He’s not lending me money anymore. I work now, you know?”

Uryu threw Ichigo a quite unimpressed look, closing his mouth only to push his glasses up his straight nose. Chad was holding back a tiny smile, but Ichigo of course saw it.

“Giving lessons to kids and working part time in a dojo isn’t really enough to pay for important studies. Or keep you floating like now for the rest of your little life.”

Ichigo gritted his teeth together, a hand digging in his pocket to hold onto his phone, anything hard to stop him from throwing hands with his friend. He really wondered how or why he even talked with the blue-eyed man in front of him.

“Excuse me?” A voice came from the side, clear and ringing in his ear loud enough for Ichigo to turn his head around. Any distraction was good enough to momentarily wipe Uryu from his mind.

Ichigo felt his grip on his phone loosen, just like his jaw.

The angelic voice that had called them was probably the most angelic form of life on Earth, putting to shame anything renowned painters and, god forbid, even Shakespeare, had ever described. With long, fluffy and so exquisitely soft looking auburn hair, bright grey eyes surrounded by a round face, with subtile eyebrows, a cute little nose and, fuck, pillowy lips…

The young and oh so magnificent woman was slightly leaning towards them, an inviting smile on her face while her slender hand was handing over rosy flyers.

“I’m sorry to bother you, gentlemen, but we are offering free dancing lessons to promote the opening of our new dance studio.” A sweet smile and Ichigo felt his eyes widen further. “Would you be interested?”

With the push of his friends, and because he was perfectly unable to say no to such a goddess, Ichigo was the only one to accept, the other two finding some kind of weird excuse. But really, the young man was perfectly fine in agreeing to go alone there.

.

.

.

What a fantastic recruit they had chosen for the job, he marvelled, walking down the sunny streets with his backpack, staring at the flyer that the gorgeous woman had given him. He wondered if she would be here, in this class, jumping around in sportswear and doing whatever dance lessons did. Ichigo snickered when he realized he’d be one of the idiots doing those idiocities too.

After a good 15 minute-walk, the orange-haired man stood right at the front of a brand new building, the white walls making the golden-ish design of the sign shining in the sunlight. Windows with closed curtains made him raise an eyebrow, but he still entered the dimly lit building, the office desk standing elegantly, but alone.

“Hello?” He asked, voice calling out in the empty space.

God, he hoped he had not arrived too late. Or worse, too early. Ichigo hated to appear eager, even if his brain reminded him that, actually, he was.

A few quick steps rushed on the clean floor, the young woman appearing from the corner of a room, head out of a door, that certainly led to the dance floor. Damn, he hated that word, but like the way her face lit up seeing him.

“Oh! You came!”

Now, if his heart had jumped when Ichigo had first seen her, now something else did when she walked up to him in tight clothing, working out clothing, that hugged everything and didn’t leave much to the imagination. The man quickly got his backpack into his hands and placed it in front of his groin. Breathe in, you can do it.

“Well, huh, I told you I would come, right?” He chuckled airily, watching her smile again, her shoulders lifting up in happiness, her breasts bouncing NO DON’T THINK ABOUT IT.

“Thank you for coming, sir. You are right on time for the 3PM lesson. Others should come, but classes are mostly in the morning. Though I could make an exception for you!”

She brought her hands together in a small clap, and Ichigo did blush but desperately hoped it didn’t show.

It did, and the young woman pointed at the door in the back, with written in both English and Japanese “changing room”.

“You can go get changed, here is the key. Please be ready in 10 minutes.” she bowed to him slightly and walked back to the studio, slower than when she came in, and Ichigo felt his eyes trailing after her, impossible to stop himself or walk ahead as long as she was in here.

“I’m fucked.”

.

.

.

Yes, he was.

His young, overactive and definitely way too interested brain had created this mental image of dancing lessons, yoga sessions and massages to be a place of filth, where people turned into beasts and let nature rule them over as one of them was bended over a table while the other pounded in them. Instinctively, the clever and thinking part of said brain had stopped the idea, assuring him they were only fantasies young people in rut had twisted to fit their horny selves.

Unfortunately, part A of the brain had been right, and part B admitted defeat immediately when the session started with stretching methods.

With the instructor showing, naturally.

Going up, down, to one side then the other, running around the room wasn’t that bad. It actually helped get rid of the incoming boner Ichigo felt growing, and he stopped at the end to breathe out, now completely calm.

Apart from the moment she had come up to him to gently help him get the posture right, expertingly taking his hands to place them where needed, showing him how to do the exercise, her butt for him to see, and it was easy to think it was simply a coincidence.

One that brought his hard on back.

Then Orihime Inoue, the instructor, who had given him her name at the very start of the session so they would stop calling each other “Miss” or “Sir” as if they were still in school, came next to him and asked him to do some squats.

“I don’t see how that helps the dancing…” He doubted, looking at her in the eyes, and she chuckled lightly, raising her hand to pick up his arms and place them in the air, in front of him.

“Dancing is beautiful and powerful when you have good leg muscles. And while you do have muscles, if they themselves are not powerful enough, you won’t last very long.” She explained.

He sighed, argument hitting the spot, and did as many squats as her, next to him. If he was going to do some body work, then it would have been better to simply just go to the gym…

“Come on, don’t day dream! Do 50 and then we’ll see how you dance.”

The world stopped, all the clocks ticking in the empty void, head turning to stare at her incredulously, catching her puffing out her cheeks and laughing out loud, holding on to his shoulder to avoid slipping on the ground.

“I’m kidding, Ichigo-san! Don’t worry!” She kept laughing in her hand, and the young man felt several things : first, shame for letting his fear sweat outside of his body. Second, amusement at her dorky laughter.

The third emotion was out before he could control it, pulling her close to him and taking her hand off her face. Orihime looked shocked by his actions, ears and cheeks reddening from the effort as well as embarrassament.

“What…”

“That’s enough exercising for now. Let's get to the real work.”

He looked into her eyes, who had kept on looking up and down his body for the last half hour, her hands who ran up his arms to land on his collarbones, mouth opening slightly to let out nothing but a tiny “yes”.

He had been on fire for multiple reasons in life : because of anger against his father, his friends, sometimes his sisters. Because of grief, when he had to help other family members carry his mother’s coffin. Because of anxiety and weariness, because of exercise.

But this time, when he walked the two of them to a bench by the side of the room, he was burning in need and hunger.

Orihime was also fever like, the nice and calm mask she had slipped on falling away with her tank top, leaving her in just a sports bra while she kissed Ichigo deeply, tongue easily giving up the dominance in favor of the man’s own flexing muscles.

The sound of the music all but disappeared when their bodies collapsed together, hungry kisses and nails like tiger’s claws on each other’s skins.

With a quick breath, Ichigo pulled away from her mouth to kiss her neck, lapping at it gently, her hand going to his hair while he touched the skin of her hips and stomach. Softness and hard muscles seemed hard to combine, yet there she was, smooth smooth skin covering powerful muscles, ones that he would enjoy teasing.

After the kisses, his head got lower and lower, caging her lower stomach, not touching in the slightest her breasts, that would come later.

“Hmf, what are you... “

“Sh, don’t talk too loud, others might hear.”

He grinned from ear to ear, looking up as he licked his lips, her breath catching in her throat. Orihime’s hand suddenly caught his hair and pulled him up, as gently as possible, and they kissed again, one nibbling on the other’s lips, Orihime’s hands getting under the man’s wet shirt, feeling the tight muscles, the crease between each abs, the v line digging in his shorts.

“No one else is here… So, don’t hesitate to yelp, Ichigo.”

She murmured agaisn’t her lips before going deeper in her search, this time digging in his shorts to find what she seeked with a grin.

Ichigo yelped indeed, not expecting the woman under him to get so bold, yet there she was, feeling him up and stroking him in his damn shorts.

Fuck, would be the right word to use.

He didn’t utter a single vowel, bringing her pants and her underwear down rapidly, going back to kiss her as their lips found each other again, lost in moans and the electric touches of their tongues. Orihime kept on stroking him, gently pumping him up and down, the member in her hand turning even harder as she placed her thumb on the slit. Slick came out of it, and she chuckled at the man’s reaction : eyes closed and shaking behind the eyelids, Ichigo seemed ready to burst at any moment, but he groaned, not accepting an early end.

His finger, that had been on her lower stomach, stroking at her sensitive part, now had entered her, one by one. The long digits didn’t waste any time in looking for her gspot, that tender place inside of her that would make her see stars in seconds, if he was careful enough.

“Ichigo… No, not like, th-that…” She moaned against him, her free hand digging in his hair, pulling her face in his neck to try to resist the impossible pull on her body. “I… need….”

“I know, baby, I know… Let me take care of it…” He whispered back to her, placing one kiss on her forehead. His fingers came out of her, taking her own hand off of him, even if he twitched in insubordination. “You’re all good, Hime, you’re good…”

He reassured her, voice gentle like he knew she liked, hands lowering his pants to angle his cock to her. Ichigo finally freed her breasts from their confined space, letting them overflow on her chest, filling his vision with sights of her blushing face and exposed tits.

“You’re beautiful Hime…”

He smiled at her, rubbing her nose with his with a grin that she gave back, before entering her fully, nice and slow. She yelped this time, voice resonating in the empty room, but never stopping her sweet sound and words towards him as she dug her fingernails in his back, feeling him getting as deep as possible, filling her up to the brim, the end, to the heart.

She pushed her head out of his neck, and with a tiny frown, pouted.

“You didn't play.”

Ichigo winced, the tightness of hers squeezing just right around him, and nodded his head.

“I’m sorry… I tried, but you always look so fucking amazing in sports wear… fuck, I couldn’t just pretend I didn’t know my own fiancée!”

Orihime didn’t answer, couldn’t really, and pulled him back down against her generous mounds before he got started with his thrusts, rocking them carefully against the oh so fragile wooden bench of his future wife’s dance studio.

------------------------------------------------------------

I’ll never forgive my playlist for making me turn what was supposed to be absolute filth into sweet love making on a bench.

Tell me what you thought of it, and how I can better myself!

[flames-bring-a-ton-of-ash]

The Main Course - Jim Hopper x Reader

Summary: Hopper gets stood up on his date, so you decide to make a move.

Characters: Jim Hopper x female reader

Words: 6,816

Warnings: smut, age gap, size kink, unprotected sex, language/dirty talk, Hopper being sexy af

The Main Course

Placing freshly baked pasta down in front of the middle-aged couple at table 5, you turned and headed back towards the kitchen, wishing this night would just be over already. A glance at the clock showed that it was almost 7pm, which meant that, unfortunately, the place wouldn’t die down for at least another hour or two. And since one of the other waitresses had called in sick, leaving you to close the restaurant alone tonight, you’d be happy to get out of here before midnight.

 You had been a waitress at Enzo’s for the past three summers in a row, and while it wasn’t your dream gig, it helped save up some extra money before classes resumed in the fall. You were about to start your senior year of college, which meant that this was most likely (and hopefully) your last summer as a waitress, the plan being to move onto bigger and better opportunities after graduation.

 Until then, this was your reality: wearing an uncomfortable uniform while balancing trays of food, dodging spills, and giving your customers a fake smile in the hopes that they might add a little extra to their tip.

 The clinking of forks on plates mixed with the soothing, yet lively, notes coming from the string quartet. It covered up the creak of the double wooden front doors, so that at first you didn’t notice someone new had even walked in. However, you had just finished refilling a patron’s wine glass when a glance to the left caused you to freeze in surprise at the man who had just entered.

 The tall, imposing figure was wearing a surprisingly casual (and bright) Hawaiian shirt underneath a beige blazer and light blue Wranglers. It was a bit of an odd ensemble, but if any man could pull it off, it was the one and only Chief Jim Hopper.

 Up until now you had only seen the chief in his uniform, and though part of you lamented its absence, you had to admit that he still looked good. Better than good. He looked delicious. His shoulders appeared even wider than usual in the blazer, and his broad chest filled out what should’ve been a ridiculous-looking shirt, instead making it sexy and masculine. There was even a row of buttons down the front, which made your lips twitch upwards into a tiny smirk. Oh, the fantasies you’d had about unbuttoning Jim out of his shirt. Usually it was his uniform you imagined, but this one was also going into the spank bank for later.

 In case it wasn’t already obvious from your thoughts, you had it bad for Hawkins’ chief of police. As a teenager, you’d found the older man to be intimidating and abrasive. But now, as an adult...he was still an older man who was intimidating and abrasive, but that was a large part of his appeal. You couldn’t help but imagine all the ways he could utilize that sharp tongue and wicked mouth, not to mention the mental image of his smug face pressed between your open and willing thighs. Just the thought of all that powerful man on top of you, of the things he could do to your body...

 Realizing that you had been standing dumbstruck and staring for way longer than was necessary, you jolted back into action and went to check on another table. You watched out of the corner of your eye as Hopper was seated in the middle of the room, and it wasn’t purely coincidence that you next went to wait on a table right beside his. While writing down the customer's order, you also kept an ear on the conversation Hopper was having with his own waiter. He ordered a double scotch, which wasn’t surprising. Then he asked for a bottle of Chianti, which was surprising. You had to stifle a smirk at the adorable way he butchered the name of the wine, knowing that his waiter, a stuffy jerk named Tom, wouldn’t appreciate the faux pas one bit.

 Finished taking your table’s order, you walked slow as molasses back in the direction of the kitchen, still listening intently to the men’s discussion. When Hopper asked for two wine glasses, one for him and one “for the lady,” a jolt of shock went through you at the realization of why the usually casual man was gracing the most upscale restaurant in the area. He was here on a date!

 From what you had gathered around town, Hopper wasn’t one to take women out to dinner, instead being more the type to bed ‘em and move on to the next. You instantly wondered who the woman was and why he had picked her for the date. Okay, so you were maybe, quite possibly...just a tad bit...jealous as fuck.

 For the next hour, you kept checking on Hopper out of the corner of your eye. He was too fixated on watching the front doors to notice your spying, and as the minutes ticked by, you got more and more anxious to see who would join him.

 By the time it was almost 8pm, Hopper had finished his scotch and half the bottle of wine. His hair was a bit ruffled from running his hands through it in increasing frustration, and while he didn’t appear completely drunk, at this rate he was well on his way. Disbelief and an ember of anger pooled in your stomach the longer you watched him. There were plenty of women who would’ve killed to be here with him tonight, yourself included. You wondered for the umpteenth time that evening who the hell this woman was, and why she would be a no-show for a date with such a stud of a man.

 Suddenly, an idea hit you. A totally insane, utterly ridiculous...possibly genius idea. It was very likely that this would be your last chance to interact with Hopper before leaving town for college. And once you graduated, who knows when or how often you’d come back to Hawkins. Maybe, just maybe, tonight’s events had unfolded to your advantage.

 The important question was, could you go through with it? Worst-case scenario was he’d laugh in your face and say something condescending in front of the entire restaurant. No big deal, you’d only be traumatized for life, never able to show your face here again. But the best-case scenario...you almost stumbled at the thought, ice clinking loudly as the drinks on your tray came dangerously close to sloshing over the edge. Pull yourself together, damnit!

 Once the drinks were served and you had overanalyzed the idea to the point that your palms were sweaty and the snug, white button-down shirt felt as though it was constricting your ability to breath, you made up your mind.

 It was now or never.

 Pulling out your order pad and pencil, you scribbled down a quick, but flirty, message: Her loss, but I’d love for it to be my gain. You considered writing down your number, but since you were staying with your parents over the summer, didn’t want to risk him calling there and your mother or, heaven forbid, your father answering. Besides, he knew where you worked, so it shouldn’t be hard for him to find you if this panned out in a positive direction. Ripping the piece of paper off the pad and folding it in half, you tucked it into the front pocket of your apron.

 Before you could totally lose your nerve, you went over to the table next to his, giving the young couple their receipt and wishing them a fantastic evening. Taking a deep breath, you turned around and took the two steps needed to put your hip inches away from Hopper. Pulling out the piece of paper, you discreetly slid it across the table in front of him. He looked up with furrowed brows, probably expecting to see Tom. When his eyes instead found you, a flicker of surprise shot through them. Not wanting to stick around too long and draw the attention of others, you gave what was hopefully a flirty smile, lightly laid your palm on his blazer-covered forearm for a split second, then spun and quickly headed back for the kitchen, praying with each step that you didn’t stumble or run into anyone.

 It wasn’t until you made it back through the swinging doors that you were able to let out the breath you’d been holding. Holy shit, you couldn’t believe you had just done that! You really really wished you could see his face when he read the note, but you also didn’t want to risk the humiliation if he laughed or flat out denied your offer. A few minutes later, one of your table’s food orders was ready and anxiety darted through you at the thought of walking back out into the dining room, wondering if Hopper was still there and if he’d say anything.

 He was still there, his back to the kitchen and broad shoulders keeping you from seeing what he had done with the note. Heading over to the correct table, you felt the heavy weight of someone watching as you set down the food in front of your customers. When you were done and turned back for the kitchen, sure enough, Hopper’s gaze was zeroed in on you. Goosebumps rose on your arms at his piercing stare and the way he seemed to be intently analyzing you. He was twirling the folded note between his fingers casually, and you were pretty sure your panties became damp at the slow, knowing smile that passed across his face.

 Suddenly, he stood up from the table, running into Tom in the process. The waiter had just been coming to check on him, probably in hopes that he was going to leave soon and free up the table for someone who actually wanted to order food. The affronted look on his face when Hopper grabbed the mostly empty bottle of wine and made to leave caused you to give a huffed laugh. Tom was frantically telling the taller man that he couldn’t take any alcohol off the premises, to which Hopper gave a rather impolite noise and growled, “I can do anything I want. I’m the chief of police.”

  With that, he strode out of the restaurant, nearby diners staring in shock at the disgruntled man who had caused such a scene. You personally found any situation that ruffled Tom’s feathers to be amusing, but couldn’t help the zing of disappointment that Hopper hadn’t said anything to you before leaving. Sure, he hadn’t laughed or embarrassed you, but his lack of any response other than the stare and smirk caused you to second-guess writing the note in the first place.

 Trying to ignore your inner self-doubt, you refocused on customers. However, a little voice in your head kept whispering that you should’ve known better. Why would an older, successful, and sexy as hell man like Chief Hopper be interested in a much younger college student who didn’t even have the guts to actually say anything to him, instead passing a note like you were still in high school. Besides, he had obviously set his sights on someone else tonight, and if she was amazing enough for him to invite on a date, then you probably didn’t even compare.

 Determined to shut down the negative thoughts and forget the entire fiasco, you pushed it to the back of your mind and spent the next two hours waiting tables until your feet were sore. You were beyond relieved when 10pm arrived and you were able to close and lock the doors. The string quartet and other waiting staff had left at that point, and the cook was quick to follow. Once the last round of silverware had been washed and folded, you also sent the dishwasher on their way, leaving only you and the vacuum to finish the evening.

 Once the tables were all scrubbed clean and the floors vacuumed of any crumbs, all that was left to do was take out a couple remaining bags of trash. Hefting them over your shoulder, you went out the back door and walked across the dimly lit area to the nearby dumpster. Hauling the last bag in, you eagerly looked forward to going back inside, grabbing your purse, and getting the hell out of there. However, you made it halfway to the door before almost screaming in alarm at the realization that you weren’t alone.

 The dark outline of a man was leaning against the brick wall beside the back door, and the fact that you hadn’t even noticed him when first coming outside was enough to send a chill down your spine. He was hidden in shadows, only the tiny orange dot of his cigarette visible, which glowed brightly as he inhaled. You started to panic, thoughts of being robbed or assaulted flashing through your head.

 “Leave me alone! Or I swear I’ll…”

 “You’ll what? Call the cops?” came the husky and amused response.

 Recognizing the voice, your shoulders slumped in relief. “Holy shit, Hopper! You scared the crap out of me!”

 A low chuckle came out of the darkness, and your initial fear morphed instantly into desire at the sound. You wondered what he was doing lurking around the restaurant after hours, refusing to be so hopeful as to think it was because of you.

 “What did you mean by that note?”

 “Huh?”

 Oh shit, maybe he was here because of you, after all. Your palms started to sweat at the realization that you honestly hadn’t planned this far ahead. After he had left the restaurant without a word, you hadn’t thought he’d respond to the note at all, let alone tonight.

 Standing there under the dim glow of a nearby streetlight, while he was still shrouded in darkness, you suddenly felt out of your element. Here is your chance! You wanted his attention and now you’ve got it, so don’t mess this up!

 Before you could come up with a better explanation, he questioned you again. “What did you mean by ‘your gain’? Were you hoping I’d wine and dine you, treat you like a lady?”

 You could hear the evident sarcasm in his voice, and knew in that moment he was expecting it to be exactly what you wanted. He probably saw you as some naive girl with romantic stars in her eyes, and would turn and walk away if that were the case. However, the fact that he had still wanted to suss out your expectations meant that at least some part of him must be curious. Your note had served as the proper bait, but now you had to use the right words to reel him in.

 “Being wined and dined is overrated.” Walking a few steps closer, you were still unable to make out his face in the darkness. Wishing you could see his reaction, you continued, “If there’s anything I’ve learned from waitressing, it’s that no one likes to wait for their meal. I’d rather skip the preliminaries and go straight to the main course. Enjoy it while it’s hot.”

 You were honestly pretty damn proud of yourself for getting all that out without any hesitation or stuttering. Now that the possibility of having Hopper was within your grasp, you didn’t want to mess it up. You wanted to fuck a real man, to fuck this man, before you could move on from this town with no regrets.

 Evidently, he hadn’t been expecting that response. There was an extended period of silence, as if he were processing your words. You then saw the orange dot fall as he flicked the cigarette to the ground and finally stepped out of the darkness, stalking towards you with the same focused stare as earlier in the restaurant. The intensity on his face caused a flicker of fear, and you wondered if this was a mistake, being alone with him this late at night.

 That thought quickly dissipated as your body took over, arousal coursing through you at the sight of all that attractive man headed in your direction. He was so tall, his shadow quickly eclipsing your own as he closed the distance, the top of your head not quite reaching his shoulders. You barely had time to notice that the suit jacket was gone, leaving him in the green and pink patterned shirt and tight blue jeans, before he was on you.

 His large hand cupped the back of your head, and a second later you were kissing. Chief. Hopper!

 Instinct took over, as your lips opened in submission to his. A whimper escaped your throat when he dove in with no hesitation, staking his claim and leaving no doubt as to who was in charge. He pressed his broad body up into yours as his other hand gripped the side of your waist, the scratch of his mustache on your top lip and beard stubble on your chin a reminder that this wasn’t some hormonal frat boy. There was no mistaking that Hopper was all man and, in return, he made you feel like a desirable woman. The fact that you had evoked this reaction in him was enough to make you light-headed...or maybe that was just the lack of oxygen from being kissed to within an inch of your life.

 Using his larger frame, he herded you backwards, your body automatically following his command and backing up step by step, out of the dimly lit area and towards the shadows of the building. The hard surface of the brick wall pressed into your back, but you barely noticed, too fixated on the man in front of you. His mouth trailed downwards, and your head fell back into the wall as he sucked on the side of your throat. Gripping his shoulders to help anchor your suddenly wobbly knees, you moaned when he found a particularly sensitive spot where your neck sloped down into your shoulder.

 You felt him smile against your skin, before he lifted his mouth to your ear and purred, “I’m not sure you know what you’re getting yourself into, baby girl.”

 A shiver ran down your spine at his deep voice, his words causing puffs of warm air to ruffle tendrils of your hair. Struggling to make your last remaining brain cells function properly enough to respond, you whispered, “Then why don’t you show me, Chief?”

 His answering groan made you mentally fist pump in glee, as well as tuck away the knowledge that the title was an apparent turn-on for him. His mouth descended on yours again, at the same time that his hands started untucking the bottom of your shirt. Thankfully, you had taken off the apron earlier while vacuuming, leaving you in a white button-down and slightly-above-the-knee black skirt. You didn’t even hesitate to lift your arms from Hopper’s shoulders when he pulled the shirt up and over your head. It was quickly followed by him also taking off the white cami you wore underneath, leaving you clad in just a light pink bra from the waist up.

 You were about to lift your head for another kiss when you felt his hands at your back, and suddenly the bra was also being pulled away. He was wasting no time getting you undressed, and you suddenly realized that, unless you put a stop to it, he was going to fuck you outside and up against this very wall. You probably should’ve been shocked or offended by this, the thought of someone stumbling upon the two of you flickering in the back of your mind, but you were honestly too dead set on knowing what Hopper’s cock felt like inside you to care. Being the recipient of such intense male desire filled you with excitement, anticipation, and a bit of fear. The combination of emotions was exhilarating, and served to increase your own desire even further.

 Once your bra was off and flung to the side, Hopper froze and slowly leaned back. Looking up, you felt your panties dampen further at the way he was intensely taking in every exposed inch of flesh, stifling a whimper when he licked his bottom lip.

 You gasped softly when his large, warm palms cupped both your breasts, lifting and pressing them together as he stared in awe. “Look at you, baby. You’re so fucking pretty. What’s a pretty girl like you doing here, pushed up against a dirty wall and asking to be fucked by a man twice her age?” His voice was raspy with desire, and both that and the taboo words combined to ramp up your own arousal.

 Your panting breaths must not have been enough response for him, because he pinched your nipples between his thumbs and forefingers until you let out a moan. Giving a slow, devilish smirk, he continued, “You like that though, don’t you, little girl? You want me to fuck you, to show you just how hard the chief’s dick can make you come. Isn’t that right?”

 A harder twist to your nipples made you cry out with the pleasure-pain, your eyes darting up to lock onto his. “I said, isn’t that right, sweetheart?”

 Nodding frantically, you choked out, “Yes, yes...please…”

 “Please what, baby? Tell me what you want.”

 Brain foggy with arousal, you fought to string together the words needed to express what you wanted. What you needed. “I want you to touch me and fuck me...please, Chief...make me come. Please...do whatever you want with me.”

 An anguished groan was his response, the primal sound making your cunt clench with desire, begging to be filled. It seemed your words were the catalyst needed to unleash the beast, as Hopper dropped his head to your breasts at the same time he reached one hand down under your skirt and pushed it up your thighs. A wordless cry left your throat when his lips wrapped around your left nipple, and you trembled like a leaf caught in the wind when he used both palms to push at your inner thighs until they were spread obscenely wide for him. A loud rip a few seconds later, followed by a cool breeze in an unexpected area, told you that he had torn off the flimsy fabric of your panties. This reminder of his size and strength only increased your desire to feel all that power between your thighs, to have him claim your body as his.

 He used lips, tongue, and even teeth until your nipple was rock-hard and so raw and sensitive that you weren’t sure if the pathetic little noises you were making were a plea for him to keep going or slow down. He then switched to the other one, giving it the same treatment until you felt dizzy with the sensations. You were so focused on what he was doing to your nipples, that when he moved his hand up between your spread legs and ran a warm, calloused finger along your slit, it was all you could do to keep yourself leveraged against the wall and not fall at his feet.

 As if sensing your impending inability to remain upright, Hopper lifted his head from your breasts and stepped in closer, his chest pressed into yours and hand cupped between your thighs possessively. When one thick finger pushed up into your dripping pussy, it was all you could do to remember how to breathe. After a few deep, slow thrusts he added a second finger. The slight burn as you stretched around his digits was yet another reminder of his size...of what even bigger and thicker appendage awaited you.

 “Fuck, you’re tight. You sure you can even take my cock, little girl?”

 Nails clutching his biceps through the shirt as he thrust in and out of your body, you panted, “Yes, I want it. Make me take it. Make me yours.”

 A string of curses, followed by his hand speeding up its movements, served to make your thighs clench and head fall back against the wall. Caught between his large body and the hard brick, you were unable to do anything except stand there and take it. The wet squelch his fingers made with each thrust was a testament to how much his filthy words were affecting you, your body greedily sucking him in and voicing its protest each time he retreated.

 You could feel your body ramping up to climax, muscles straining for release and walls beginning to flutter around his fingers. Then, suddenly, his hand was gone, a hoarse groan of need voicing your displeasure as the peak receded before you could reach it. Looking up at him in shock, you tried to form the words to ask why the fuck he had stopped. Instead, your breath hitched when he did something completely unexpected...and dropped to his knees.

 “What…” your brain was unable to comprehend the situation, while every fiber of your body was screaming in excitement as he lifted one of your legs and draped it over his massive shoulder.

 Gaze fixated on what was between your spread thighs, he growled out, “How about a little dessert before the main course?”

 With that, he shoved your skirt even higher around your waist, leaned forward, and put his face between your thighs. The scratch of his facial hair mixed with his hot, wet mouth on your pussy served to make your brain stop working and body freeze in shock before instinctively arching towards him. His tongue tried to gather as much of the dripping wetness from you as it could reach, the feel of his tongue pushing inside you causing your legs to shake. When his lips wrapped around your clit and sucked, you were done for. Between being primed by his fingers, the sensations of his mouth, and the sight of the big, tough Chief of Police kneeling with his face buried in your cunt, it took a ridiculously short amount of time for you to once again be hurtled up towards the peak of pleasure.

 Part of you wanted to try and make it last as long as possible, wanting this memory to forever be burned into your brain. The other part of you was too overwhelmed to do anything other than garble unintelligibly and pull at his hair as you hurtled over the edge. Shudders wracked your body as waves of euphoria radiated out from where his mouth was attached to your clit. The leg still on the ground started to collapse, but Hopper’s hands were anchored at your hips and kept you stable as he continued to work you through the orgasm.

 When the shaking had reduced to tiny tremors and your over-sensitized clit begged for mercy, you pushed weakly at his head until he pulled back and looked up. His mouth and chin were shiny with your release, and his eyes darkened as a primal sound of need left your lips at the sight.

  Gently removing your leg from his shoulder, he made sure you were steadied against the wall before letting go of your hips and raising to his full height once again. A flicker of uncertainty came over his face, as if he wasn’t sure whether you’d want to take this any further. Pfft, as if I’d stop just because I got to come already, you thought, and reached out to do what you had been fantasizing about for years: undoing Hopper’s buttons.

  You were too focused on getting each button undone to see the relief on his face at your willingness to continue. Desire reignited between your thighs as each inch of flesh was slowly revealed, and it felt like both a second and an eternity before the buttons were all free and the shirt was hanging open. You pushed it off his shoulders and Hopper shrugged it the rest of the way off, letting it drop to the ground.

  He appeared even larger without the shirt, if that were even possible. You hadn’t really seen his biceps exposed before, and they bulged with thick muscle that came not from a gym but from hours out in the field. He might not be one of the ripped meatheads that some women preferred, but there was a strength and size to him that spoke to you on a deep, primal level. His masculinity called to your femininity, and you wanted nothing more than for him to showcase his maleness in the most basic way possible: by fucking you until you screamed.

  Obviously reaching his limit with letting you look your fill, he moved into action and started unbuckling his belt. Not wanting any barriers to get in the way, you quickly shoved the skirt, which was scrunched around your waist, down your legs and onto the ground with the other garments. Naked as the day you were born, you leaned back against the wall and watched Hopper with anticipation, eyes locked on the impressive bulge in his pants that was about to be unveiled.

  His eyes were on you in return, scanning lewdly up and down your exposed body as he pulled down the zipper on his jeans. Pushing off both the denim and his boxer briefs in the same fluid movement, he kicked them to the side, leaving him naked before you.

  And holy hell was naked Hopper a sight to behold! You were suddenly incredibly glad he had prepped you with an orgasm first, as it was going to take all the lubrication at your body’s disposal to take him in. He easily had the largest cock you’d ever been with, and you’d actually be pretty worried about the mechanics if you weren’t so far gone with lust.

  As if reading your mind, he took the massive organ in his fist and started stroking up and down slowly. “Is this what you wanted, little girl?”

  Mesmerized by his size and the way in which the reddened tip had a drop of fluid leaking from the tip, you felt any initial hesitancy float away. You wanted that cock inside you, and weren’t about to back out now. Nodding, you finally tore your eyes away from the sight and locked eyes with him, giving a raspy, “Please.”

  Lips quirking upwards, he stepped forward, his naked body pressing into yours and causing you to gasp. He was so big and hard, making you feel tiny and soft in comparison. When his cock prodded your stomach, you were unable to resist temptation. Hopper groaned in agonized pleasure when your fist wrapped around him, and you only got in a few strokes before he pulled your hand away.

  He reached down between your bodies, causing an instant shudder and your thighs to fall open instinctively for him. He gave a hum of approval, gathering some of your wetness on his fingers. You watched as he lifted the glistening digits to his dick and transferred the fluids, so that he was coated with your natural lubrication.

  Too busy being mesmerized by the sight of your arousal on his cock, you were startled when he grabbed the back of your thighs and lifted. Body responding automatically, you wrapped your legs around his hips and arms around his neck. The fact that he could lift and situate you to his liking with barely any effort was sexy as hell, and you didn’t even notice the uncomfortably hard wall at your back since Hopper owned something even harder that held your attention.

  His cock bobbed underneath your ass, and you wouldn’t be surprised if you were literally dripping onto it at this point, already overwhelmed by the feel of his naked and aroused body pressed up against you. When he reached down with one hand to grab his dick and rub it along your folds, you gave a needy whimper and squirmed in impatience. While you were glad he was taking the time to utilize all the lubrication available, you were about to scream with frustration if he didn’t fill you soon, the emptiness in your pussy an almost painful throb at this point. Giving a soft sob of relief when he finally positioned the head at your entrance, your thighs tightened around him in encouragement as he started pushing inside.

  It quickly became apparent that, despite your arousal, this was going to be a tight fit. A shaky gasp was all you could manage when the flared part of his head stretched you with a slight burn. Pausing for a few seconds so that the two of you could catch your breath and regroup, he then pulled back slightly before pushing forward again. He was patient, but insistent, working his way into your body inch by inch until your world was narrowed down to the feel of his massive cock claiming you. When the stretch became too overwhelming, your nails dug into the back of his neck. It was a signal he thankfully acknowledged, halting again before pulling back and thrusting shallowly until you were better adjusted and ready for more.

  “That’s it, baby, relax and let me in. I can feel your tight little pussy stretching around my dick, begging for more.”

  His words made you dizzy with desire. The pleasure-pain of taking him in, combined with his primal enjoyment of conquering you to an extent that it was obvious no man had before, caused a myriad of overwhelming sensations and emotions. With a groan of satisfaction, he thrust the entire way inside, a slight shudder passing through his large body at the feel of you totally encompassing his cock. You clung to him, unable to speak or moan or even whimper, his cock filling you so full that it was as if it had reached up to your lungs and stole the breath right out of your body.

  Your vocal cords decided to restart when he slowly pulled most of the way out and then thrust the entire way back in without pausing. Giving a needy cry, your walls involuntarily clamped down on him when he started to withdraw again, and he dropped his forehead to your shoulder with a wrecked moan. The sound shot through you, causing more wetness to coat his dick and your back to arch so that your hardened nipples scraped deliciously against his chest hair.

  Gripping your hips tightly, he started up a steady and intense rhythm, pulling back until just the tip was inside before thrusting deep, causing you to stretch around him again and again. It was as if he was trying to recreate that initial penetration with each thrust, and the sensation of him claiming you over and over made your eyes roll back in your head.

  “So wet, baby. So wet and tight for me,” he murmured into your neck.

  Trying to also verbalize your pleasure, you got out a few garbled words before your voice broke at the end, “Yes...oh, god...so good...please.”

  He must’ve gotten the message because his pace picked up a bit, the heavy drag of his thick cock hitting every pleasurable nerve ending until you were softly whispering please over and over without even realizing it.

  “That’s it, baby. I like it when you beg for me.”

  With that, he moved a hand downwards and placed two fingers on your clit. The effect was immediate, a hoarse cry echoing out into the night as the pleasure became almost unbearable. You were poised on the edge of something earth-shattering, and it was beckoning for you to fall over the edge and into the abyss. 

“Fuck, yes. You gonna come for me, baby? Be a good girl and come on my cock.”

 Those words gave your body the final push it needed. Your pussy clenched down on his cock as the orgasm ripped through you, teeth sinking into his shoulder to stifle your scream. These weren’t the typical waves or ripples of pleasure; your body was instead overcome with jolts of rapture so intense that it almost felt like an out-of-body experience. You felt the electric pulses race from your flexed toes to the top of your head, and everywhere in between. Your vision blanked out as the world narrowed down to Hopper and the bliss he was providing, as he continued to thrust and work your clit, intent on wringing as much pleasure from you as possible. A distant-sounding groan came from above you, followed by the warm gushes of Hopper’s own release, the added sensation causing you to gasp and tremble against him.

 When your body came back down to Earth, muscles still randomly jerking with the aftereffects, you felt as though your entire body was humming with boneless contentment. Hopper must’ve been feeling something similar, as he had collapsed into you, pressing you so tightly into the wall that it was almost hard to breathe. But you didn’t mind; if being smothered by his naked, sweaty body was how you went out of this world then...well, no one could say you’d died unhappy.

 After a few long moments of trying to catch both your breaths, he gathered his strength and lifted his weight off of you. Unwrapping your legs from his waist and biting your lip to stifle the whimper of loss when his cock left your body, you slid down until your feet were on the ground. A bit unsure what to do or say next, you were relieved when he leaned down and kissed you. It wasn’t as intense as before; instead, it was slow, gentle, and reassuring. The gesture let you know that he wasn’t going to turn into a jerk the moment his cock was limp and he’d had his fill of you, and you were grateful to him for it. Bending down, he picked up your bra and skirt, handing the garments to you while he fished his own briefs and jeans from the ground. It was a good thing it was late and there wasn’t likely to be anyone else around, since you both were going to have some hard-to-explain dirt stains on your clothing.

 Once all of the garments were located and you were both fully dressed, you walked back inside the restaurant with Hopper following behind. Ever the protector, he scanned the empty space while you grabbed your purse and the keys to lock up, trying to ignore your still-shaky legs and the feel of your combined releases dripping into the crotch of your underwear. When the doors were locked and the building secured, he made sure to walk you down the block to your car. While the gesture was appreciated, you tried not to hide your disappointment when he didn’t even say goodbye as you got in and closed the door. However, once you had turned the key in the ignition, you heard a tap on the driver’s window. Glancing up, you saw that he was leaning down with one arm resting on the roof of the car and peering in at you.

 Rolling down the window, you looked at him expectantly. He appeared almost uncertain at first, glancing downwards for a few seconds before meeting your gaze and giving a warm smile.

 “In case I don’t see you beforehand...good luck with your senior year.”

 Not expecting the kind words, it took a few seconds to respond. Trying to lighten the mood, you joked, “Well, I got to finish the summer by marking you off my bucket list, so I’d say luck is in my favor this year.”

 You saw his eyes widen and eyebrows lift in surprise. “I was on your bucket list?”

 Giving a saucy grin, you honestly replied, “Chief, you were the bucket list.”

 With that, you leaned out of the window and gave him a peck on the cheek, causing him to give a boyish grin that made you feel giddy. He stood up from the car, allowing you to put it in drive and pull out. Looking into the rearview window, you saw him stare after you for a few seconds before turning towards his own vehicle. While there was a bittersweet part of you that wanted to wish for more, you knew that this was how it was meant to end.

 One of these days, you’d find your own Hopper. A man who went out of his comfort zone to meet you at a fancy Italian restaurant, who wanted to wine and dine you…and then fuck you senseless up against a wall.

  Until then, you had other things to focus on in life, and exciting adventures that awaited you outside of Hawkins. Not to mention you now had a new memory to replay over and over...the memory of what had been the best night of your life. Smiling to yourself, you turned up the radio just as one of your favorite songs came on, and sang along the entire way home.

[captain-tch]

All That I Can Give

summary: kiko is a struggling business owner thrown into the chaos of the borderlands. when she makes a mistake that will threaten her life, she learns just how far she will go to keep herself alive. 

TW: DEATH, MENTIONS OF ATTEMPTED SUICIDE, MENTAL HEALTH, TOXIC RELATIONSHIPS, VIOLENCE

chapter 9: question time

previous chapter

Coming back to the pharmacy that night was hard. Neither of them spoke. Kiko wasn’t sure she could form words; she was pretty certain Tetsu didn’t have the energy for it. She didn’t mind. The silence gave her chance to mull over the events that night. 

The more she thought about it, the less she felt. 

She stared at her hands in awe. These hands, her hands, took down the one true evil in her life. It destroyed her tormentor and now her chest felt lighter than it ever had before. No longer did she have to worry about Riku coming home with an ever changing palette of bruises on his skin. She no longer had to fear the store being looted at night. She no longer had to sleep with a pair of scissors nestled underneath her pillow. 

She could start to breathe again. 

A deep shame took root in her body. Kiko felt like she should hold some level of remorse. She stole a human life when she didn’t need to. Yet as much as tried to dig deep into herself to find a single negative emotion about what happened, she found... nothing. 

She sighed, looking up at the pharmacy door. She shrugged her shoulder, jolting Tetsu awake. Her voice was frail, her throat scratching as she forced words out. “Hey, Sleeping Beauty. Where are the keys?” 

“As if I’d trust you to use them.” He took a step away from Kiko, swaying on the spot. She jumped forward as he started to dip towards the ground, catching him just before his head hit the ground. Tetsu stared up at her with an icy stare. “I can do it.” 

Rolling her eyes, Kiko let Tetsu go. He thudded to the ground, a high pitched moan emitting from his mouth. His glare didn’t lessen in intensity as he somehow found a way to stand upright long enough to unlock the door. He clutched onto the door handle like it was a crutch. 

Entering the building, Tetsu collapsed to the floor in a heap. Kiko gently kicked him out of the way, shutting the door with a soft slam and proceeding to lock all of the 4 locks barricading the door. Tetsu watched with hawk eyes as she did this. 

“Don’t you trust me?” Kiko smirked. 

“Trust is a loose term.” 

She scoffed. Taking in his bloodied and bruised form, she started to walk through the aisles. “What’s the best stuff to deal with... you?” 

“Poison,” he muttered sarcastically to himself. A little louder this time, he told her to grab some dressing, water, cloth and pain relief. She scavenged the area for the supplies, returning to his side a few minutes later. 

Kiko pointed at his shirt. Tetsu frowned at her, waiting for her to elaborate. Kiko tried to open her mouth to speak, swallowing thickly as the words got lodged in her throat. Unconsciously a hand drifted to her throat. 

Tetsu watched her struggle silently. She took a few moments to compose herself, gesturing again to his shirt and making a lifting motion with her hand. It took some time for it to register.

Grunting under his breath, he tried to lift his shift off himself. As soon as he tried to lift his arms above his head he cried out, body going lax. His head fell back against the cupboard. He took three calming breaths, face scrunching up when he breathed deeply. 

His hands went to the bottom of his shirt when Kiko stopped him. Halting him in his tracks, she pushed his hands away, giving him a tiny smile. “You can trust your body guard.” 

She found a pair of scissors nearby, making quick work of cutting off his shirt. She pulled the excess material away, touch light as she pulled it off his body. He winced slightly but said nothing else. 

When his chest was finally exposed to her, she couldn’t withhold her gasp. His chest was a canvas of colour, bruises turning a dark colour on the surface. In some areas his chest had been cut, blood crusted around the wounds. From the way his hand was lingering near his ribs and the pigments there, she was certain he had broken his ribs. 

“I’m so sorry Ryuk did this to you.” Kiko turned her gaze downwards, busying her hands with wetting some cloth with water. 

“It’s not your fault.” He watched her movements carefully, eyes running over the wounds littering her body. They seemed to fixate on the bruise around her neck the most. “You’re hurt too.” 

Kiko brushed it off. Her elbow throbbed, her back ached and she was fairly certain there was a possibility she might have to be mute for a while. Even with these growing concerns in her mind, she sent him a trembling smile, speaking in a raspy voice.  “It’s nothing.” 

Tetsu nodded. Kiko started to make work of cleaning the blood from his skin, the cloth turning a rusty red as she washed his face. Her movements were so light Tetsu could barely feel her touch him. 

“Can I ask you something?” 

Kiko raised a brow. Tetsu wasn’t normally one to ask questions, and if he did, he surely never asked permission. Silently she bobbed her head.  

“How do you know Ryuk?” 

She froze. She contemplated telling Tetsu where to shove his question (more specifically, up his ass), or just be honest with him. It felt like he was knowing more about her daily, and to her, he was still a stranger. 

“How about I answer your question, for the price of asking you a question.” Kiko was surprised when Tetsu agreed. 

Kiko continued cleaning his skin, dipping the cloth back into the water. Ever so slowly it was beginning to turn a murky colour. “Do you remember the game where we met?” 

Tetsu nodded. 

“I mentioned my debt. Well, he was one of the more, untraditional debt collectors.” Kiko moved to cleaning his chest now, making her touch feather flight. She could still feel him tense under the sensation. “He caused my family misery for years.” 

“Do you feel better for killing him?” 

Kiko halted. She felt her words falter, something she tried to pin on her aching throat, trying to form an answer to a question she wasn’t sure she had. “It’s my turn to ask a question.”

“Fire away,” he relented. 

“How did you know the answer?” It didn’t long for Tetsu to realise she was referring to the seven of diamonds game. It had been boggling her ever since the game was completed and she could think straight. He slumped down, letting Kiko finish cleaning him before answering. 

“I didn’t.” He shrugged, hissing at the sudden movement. “I took a chance and it paid off.”

Kiko stared at him, mouth opening and closing. She struggled to fathom why he would gamble with his life so freely, so easily. She opened her mouth to question it, his voice interrupting her. “A question for a question?” 

Kiko nodded. 

“Do you regret killing Ryuk?” 

She knew the question was coming and she still had to give herself time to think. It was true that she felt safer now that he was gone. She didn’t regret it at the time. Afterwards she was horrified by what she did. But with the image of his mangled head appearing in his mind, she found the only thing she felt was elation. “I only regret that it will haunt me for the rest of my life.” 

He hummed, sated with her half truth. Now Kiko was itching to ask him a question that had been burning in her mind since he revealed his truth. “Why gamble your life like that?” 

Kiko reached for the dressing, starting to unravel it. She pushed herself closer to Tetsu, wrapping the material around his chest tightly. His skin was cool and smooth to touch. He drew in a large breath. “If I was right, then it wouldn’t be so bad. If I was wrong, well, it could be worse.” 

“You would have died.” 

Tetsu’s silence spoke a thousand words. It struck a chord within her. She was sent back to a chilly day, wrapped up in a thick, black jacket, a note crumpled in her pocket. A train could be heard rattling down the tracks. Her toes tiptoed the edge, bracing herself for the impact that would never come. 

Kiko shook herself. It would do her no good to be thinking of that here. 

Tying the dressing, she marvelled her work. It wasn’t perfect, but it would do. “Not too tight?” 

Tetsu grunted. “Perfect.” 

“Can I do anything else to help?” 

She could see how much it physically pained him to ask. “Can you help me to the couch?” 

With one arm wrapped around her waist, they shakily walked to their makeshift bedroom. Kiko made an effort to ensure Tetsu was comfortable, shifting pillows and dragging the blanket over him. 

“Kiko?” Tetsu looked up at her with half lidded eyes. “Make sure you drink some water.” 

He gave her a small smile, his wrecked body rapidly falling asleep. 

Kiko sighed, moving to the other room to address her own wounds. Like Tetsu advised she dabbed some water on her bruises, paying particular attention to the one wrapped around her throat. If she looked closely enough, she could make out where Ryuk’s fingers had marked her. She carefully cleaned her elbow, being sure to pull as many shards of glass out as she could. She was unable to control how her breath hitched each time a particularly sharp shard was pulled from out of her skin. 

With her elbow cleaned and bandaged, a yawn consumed her. She nestled into her make shift bed, glancing at a half full water bottle calling her from across the room. 

Kiko swiftly turned away, quickly falling into a world of blood soaked dreams. 

[honeymoonjin]

part of the Roll Deep project.

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genre: pornstar!au, pro dom!jin || word count: 7.4k || warnings for sexually explicit context: bdsm, sex work/porn, use of safe word, oral (m receiving), fingering, anal play (f receiving), unprotected sex, sex toys, bondage, humiliation/degradation, pet play, multiple orgasms, forced orgasm, jin is a filthy bitch, please heed the tags, dom!jin, sub!reader, voyeurism/exhibitionism.

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The longer you stand outside the door to the dungeon, the more nervous you get, but you imagine that's rather the point. It's cold in the waiting room, especially when you'd been already instructed to remove your robe, leaving you in the plain white lingerie all subs on the show wore.

Although you had seen every single episode of Play Hard at least twice (once out of curiosity when you were applying for the show and a second time to try and prepare yourself) the actual behind-the-scenes information was kept under lock and key. You had even signed a non-disclosure, stating that you couldn't publicly or privately reveal any of the goings-on that weren't released in the official episode.

It means that you now feel unbelievably off-guard and underprepared, shivering in the waiting room. It's silent apart from the metallic whirr of the air-con. There's not even anyone in here now that the director had slipped inside to check on the proceedings.

You can't help but scoff a little. Director. One of the few things you had managed to glean from a past costar was that the director was there to arrange the setting up of equipment and then sit and watch. The middle-aged American guy had introduced himself to you in the waiting room, given you instructions and taken your robe, then left promptly, but that short time was enough for you to realise that what you had heard was probably true. He was so spineless and jittery you could've mistaken him for a trainee PA.

Two solid thuds ring out against the heavy metal door, making you jump slightly, a fresh wave of goosebumps breaking out on your upper arms. That was the signal to go inside. Suddenly you want to turn tail and run away. Instead, you push open the door and step inside.

He is the first thing you see upon entering. His back faces you when you walk in, and you swallow hard. His shoulders are so broad that it blocks you from seeing anything on the table he's standing at, so you simply hover awkwardly, wringing your hands together as you hear the doors shut behind you, and the director scamper back off to his seat.

He ignores you, fiddling with something metallic on the table, and although it builds that anxious feeling in your gut, you take the opportunity to look him over properly. His hair is a natural inky black, so glossy the backlight reflects off it. His clothes are intimidating, even from behind, even though you've seen them a hundred times before. Stretched tightly across his shoulders, a black button-down shirt is bracketed by a leather harness that cinches around his waist, and again halfway up his torso. There are two thick silver loops attached to that upper band on either side of his spine, and you know from watching his show there are more on his front. A spike of electricity jumps through you when you remember one of his more recent episodes where he had locked a sub's wrist cuffs to the back loops. She was a tiny girl with short arms, and by the time she was locked in she was completely pressed up against him, speared on his cock; helpless and unable to get off it. Fuck, what was a girl like you doing here?

"Eyes on the floor."

Your head shoots down immediately before you even consciously process his words. His voice is low and resonant, a richer timbre in real life than the mic clipped to his shirt could ever hope to pick up. You hear his feet, clad in heavy black shoes, shuffle against the hardwood floor as he turns to face you. You curl your bare toes against the cold, varnished planks. You'd never look up, never dream of disobeying his orders before you've even really begun, but you couldn't have predicted just how blazing his gaze feels on you, even, especially, when you can't see it.

"Babybaby223?"

You nod your head at the sound of your username. Even though it's obvious he would know it (he personally cherry-picks subs he wants to work with, after a rigorous audition period), it brings to mind the thought of him watching your videos. You bite down on your lip to fight a wicked smile. The image of the famed professional dom jerking off to one of your livestreams is delicious. You feel your nerves melt into raw excitement.

"You've only been in this business for two months, is that right?" You nod again, more enthusiastically. "Yet you think you can handle me. Ambitious little whore, aren't you?" He's on the move again, each step echoing dully, growing louder. You can see the tips of his perfectly-shined shoes right in the top of your vision when he stops. Eyes straining, your head tips up just slightly so you can see a little more of him. "You were a very good girl in your audition. I liked that little schtick about denying yourself so that you can come for Master. Very cute. Are you going to be a good girl for me again today?"

You nod again, taking the opportunity to raise your gaze a little more once your head stills again. You can see most of his pants now, barely able to make out where the black fabric strains over his thighs. Just a little more...

He stomps his foot suddenly, bringing it down hard and fast on the floor to create a sharp thud. Instinctively your eyes shoot up to meet his but he's storming towards you, and you get only a blurred glimpse of the glare on his face before a hand is coming out and pressing down hard on the crown of your head, forcing your chin to press uncomfortably on your sternum. You wiggle, trying to bend your spine and ease the tension, but he keeps you there, fingers tightening around the top half of your scalp, nails scratching slightly in your hair.

"Apparently not," he growls, and you squeeze your eyes shut in regret, "I guess you were just faking it in that audition tape, then? Because so far I've only given you one command and you've already disobeyed me."

"Sorry, Master," you rush out, but the sound is squashed and guttural with the tight bend in your throat.

His fingers curl into your hair, tugging at a handful of it in one sharp yank. You wince, but stay otherwise silent, drinking in the sensation of his hand on you. Suddenly there's a pressure against your cheek, and a whisper in your ear. "Did we agree that you could speak?"

You tremble, the warm air brushing down your neck lighting up your nerves. You shake your head, bowing your head even further.

Suddenly, his grip eases off, and the hand begins to smooth out your hair. "It's okay," he says lightly, though there's a sharpness to it, "I'm sure you know the two strikes rule."

You nod, his cheek warm against yours as the muscles in your neck ache. His two strikes rule was famous, even featuring in his logo as two slashes across the web-series' name. Taken from the well-known 'three strikes and you're out', this version meant dictated that if Master gave you two strikes, the rest of your session was punishment in any way he saw fit, no matter how much time was left. Pathetic sluts don't deserve three chances, he'd often say.

You mentally berate yourself on getting a strike so soon. One time last year a bratty sub had gotten on the show and blown both strikes within ten minutes. The video was a brutal documentation of her almost four-hour long disciplining. You didn't think you could handle that.

You bite down hard on your lip to stop yourself from apologising verbally, instead focusing on staying as still as possible.

With one last demeaning pat on the top of your head, he removes his hand and stands back up to his full height. You keep your eyes focussed firmly on your own two feet as he walks away, calling out to you in a firm tone. "You may look up. Join me at the table."

You scamper over, but with his back to you again, you take the chance to glance over at the production team.

They're, for the most part, all bunched up along one wall doing nothing but twiddling thumbs and watching. You've never had a problem with being watched during sex (it would make shooting porn very difficult if you were) but going from self-filmed cams to a web-series was a lot to take in.

The director watches you as you cross the room, meeting your gaze for a moment, simply shrugging in response to your concerned look. He wasn't going to help you here. Unless you used the safe word or something went seriously wrong, your only shot at leaving here without a bright-red ass, or worse, was to be the best-behaved sub Master had ever had.

He doesn't even look at you. "Wrists."

You hold them out to him hastily, watching in wonder at the effortless grace he has in looping a raven-black rope around one, then the other, before tightening it so they draw together, pressed tightly against one another. The feeling of danger spliced with security is always addictive; even at home you'd sometimes practice self-ties for your livestreams, though it was always different knowing someone else was in control of your mobility. You shift your hips slightly, clenching around nothing.

Once he's finished, he steps back from you. "Try to get out."

You jiggle your wrists, only to have no give, and look back up at him. His mouth flattens and his jaw tenses. You swallow hard, taking a deep breath before tugging more vigorously, expelling all your energy into slipping them off or pulling them apart. Once again, they don't give.

"Good. The EMT shears are with the director; if either you or me needs to use them, use the safe word plus "rope". If for any other reason you or I feel like we need to use the safe word, say it verbally, or if you can't, use the hand motion." You nod obediently, feeling yourself calm down again with this brief respite. This was never included in the episodes, but you appreciate the reinforcement of a safety net around the scene. "Say the safe word and do the gesture so I know you remember it."

You close both of your hands into fists, leaving the pointer fingers out and wiggling them. "Purple."

He nods once. His face is still taut and his mouth hard, but there's something lighting up his eyes. He's excited about this. "Finally, if you say the safe word once, it stops that particular activity, if you say it twice in a row or on more than one occasion, it stops the scene. Understood?"

You nod again, a smile playing at the corner of your lips. This was great; you didn't know what you were so frightened about. You think back to the list of kinks you had to submit with your application; a comprehensive check-mark list of all the things you could possibly be into. Ropes and bondage was definitely one you checked off, and you're suddenly feeling euphoric, filled with anticipation of all the kinks you loved. You couldn't wait for him to try them out on you. It had been a while since anyone other than yourself had given you pleasure.

"On the table, facing me."

You step up to it, turning in anticipation, only to freeze. It's higher than you were expecting. The edge of the table rests on top of the swell of your ass, and you futilely try lifting a leg up one at a time to shuffle on, but it's no use. You could jump, but with your hands tied you'd risk falling and injuring yourself.

A dark chuckle breaks your attention away from the table. You stare up at Master with wide eyes. His lips are full and rosy, even when they're stretched across his face in an amused sneer. "Need some help?"

Your bottom lip sticks out slightly as you nod. He could've let you get up and then tied your wrists together. But his smug grin as he wraps his hands around your waist tells you that getting you off-guard and reliant on him was exactly the point.

You squeak as he lifts you up with ease and dumps you down ungracefully on the table.  You suck in a hiss through your teeth. The table is wood, too - the same dark grain as the floor - and it's freezing against your ass, the thin fabric of your underwear doing nothing to provide any insulation.

Your eyes are on his. You feel electric, liquid excitement running through your veins and  gathering between your legs. He quirks his eyebrows in thought, letting his eyes run over you. Automatically, you find yourself straightening your spine and sucking in your tummy, conscious of the way it would look on camera. Your eyes dart nervously over to the cameraman who paces in closer to you in a crouch.

Goosebumps raise up on the tops of your thighs. God, why was it so fucking cold in here?

You jump slightly when a hand comes down on your thigh. It's not hard, nothing more than a warning swat, but you swallow hard at the fire burning in his eyes.

"Who's your master here?"

"You are," you reply immediately, with a dutiful head-bow, only to jump again when a harder slap hits the sensitive skin of your thigh.

He's looking at you in disappointment now, a pensive frown on his face as he reaches around behind you, and somehow that's much worse than anger. His face is leaning over your shoulder as he reaches for something, pulling back a slip of black fabric.

You bite your lip, toes curling. A blindfold. One of your favorite accessories in the bedroom. Everything always felt more intense when your vision was restricted, and it would help you forget the intimidating presence of an entire production team.

"Now," he states brusquely, running a veined hand over the fabric to smooth it out, "I noticed you checked off sensory deprivation on your list of kinks, so I thought I'd be a generous master and give you a blindfold. But it seems you can't keep your fucking mouth shut, so I'm gonna have to use this to shut you up. Open wide, princess."

The corners of your mouth quirk down with the sarcastic pet name, but you open your mouth for him nonetheless, biting down on the thick twist of black cotton that he slips between your teeth, tying it tightly at the back.

With that done, he resumes his inspection of you, completely ignoring you as he runs his fingers lightly and impersonally over you, like you were a doll he was inspecting.

Over time you can feel the cotton wicking away all the moisture in your mouth, and your glands start to work overtime to produce more saliva. With a growing dread, you can feel lines of drool slipping down your chin. Every societal instinct in you screams to wipe it away, but he currently is holding your wrists up, a single finger looped in the rope, pulling it away from you like an afterthought as he inspects your breasts, head cocked to the side.

Here was another procedure you had never seen on his show, and you were feeling as off-guard as ever. With no clocks in here, you had no way of knowing how long it had been, but it felt like hours before he finally reached your head, tipping your jaw up and to each side, moving you like an object.

Once he lets your jaw go and looks at your face, he spots the spit on your chin and laughs. "We've barely even started yet and look how messy you are. Don't think I didn't notice how you've ruined your panties already."

You make a little whine and widen your legs, arching your back as best you can.

"Baby, baby," he coos condescendingly, referencing your username. "Are you feeling needy, hm?" You nod. "Tell me what you want."

You blink at him for a moment. How were you supposed to-? Though your grin isn't visible behind the gag, you know he can see the way your cheeks lift and your eyes light up as you get an idea.

Lifting a leg up, you use the tips of your toes to poke his crotch teasingly. To your delight, he's rock hard.

He runs a hand through his hair, disrupting it slightly as it parts to reveal his thick brows. With one palm on your knee and the other on the table beside you, Master steps forward, your foot pressed flatly against him, bending at the knee. His voice is deceptively smooth, a sharp edge dripping with honey. "My sub wants me to fuck her?"

You nod quickly, though your eyebrows crease at the way he talks about you in third person, instead of directly.

"Well, I'm afraid I can't do that just yet." His pink tongue slips out to wet his lips. "What kind of dom would I be if I let my sub tell me what to do?"

The back of his hand strikes across the bone of your ankle, batting your foot away. He steps right up, pressing his hips against the edge of the table between your legs, crotch right on top of yours. Any levity or humour has disappeared as he reaches out and latches onto your chin with an iron grip. He turns your head harshly towards the cameras and leans in, nipping at your earlobe once in warning. "Don't think for a second that this is about you. I'm sure you've heard many times that the one with the most power in a scene is a sub, because they can call off the scene at any moment. Perhaps you can call off the scene if you need to, but that does not mean you have any power here. The scene ends, your contract ends, you hear me?"

With wide eyes you attempt to nod, though his grip is too tight. He uses his hand to make you, guiding your jaw up and down. His grip is so tight, his fingers press through the meat of your cheek and squeezes on your teeth. You wince, but he doesn't let up.

"We all know that subs come here for one reason, and that's to get publicity. Cams aren't enough for a greedy whore like you, are they? Well, let me tell you a secret, princess: every single one of those twelve million viewers on my series don't want me to let you have your way. They don't even want me to fuck you." You tremble as he bites down on your ear again, tugging at the lobe before growling in your ear again. "They want me to ruin you."

All of a sudden he's letting go of you completely, and you hastily prop yourself up with your bound hands to prevent yourself from slumping over. You run your tongue over the inside of your sore cheeks as best you can with the gag in, panting.

"Turn around. Ass up, tits down."

It's surprisingly easy to navigate onto your stomach once you get your knees up on the table, and it's actually kind of comfortable letting your chest rest on your tied wrists, knees tucked between your tummy to prop your ass up.

Of course, comfortable was not in your contract. You suck in a shocked breath when his hand comes between your legs, lifting you up by your crotch until your knees no longer touch the table. You squeeze your eyes shut as you put your focus into staying stable with your front half securely pressed against the table.

"Are you a fucking amateur? Spread your legs."

You do as he says, hovering them open in the air, your shins bumping against the table edge, and finally he lowers you back down. Once he removes his hand, you whimper at the loss of pressure against your clit, feeling unbelievably vulnerable, but still it's not enough for him.

"Wider," he commands impatiently as he presses down on the middle of your back so that you have no choice but to arch further, knees splayed out wide. It's only once you reach this position, tensing your thighs slightly, that you realise that you can't get up anymore. Your legs are so far apart that you couldn't get your knees under you if you tried, and his palm rests heavy on your bare back, a reminder of the dominance he has over you. If you had ever doubted it before, here was the first-hand confirmation that he was a profession, and the thought of what he might do next makes you keen, whining again.

He hums to himself in consideration, and you hear him shifting around behind you. Another pair of footprints patters up, something metallic clinks, and hand rubs your back almost soothingly. "Now," he begins, moving around to your side, "you've shown me that you're incapable of following instructions, so I think I'm going to have to take some precautions."

You drop your head onto your hands, the rope on your wrists rubbing the tops of your breasts. The urge not to swivel around and see what he's doing only increases tenfold when the hand on your back disappears, but you force yourself to stay still. Two strikes, you remind yourself, and only one left.

To your left, you hear a swipe, some clanking, and then a tug. You almost jump right off the table when a solid strap of leather is thrown across your back, just below your shoulder blades. It lays there loosely for only a moment as he walks around to the other side, but soon enough you feel it growing taut over you. He pulls it tighter and tighter until your top half is completely flush against the table, your arms squished in between, and your back arching up to present your ass.

Your breathing picks up again, constricted slightly by the tight angle, and your eyes fall shut again, head to the side on the table. You can feel yourself truly slipping into subspace; it's liquid, like falling asleep or relaxing in a hot bath. The realization that you no longer have control, and that resisting it is futile, settles into your bones, and you feel your muscles ease.

"There," he drawls from somewhere above you, "that's sure taken the fight out of you, hasn't it? Now you're mine to play with." You shudder when he pairs his comment with a finger trailing up your spine, and he chuckles low in his throat.

His voice echoes, moving behind you. "In fact, if I wanted to, I could scrap all the other plans I had for you and just use you as my little cocksleeve. Fuck; if I got tired I could sit back and let the others come and have a go. If that's what I wanted, there'd be nothing you could do about it. You'd just have to sit there and take it."

He's not telling the truth; the safe word is firmly etched into the contract, as well as the fact that no persons were allowed to engage without also signing the contract, and no one had. Still, as a fingernail drags ever-so-lightly across your behind, along the seam of your panties, the thought causes you to whimper.

The teasingly featherish tough changes to a surge of heat as both his palms flatten over the globes of your ass, long fingers slipping under the fabric as he massages the flesh. "...but as good as that sounds, I have something much better in store for you, something I'm quite looking forward to seeing."

His hands move against you, shifting around to either side, gripping at the fabric. The white lingerie every sub on the show wore were purpose-made to be extremely easy to remove. As such, the seams on the panties were practically perforated, easy to rip off in the situation that you couldn't simply slide them down. It only takes two purposeful tugs before they tear, and the fabric falls away, clinging to your folds momentarily.

You sigh out at the feeling of the cold air on your center, the slick that's made its way all over your folds quickly cooling. A finger or thumb running down your middle has you biting down on the fabric between your teeth.

"I'm a big believer in lube," Master divulges, "but I prefer mine all-natural. So before we get to the main event, I'm going to have to replenish my stocks."

In your sex-hazed mind, you don't understand what he means until a single finger is sinking into you, enough of an intrusion to send your nerves alight, but not enough to give you any real relief.

It leaves you, and you hear the obscene sound of him sucking on his finger with a wet pop. He groans. "God, if you hadn't been so poorly behaved, perhaps I'd have given you a reward and eaten that pretty pussy of yours." You make out a disappointed sob, attempting to shift your hips back for more friction although the tight band across your middle keeps you infuriatingly stuck.

"Mm, you're soaked as it is but better to be safe than sorry, no?"

Your heart is pounding in your chest as he leaves quickly to grab something else from the props manager, and you swear it stops for a minute as you hear him plug something into a wall socket. You make a questioning whine from behind your gag.

"Well, we don't have all the time in the world," Master explains as he presses something silicon-like and firm against you, slicking it up. "The quickest way to get you dripping for me is an orgasm, and I'm not going to waste my time making it special for you." He flicks a switch and an audible buzzing vibrates powerfully between your legs, causing the muscles in your thighs to jump. "Now hurry the fuck up and cum for me."

You recognise this raw power immediately. A plug-in-Hitachi. Famous in porn videos everywhere, you had been inspired to splurge and buy one yourself once, only to realize just how powerful it was. You had used it once, too much sensation to even orgasm, and given it away.

It's infuriating, unbearable, having the wand pressed up to your clit as he runs it back and forth impatiently. It's too much to take, but you physically have no choice but to take it. Your teeth are clenching tightly around the fabric, drooling onto the table, and your hands are squeezed into fists, the muscles of your abs, butt and thighs flexing even though they can't move you away from the torrent of pleasure.

"Pweathe," you gargle, "koo ngucks!"

"Too much?" he questions, though his voice is tinted with bemusement rather than any genuine concern. "I don't care."

You let out a frustrated scream from the back of your throat, feeling tears squeezing out the corners of your eyes. You crack them open to see the director in the edge of your vision, staring intensely at your hands, waiting for any sign of the safe word signal.

Although you're so sensitive you can't help but cry, and your nerves feel like they're being electrocuted, something runs deeper, a viscous current of pleasure building up inside you. Oh, god. You're actually going to cum.

The moment you entertain the thought that you were getting close, the orgasm hits you like a tidal wave, crashing over every inch of your body. You feel yourself convulsing on the table as much as your bondage allows, spit pooling around your cheek as you hopelessly drool around the gag. As soon as you cum, you're already being thrust into oversensitivity, and your master cruelly keeps the vibrator held against you as you sob hopelessly.

Then you feel something, a strange object swiping between your legs against your folds, dipping in slightly. The wand falls away, and you go silent, feeling that weird sensation as you lie bonelessly on the table, knees parting even wider as they fail to hold you up at all.

A soft chuckle is pushed out of his nose. "Mm, that shut you up. Bet you're wondering what this is, huh?" You pant, managing to summon enough energy to nod, twitching every time that hard yet thin thing gets too close to your abused clit. "Let me show you."

You knit your eyebrows and open your eyes, blinking against the bright backlights, as a waist comes into your line of vision.

You crane your neck to look up him, hyper-aware of the wet patch on the table, but he doesn't comment on it, instead cheerily showing you a small clear squeezy-bottle and a spoon. Tears of humiliation spring to you eyes as you see him discard the spoon and produce the bottle's top from his pocket, twisting it on and testing it, squeezing out a small amount of what could only be your slick onto his finger.

He rolls it absentmindedly between his thumb and pointer finger, staring down at you with a smile you haven't seen before. "Good girl. Now we can move on to the fun stuff, hm?"

You shudder as he moves away. If this was just a preamble, what the fuck did he consider the fun stuff? Your muscles ache when he loosens the belt across your back and removes it, though a slap to your ass and a barked command leave you spread open on all fours for him.

"Now, my sources tell me you like being called baby and babygirl, is that right?"

You make a noise of confirmation, too weak to nod.

He places a hand on your behind, spreading your cheeks. You jump when a warm liquid drizzles down your crack, and a finger presses against your rim. "Well, I'm not going to call you that today. In fact, you look so pretty on all fours that I think I might call you..." he trails off as he pushes past your tight ring of muscles, pressing a single digit deep inside you. "...my puppy."

You shake your head resolutely. "Ngo."

"No?" He laughs, slowly fucking you with the one finger. "'No' isn't our safeword. It's sad," he muses, squeezing out some more of your juices to make the slide a little easier, picking up the pace. "Because if you're a good little puppy for me, I might just fuck you like a bitch in heat, just like you wanted. Does that sound good?"

You whimper when he slips his finger out and you clench around the empty space, but he's reaching forward to undo the knot around the back of your head and suddenly you're able to spit out the gag, sucking in lungfuls of cool, fresh air.

"Answer me this time. Do you want to get fucked, puppy?"

Your breath leaves you in a hopeless sigh as he moves back, upgrading to two fingers inside of you. "Yes, please," you whine.

"Oh? That's interesting, I didn't know puppies could talk. I don't want words. One bark for yes, two barks for no."

Your hips lift up off of the intrusion. "No, purple, I'm not- I-"

"Hey, hey," Master eases, rubbing your back soothingly, "it's okay, you don't need to explain. Do you want all of this to stop?" You shake your head reluctantly. Even though all you want to do if bury your head in your hands and disappear, you can't deny that his finger inside you felt unbelievably erotic. "Just that last bit?" A nod. "Are you gonna be good and let me stretch you out for me?"

You nod one last time, breathing unsteadily, shuffling a bit so that the ropes on your wrists no longer dig into your sternum, instead laying them out in front of you so that you can rest your head on the softness of your upper arm.

He puts his fingers back inside you, and you swear softly at the intrusion, the unusual pleasure that it was causing in the pit of your stomach. Although you'd been careful to muffle it against your arm, you hear him give off a warning growl, crooking his fingers inside you. You squeak and your hips waver, but he leaves it at that, and goes back to scissoring you open patiently.

You have the realization in the back of your mind that he's easing you back into things, instead of going full Master immediately, but soon your gratitude melts away with the addition of a third finger. Every breath comes in a snapped huff; you feel unable to hold your breath for longer than a second, as every movement inside you makes your toes curl. You feel your brain turn to mush when they slip out of you, and you groan lowly in protest.

Your disappointment is short-lived, however, as soon after a cool glass object is being pressed firmly into you. Your mouth falls open as you widen around it. Above you, Master rubs your ass, keeping your cheeks spread. "Silly puppy forgot her tail. Luckily I have one for her."

Your top half goes slack with resignation. Even as your cheeks light up with embarrassment at the thought of wearing a fucking tail, the widest part of the plug slips inside you and you feel so addictively full. You clench around it a couple times, shivering.

"Alright, let's get you off the table. Puppies belong on the floor."

You let him wrap his arms securely around your middle, lifting you up off the table and lowering you down onto the ground. Your knees knock painfully against the wood, but you get your bound hands down in front of you soon enough to hold yourself up.

You look up at him, at the glimmer in his eye. He grins back down at you, holding a palm out. "Stay," he commands softly, in the same tone one would use for dog training.

You wait obediently as he turns and walks down towards the filming crew in front of you, reaching into a large black box filled with equipment. On your hands and knees, you fight the urge to swivel around and look at the plug. You know you could easily see if you wanted to, and as it is you can feel something soft brushing against your cheeks, but you worry that if you saw it with your own eyes, you'd be too humiliated to continue on. You bite your lip and glance at the main camera. You can't afford to use the safe word again and end the scene, not after you've already done so much. You need this episode to go public so that you're not stuck in the camgirl scene forever.

"Good girl," Master cooes when he returns, ruffling at your hair affectionately. He crouches down in front of you and shows you a collar, a dark red, glossy leather one with a silver buckle. After the plug, this is nothing, and you simply tilt your chin to give him more room. His eyes light up with something akin to pride, and you feel your chest warm as he fastens the collar around your neck.

Once he finishes, he sits back on his heels to look you over, tucking two fingers under the leather to make sure it's not too tight. You swallow hard. You have to admit, there's something deeply satisfying about the way it feels around your neck, the way it digs in when you duck your chin. The reminder that you're his.

"Stay," he commands once more, before standing up and moving over to the other side of the room, pulling up a chair and sitting down in it. He pats his thigh. "Come."

You glance down at your bound wrists, then back up at him in question. He simply cocks his head to the side and waits, legs wide open and pants tented.

With a reluctant sigh, you begin to awkwardly hobble over to him. It's slow going, and you feel yourself blushing all the way down to your neck as the softness between your legs tickles the backs of your knees, but you force yourself forward, crawling forward as if you have three limbs, moving them one at a time, feeling the plug shift teasingly inside you the whole way.

After an age, and some seriously sore knees, you stop in between his legs, and glance up at him question.

"Good puppy," he praises, "now sit."

You do as he says promptly, hissing when the plug is pressed up into you suddenly. He laughs as you try and make yourself comfortable, sitting back on your heels.

You watch with a salivating mouth as a veined hand comes down to play at the button of his pants. He pops the button, pulls the zip down next, and silently lets you watch him with wide eyes as he pulls out his cock, knitting his dark eyebrows when he grips it loosely.

After a few self-indulgent strokes, Master looks down at you with lidded eyes, and scoots his crotch even closer to your face, his thighs on either side of your head. "I'll give you what you want, puppy, just let me fuck that pretty mouth of yours first."

You whimper. Whoever had said that the camera removes a few inches was right. Watching his series, you always knew he was big, but now that it was right in front of your face? There was no way that was fitting inside you, no matter where he tried to put that thing. Still, you open your mouth and stick your tongue slightly out, and the swear he lets out from the back of his throat makes it all worth it.

This was what you had been waiting for. The chance to make him lose himself, become just as fucked out as you were.

Master reaches down with one hand and hooks his finger underneath the collar, making it completely taut against your throat, and uses his other hand to guide his cock to rest on your tongue.

It's heavy, and the slight tang of precum has you wanting more. Risking punishment, you bat your eyelids and take initiative, lapping at his head like a dog. He lets out a guttural noise again and tips his head back. You watch with satisfaction as he swallows hard, his throat bobbing. "Oh, that's a good puppy," he praises.

With the hand tucked partly into your collar, he pushes your head down on him suddenly, and you gag around him as he forces himself to the back of your throat, but instead of letting up, he holds you there, moving his hips to increase that friction.

You force yourself to widen your mouth and breath through your nose, knowing that the more you think about it, the more your gag reflex will kick in. Gradually, Master grows more aggressive with his thrusts, until he's practically face-fucking you, and your eyes pool over with tears. Desperate to feel something to tide you over, you begin subconsciously grinding your ass against the floor, feeling the plug move inside of you, and you begin to moan on his cock, rutting yourself more to chase the feeling.

Above you, your master is moaning through clenched teeth, some of them coming out more like a growl, and his eyes are fixed on you, lidded with desire.

Finally, just when you splutter, unable to stop from choking on his cock, he tugs roughly on your collar and pulls you off of him. You gasp for air, eyes streaming and lips swollen, as he grips himself tightly to keep his orgasm at bay.

"Good girl," he praises gruffly, "good girl." Once the two of you take a few deep breaths and he comes back down from that edge, he runs a hand through his hair and grins down at you. "Puppy loves her tail, doesn't she? I saw you rubbing yourself against the floor like a horny bitch." You flush, but he just reaches down and hooks the ropes around your wrists, deftly untying them. "As promised, since you were a good little puppy for me, you can have your reward. Does puppy want the plug out first?"

You bite your lip, eyes glazing over as you consider it. You probably should. It was embarrassing having to act like a dog, and he's so big that you can't imagine they'd both fit. But then....

You shake your head. Master nods proudly. The ropes send warm lines of friction across your skin as he undoes each tie, and soon enough your arms are falling loosely apart.

"Up you get," he instructs, and you push yourself up, stressed that the plug is going to fall out even though you know realistically it's definitely snugly stuck in there. It shifts slightly as he grabs onto the tail, and uses the other hand to wrap around your waist and pull you closer, your legs on either side of him. With a twinkle in his eye, he looks up at you. "Puppy, sit."

You bite your lip and take a steadying breath, grabbing his slick length and placing it at your entrance. Painstakingly slowly, you lower yourself down onto him, feeling him open you up inch by glorious inch. You stop halfway, panting, before a quick tug on your tail gives you the motivation to lower yourself further, until your ass cheeks rest on his thighs. The zipper will probably cause you a few rashes on the insides of your thighs by tomorrow, but for now you're so drunk on pleasure that the pain feels good too.

You rest your head in the crook of his neck, legs gone weak. You feel so unbelievably connected and close, and so full, that you can't even move. Luckily, all it takes is one strong hand cupping your ass, holding you up, for Master to begin thrusting into you.

Immediately on the first snap of his hips you cry out loudly in his ear, fingers curling around the thick metal loops on his harness like they're handles.

"Feel good?" he asks, grunting with effort as he fucks up into your pussy.

You make out half of a 'yes' before you're moaning hopelessly again, rendered incoherent by the slide of him inside you, of the wall that divides him from the plug.

"Fuck," he groans, "I've been hard as a- a fucking rock this whole time, I- I'm gonna cum soon."

You whine, secretly grateful, as each time he impales you on his cock, you feel yourself punted closer and closer to that edge. "Mmme too," you manage to make out, "s- oh, so full!"

"Yeah?" Master begins to pant lowly, using up the very last of his energy to bring the two of you to your ends. "Puppy, come."

You let out a scream and do as he says, the orgasm ripping through you violently, leaving you like dead weight on his chest as he pushes down on your ass cheeks, holding himself bottomed out in you as he releases with his own cry.

You shudder helplessly, every slight movement triggering aftershocks, your body completely lax on top of his. He rubs your ass lazily as he comes down from his high, his cum slowly leaking out of you.

"Cut!"