#I’m having like a mental crisis right now because I really need answers to questions I feel would either validate or educate me on the way

[throwing-shit-into-the-void]

Dear god. Okay so I’m very LGBT but have no clue what my ultimate sexuality is. I’ve been identifying as bisexual ever since I was 14, and I’m much older now and have had….many sexual experiences. I have listened to people in other sectors of our community, specifically trans.

My husband/spouse/wife is non binary obviously, and I love them dearly. I knew before they did, and have asked them to marry me before they came out to me. And trust me when I say, I have never been more sexually attracted to them in my life. Yeah yeah yeah, the honeymoon phase or whatever but honestly? That’s just a load of shit for people who don’t learn to communicate, and more importantly listen. I love them, and I want to have no other experiences besides with them. I want them, my body yearns for theirs, and I just feel so ungodly happy every time I get to hold them when they’re sleeping next to me.

GUYS I DID IT I MARRIED MY BEST FRIEND, MY SECOND HALF, and THE ABSOLUTE SWEETEST HUMAN BEING IN EXISTENCE!

There is nothing sexier than someone outwardly being the truest version of themselves, and fucking killing it. When someone is assertive, secure, and mature???? Holy fuck just take me away. And they have!! I love them so much

So here is my question, i have been identifying as bisexual, and before it was more towards women and men, however, me being absolutely star struck and caught off guard by my attraction to my lover who is non binary, i feel like identifying as pansexual isn’t enough. I am truly attracted to them 100%, but I feel like a sexuality where you’re only attracted to non-binary people fetishize them? However, one could argue that being non-binary is just another version of gender, however nb in it if itself is an umbrella term for everything under the sun, rightfully so may I add. I don’t want to fetishize my spouse, and I want them to feel as comfortable as I am with them and all that. They’re just really new i to their transition as themselves in this society and don’t know the answers themselves when i ask them these questions.

Is it really fetishizing when your partner, marital spouse, identifies as one way? And then all of a sudden it’s like, “holy shit you’re all I’ve ever wanted you’re all I’ve ever needed,” but being yelled at by people in this LGBTQA+ community about fetishizing trans individuals really scares me into either not having the right way of thinking about it. “I’m only attracted to trans females” or “I only like trans guys,” I’ve heard comes across as really gross towards those who identify that way and are being pursued. I love them, I just love my spouse so much and I’m trying so hard to get everything right so we don’t look back at this part of our relationship in 20 years thinking how gross my mindset was and how wrong it was.

Maybe I’m not bi or pan or whatever. Maybe I’m just completely attracted to my partner 100%? They’re all I ever want and all I feel like I will ever need to feel successful in life? But on the other hand, is this part of my sexuality i never got to explore before getting married? That thought is what I’m talking about above. And if it is, am I wrong for feeling that way? I just love my partner. Maybe I’m just attracted to their badassiry and them themselves. I don’t know.

I just know I married the exact right person for me, and for that, if I were to die tomorrow, I would die the happiest human in all of existence :)

#lbgtqa #lgbtq positivity #lgbt discourse #lgbt pride #lbgt love #lgbtqiia+ #lgbt representation #lgbt questions #send help #married #i love you #love #I love them so much I feel like I could die tomorrow and still be the happiest human to have ever existed #I’m having like a mental crisis right now because I really need answers to questions I feel would either validate or educate me on the way #I’m feeling because I am very confused and just want to do everything right #holy fuck I married the greatest person in existence

[marriedtobigfoot]

Part two of this story, where Robin discovers Steve’s type. A lot of people seemed interested in more, so here you go! 

The conversation doesn’t go quite the way Robin is expecting it. She’s fully prepared for Steve to launch into saying how confused he is because he’s feeling weird pants feelings for Eddie, but how does that work because he likes girls? She’s been mentally preparing herself for that exact discussion since she watched Eddie Munson call her best friend ‘Big Boy’ in the middle of committing grand theft auto. So when Steve starts talking, curled up on the gross linoleum tile of Family Video, she’s taken by surprise. She doesn’t even get the chance to answer his question before he’s throwing her prepared speech out the metaphorical window. 

“That’s stupid, you already told me that. Sharon Parker in the 5th grade, holding hands for Red Rover, blah blah blah, I know that. But like…Have you ever acted different around a girl, and then one day, you realize it’s because you like her? Like, you had a crush on a girl without even realizing it? Does that make any sense?” 

It takes Robin a second to reboot, but the second she manages, Steve throws her even further off track. 

“It’s just, Tommy H came by the other day, and he said some stuff that really has me thinking and-” 

Robin can’t stop herself. As soon as she hears a name other than Eddie Munson, she has a hand out covering Steve’s mouth. He gives her a look, surprised and confused. Maybe a little annoyed. She valiantly ignores him because what he just said has her head spinning, and she needs to put a stop to it right now. 

“Steve. My best friend in the whole universe. I’m here for whatever you need and whatever you might be figuring out about yourself. You know I’m going to support you 100% no matter what happens but…Please. PLEASE tell me that you didn’t just discover you have a crush on TOMMY H! He isn’t even your type, Steve! He isn’t even in the ballpark of your type! He’s so far off it’s honestly kind of laughable and-” 

Now it’s Steve who puts a hand over her mouth. 

“Jesus, Robin! First of all, gross. I’m not into Tommy, okay? Never gonna happen, not in a million years. And second, what the hell do you mean ‘my type?’ What the hell would you know about my type?” 

Robin carefully removes his hand from her face and shakes her head. She has absolutely no clue where this conversation is going, but there’s still a chance it can work its way somewhere good. Somewhere Munson-related. And she owes it to Steve to listen to his crisis properly. 

“Nevermind, forget that. What happened with Tommy?” 

“Okay well, he came over, like I said. He was super wasted, and I guess he and Carol broke up? And he started talking about when we were friends, and how he always used to try and get closer to me. He said he almost asked me if I wanted to practice kissing once? And he talked about like, trying to touch me all the time, trying to make me laugh? Basically saying he had a crush on me, which was super weird.” 

Robin nodded, because really, she had no idea what to say to that. 

“And then he kissed me. Which was kind of gross because he tasted like whisky and he was being all sloppy, like he wanted to eat my face. But…” 

“But?” 

“It wasn’t as gross as I would have expected I guess.” 

“I thought you said you didn’t like him!” 

“I don’t! It just, wasn’t a totally horrible kiss okay? Only a little horrible.” 

Robin sighed and let her head tip back against the wall. 

“Okay, I’m not seeing your dilemma yet. Tommy liking you and kissing you is kind of weird sure, but it doesn’t change anything about you.” 

Steve’s eyebrows furrowed, and he let out a puff of air. He looked small in this bathroom, scared in a way that Robin hated. They had faced down monsters, torture, long shifts with Keith. A conversation with his best friend should never have Steve looking that afraid, ever. 

She reached out and took his hand in her, giving it a gentle squeeze. 

“Hey, it’s okay Steve. Tell me what’s going on in that head.” 

“It’s just…Some of what Tommy said. About how he tried to get closer to me, to touch me and make me laugh and shit? I guess I realized that I’m doing that stuff. With somebody else. And if Tommy did it because he liked me then…” 

“You think it might mean you like this person. This…guy?” 

“Yeah. This guy.” 

There it was, the Eddie Munson of it all. Because Robin only knew of one guy that Steve spent his time with and would be trying to be touchy and close with. She had watched it happen with her own eyes, the way Steve would look for reasons to lean past Eddie, to put a hand on his shoulder, his back, once getting brave and putting a hand on his waist. She’d watched Eddie do the exact same things around Steve, too.

Part of her almost just comes out and tells Steve, that she knows who he’s talking about. Except he still looks unsure. He looks like he wants to throw up a little, and Robin has to fix that. 

“You know it’s okay right? For you to like this guy?” 

“I know. It’s just weird, to realize I might like him that way. Normally I can figure out when I’m into someone.” 

“Well, normally you aren’t friends with the people you’re into first. That makes it confusing.” 

“And I’m normally into people with boobies.” 

“That too.” 

Steve lets out a tiny laugh, and it makes Robin beam. Something about Steve is lighter now, like somethings been lifted off his chest, something that’s been there for a really long time without him knowing. She wants to tell him how much she’s loves him. How much she cares about him and supports him. She wants to tell him about all her research, and fully explain to him her findings when it comes to ‘his type.’ 

She wants to tell him that she knows the guy he likes is Eddie. That she thinks Eddie might like him too. 

The ‘ring for service’ bell ruins her chance at saying any of it. 

She and Steve both clamber off the floor, adjusting their vests before exiting the bathroom to greet whoever keeps ringing the stupid bell over and over again. Robin can’t decide if it’s the best luck in the world, or the worst, when it’s Eddie Munson himself standing at the counter. 

She leans towards best luck when she sees the way Steve’s cheeks go red.

A few people asked to be tagged if I did a part 2, so hopefully I do that right! I’ve got a few more parts planned, so if anybody else wants to be tagged let me know and I’ll do my best!

@kaiscove​ @wolfstarlights​  @awkwardgravity1​ @anonymousbandgirl​  @f1ct1onwh0re

#steve harrington #Robin Buckley #Platonic Stobin #Wingman Robin Buckley #Steddie #Eddie Munson #stranger things 4 #stranger things #steddie ficlet #stommy #one sided stommy #because I am a Tommy was in love with Steve Truther FIRST and a person never #Steve may have liked him once upon a time but that ship has sailed now

[luckypoppymilliemama]

I am seriously so saddened to realize people have used my name and my cat to steal money from some of you. This is crazy, never, ever did I think that my Poppy would be used negatively.

Let’s give a little rundown of who we are. I’m Michelle, a 30-something year old married mama to 3 skin kittens, and 3 fuzzy kittens. One of my skin kittens is an adult, the other two are rapidly approaching attempting to leave the nest. I am disabled, physically and mentally which leads to emotionally, too. My fuzzy kittens help a lot with that.

2 summers ago, a friend texted me asking if I wanted a kitten. Of course I did. Then I found out she was a feral kitten that her mama had left behind because her one back leg was missing a foot, so she couldn’t climb and jump like the rest of the kittens were, and she was getting too heavy to carry in her mouth. That kitten now only have 3 legs, and is my Lucky baby.

Come early February of the next year, I saw on a friend’s aunts rescue site two of the most gorgeous little calico kittens I had ever seen. I claimed them before Valentine’s Day, even though I wouldn’t be able to get them until after Mother’s Day since they were slow to grow. They were attached at the hip, there was no way I could get one and not the other. Those were my Poppy girl and Millie moon.

That’s how I ended up with my fuzzy kittens. They are the best fuzzy kittens I have ever met. All 3 of them have a different job in calming me and my middle daughter down while in emotional crisis. Poppy is and has always been that calming rumble that you try to concentrate on instead of everything else that is happening. And it works more than anyone would believe.

Poppy is sick. My go fund me has all the explanations and updates you could ever need; I even have to add the email with the vet when she gets a chance to email back to me. I have endless pictures and videos to show she is my little love.

Please, if you can, share this post anywhere and everywhere, across all forms of social media. My follower numbers are so low, I’m surprised it’s not a negative number. I know a bunch of you got scammed, and I’m sorry. I really am. If I could make it better, I would.

Myself, I’ve even cut back some of my less essential but still needed medications so I have the money to get Poppy the treatment she deserves. I just need my baby girl to be better. It’s time sensitive because we honestly don’t know how much time she has left with her red blood cell count being in the low 10s percent wise (I think it was 13-14% last time, and it should be above 35). I am extremely transparent in what I show you all because if you are helping pay for it, I figure you have a right to see where the care is going and what it’s being used for.

We are trying to get the maximum amount of funding so we can get all the testing done because the liver and spleen are just as important as the bone marrow biopsy, but we will not look a gift horse in the mouth. Whatever we get it, it’s another cent that we didn’t have to scrounge around to find, another minute off the ever clicking clock.

Best ways to donate: to the hospital itself:

Philadelphia Animal Specialty and Emergency

Dial 267-727-3738, press 2, ask to place a credit on Poppy Riggs account, #FE22554C. All of this info is able to be found on the images in the gofundme.

The Gofundme. It is the *only* go fund me I have up. Anything else is a scam.

These account below are the only official ways to donate outside of the gofundme.

My email is listed below, and I am willing to answer any and all questions via email or on here, your choice.

Thank you so much for helping. It means everything to us.

#gofundme #go fund me #cats #cat #sick cat #sick cats #mutual aid #mutualaid #pretty cats #cats of tumblr #cats of instagram #cats of the day #cute cats #calico #calico cats #long post #longpost #disabled #mental heath issues #mental heath support #emotional support cat #emotional #support cat #doctor cat #therapy cat #donate #will the real poppy please stand up #please save poppy #real Poppy #please donate

[chocolate-teapots]

Saving Mr. President: Kim Namjoon

                                   ●╭╮╭╮╭╮╭╮╭╮╭╮╭╮●

                                Sometimes the president needs saving too.

                                    ●╰╯╰╯╰╯╰╯╰╯╰╯╰╯●

Warnings: sexism, asshole journalists, light office smut

Every 5 years, different kinds of people no matter their size, gender, social class or last name gather into polling places and decide the short future of our country. We have the power to play God and I loved having that kind of involvement.

Election day, even though I had only witnessed around 5, was the only day out of 365 that I felt at one with society. When I walked into the school to vote nobody cared about the mud on my trousers or my broken shoes, the local council were too busy trying to change my mind last minute to care about my empty pockets.

"...So many questions to ask the president-elect and his chosen panel..."

So when I vote for someone that means I really like them and when I'm on their panel, they are the future. My pen would dig extra hard into the paper for someone who really made that feeling of inclusion last almost the whole way around the year.

This year was just that.

"Hello to all reporters watching us through Zoom connection, a number of media platforms and hello to everyone who has made it in the room with us today it's a wonderful time to be back in contact with everyone. Today is Wednesday, August 18th. My name is Jun and I will introduce our speakers. May I introduce to all of you the 2021 president-elect Kim Namjoon and The President's Intelligence Advisory Board."

Camera flash. Claps. The support for him was overwhelming and still, he flushed when he walked into the room. A thousand eyes were waiting for his incredible words or to rip him to shreds. I take my seat to his right, straightening my blouse and skirt and definitely hearing all the mutterings about being the only woman on the panel.  

They all wait.

"Hey there," he chuckles modestly into the mic, handsome smile pointed to the ground. "Big crowd."

We all chuckle before I announce:

"The panel is now open to questions."

I shifted until I was comfortable, straightening myself. A thousand hands shot up, a sea of sweaty palms, some with notebooks and some without. Namjoon chuckled nervously before pointing to an eager woman with glasses from KNN.

"Mr President, how has your recent launch of the 'Love Myself' campaign affected the impact of COVID-19?"

Nice question.

"When I launched the 'Love Myself' campaign, I started to hear remarkable stories from supporters all over the world, how our message helped them overcome their hardships in life and start loving themselves. These stories constantly remind us of our responsibility not only as a government but as people to each other to fulfil the basic human desire of wanting to be heard. That desire despite not being able to see each other is not limited in a global crisis such as COVID-19 and the concentration on mental health in a very physical-health-concentrated period is very important I believe."

His smooth voice commanded through the speakers of the mic. I was so engaged I was sure I had forgotten to blink, the breathe and I was too focused to cry. When Namjoon spoke, he made eye contact with the person who asked the question but really you knew he was talking to the whole world.

As cliche as it was, I felt as though he was talking to me too. I was transfixed by the way that he dug to the root of all the problems in society, found pretty words to explain it, and encouraged a solution. I felt like a little girl staring up at the television screen again, searching for an answer.

"Yes."

A man from SBS.

"Mr President, how do you respond to critics who say that your message is distracting from the more pressing issues at hand?"

My heel started to tap. Something was going to happen, as they always did when we anticipated smooth sailing. Never assume priority.

"Contrary to the popular belief that men are unable to multitask as efficiently as women, I can. Because my campaign emphasises mental health does not mean that urgent issues such as economic recovery post-lockdown, the still-existent LGBTQ+ community discrimination following the discharge of Byeon Hee-su, rights settlements in North Korea along with many other things, are not being discussed. Thank you," he smiled graciously, brushing off the stuttering red reporter with a simple dimple beam.

That's him.

But, I wasn't quite off the edge yet.

"This is a question for Mr Park. Following the impressive results received in the election, what lessons have you learnt as they were reviewed regarding your strategy going forward etc."

To my right, the older esteemed Mr Park clears his throat while almost choking on the water he was sipping. He had a habit of shuffling his papers when he was nervously answering questions.

"I think it's clear South Korea and the rest of the world agree that Mr Kim is a very likeable charming guy," he pauses and the room chuckles at the informality "And, as far as our strategy going forward we're going to continue with the amazing ideas we have planned since the beginning and work towards a brighter future. No follow up questions."

Good plan. If the rest of the reporters caught wind of what YTN were insinuating, the ageist and ignorant questions would only come pumping through.

But, there was always one who put their foot in the door.

"Mr President, do you believe that your age is detrimental to your political approaches?"

"Not any more than my shirt size while buying shoes. Neither is related to the outcome of the other and I was hoping that the outcome of the election would help dismantle that assumption but clearly not. We obviously have a long way to go..."

His smile was now a little sad not because of the lack of faith in his system but because of the state of the world. He was selfless.

Another.

"But you have to admit your lack of experience compared to the other candidates placed you at an immediate disadvantage?"

"I'll level with you, Jason Hanna from CNN, I had a lot of growing up to do very quickly when I decided to pursue this path but no more than you had to in the jump from being a toddler and your first day at school. You learn, you adapt very quickly. I'd like to think I have done the same."

Good job Namjoon.

"Mr President, does this growing up have to do with any of the countless flings you've had in the recent 10 years of your life? Can you address the rumours about your past informal relationships as several women have come forward with statements regarding your recklessness and non-committal approach to acquiring them? Is this the kind of message you want to be displayed to the world in your inspirational campaign?"

Namjoon is stunned, unsure. His hand rubs against his thigh as his tongue pokes in his cheek, a habit for when he has to bite back something he really wants to say. Quick. Quick. Think.

"Mrs Chang was it?" I smile into the mic, trying to smooth out my voice to nonchalant passive aggression. Any scandal that would follow my defence had to be speculation. So, I had to be really smart.

"As admirable as your courage is, this is a political press conference you're attending and not an inspiration for gossip columns. I can assure you, the women you falsely mention without evidentiary support weren't thinking of this kind of media exposure when they made their statements. I suggest you try Fox News."

Silence. You could hear not just a pin but air itself drop. I smiled until the young man sat but on the inside, everything was ticking, humming, beating and throwing itself around my body. The calm before the storm. Several hands shot up, cameras clicked and yelling overtook the conference room but all I could see was Kim Namjoon rubbing his lip to hide his smirk which made me melt into my seat.

Another man.

"Mr President, you have been very vocal about the importance of a solid foundation in your intelligence board. Do you think having a woman as a part of this impairs this objective?"

I sigh through my eye roll, shaking my head on the panel as eyes flash to me. It wasn't my question but at the same time, it was asked to gain another provoked response from me. You wouldn't believe the number of times I've had to answer these questions myself, defending my intelligence because my gender was different.

"To be frank Mr Lopez, I would say I understand your concern to try and handle this type of question but I'm not sure I do. Please elaborate."

"You're aware 27% of your voters admitted in the YouGov survey this year that they were uncomfortable or concerned with your insistence of having Miss Y/N as your primary executive on this board? It's no coincidence that she happens to be female, sir."

I see the calculations in his eye fizzing over his mind. Fist clenches. Pupils were blown out. Ears red. Chest heaving. Was he...angry?

"Or, does this insistence present ulterior motives, sir?"

Anger wasn't the word.

Fury wasn't it either.

I decided the clear the air.

He anticipates my moves greatly, resting his chin in his hands, smirk tickling his pink lips as he watches.

"Mr Lopez, I'm flattered that you think my life is that interesting to be having multiple scandals and passionate affairs but I'm sorry to tell you that it's really very boring."

I smile.

"But mostly I want to apologise on behalf of yourself tonight to the public for having to witness this level of ignorance and misogyny. I hope it isn't contagious. In future, I would refrain from asking questions of this nature or even asking any at all if they aren't going to emphasise the wonderful change our government is currently causing because of this inspirational person to my left regardless of gender. No more questions."

I nod and in a sea of yelling, flushing and flashes we all stand and leave the room single file.

Well, that could've been better. I rub my forehead with my hand once I disappear behind the curtain and into the empty boardroom, worried about the nitpicky details of my words that could be used against Namjoon in any way. I lean against the wooden table. I don't think I could ever forgive myself if I ever did anything to-

"Hey, everything alright?"

I turn to see him, still poised and calm as ever standing behind me.

"Yes sir," I smiled, resting against the edge of the desk with my arms crossed "You handled it very well."

"Not without my favourite executive of course," he smiled in appreciation and I flushed at the attention. Why did it feel like this was the first time we've ever spoken to each other.

Suddenly, the doors lock and I'm lifted onto the table.

His lips tickle my neck through pants and my legs wrap around him trapping him in between my thighs eagerly without the slightest intention of letting go. He sucks, bites, licks and kisses. I shiver, gasp, swear and squirm.

"Joon," I laugh at the signs of his hunger, fingertips digging into my thighs a little harder, hips rolling heatedly between my legs and tongue poking out to play.

"Come on baby no one's watching," he mumbles against my skin, the vibrations and his honey-smooth tone making me purr into him. He kisses all the way from my collarbone to the corner of my lips, savouring the desperate tension between us as our lips hover.

Then we kissed as if we hadn't kissed in a thousand years. My breathing stuttered as those pillowy lips slowly played with mine adding to the quite literally breathtaking way his hips digging into mine felt.

"I missed you," Namjoon breathed against me, playing with the top of my stockings, lidded eyes scanning into mine with sincerity though his wandering hands were anything but sincere. "You were so sexy taking down those reporters like that."

"Well," I began, playing with his tie in my hands "How can I just watch them tear down my boss?"

"No I mean it," Joon says seriously, rubbing my cheek tenderly "You saved me out there, again."

I'm unsure what to do or say other than blushing profusely and being suddenly unable to make eye contact. I'm a child again. What does this man do to me?

"Now," I flinch as he begins to climb on top of the wood, giggling as he lowers me onto it "How can I ever repay you?"

"I can think of a few ulterior motives, Mr President."

#bts imagines #bts smut #bts fanfic #kim namjoon #namjoon x reader #rm bts

[houkagokappa]

It’s Monday and I’m exhausted. I didn’t get to rest on the weekend, because I had uni work and chores to keep me busy for most of it. I also celebrated my sister’s birthday with my family, which I have mixed feeling on, since my sister was late for it by two hours. I could’ve used those two hours to wind down and just exist as myself, but instead I spent them annoyed at her being late, worried something might’ve happened, anxious not knowing what was going on and irritated because I hadn’t eaten anything since the morning and had gotten incredibly hungry. My sister’s habitually late, but she usually lets us know how late she’ll be and this time around we got radio silence. When she finally picked up (an hour later) it turned out that she overslept because she spent the entire night (until 8 am) helping a friend who was dealing with “a crisis”, and once she went to sleep she forgot to set an alarm. I can’t even be mad at her for being late because she did the right thing helping a friend in need (8 am might seem excessive, but sometimes that’s life and I’m not about to question the validity of someone's crisis).

I had a good time once she got to my parents place, but it is really frustrating how she continues to show no respect for us and our time, especially this week and last week when I’ve had to push myself to make the schedules work. One of the things that annoy me the most is how she’s never cared to put the effort in for us, “that’s just how she is and we should plan around it”, even though she’s entered an industry where the working hours are strict and she doesn’t seem to have any problems following those or going above and beyond to help her friends. I guess this stems from/adds to the bigger issue where I feel like I’m not important enough to be worth that extra effort (although I’m super close to my sister so it’s not like she doesn’t appreciate me).

It also really sucks how I’ve gotten a lot of great news lately, and I’m currently doing an internship that I’ve dreamed about for ages, but I’m still stressed and exhausted. My life is supposed to be “good” right now, so why don’t I feel that way? The answer is because I overwork myself, which is frustrating, since I’m too much of a perfectionist to spend less time on tasks (double, triple, quadruple checking everything before I turn in any assignments) and I have been working less weekly hours than what’s intended for the internship, so it feels like I should be able to deal with this much, if not more.

I mentioned being exhausted to my dad and his response was “welcome to the working life”, which was irritating since 1) this is not my first job/it’s not even a job, so it’s not like this is my first experience with working life, and 2) he doesn’t have a bunch of extra uni work and a single person household to run at the same time. I pointed that out to him, but he claimed to still think about work during his weekends (which is probably true to some degree, but it’s still not the same). My parents are lovely people and they do help me out a lot with different things, but they’ve never understood my mental health struggles (which, to be fair, I hide for the most part). They probably don’t think I have any anymore, since I’m doing all these things now, so it feels like I get very little sympathy for my troubles. I’m also worried that my life’s always going to be this way, with me not having as much energy as I used to have/ want to have/ feel like I’m expected to have. Like I’ve come a long way, but life’s still kinda shit :/

...

I have to remember to be kinder towards myself. I’ll schedule in time for my uni assignments and I’ll take it away from the hours I’d spend on my internship (since they allow me to come and go as I please), so that I’ll have the evenings off. I’ll attend events only if I feel like I’m up for it, I’m not going to force myself to attend just because something’s organized and it sounds fun. I’ve been doing better, but I still need to remind myself to take it easy.

#my nonsense #my life #a vent post but it takes a positive direction

[stormyoceans]

Oh hello, I wrote this question not knowing if you would ever answer it or if it was an interesting question but here we are. You made my day, I adore your analyses. Thank you so much.

You seem so passionate about it, it’s so pleasing.

My thoughts were like yours: they had sex before but it was not extraordinary.

It’s really relevant what you said about the fact that Talay did not seem particularly shocked after waking up in the same bed with Puen. We know that he had a crush on a guy when he was younger as you said so we know that he can be attracted to men (and I do think like you wrote in the # that he is gay) but it obviously doesn’t mean that he had like sexual experiences with the same sex. However, his lack of huge huge surprise in episode 2 might imply that this situation is more or less let’s say “usual”.

Now about Puen, I definitely think that he tried to drown his loneliness in sex and that it was not successful because (as you said once again), he needs to have a connection with the person he slept with.

Exactly, I think that their sexual moments together are really great because they are so deeply in love with each other. It is a certain way of showing their love.

And yes you’re right, Talay is as attracted to Puen as Puen is for him, he is just less vocal and obvious about it.

I’m very exciting about their Our Skyy 2 episodes. I’ve read somewhere that it will be about their life in their universe, like a season 2. Maybe they will talk about their past…but overall I’m over the moon to see more about them.

Also, my only wish was to have a new JimmySea series for 2023 and here we are with Last Twilight. I literally cried when I saw the trailer during the live.

(PS: I appreciated that it was a long answer! As you can see, I wrote a long post too ! and never stop talking about them).

Have a good day or end of the day (It’s 01:25am I don’t know about you).

ANON IM SO HAPPY TO HEAR FROM YOU AGAIN AND TO KNOW WE HAD SIMILAR THOUGHTS ABOUT THIS!!!!!

i always feel incredibly grateful when people ask me stuff or just talk to me about vice versa, because i really do love everything about this show, it’s my little source of comfort and joy and i could honestly talk about it for days, so im very thankful to have an excuse to do just that!!!

i've recently been informed by some very kind anons that gay talay is actually canon in the novel, so im choosing to believe that certain things (like the way talay reacts after waking up in bed with puen in episode 2) were deliberate choices from the show writers. it's also interesting to notice that there is another instance of talay getting drunk and waking up in bed with puen with no memory of what happened, which is in episode 4, after puen shows up to the bar where talay is meeting fuse and kita and talay takes all of puen's drinks because he doesn't want puen to get drunk again. funnily enough, talay seems more shocked now than the first time it happened, and part of it is definitely because this time around puen was actually lying half on top of him, but i also like to think that in the past talay never had a one night stand with someone he was close with because he didn't want things to get complicated, and things with puen were already becoming complicated enough at the time so he panicked at the thought he might have done something with puen that could ruin their relationship

also this is completely random, but when they meet som and prae towards the end of episode 2 i always thought talay and prae were a peak mlm vs wlw dynamic: did not know how to act, did not want to be there, would have much preferred to be matched with the person they originally got there with sfjlksdkfdsj

the mental health crisis intervention team currently in my room is also telling me that i cannot afford to have another meltdown like the one i went through when our skyy and last twilight were announced, but let's just say that IF I THINK ABOUT IT FOR TOO LONG I START GOING RABID AND CLAWING AT THE WALLS OF MY ENCLOSURE. AND I STILL CAN'T BELIEVE WE'RE GONNA GET 2 (TWO!!!!!!!!) PUENTALAY EPISODES IN OUR SKYY THAT WILL PROBABLY EXPLORE THEIR RELATIONSHIP AND SHOW MORE ABOUT THEIR PAST IM GONNA START SCREAMING SHAKING CRYING WAILING WEEPING ALL OVER AGAIN THIS IS EVERYTHING TO ME

#thank you for coming back to chat with me and for letting me know your thoughts!!! #i also found your message when i woke up this morning so maybe we are in a similar time zone!!! #it's currently.. 0:20 am here and i need to go to shut up and go to bed ;;;;;; #vice versa #puentalay #m: ask

[mass-convergence]

So about a week or so ago I get stopped by a cop for somewhat legit reasons (my tags were technically “expired” though it was due to some shit with the DMV losing my new stickers in the mail so my registration was valid, i had also just neglected to get it fixed for a week or so and let it hang like a sword of Damocles).

Anyway the cop asks me some weird questions like “where were you born” and “what’s the highest level of education you’ve attained”. And also was saying “you look so familiar have I talked to you before? Have I ever responded to a call at your address? I swear the address looks familiar too”

Which a) were strange af questions and b) I’ve never interacted with this PD ever in my entire life. But I was tired af after getting off work and I also knew I did minorly fuck up for not getting my sticker issue sorted out sooner. Also I mean ……. Cop. So I just answered his questions and texted my mom afterward about getting pulled over - no citation just a warning to get my tags fixed.

The topic of me getting pulled over comes back up again today while my mom and I are out running errands.

I first off need to mention that I’m not white - my mom is white and my dad is south Chinese, he’s got darker skin and I’ve inherited his skin tone. Also I’ve grown up in (mostly) white upper class liberal suburbia (there is a significant Asian pop in my community) - so cops have just never interacted with me before except for one time when there was an incident involving a mental health crisis from one of my family members which got resolved surprisingly peacefully. I bring *that* up because I basically grew up in a privileged bubble until I moved away from home to go to college. That was when I first really encountered the subtle racism and prejudice. Also some of it wasn’t so subtle like when I got grilled by an old guy at Wal-Mart asking if I spoke Chinese. And there was a non-zero amount of times someone asked if I was Native American or Mexican.

ThIs is to say when my mom and I were discussing the traffic stop and the weird ass questions the cop was asking which he said they totalllllyyy ask everyone they pull over these questions. She’s like “I’ve been pulled over multiple times and I’ve never had any of those questions asked to me”.

And it kind of dawned on me for like real that yeah, I probably got racially profiled by a cop who thought I was either Native American (there is a significant Native American population in the town, especially where I was pulled over) or an immigrant. Like he was trying to catch me doing something wrong other than having a serious lapse in having my shit together and accidentally forgetting I needed the right stickers for my plates. Also now I guess I’m technically in their system and they have my phone number so that’s kind of … yeah. Part of me still thinks I’m being way too sensitive but given that my mom was actually kind of freaking out about how I described that stop I’m not entirely sure my weird feelings about it are completely unfounded.

And also … I mean … cop.

#police shit #cw: racism #cw: police #cw: racial profiling #racism #racial profiling #also my dad gets stopped for a ‘random search’ basically every time we travel through an airport #she told me also to just hand him my DoD ID to him with my license if I ever get pulled over again #just because it may get them to back off with the weird ass questions at the very least

[kjqbls]

Have You Been Called?

Growing up, have you ever thought of your purpose? Have you ever heard a call from anything deep inside that resonates and lingers for quite some time but you don’t know what that was? I was one of the many people who do not know what I want after high school. I was only copying decisions of the few successful people I know but I wanted an easier path. Although in my younger years I was too determined that I want to be a doctor or teacher because of the usual things I see in the television where every kid wants to be a teacher, doctor, priest, or soldier when they grow up. When I got old it was way different. I was lost for few years before I finally was able to redeem myself towards the career I want to take. Now I already know who I want to be, what I want to be, and where I want to be.

When I was younger, I didn’t know who I want to be. I couldn’t find my purpose in life. I do not have an answer to my whys. I didn’t even know who I want to be. Not that I don’t have the guidance from my parents, but even the suggestions they tell me are something I don’t like. I couldn’t even find that ground where to even start living. As a naïve, I was so lost. What I just wanted to do was get an “easy” program to finish for college and right after, move out and get a life of my own. I was so stubborn and careless. Little did I know that who I want to be already manifested when I was still a kid – be a corporate woman, working in the office looking professional. But since I was distracted, thinking of many programs I will take for college, I didn’t know that. I took a different path and enrolled Hotel, Restaurant and Tourism Management instead when I should’ve taken Financial Management or any other Business program but not - HRTM. It was 4 years after college when I landed a job in a bank and that’s when I knew who I want to be when I had a first-hand experience of what it feels like working in Financial/Banking industry.

Before I knew what I want to be, I underwent a lot of struggles spiritually, mentally and financially. After graduation, I took the liberty to move out and tried jobs from the Hospitality industry which I really didn’t like. I resigned and shifted to BPO because of higher salary and benefits that this industry offers. I was 22 years old during that time and I felt like I’m going nowhere. I didn’t like it too. I took the chance to apply for job/internship abroad. I was forcing myself to like the idea of working overseas even when I feel the opposite. I tried my very best to mature and love the idea of me working abroad and have a higher income. I stayed faithful looking for jobs overseas, and even went to different churches to pray that hopefully, a divine intervention would happen that will help me land a job in cruise or land base in Dubai, Singapore or an internship in the US. I had a lot of interviews that I thought went well, but nothing happened. I didn’t get a follow-up call or an update about my application. It wasn’t successful for me and I got tired of waiting. I went back to working in a BPO company because it’s the industry where you can find a job immediately since they have a one-day process recruitment. I was so frustrated and felt like entering the quarter life crisis since I’m going 25 with nothing on my resume and credentials but only short job experiences from companies I never liked. I started questioning everything in my life and that includes my Faith. I felt like the years are going too fast and I couldn’t redeem myself. My life was a mess and I do not have a path to follow until I experienced working in a bank and that’s when I knew that I want to continue to be a banker and get promoted on the same industry.

I was in the verge of giving up when I discovered where I want to be. I applied for a bank here in Quezon City where surprisingly, I was hired. It was not a 1-day process application as I needed to come back for a final interview. I was working graveyard shift during that time and my interviews were after my shift. I needed to stay afloat of the situation and look smart even after a very tiring graveyard shift because it’s a make-or-break chance for me of finally going out of the BPO industry. I was literally bombarded by questions by the panelist and I can say during that time that I flunked the final interview that went over an hour. I sat down in the waiting area of the recruitment where I applied in contemplation thinking where next can I apply that is not a BPO setup. After few minutes of waiting, I heard my name and I went directly to the HR to know the result. I was preparing for the bad news when I heard the opposite. I passed the final interview and the HR representative already confirmed that I was hired! When the HR was discussing the salary and benefits, I was really out of myself and have been thinking afar. I was in cloud 9. It was surreal because neither have I experienced working in a bank nor finished a banking/finance for my undergraduate studies. I cried during that moment and I promised myself that I will take care of that job and the company. During my 1st day at work, it was our induction where in the HR would discuss the company history, policy and rules. HSBC bank has a very good background and culture. It was a lot different from other companies I have been with, and that’s when I knew that this is where I want to have a career progression. This is the company where I want to be a leader and be part it for my whole life.

Until now, working with the same company for 4 years, I still have no reason to leave. The culture is one of the finest I heard coming from the experiences of my friends with other companies. I have never regretted choosing this industry. In fact, I got promoted to a supervisor level after 2.5 years of working here. My experience was a lesson for me. It indeed manifested the saying that, “The best is yet to come.” It made me realize that the Lord will not put you somewhere he knows that is not your desire. He will really make a way for you to hear his calling. Had I fought and forced myself too much to go overseas even if I really didn’t like it would’ve been a disaster for me. I know that this is my vocation, this is the same company/industry that redeemed me and I am taking my MBA to have a concrete education that I will soon use in my career progression.

[primofate]

Genshin [Volleyball Team AU - Inspired by Haikyuu!] What it’s like to be their manager Headcanons

Note: I think a lot of people misunderstand the role of the manager XD It’s not that the whole team is dating you. It’s that the whole team treats you like their family/sister. So you’d better bet that all of them are gunna be hella protective of you XD

Scenario: What do you do for the team and what do they do for you? :D

Warnings: not proofread, fluffy, might have some swear words, platonic relationships

Characters: Zhongli, Diluc, Kaeya, Albedo, Tartaglia, Kazuha, Xiao, Tohma, reader as the team manager

Other works in the Volleyball Team AU Series: Click Here

Genshin Volleyball Team manager

It’s just fuckin’ chaos

On your first day you’re already bombarded with questions by Tartaglia and Kaeya

“So which class are you?” “What’s your height?” “Are you single?”

Captain Zhongli just cannot be bothered to reign them in anymore.

So Vice Captain Diluc does it and grabs their collars. “You idiots, you’re scaring her off!”

Possibly Kazuha and Tohma are the ones you really try to rely on, on your first few weeks.

So how do you gain the trust of your team? Let’s start with each player shall we?

#1 Zhongli (Captain/Wing Spiker/Ace)

Zhongli is just handsome and mature. He’s strict and needs to be the pillar of the team. 

You’re intimidated by him the first few weeks and he just seems...a little far. He’s always so focused that you can’t seem to catch a moment to just chat with him.

There’s a day where you notice that his form is a little off, you suspect that he hurt his wrist a little. 

You fidget uncomfortably in the gym as they practice, but finally turn to the coach “U-Umm... The captain is... I mean! I’m not sure, but... I think he needs to take a rest,”

The coach calls for someone to substitute Zhongli and suddenly asks you to check on him.

“Huh?! Me?!” the coach pushes you towards him, and Zhongli is just looking at you quizzically, you can practically see the question mark on his face.

“C-Captain, d-do you need some bandages on your wrist?”

Zhongli is taken aback, but silently puts his right wrist out for you to wrap.

Only when you’re done tending to it does he look you in the eye and ask.

“How did you know?”

“...Because I always watch, and all I can do is watch. If I can’t even spot that out then I’m not a very good manager am I?”

Zhongli has a newfound respect for you. He thought you were just a meek and shy thing sitting around and passing them balls but he feels his heart swell that someone like you is seriously watching over them.

#2 Diluc (Vice Captain/Wing Spiker/Defense Specialist)

Diluc is probably the second hardest to get along with or break the ice with.

But he gradually warms up to you when he notices that he’s always the first one you pass a towel and water bottle to.

You’re not doing that on purpose, it’s just him who always comes up first.

After a few days he deliberately goes to you faster cause he always wants to be the one to receive a water bottle and towel from you first. Secretly a puppy.

The moment he realized that you were reliable was when you stayed behind to help him practice when everyone else went home already. 

You didn’t let up in your constant praise of “nice receive”, “great spike!” and “that’s so cool!” 

He thinks he saw stars in your eyes at some point.

“Hey, Diluc, it’s getting late, let’s leave some energy for tomorrow, yeah?” he could tell from your mannerisms that you were tired too, but you tried not to let it show on your face and still cleaned up with him.

“I’ll see you tomorrow then!” you wave but you’re stopped by a quick. “No,” from him. You tilt your head in wonder and he just looks at you as if it’s the most normal thing in the world.

“It’s late, I’ll walk you home,”

#3 Kaeya (Middle Blocker)

You don’t have to impress this guy, anyone of the female gender impresses him.

lol jk

safe to say it’s not difficult to befriend Kaeya, just bring him a cheering squad and some food.

all jokes aside the way to this guy’s heart is through his stomach.

He’s not a particularly hungry person but there’s this one time he forgot to bring lunch. He was running late, or something of that sort, honestly not something new for him.

He ALSO didn’t bring money so he couldn’t eat food from the cafeteria.

Ask his friends for money you say? Tartaglia would go, “Haha no way!” Albedo would go, “Let this be a lesson for you,” his brother would go “Serves you right,”

By club time he’s famished and dramatic. “Guys, go on without me, this is as far as I go,” as he sprawls on the gym floor.

You ask if he’s okay and he doesn’t answer so Diluc is the one that answers for him. “He forgot his lunch, as always,”

You make a sound of understanding and the next thing you know you’re taking out a lunch box and Kaeya has lifted his head up, sensing food.

“I packed onigiri for everyone today, actually... In case someone was hungry. It’s not much but--”

Kaeya comes alive from the dead and clutches your hands to his chest. “Manager you really are an angel,”

Diluc jump kicks him away from you.

#4 Albedo (Setter)

You also don’t know how to approach this guy

He always looks mad or stoic or something. Like he’s always thinking about something.

He low key actually is always thinking about play strategies and how to set the ball better for his teammates.

You really do think he works so hard while the game is going on, so you decide to help him out a little bit.

You watch a few more of their games and somehow come up with a list of what kinds of sets are better for each different spiker in the team.

There’s surprise in his eyes when you pass the document to him and modestly exclaim “...but, it might not be accurate, since I’m not that experienced,”

He still nods and says “...It’s the thought that counts,” 

When he does read your report and try the techniques out he notices that it does hold some merit in it

Is amazed like how Zhongli is amazed. He thought you were just there to hand them bottles and cheer for them but he had never been so wrong as to what a manager’s role is.

Will trust you enough to ask you about his set performance.  

Will sometimes slam Kaeya with an insult. “Kaeya, your spike sense is horrid, Y/N can read the moves better than you,”

#5 Tartaglia (Middle Blocker/Wing Spiker)

It’s not that he has a hard time trusting people but let’s just say he has the tendency to make you feel like he likes you but then he actually does that to everyone.

For example: He’ll throw compliments like “Oh that’s amazing Y/N!” but then back in the classroom you’ll hear him say “Oh that’s amazing!” to, like, every other person. 

That kinda disappoints you cause then the comment doesn’t really hold that much meaning to it if he keeps on saying it to others too.

He encounters a crisis mid year because this guy is just... he struggles with his grades. 

Captain Zhongli has told him he can’t play volleyball if he fails even one subject.

This boy is panicking and has semi-accepted this is the end of his volleyball career.

So you offer to study with him and he’s legit stoked.

Intensive and strict study sessions commence. Note taking, pop quizzes, surprise questions and even sudden random calls from you wherein you ask him a question and he has to answer within 5 seconds.

You’ve pulled all the study techniques you know here, this man better pass everything.

Welp, he still fails History....but since he worked so hard Captain Zhongli excuses it.

He’s so happy that he can’t hold back the stupidly wide smile on his face. He turns to you and for the very very first time in months, he bows and THANKS you.

You realize that he’s never thanked you before. Not even when you pass him water bottles or towels. 

You consider it a win, getting rare and sincere appreciation from him.

#6 Kazuha (Decoy/Middle Blocker/Wing Spiker)

One of the easiest to get along with but at the same time, he’s so mature that you feel like you’re not even in the same age range as him.

Definitely someone you can count on though, so you ask him many questions on the first week.

Still, it’s one of those things where you can kind of talk to him but there’s still a wall between you two.

One day while walking around in school there were these boys who were commenting about his height, and questioning his abilities as a volleyball team member.

You didn’t really think much about it when you speak up, “But he’s a really good middle blocker and spiker,” 

Those boys look at you weirdly and you realize that you’ve unconsciously spoken up. So you hurriedly walk away.

Little did you know that Kazuha was in some secret corner and heard the whole thing.

Just like that, the next day, it seems as if the wall between you two was gone, and you’re able to talk freely.

That, and he seemed to like asking you to help him practice his spikes and throw balls for him now.

#7 Xiao (Libero)

is deceivingly easy to get along with. Just has a rough exterior but is actually a softie if you squint.

You know this because there are subtle things he does. 

He doesn’t speak to you much but then he would be the one picking up the balls with you, or sometimes there’s magically a new set of clean towels on the bench that you don’t remember taking out from the storage room.

This guy is passionate for the game, so he really beats himself up when he isn’t able to receive a ball during actual games.

You worry about his mentality sometimes. I mean, it’s a team game, it’s not like he alone can save the whole game

So you talk to him about it the other day

“You’re already a really good libero Xiao, I mean... I’m not saying you should stop practicing but you don’t have to feel so bad...” you pause because this doesn’t feel like the message you want to convey

“Sorry, what I mean is... You CAN feel bad, but share the burden with your team, you know?”

He knows what you’re saying and contemplates it for a while. He knows that his team has his back, but sometimes just needs reminder about it.

He looks at you and asks, “...Can I share the burden with you too?”

You blink “Huh?”

“You said I can share the burden with my team, but can I share it with you too?”

There is a blush on his cheeks at this point.

“Oh, yea! Of course! I don’t play but I’m still part of the team you know!”

Ever since then, during games, if he feels a little frustrated he’d glance at you on the bench and you’d give him a thumbs up for a job well done.

#8 Tohma (Pinch Server/Middle Blocker)

You’re like bffs the moment you see each other

lol jk

You’re still awkward with him the first few days cause that’s just how first meetings are.

But he is very easy to talk to and always makes you feel at ease

Will always be the one to ask how you are if you need any help or if class was okay in general

Seems like the type of person to care more about others than himself

So he’s surprised when you come into the gym and you beat him to asking his usual questions.

“Tohma, how are you today? Did you have a proper lunch?”

“Tohma, are you getting tired? Want some water?”

“Tohma, how was class today?”

All the other members of the team turn to look at the two of you, thinking ‘Why does Tohma get extra attention?’ 

Tohma certainly doesn’t get extra attention you just TALK to him more. The other members deadass are also getting cared for by you, just in different ways.

This boy has some insecurities though, when it comes to playing the game. He hasn’t been in it for long so he’s the least experienced and that gets to him sometimes.

“Oh, really? But you play really well! I couldn’t tell that you’re new” 

His serves are really amazing though.

“Also! You always score points for us with the serves. Sometimes, your serves are my favourite part of the game!”

Has practiced extra hard so as not to let you down.

Masterlist

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Taglist: @softlybeloved @bobaducky @normalisthenewnorm @how-simpy @atasi-luna @berryqueue @hallohun @milkypompon @fadinganchornight @coldstonecrematorium @probablybethere @hanachan_2481 @gultonluvv @batcatistruemaster @plumpkie @amigenshin @foxxtrot-116

#genshin au #genshin volleyball au #primofate #genshin headcanons #zhongli x reader #diluc x reader #tartaglia x reader #childe x reader #xiao x reader #kazuha x reader #tohma x reader #albedo x reader #kaeya x reader #genshin fluff

[shurisneakers]

harmless (vii)

Summary: Bucky volunteers to go stop a small time villain, but nothing can prepare him for what exactly he has to deal with. (Bucky x villain!reader, drabble series)

Warnings: cursing, existential crisis, frustrated bucky, dramatic reader, lil bit of angst, clint barton being a lil shit

Word count: 3.4k

A/N: hey shoutout to @ugherik for suggesting a spin on the “A PLATYPUS!??!“ [perry puts his hat on] “PERRY THE PLATYPUS!???” thing. i used it in here, it’s a really small part and probably missable but i tried!! also i like the next chapter better than this one, i just wanted to put this here so it doesn’t seem abrupt <3333

here’s

my ko-fi

if you’d like to support my writing <333

Previous Part || Series Masterlist

Bucky can’t stop staring at the mirror.

He wishes it was for narcissistic purposes. He had enough reason for it to be. His age may be a hundred but he had the youthful exuberance of a very drained sixty year old.

But no, it wasn’t because of the steel cut jawline or thousand gigawatt smile.

After last week’s mini-spiral, he does what almost half the videos on TikTok warn him not to do.  

He got a haircut.

Everyone’s reaction stopped him from following it up with an ear piercing, but he can’t confidently say he didn’t at least consider it once. Maybe a neck tattoo. 

He pulls at a lock of hair. It’s not even longer than his finger.

What did he do-

“It’s just a haircut, man,” he says to no one in particular, almost like he’s trying to reassure himself.

He runs his hands through his hair. It takes lesser time than he was used to.

Steve had told him he looked good. But then again, Steve wore a fugly costume 90% of the time, what did he know?

Clint acknowledged it and didn’t outright call him ugly, which he supposed was a compliment. Wanda simply smiled at him.

“FRIDAY?” he reaches out.

“Yes, Sergeant Barnes?” comes the automated reply.

“How are you?” It took him some getting used to her, given that she was constantly listening to everything, and in general seemed to go against the universal idea of privacy. 

But his therapist told him he needed to form friendships. 

She didn’t mention it had to be human ones.

“As good as ever. Is there anything I can help you with?”

He wants to ask her what she thinks of his hair until he realises fashion advice from a faceless AI is a new low for him. Maybe ‘Do you think I should crawl into a pit and die?’ would be more appropriate. 

“Never mind,” he dismisses instead. “Any messages for today?”

“A reminder to buy a harder bed because you can’t keep sleeping on the floor.” Ah, that was on Sam’s recommendation three months ago, but he wasn’t going to stop any time soon. “And a text from a contact named Nuisance saying to meet them at the attached location in thirty minutes.”

“Where is the location?”

“The local sports centre.”

“Isn’t that closed today?” 

If he had to go out in public looking like this, maybe he could wear a cap and sunglasses and no one would recognise him. Unfortunately, as he was reminded several times before by anyone with an iota of common sense, it was a stupid disguise. 

Beanie it was, then. Bare minimum. 

“It is, yes.” Fewer citizens to worry about.

“Okay.” He hesitates in front of the mirror again, adjusting the hat on his head. “Thank you, FRIDAY.”

“You’re welcome, Sergeant.”

He stares at the little tuft of hair at the front that refused to stay down no matter how much he shoved it back.

“Come on, man,” he exhales in slight despair. “Whatever.”

____

The lock of the door leading to the pool is easy enough to pick. He can see how you got in without a hitch even though it was closed. 

The deck around the pool was absolutely drenched in water. No one was using it, there was no reason for water to splash out unless it was deliberately kept like this.

He catches sight of you easily, being that you’re the only two people there. You were standing at the end of the hall, head ducked as you scrolled through your phone.

The door closes behind him with a soft thud.

You don’t look up from your mobile when you start talking, “What do you think 6 year olds like?”

Because James Barnes, carbon dated to 1917 and therefore certified young person, would definitely know the answer to this question.

“I don’t know. Lego?”

“Just how much money do you think a teacher makes-”

You stopped mid-sentence, finally lifting your head to catch his eye. He stares back at you, steps faltering when you don’t move.

"Who are you?" you squinted.

What

"It's me," Bucky says, tugging off the dumb beanie and using it to gesture vaguely towards himself. Fuck, he shouldn’t have worn it, it was ridiculous anyway-

"You sound like him..." You narrow your eyes. “You don't look like him.”

Great

He rolls his eyes before putting on a mock scowl. Can't have Bucky Barnes without a sense of eternal disgruntlement.

"Oh hey, that is you." You grin. "You got a haircut."

“I did.” He suddenly feels the awkwardness increase. His fingers fidget with the beanie.

“Nice.” You nod in acknowledgement.

He wants to hit himself at the words that just spill out before he could think about it. “You hate it.”

“I never said that,” you snort. “And since when does my opinion matter?”

“It doesn’t.” But now he wants to know what you think since he didn’t trust anyone else to tell him honestly.

“Must cut down on time in the shower, huh?”

It did.

He shrugs. He shoves the beanie into his back pocket.

“Was it a crisis haircut?” How did you kno- “Are you going to get bangs next time?”

“Shut up,” he says lamely, a dull burn in his cheeks. 

“I know a place where you can get hair dye for cheap. Not technically FDA approved, but I think purple streaks are a good place to start-”

“What are we doing here?” he interrupts, sighing.

“Skinny dipping. Take off your shirt, Barnes.” 

“Funny,” he says dryly, eyeing your shoes when you straighten up.

Ice skates.

“Fine, pants then.” You don’t make any effort to move from your end so he does, walking closer to you. 

“What are those for?” He doesn’t hide the annoyance from his voice when he points at your feet.

“Oh, these?” You look down at them. “Yeah, I’m going to freeze the pool.”

That seems... mild compared to the shit show you wanted to do last time.

“For?” He halts where he is. 

“’M gonna take my friends ice skating.”

“Is that all?” He wants to make a comment about the fact that you have friends but bites it back.

“Today is just a trial run. Tomorrow I’m gonna go freeze the East River.” There it is.

“The East River is not your personal ice skating rink.”

“Not yet it isn’t.” You lift up a middle finger.

It was too early for you to flip him off, even by your standards.

He raises an eyebrow.

Your face scrunches in confusion. You follow his gaze to your finger. “Oh yeah, no, that’s a freeze ring.”

Only then he notices a ring around the finger. From where he was standing he could make out the blue stone that adorned it.

“Joy.” He rolls up the sleeves of his black bomber jacket. “Let’s get this done with, then.”

“No no, wait.” You hold up your hand and he complies, having nothing to lose anyway. You pull out your phone and press a few buttons before shoving it back into your bag and tossing it aside.

The soft sounds of a piano start playing from a boombox near the corner of the room. A child starts singing following a series of knocks.

His eyebrows furrow. “What the fuck is this?”

“The Frozen soundtrack.” You beam at him. “I thought it was fitting.”

He doesn’t know what that is and at this point, he’s too afraid to ask. He can vaguely make out the lyrics being about a snowman but he isn’t too concerned.

He takes one step forward. You immediately point your fist at the ground in front of him, forcing him to jump back when a blast hits right in front of his shoes. Suddenly he gets why the floor is covered in water.

It sounds like a series of cracks as the water starts freezing over, a layer of ice now separating him and you.  

"You ready?” The mischief was woven in your voice as the blasts continued throughout the deck, effectively turning the entire floor into ice.

Bucky takes a step tentatively forward. Not bad. He takes another. Okay.

The third one is when shit starts to hit the fan. His hands shoot out to hold onto his balance when his footing slips from beneath him.

His Nike sneakers aren’t used to snow. They’re used to well manicured lawns and pavement trips to Starbucks and marble floors of the compound. Not swimming pool decks covered in ice.

He can hear you singing in the distance and every time he looks up you’re a little further away, making sure every inch of space is frozen.

It takes him a while to get over the initial fear of breaking his skull and just move forward swiftly with short steps. A goddamn penguin is what he looked like.

“There you go, you’re getting it,” you chirp as you whiz past him. He reaches out to grab at you, only to miss by an inch. He staggers, arms flapping wildly to regain his stability.

He hears crackling beside him. He gets a second or two to watch ice crystals spread through the water before turning it completely solid. You step onto the now frozen pool, testing your weight with one leg before cautiously getting on.

A triumphant smile emerges on your face. “Awesome.”

He manages to press himself against the wall as a form of support. 

There is no point to this whole thing. He knows this. It’s been well over 6 weeks and there is genuinely no point to this.

He realises it again when he moves from side to side, body erupting into a waddle. 

Why is he doing this. He doesn’t get paid extra. He doesn’t get any kind of compensation. All he gets is more wisecracking geniuses, embarrassment and the mortifying ordeal of getting caught imitating a penguin.

The song changes to a woman singing about doing something for the first time, forcing him to pay attention to it. He hears something about ball room and balls and tunes right back out.

Bucky manages to find his way to the actual pool since that’s where you’re twirling around, opting to land on his mental arm in case things go wrong. He takes a sliding step forward, followed by another. Maybe he can do this. 

“If a 200 pound super soldier can stand on this, I suppose it’s strong enough,” you muse, watching him slip and slide as he tries to invent makeshift ice skating.

Unfortunately, his method doesn’t have any brakes, so while he’s too busy trying to move forward, there’s no way to actually stop. He finds this out very soon when he almost launches himself off the edge of the pool.

Something yanks him backwards and back onto the ice.  

“Honestly, this is utterly useless since you can’t really do anything but it’s the most fun I’ve had all week,” you admit when he goes sliding towards the middle, arms flailing.

“You had to pick fuckin’ ice of all things.” He thinks that maybe he’s getting a hang of this. He can definitely move faster than what he was doing like, 10 minutes ago. It’s not like you were going anywhere, anyway. 

“I like to keep things spicy.”

He stays where he is to glare at you. You mouth the words to the song, watching his every move whenever it interested you. 

Okay, change of plan; a temporary distraction till he figures out how to actually get the ring from you. He settles on skating towards the edge of the rink slowly, taking a step off, slipping almost immediately when his foot comes in contact with the deck. 

“Where are you going?” you yell over the music initially but immediately break into song when it ends in a crescendo.

He takes a knee, lifting his metal arm up before driving it into the ground. It shatters magnificently, leaving small shards of ice at his disposal. 

He picks up one of them, waiting for you to complete your dumb twirl. He takes aim, and-

“Ouch, what the fuck?” You stop your off key singing to rub your shoulder where the ice hit you.

He wordlessly picks up another piece to throw at you, hitting you squarely in the leg.

“Stop that!”

He may not be able to move as fast but he can definitely throw. 

“Give me the ring,” he commands, stretching his arm behind his back before releasing another piece to hit your forearm. 

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” There’s nowhere you can skate to avoid his stupidly good marksmanship. 

“You gotta do what you gotta do.” He shrugs, breaking another patch of ice to replenish his ammo. “Hand over the ring.”

“Over my dead body,” you shriek when a particularly big piece lands next to your feet. You knew he missed that shot on purpose.

“I feel like I’m finally acting my age,” he says casually, finding your darting about in order to avoid him more fun than he initially thought. “Can’t throw pebbles at meddling kids so this is the next best option. Thanks.” 

“If you acted your age you’d be in a casket, Barnes,” you hissed, finding that skating in zig zags helped your cause, but not by much. “I’d be- you bitch- I’d be more than happy to help you get there.”

You raise your arm, ready to send another blast to freeze the water that was starting to melt around him, hopefully, keep him where he was if it froze around him. 

He flinches. You notice immediately, hand dropping slightly when you realise what it looked like.

“I’m not gonna freeze you,” you say, softer than you intended. From what you knew, he had enough and more experience with that and you weren’t going to contribute to it. 

He swallows thickly, giving himself a little shake of his head as if to jolt him out of his train of thought. 

Another piece of ice hits you in the leg. You let out a string of curses at him.

“The more ice you make, the more I have to throw at you, Y/N.” He waits for you to regain your balance when you nearly take a stumble. 

“Shut up, you’re so immature.”

“Remind me whose plan this was again?” No point waiting for you to regain your balance when you fall over only a few seconds later. 

He gathers a few shards in his beanie, tucking it into his belt like a little makeshift rucksack just in case before venturing out on the main rink again. 

It’s more difficult for you to stand without railings to guide you, giving him enough and more time to make his way towards you, staggering and skidding. 

Both of you looked ridiculous. 

“Stay away, fiend.” 

“Ring first.” He holds his hand out in front of you. He even considered pulling you up if you just made things easier.

Next thing he knows he’s on his ass on the ice beside you. 

“I hate you,” he groans, watching as you inch away from him on your knees.

He doesn’t really have any other options so he shoves aside the humiliation and gets on his knees, using his arms to drag him along the ice.

“For the love of Christ, none of us are winning here. Just give me the ring.”

The bitch from the soundtrack sings about letting it go but he won’t. 

“Never,” you shout, sliding away from him as fast as possible. 

You make use of the fact that the top layer of ice is starting to melt, using the ring to freeze it again. His knees and fingers get stuck as the water freezes over but he has super strength. It barely takes him a second to free himself. 

“Great,” he huffs, just settling down on the ice, ignoring the sting of cold that was spreading through his limbs. Running after you wasn’t going to work; he needed a way to get the ring. 

“You won last time, I’m not letting you win again.”

“Are we seriously keeping score?” He watches as you scramble towards the edge.

“No one likes a loser, Bucky.” You use the pool stair railings to pull yourself up.

“Explain why you have friends then.” He can’t help himself this time. 

“Hardy har har.” You roll your eyes. 

He doesn’t make an effort to move. Instead, when you take a step back into the rink, he raises his arm and pummels it into the ice, just to annoy you. 

The ground damn near shakes, pushing you dangerously towards losing your balance again. 

“Are you crazy?” Your arm shoots out in front of you to keep you from falling headfirst. 

“No.” He does it again. This time there’s a crack in the ice. “I’m just very tired.”

“If the ice breaks we’re both gonna be underwater, you moron!”

“Fine by me.” He shrugs. “Freeze it again. I’ll just find different ways to ruin it for you.”

You glare at him. He raises his arm above his head again.

“Fine! Fine, stop.” You eye him as he lowers his arm. 

He reaches for his stash of ice pieces from earlier, throwing one at your shoulder again.

“Boy, I swear if you don’t stop doing that-” you duck when another one comes at you. You had no idea he could be this annoying. 

It suddenly hits him, like a lightbulb going off in his brain. He wipes his hands off on his jacket, getting on all fours before slowly managing to pick himself up again. 

He looks at you, tilting his head slightly like he was studying you.

“What?” you ask suspiciously, eyeing as he starts inching closer towards you. “What are you thinking?”

It’s like watching a newborn deer stumble its way through the world, albeit more gracefully, until he starts picking up speed. The motherfucker was going to mow you down.

The skates are useful but not so much when an extremely determined bumbling oaf is barrelling towards you, his speed beginning to match yours even without equipment. 

You don’t know why you’re running, you don’t know why he’s chasing after you but when you see the end of the pool you take a sharp left only to have him knock right into you, sending you both sprawling.

You land half on top of him, breaking your fall but it doesn’t stop the very loud groan that escapes your mouth. He’s already in the process of sitting up straight, giving you less time to analyse what just happened.

“What the fuck was that for?” you speak through gritted teeth. “Fuckin’ acting like the both of us have free healthcare.”

“You refused to give up.”

“So your plan was to tackle me like a quarterback?” You threw your hands up.  

“One part of it.” He drags himself to the edge, away from you. 

“There's more to your monkey brained plan?” He doesn’t look at you. The ice around the pool has more or less melted, letting him gain proper footing on the floor before he stands up. 

“Oh, yeah.” He turns to you. “The other’s a trick I stole from Stark.”

Bucky holds up the ring. Your jaw slightly drops, eyes searching your finger for the now missing piece of tech. 

“Suppose that’s two points for me?” 

You’re impressed. You also want to stab him. So you do the next best thing.

“When I imagined you holding a ring in front of me, the circumstances were very different,” you comment.

“Bye, Y/N.” He spins on his heel, not even giving you a second’s worth of reaction. You found it amusing.

He heads towards the door, clothes all wet. He empties out melted ice water from his beanie before stuffing it into his pocket. Just when he’s about to leave, you remember something. 

Do you mean it genuinely or just because it has an effect on him? 

“Just for the record, Barnes, about your hair-” you call out, earning his attention from over his shoulder. “I think you look really good either way.”

The world may never know. 

You swear you can see the corners of his lips quirk upwards before he turns around again. 

He slips on a block of ice, cursing and clenching on to the door to keep him upright, quickly yanking it open and leaving before he has a chance to embarrass himself further.

Smooth.

Next part

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #mcu fic #bucky fic #bucky barnes fic #bucky fluff #bucky barnes fluff #bucky angst #bucky barnes angst #harmless fic #winter soldier x reader #Winter Soldier #bucky barnes #bucky

[cinemacereal]

people gotta stop romanticizing college man AKA: being both in charge of the narrative and subject to its inclinations is some whimsical horseshit and i do not fuckin abide

aight so im in film school right. and like, people really gotta stop romanticizing college bro. i don't even fuckin know if I actually like the thing I'm going to school for. i chose to be here and every day i wonder if i even like filmmaking, which is ludicrous of course i do.

however, this is far more nuanced a question than just the simple "does this thing make me happy." my whole goddamn career depends upon the far more loaded question of "do this thing make me happy enough i could do it for conceivably the next 50+ years and not prefer to launch myself directly into the sun than get up for work one more day." which is significantly harder to answer.

especially considerin i am in no way ignorant to the fact that im more than certain that future me will look upon current me with the same wallowing acid bath of disgust i hold for past me.

therefore i am in a particularly stupid and unsolvable paradox. If i am to determine that my future lies with the complicated and frustrating art of filmmaking, i need to do some soul searching and finish my character arc. However in order to have said character arc, i need to have,my life pointed in a direction so that the metatextual narrative doesn't crash and burn

i wish i could put my whole life on pause, figure myself out, then go back into it with a newfound sense of purpose. its like my author wrote like,, half of my story and then said "im bored" and left me in the vast expansive wastelands of the tumblr draft section, where all good posts go to die, and never actually got around to figuring out the second half of my epic character arc.

like, it’s so weird to say this but I feel like I’m at that point in my narrative or I’m about to get some serious character development??? my identity is finally coming into being and i have a sense of who i am in the metatextual narrative of this story, or at least the many different versions of myself that simultaneously exist and do not exist within the narrative at any given moment. like, at i am able to hold an internal socratic dialog with the 6 other versions of myself i am consciously aware of, which has to stand for somethin in the ridiculous self examination im doing for you, correct?

but the thing about character development is that you cant exactly have the aforementioned internal socratic dialog of you have fuckin english homework due. so what ends up actually happening is you procrastinate your big enlightenment for a more convenient time in order to keep the trains running on time. because god fucking forbid the train stops and you have an identity crisis. like everything functions fine when you keep the train moving, but if your train is falling apart you cant exactly power through a broken axle.

like oh shit the wheels are falling off and we’re either going to keep moving forward or the train is going to careen off the cliff of mental illness, and then when you DO inevitably crash, you say oh fuck i could never have predicted this. i am irretrievably fucked. except you DID predict this, all the way when your worst situation was a loose screw. but no, nobody takes you seriously until you crash and the whole train car fuckin obliterates itself on the mental illness tree like a small child running face-first into a glass screen door and watching with abject horror as the glass spiders on impact and shatters dramatically, covering the child in the snowflakes of his own grievous error.

i was in a boat where i was honestly doing pretty okay, and my workload is just light enough my ADHD doesn’t ruin my life 24/7 but i have one(1) singular negative thing happen and im all out of whack

plus, it doesn’t help that like,, i suddenly now have all these passions for writing and drawing for my buddies and making shitty jpeg gifs for my blog but i dont have any energy for film?? reader i willingly started this blog, made most of these gifs myself, and wrote out this insane, self-indulgent dialog because i, personally had the passion to do so. (wait can writing self-indulgent rantblogs be a career. because i'd be so good at that dude. i can finally stop ranting in my friends dms at like 3am)

im fuckin terrified 24/7 that i actually dont wanna do film and i wish i had time to figure that out.

like im a rad dude okay.

im one cool motherfucker, and being a cool motherfucker means i have like,,, a Lot of interests and talents that suit me in my role as said cool motherfucker.

in summary, i’m rad as shit.

this is known

the issue though is that my particular interests do not neatly fit themselves together in a way that a career path is easily laid out for me. i am such a jack of all trades that i could theoretically work in almost any department and become successful.

but, since i am only a man, my general quest is self-fulfillment, right? like the whole goddamn point of being on this stupid spinning rock of infinite horseshit is enlightenment. maslow's hierarchy of needs and all that shit.

so how, the fuck, am i supposed to figure out my particular position in life if i can conceivably find a career in like 6 different wildly divergent paths if i don't spend the next ten fuckin years trying each of them on like a little girl figuring out which disney princess halloween costume dress really says “me”

and i thought i was ahead of the game on this front. i had my first midlife crisis when i was 12 goddamnit. I've been staring at my own splintered identity since i started eating fuckin crayons, you'd think i'd have this shit sorted by now. i am a goddamn philosophical stable boy, mucking out the horseshit that is my psychological identity and self-actualization issues, except the horse in question is also in fact me, and he refuses to stop shitting. it is an endless stream of horse shit coated psyche turds, glittering in the beams of sunlight peaking through the wooden walls of the stables in question, which i guess within the context of this metaphor would be my skull.

and to add another layer to the layer cake of horseshit you and i are mucking out and subsequently baking together, our professors act as if on some level we have a full and in-depth understanding of who we are as people enough to like,,, make a fuckin decision about the career that will essentially define the rest of our lives

like, i can barely feed myself and put myself to bed. i am functionally at the same level of self-care as an overgrown infant, and im expected to have any understanding of how i wanna spend my life?

i call bullshit

we’re both intelligent and deeply interesting people, you and i, reader

we’re goddamn genuinely thoughtful and fascinating individuals with a wide variety of interests.

we are, what The Adults would call “well rounded”

and yet we still cannot manage to figure out any of this shit in a way that makes logical sense

and seriously dude, like if they were actually going to prepare us for college i would have appreciated more philosophy on the nature of enlightenment and self-fulfillment, because like yeah i definitely still wouldn’t have figured any of it out, but at least i would know what all the professional question askers up top have to say

or any assistance on the whole “who am i and where do i fit in the world” question?

like surely we could fuckin squeeze that particular topic in between WW2 for the fifth time and analyzing another robert fucking frost poem like motherfucker i don't even understand how basic college shit works, and I'm expected to become the fucking buddha and then also turn in that ten-page paper on whatever the fuck? no, of course not.

we're expected to casually figure out the existential quandary of the universe over gay brunch with the ladies and never fucking touch the topic again. case closed, book shut, the narrative is linear as shit and everyone is pleased, roll credits. like seriously what in the authors cursed name is that about? thats not how people work, author, you cant just expect them to hinge their entire identities off of a paragraph you haphazardly wrote down at 3am!

we need spiritual fulfillment! i need my character to be fleshed out man! i dont care if the author is dead, you get your corpse right back here and explain to me what all this nonsense you conjured up means!

i demand an answer for the existential question of my life's purpose, dammit! as an author it is your responsibility to give the audience a satisfying conclusion, and i, as both a character and audience member am demanding a goddamn explanation! But as both author and character, i am essentially demanding that ouroboros stop eating his own goddamn tail for a minute and explain the transitive property to me, except ouroboros is also me and he doesnt fuckin know what the transitive property is because he hasnt been in 7th grade math class in like 6 years and he is also a fuckin snake.

#CinemaCerealpost #shitpost #existential dread #flashing images

[titan-fodder]

Prima Vista Part IX

[ previous ]

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

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

- NINE YEARS -

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 "And, the other girl you saw is—"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 "Happy to be working with you." 

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

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

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

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

 "Wow, everyone really… cleared outta here."

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

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

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

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

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

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

 "Thanks. Mobs made it."

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

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

 "Here."

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

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

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

 "Do you, though?" He asks. 

 "Do I what?"

 "Look forward to working here."

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

 "Very big."

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

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

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

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

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

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

 "Yeah, for sure. I'll be around."

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

 He needs to fucking call Erwin. 

 "Hey, bro, what's up?" 

 "Dude," is all Mike says at first. 

 "What?" 

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

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

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

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

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

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

 "It—Wait, what did she say?" 

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

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

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

 "No, I'm not twenty-two anymore."

 "Could have fooled me," Erwin snorts. 

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

 "Could have been better too."

 "What? How—"

 "Could have bent her over the desk and—"

 "Dude!"

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

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

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

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

 "Yeah, yeah."

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

 *

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

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

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

 "Hitch—"

 "Breathe!"

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

 "What are you, my therapist?" 

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

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

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

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

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

 "Agreed."

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

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

 "Okay, and Erwin? What'd he say?" 

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

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

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

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

 "Uh, yeah."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 "Why would you—"

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

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

 "Oh my god, we have to call Marie."

 "And, Maddie."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 "Why?" You question with a head shake. 

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

 "No, I—"

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

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

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

 "Then, talk."

 "Mm, pass."

 *

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

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

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

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

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

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

 "Uh, yeah?" 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 It is not a productive work environment. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 "Don't play dumb, Zacharias."

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

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

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

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

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

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

 "I don't wanna talk!"

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

 *

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 Mike frowns. "Uh, no?" 

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

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

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

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

 "Well—"

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

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

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

 "I'm hanging up now."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 "I didn't say anything!" He laughs. 

 "You don't have to. I know."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 "Where'd you even find those?" 

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

 "So, you went… dumpster diving?" 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 "Ew."

 "Just spitball. Throw it at me."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 "What of it?" 

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

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

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

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

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

 "It was a frat boy car."

 "You were a frat boy!" 

 "And, now I'm a professional."

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

 "Most of the time."

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

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

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

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

 Then, you shake your head. 

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

 "Oh, sorry, I just—"

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

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

 "Yeah?" 

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

 "Tomorrow?" 

 "I mean, if that works for you."

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

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

 "I've always been an early riser."

 "Not from what I remember."

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

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

 "Kept up? Like you didn't wanna be?"

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

 *

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

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

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

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

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

 “Rhi?” He looks incredibly surprised.

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

 “Didn’t see that coming.”

 “Neither did I, honestly.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 So much for letting the past stay there. 

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

 “I really think we do.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 “Then, what are you saying?”

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

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

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

 “Do you not feel the same way then?”

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

 “You were in love?”

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

 “Sorry.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 *

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 “Okay.”

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

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

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

 “Oh, thank god, fuck, thank god.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

 “Oh, fuck.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 “Oh my god—oh, god—fuck, Miche.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 "That's my fuckin' girl."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 "Jesus fuck!"

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

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

 "Miche, please."

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

 "Good enough to fuck me?" 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 "I—I—I—..."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 Another day.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 But, not yet. Not yet. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 "Yes, yes, wanna feel you…"

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

 "Jesus fucking—"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 "We were, weren't we?" 

 "Mhm."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 "Wasn't positive."

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

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

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

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

 But first, he needs to call his mom. 

 *

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 A small pink box. 

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

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

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

 "You are fucking impossible, you know that?" 

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

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

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

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

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

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

 "Yeah, good call, bro."

 "I hate both of you."

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

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

 "Against my better judgement," you smirk. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 "Sounds like an asshole," Mike chuckles. 

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

#mike zacharias x reader #miche zacharias x reader #aot x reader #aot fanfic

[nctsworld]

pedal to the metal

✩ jaemin x reader | mall au | arcade attendant!jaemin | fluff | 3.3k

SUMMARY ⇾ when the claw machine eats your money, jaemin, the cute arcade attendant, offers to play a game with you in lieu of a refund. little does he expect you to beat him. | based off of @mistymark​​’s nct mall employees post WARNINGS ⇾ fluff, bit of angst, jaemin is competitive, kissing in the epilogue     RATING ⇾ teen+ 

⇾ gif created by me, please don’t share or repost without credit!

Leaning over the glass counter filled with endless prizes, Jaemin holds out two large plushies, one in each of his hands. 

“Pikachu or Spongebob?” He swivels his head to them individually before beaming down at the little girl in front of him. 

With the alternating supervision of her parents, she’s been one of the recent regulars at the arcade and finally saved up enough tickets fo a decent prize, deciding to cash them in today. Her face lights up and targets in on one particular plushie, already inching towards it with open hands. 

“Pikachu, Pikachu!” she squeals. 

The worker’s smile deepens, “Great choice. Couldn’t have picked better myself.” 

He laughs airily as she squeezes Pikachu like it’s the last thing she’ll ever love, bouncing up and down with joy. Today, the girl’s mom is with her and she holds her ecstatic daughter close to her leg, rubbing her arm warmly. 

“So I guess I’ll see you two next week?” Jaemin asks. 

“If she gets over Pikachu as fast as she did with Olaf, then probably yes,” the mom replies with a defeated head shake. “Thanks again, Jaemin. Say bye to the nice boy.” 

“Bye, Jaemin!” 

The mother and daughter wave good-bye with wide smiles, as did Jaemin. Giving prizes out and seeing the delightful reactions on the recipient’s face was one of the best parts of his job. 

Oh, and so was being able to play all the arcade games for free. 

For Jaemin, being the arcade attendant at the local mall was a dream come true. He was once in the same place as the little girl—always coming to the same arcade every day after school. Although he loved winning prizes (who doesn’t?), he also prided himself in being the best at every game, knowing all the secrets and strategies like the back of his hand. Dance Dance Revolution, Street Fighter, Beatmania, Time Crisis, Super Bike, Pac-Man… You name it, and Jaemin can wipe the floor with anybody. It’s why none of his friends liked to play the games with him, but they still had fun nonetheless.

“That girl is insane!” Chenle exclaims with a point of his thumb, strolling up to the counter. He’s one of Jaemin’s many friends and an everyday mall-goer. Jisung comes up next to him, also a friend and works at the mall’s McDonald’s. The mall was really a second home to them all. 

Jisung bobs his head in disbelief. Then, he turns to face their worker friend. 

“You’ve gotta admit she’s really good, right?” 

The lanky figure cocks an eyebrow. “What are you guys talking about? I was busy giving out a prize to someone.” 

The shortest individual of the three widens his eyes. “There was a girl who was just playing Super Bike. She kept kicking everyone’s ass, even us.”

Jisung nods fervently, “I was telling Chenle that she’s probably as good as you, maybe even better.” 

Jaemin scoffs, running a hand through his hair. “No one can beat me at Super Bike, you both know that.” 

“You haven’t seen her play, though…” Chenle sighs dreamily, perching his chin into his palms, as he drifts off into space and replays the gameplay in his mind. 

“I don’t know, Jaemin,” Jisung shrugs. He absentmindedly fiddles with the bundle of tickets left by the little girl. “It’s about time someone beat you at one of the games.” 

Suddenly, Jaemin snatches the tickets from his hands, startling the younger boy. Said younger boy glances up to meet a pair of slitted, burning eyes. In an instant, Jaemin’s eyes melt and a cocky expression flashes by.  

“Like I always say, I never lose.” 

He begins to count the tickets, but the thought of someone being better than him makes him lose track. 

After he finishes counting the tickets, he casually checks-up on the motorcycle racing simulator to see what all the fuss was about. To his disappointment, he is met with a young boy, playing by himself.  

Jaemin makes a mental note to keep an eye and ear out for this mystery Super Bike girl.  

A few days pass. You’re at the mall by yourself to kill some time and to procrastinate on studying. You spent a while at the bookstore already, so you decide to do something a little more fun. 

At the bustling arcade, you’re quickly drawn towards the claw machine with the mountain of plushies. You know the odds of winning are low, but one round couldn’t hurt. Placing your money into the claw machine, you begin to fiddle with the joystick. However, nothing’s moving. 

Your face crinkles in confusion, so you add money again, thinking that maybe it was a one-time fluke. Nope, definitely not a fluke because the claw still doesn’t work. You’re now two dollars down and you didn’t even get the chance to play.  

Walking around the arcade, you try to find a worker, but to no avail. You stand in front of the glass counter, waiting for an attendant. While waiting, you’re peering at all the variety of prizes to be won and wish you were skilled and patient enough to obtain such things. It’s no wonder why the claw machine drew you in, at least that game filled you with a false sense of a fast and easy win.   

After finishing a supervising round in the arcade, Jaemin notices a girl at the front counter. Actually, scratch that, a stunning girl—one that he hasn’t seen in the arcade before. He’d definitely remember you if you had. The ends of his mouth stretch and he strides towards you with a wind of confidence.

“Hi, do you need help with something?” 

Jolting slightly, you’re taken aback by both the handsome figure and the question. You saw him earlier at one of the games, but it never crossed your mind that such a young, attractive guy like that would be the resident arcade attendant. You subconsciously do a double take, eyeing him up and down, causing Jaemin’s grin to become more cheeky.

“Hi, yeah,” You point to where you were previously. “I was trying the claw machine and it took my money, but it didn’t let me play any rounds.” 

“Oh?” He scrunches his face and heads toward the machine. You follow behind. “We just fixed it a few weeks ago, that’s weird.” 

At the claw machine, Jaemin feels around the machine, checking on the knobs and buttons, and even places a coin into it to test out your claim. He tinkers with the joystick, and realizes you’re right; the machine’s only taking money without allowing any plays. 

So he kicks it. Hard.  

You break out into a chortle. “Does that actually help?” 

“Always works like a charm.” 

Another kick, and more chortling. 

Jaemin shifts his head towards you and places a hand on his chest. His eyes waver, searching around him as if someone would be listening, and lowers his voice in a hush. 

“I’m a secret machine whisperer, you gotta trust me,” he says with a small wink, and you trust him by standing back and resuming to observe him with a fluttering heart.  

The attendant tries the machine with money once more, but the kicking evidently didn’t help. This only leads Jaemin to increase the intervals of his kicking. Soon, kicking evolves into desperately shaking the contraption.  

Bemused and shaking your head, you comment, “I don’t think your whispering is working very well.” 

He attempts one last time, but to nobody’s surprise, it fails. He tapes an out of order sign onto the glass. With hands on his hips, he exhales a lengthy sigh.  

“Sorry for your lost money. I can give you a refund.”

“Aw, no. It’s okay, it was only a couple of bucks. I was more so looking forward to playing the game, really.” 

A lightbulb goes off in Jaemin’s head. 

“Did you wanna play a game with me to make up for it instead?” 

Although he enunciates the question slowly, cautious of your reply and potential rejection, there’s a contrasting smug expression on his face. Your teeth tug at your bottom lip, about to answer, but then you pout.  

“Aren’t you working right now though?” 

Jaemin shrugs nonchalantly, “It’s kind of slow at the moment and I can argue that I’m maintaining the game.”

“Like what you were just doing with the claw machine?” 

“Exactly.” 

Both of you laugh in unison, gazes converging together. If only the strong sparks flying between you two could somehow fix the claw machine... but then again, you would’ve never had a reason to speak to the beautiful boy in the first place. 

“Sure, what game did you have in mind?” 

Tapping a finger on his chin, Jaemin runs the possibilities in his head. What’s a game that he can easily impress you with his skills, but is also equally fun for you to play? 

“Super Bike?” he offers. 

You nod with a small smile, “Okay, lead the way.” 

Thankfully, as the two of you arrive at the game, no one’s currently playing. You jump onto the left motorcycle, while Jaemin gets onto the right. He enjoys how you cutely sway back and forth, accustoming yourself to the fake motorbike. He gives you a quick breakdown of the controls, and tells you to focus only on the gas and brake since he’ll choose automatic transmission to make things easier for you. You hum with puffed cheeks, ready to play. 

Following Jaemin’s choices of the easiest map level and transmission settings, the race immediately starts. 

Jaemin can play Super Bike in his sleep, so he starts off the first half of the lap with his eyes on his screen, then for the second half, he looks over at you for a few moments. You’re glued to your screen. The glint in your eyes sparkles with pure amusement and an edge of competitiveness. He breathes in the enticing sight, especially as you bite your lip with heightened focus. 

But then, flashes of red flare upon your face. Jaemin’s heart knocks nervously at his chest because the flashes are coming from the sign above your screen with the words ”RACE LEADER”. He’s dragged straight into the match again, not wanting to lose.  

“Have you played this before?” he shouts over the background noises and music. 

“Only a few times,” you shrug lightly. Your eyebrows raise as Jaemin catches up, trailing almost nose to nose with the end of your motorcycle, yet the finish line is approaching fast. Narrowing your eyes, you accelerate and curve around the last bit of the map without struggle. Before you know it, you reach the finish line right before Jaemin does. 

As the first place win radiates from your screen, you pump your arms in the air and remove yourself from the bike. 

On the other hand, Jaemin’s gaze is stuck on the screen, jaw hanging. The big two taunts him with every flicker.  

“Well, that was fun. Thanks for the game—” 

You’re about to ask for his name, but his odd reaction catches you off-guard. You take a step closer to him until someone cries out:   

“That’s Super Bike girl!”

Swinging your head towards the origin of the cry, you see a boy jog over with a wave of his index finger. Chenle’s voice breaks the arcade attendant out of his frozen state. Jaemin whips his head towards you, still on the motorbike.   

“You’re Super Bike girl?!” he echoes, eyebrows knitted. 

“I already have a nickname around here?” you giggle. “I only played this game once a few days ago.” 

Chenle asks him, “Did Biker Girl beat you?” 

Jaemin avoids the inquiry, darting his eyes and pressing his lips together tightly. The friend passes the question onto you with owl eyes, and you shyly nod. 

“Oh, my God, and I missed it?!” He huffs in disappointment, but then recollects himself as he takes a few steps toward you. 

“Are you free after seven to come back and play again? Our friends need to witness this. This is history in the making.” 

Immediately, Jaemin shoots daggers into Chenle. The daggers definitely have profanities written all over. You catch a glimpse of Jaemin and can practically read every word.  

“Uhm,” you lower your voice, despite the fact Jaemin can still hear you. “Your friend looks pretty pissed. I feel kinda bad to just come back to beat him in front of people.”

“Oh, don’t worry about feeling bad,” the attendant’s friend waves his hand carelessly. “He always makes us feel bad when he constantly brags about how he’s the best at every game in here.” 

“Is that so?” You glance at the boy on the bike with a new perspective. You could definitely see this guy as cocky, but maybe he’s still sweet underneath the exterior. You also wouldn’t mind seeing him once more before you head home, and now you had a reason. 

“Well, count me in. I’ll be back at seven on the dot.” 

With a flutter of your fingers, you say your temporary good-byes to the pair of boys and head out of the arcade. Jaemin finally props himself off the motorbike, getting back to work.   

Passing by Chenle, he half-jokingly seethes, “I hate you,” into his ear. 

Without a care in the world, Chenle frantically messages their group chat to come by the mall later to witness the match of a lifetime. 

“Hey, did I miss it?” Mark pants as he puts an arm around Jeno from behind. 

“No, you got here right on time. Super Bike girl should be coming any time soon.” 

On the backend of the motorbike, Jaemin sits at the edge of it, studying the modest crowd around the racing simulator. Along with Jisung and Chenle, several of Jaemin’s other close friends are here to cheer for his downfall. For those who aren’t there, his friends are equipped with their phones in hand, ready to record the monumental event. 

Weaving through the crowd with mumbles of “Excuse me’s,” you reach your destination and appear in front of the arcade worker. 

The rising buzz of the crowd fades from your ears and into the background within his presence. You melt at him looking so coolly, bending over the motorbike with folded arms, and give him a warm smile. 

“Just because you’ve got a sweet smile, it doesn’t mean I’m going to go easy on you.” 

You playfully drop your mouth as the people around “Ooooh” in harmony. Your tongue is pressed against your lower teeth as Jaemin spins himself to the front of the bike. You get onto your previous seat from hours ago, grasping onto the fake vehicle as if you owned it.

You watch Jaemin enter the settings in. He’s not underestimating you this time and he executes his promise of not going easy on you—the hardest map and manual transmission are chosen, signaling you to really bring your A-game for this round.    

At first, the match is tight. You’re practically side by side on the map, even having the occasional opportunity to push him off track and vice-versa. Changing up techniques, as the second lap rings in, you switch transmission gears and ease on the brake for a brief moment, hugging the curve of the map. 

With that move, the red light flashes above him. Jaemin believes, no, he knows he’s going to win. Sweet victory is on the tip of his tongue, he can taste it. Ten seconds are left on the clock, ten seconds left until he beats you and continues to reign king of the game.

But, you suddenly speed past him and the game’s over before he can properly process it.  

The screams surrounding you engulf the entirety of the arcade.

Jaemin’s mouth is on the floor as he realizes he lost. 

No, his mouth is six feet under because you’re currently entering a nickname into the all-time best rankings. You beat Jaemin’s time on the map, seizing the new first place rank for the game. 

Everyone circles you in congratulations, but your eyes are honed in on one individual in the crowd. He hops off the bike, brushes past the crowd, and escapes to the counter, continuing his shift like nothing happened. Hastily, you go after him and find him crouching down behind the glass. He’s unpacking boxes filled with what you assume are prizes. 

On your forearms, you lean over the glass counter. “Hey, when does your shift end?” 

Your assumption is answered as you see him restock some of the plushies in the transparent container underneath you. 

“Why do you want to know? So you can beat me again at another game?” he grumbles, the bitterness blatant in his voice. Nevertheless, you persist. 

“‘Cause Super Bike girl wants to get to know the cute Arcade Boy she met today over dinner.” 

He pauses and his eyebrows perk up at the words cute and dinner in the same sentence. His ego is still sore, but he’ll bite.    

“Is it a date?” he presses further with a disinterested tone, continuing to move the items.  

You drag your bottom lip up, drumming your fingers slowly against the glass. 

“Only if you want it to be.” 

Your words bandage his sore ego quickly, but he wants to bathe in his pity a little while longer. He twists his mouth, fighting against the urge to show you his teeth.  

The boy stands up and leans over the counter too. He’s greeted by your strong aura, yet it doesn’t completely reach your eyes; your gaze is soft and gentle. “I get off at nine, so it’s pretty late.” 

“That’s okay. I can play games until then—” 

You peel yourself off from the glass and properly introduce yourself, holding your hand out. He glances at it for a second, then at your tender look. He gives in and can't help himself from grinning. The arcade attendant reaches for your hand and reciprocates the shake.  

“I’m Jaemin.”  

That day, Jaemin learned that losing at the arcade games wasn’t the worst thing in the world. 

EPILOGUE 

Clutching onto Jaemin’s waist underneath his leather jacket with your chin resting on his shoulder, you’re swaying side by side with him on the racing game that brought you two together. It’s his day off today, and both of you thought it’d be cute to spend some time at the arcade before the movie showing later that evening. 

“Ease on the gas!” you dictate. He rolls his eyes at your backseat driving.    

“No, it’s too early!” he protests and goes against your advice, accelerating further. When that makes him go off-road a bit, you sigh smugly while he groans meekly. 

“See, and this is why I’m better at Super Bike than you,” you tease before pecking a kiss on his cheek. Tingles rise to his cheeks.

“Yeah, but I’ve played this game a lot longer than you.” It’s the second lap and he’s inching towards the finish line.  

“Yeah, but who holds the record?” 

After he speeds through it, the list of the best times roll onto the screen. Your nickname still stands proudly at number one from the day you asked him out on a date. 

Jaemin smiles at the not-so far memory. He then twists and extends his neck over his shoulder, sharing a sweet kiss with you. Your grip around his waist tightens, your fingers sinking into his skin. His palm raises and cups your face, deepening the kiss.    

Breaking away for a moment, he says, “Yeah, well, I’m the better kisser.” 

You sweep your nose against his. “That’s up for debate…” 

Your lips meet once more lovingly.  

“Can you guys stop making out in the arcade again?” Jisung groans. “Kids are here, you know. Like me.” 

Chenle cuts in, “I thought you were glad someone beat Jaemin for once.”

“I mean, yeah, but I didn’t expect the same person to have her tongue constantly down his throat!” 

Still lip-locked, Jaemin and you smile into the next kisses from their remarks while Jisung and Chenle run off to play another game, far away from the new couple.

#jaemin #na jaemin #na jaemin x reader #jaemin scenarios #jaemin fluff #jaemin imagines #jaemin fanfic #jaemin x reader #nct #nct fanfic #nct fluff #nct imagines #nct scenarios #nct dream fluff #nct dream fanfic #nct dream imagines #nct dream scenarios #nct dream #flash tw

[sohotthateveryonedied]

Hiii!! I really love your tumblr posts and I'm pretty new to the Batfam (meaning I have only read fics and textposts about them, no comics) and I wanted to ask about the year Bruce/Batman gets "lost in time". I know general things of what the kids have been doing–Dick became batman and fired Tim from robin, giving it to Damian, everyone thinking Tim was crazy for believing Bruce was alive, (don't really know what Jason was up to though, was he still murderous towards Tim? Does the pit still affect him? Also I have no idea about Cass and Duke, were they introduced at this point??) Anyways, my real question was why was Bruce lost in time, what villain put him there? And how did he get out? And how long was he "dead"? Was Bruce in another reality or like just asleep the whole time? Oh! And how soon did this happen after Damian got introduced to the family–a couple months?

I'm so sorry this is so long, but I hope you answer and thank you!!

(I’m going to try and cover all my bases here by going into how exactly Bruce “died,” what went down during the Battle For the Cowl, what the Batkids did while Bruce was gone, and how Bruce came back. Hopefully it all makes sense?? We’ll see how it goes lmao.)

Part 1 - What Happened to Bruce:

So there was this event called Final Crisis (which I won’t go completely into since it would make this post a million times longer than it already is), but the bottom line is that Darkseid wants to overthrow reality and release his Anti-Life Equation, which would overthrow the whole planet and turn everyone into slaves. (If you’re interested in knowing more about the storyline, here’s a Reddit thread that explains it WAY better than I could.) 

What I CAN tell you is that during his final confrontation with Darkseid, Bruce is hit by an Omega Beam and turned into a burnt chicken nugget killed. Poor guy.

Final Crisis #6

Clark and Diana bring the body back to the Batcave and break the news to the Batfamily. Batman #687 covers a good portion of the aftermath such as Bruce’s funeral, the Batfamily grieving, and Dick coming to terms with his new responsibility of becoming Batman.

Batman #687

Part 2 - Battle For the Cowl: 

Musical chairs time, fellas! After word gets out that Batman is gone, Gotham erupts into chaos. Dick doesn’t want to take over the mantle, Tim needs Dick to take over the mantle, and Jason says “fuck it” and takes over the mantle himself because somebody around here has to. He becomes this murderous psychopathic Batman and starts taking out criminals with deadly force because someone’s gotta do the job, so it might as well be him.

Batman: Battle For the Cowl #1

(Okay honestly, this series had some pretty bad characterization overall, which sucks since it’s such an important storyline. Jason is portrayed as this violent psychopath, which...okay, he was kind of insane after the Pit and all, but not to this degree. Personally, I choose to owe the bad characterization to Bruce’s death because as much as Jason resents Bruce for all he’s done, he does still love him and losing him would be devastating, which would exacerbate his already fragile mental health. As for Damian, this happens roughly three years after his first appearance, so we can assume it’s been a few months since he first joined the family. He’s still relatively new at this point, so nobody knows how to write him yet. He ends up being depicted as if his main two personality traits are Bratty and Assassin-Child and that’s it. It’s all just a mess.)

Anyway, Tim tells Dick to become Batman and stop Jason’s reign of terror. Dick says no, so Tim follows Jason’s lead by saying “fuck it” and putting on the cowl himself. He goes to confront Jason, which ends in Jason beating the crap out of him (again) and leaving him for dead after Tim declines his offer to become Jason’s Robin. Dick goes to save Tim and ends up fighting Jason. 

Battle For the Cowl #3

Dick wins, Jason disappears, Tim is fine, and Dick finally gets his head out of his ass and becomes Batman. 

Part 3 - What Happens to Each Batkid While Bruce is “Dead”?:

Dick: 

As I said, Dick becomes the new Batman a month after Bruce’s death. He’s got big shoes to fill, and it takes some time for him to get used to his new role. He and Damian end up flipping around the classic Batman and Robin dynamic, with Batman now as the fun counterpart to Robin’s edginess. Dick, Damian, and Alfred relocate to the penthouse above the Wayne Foundation building, operating out of a secret Bat-Bunker in the basement.

Batman #688

Jason: 

After Battle For the Cowl, Jason is still batshit insane and determined to make Dick’s already stressful life even harder by becoming a supervillain with an ugly costume and an even uglier hairstyle. (I know it’s just because the artist sucked, but still. Jason is horrifying to look at during this time.) He mostly just gets on Dick’s nerves by running around Gotham with his new sidekick Scarlet and killing criminals as Batman and Robin wannabes. Eventually, Dick has Jason committed to Arkham Asylum and he hangs out there until Bruce returns.

Batman and Robin (2009) #5

Tim: 

Tim...doesn’t do great after Bruce’s death, mentally. Dick makes Damian Robin, his reasoning being that Robin is more of a sidekick and he sees Tim as his equal. By making Damian Robin, Dick hopes that it will give him the stability he needs to keep him from straying back toward the “bad” side. (It’s the right move ultimately, although his execution was pretty messed up since he didn’t discuss it with Tim beforehand, but he’s allowed to make mistakes. Dick’s father just died and now he’s in charge of picking up the pieces of their broken family. It’s a lot to handle.) 

Long story short, Tim has a breakdown, realizes that Bruce is alive, dons the Red Robin identity, and cuts ties with his family to travel the world in search of proof. It’s a rough time. 

Red Robin #1

Damian: 

Our little guy becomes Robin! So proud of him! As I explained earlier, Dick makes Damian his Robin with the assumption that it will keep him out of trouble, and he’s right on that account. He mentors Damian, teaching him how to channel his violent instincts into something productive, and it works! Slowly but surely, Damian makes the transition from bratty assassin to actual hero!

Batman and Robin (2009) #22

Cass:

Duke sadly was not introduced at this point in time, so he missed out on all the pandemonium. Cass, however, has been Batgirl for years by now, but she got kind of pushed aside by the writers after Bruce’s death. Bruce disappears shortly after adopting Cass, but once he was “dead,” the writers sort of moved Cass around for a while, not quite knowing what to do with her. First she was with the Outsiders. Then they got disbanded and Cass tried forming a new network of heroes to take over for Batman if needed. Then she helped out in said network during Battle for the Cowl, taking care of a newly ravaged Gotham. Then Cass gave the Batgirl mantle to Stephanie Brown after she became disillusioned with the role, thanks to the loss of her father and mentor. Then Cass picked up and moved to Hong Kong to “follow Bruce’s plans” by continuing whatever work he had set up for her there. It was all very vague and confusing, and Cass more or less got swept under the rug during this time. Thanks, writers.

Batgirl (2009) #1

Part 4 - How Bruce Came Back: 

When the Blackest Night storyline happens, the Justice League realizes that the corpse buried under Bruce’s grave is apparently not the real one and that he’s actually alive out there somewhere! How wild is that! This is further proven by Dick after he places Bruce’s body in a Lazarus Pit to revive, which has the same result because it’s very clearly Not Bruce and they should have listened to Tim from the start.

Batman and Robin (2009) #9

Anyway, what actually happened is that the Omega Beams that Darkseid shot at Bruce didn’t kill him, but rather blasted him back through time to the prehistoric era with his memories wiped. The Omega Energy inside of Bruce ends up catapulting him through various time periods, which is all part of Darkseid’s plan. With each time-hop, Bruce builds up more Omega Energy in his body which, when he gets back to his original time period, will be unleashed and destroy everything.

Batman: The Return of Bruce Wayne #5

It’s been a little under two years since Final Crisis, though in-universe it’s uncertain exactly how long Bruce has been “dead.” We can assume it’s been a year, give or take. The way he comes back is too scientific and complicated for me to understand, so uhhhh the bottom line is that Tim and a few Leaguers save Bruce at the Vanishing Point and the day is saved! Hooray! 

Batman: The Return of Bruce Wayne #6

(If you want to read about how it actually goes down, then I seriously recommend reading Batman: The Return of Bruce Wayne. It’s only six issues, so it’s a quick read and it explains the situation far better than I ever could.)

Bruce eventually reunites with his family after spying on them for a period of time as Insider to see what has changed in his absence:

Bruce Wayne: The Road Home

After that, things quickly settle back into their new normal. Dick and Damian stay on as Batman and Robin. Bruce goes back to being Batman as well, with him handling Batman Incorporated business and Dick continuing as Gotham’s defender. Tim keeps the Red Robin outfit, Steph stays on as Batgirl, and Cass becomes Black Bat. Jason stays in Arkham for a while before filing an appeal to be moved to a regular prison. He kills 82 inmates in less than a week and gets transferred back to Arkham, which he promptly escapes from. It’s a ride, I tell ya.

Aaaaand that’s about it! I hope this answered all of your questions!

#lay it on me papa bob #batman #bruce wayne #batfamily #batfam #dick grayson #nightwing #damian wayne #robin #jason todd #red hood #tim drake #red robin #idiot duckboy #cassandra cain #black bat #batgirl #stephanie brown #alfred pennyworth #darkseid #final crisis #battle for the cowl #dc comics #batman and robin #soho reads comics #get your comic references kids

[itwasadhdallalong]

Intro Post

I’m 32, female, from New Zealand and was recently diagnosed with ADHD. I have three kids and my oldest (my son) was diagnosed probably about 4 years ago. At the time he was diagnosed his specialist lady (forget her title) said when a child is diagnosed, usually one or both the parents will have it too. At the time, I thought of his dad, who I’m no longer with.

About three years earlier, after the birth of my second child, I was first told I was depressed and was given antidepressants. Later when they didn’t help I went to a mental health clinic thing and was diagnosed with Bipolar. I don’t even know which type but I knew it was wrong. They gave me meds. Didn’t help but made me sleepy and zombie-like all the time. I researched it and it made no sense, but when researching that I found BPD and convinced myself it was that, because it sounded close to what I experienced. Not exact but close enough, so what else would it be, right? My next appointment I told them they were wrong and I didn’t have bipolar but bpd. He said ‘I believe you’ and I was given more meds. Didn’t help. I stopped taking them when I fell pregnant again and I never went back on any medication for my mental health. I’ve been generally stable in my mental health anyway, just the lows and big lows (but over soon) and my mood can change very quickly.

Over the years I did more research in order to better understand ADHD and my kid and wouldn’t you know, I could relate to a lot of this stuff. Particularly the way it manifests in girls and women. Naturally I started to have suspicions but I kept it to myself and kept researching.

Over the past couple of years I became pretty convinced I had ADHD but I felt like a total imposter telling people about it at first. This year I started actually discussing the possibility with people. I wanted to get diagnosed but at the moment general practitioners aren’t referring people unless they are in crisis (and you can’t just say you’re in crisis when you have children). Luckily, I came into a bit of money and was able to go private.

I couldn’t see a psychiatrist due to them being so overloaded at the moment, especially the ones that specialise in adult ADHD. I guess so many people are realising that it fits them and going for assessment. So they had me see a psychologist, who can diagnose but can’t prescribe medication.

My first appointment was her verbally asking me the questions on three different scales/tests and me not being able to do yes or no answers because context is important. I didn’t get a diagnosis that day, because she had to score my tests.

Days later she told me she needed to speak to either my partner or one of my parents to see more about what I was like. My partner, despite being diagnosed as a kid doesn’t really believe how ADHD impacts people and my dad wasn’t in my life much so my mum it was. We did an hour long zoom call where she asked mum questions about me as a child and now and then I waited. And waited… she told me I needed to fill out one more scale that someone else would be emailing me. I didn’t get it but figured they were busy. A week later after obsessively checking my inbox I finally told my psychologist I hadn’t received it and she said it was sent a week prior… I hadn’t received it. So they sent it again, I filled it out, and about a week later she emailed me to tell me my assessments were all in line with a diagnosis of ADHD. So now, I just have to see a psychiatrist when one is available so they can look into medication options with me.

I have said the words ‘I have ADHD’ only once since then, in my car, by myself. I have told people but I haven’t said it out loud, I’m still dealing with imposter syndrome. But I’m starting to realise all the weird shit I’ve always done or hated or whatever is because I’m actually fucking neurodivergent. And you know what, I’m so glad I know now because I spent 32 years thinking and being told I was weird and I have never loved any of those things about myself but I’m slowly starting to accept my weird traits because other people have them too. I’m not alone! It was ADHD all along!

#adhd #adult adhd #diagnosis process #intro post

[itsclydebitches]

The post about how characters don't connect to the setting is one of the reasons why the beginning of V7 frustrated me so much. James gives this plan of telling the world about Salem, Weiss rightfully points out their will be panic everywhere and NO ONE connects that with the very real fear that this plan could put all their families in danger. Nor does anyone get excited about the Amity project potentially allowing them to call home. Ruby's been away for A YEAR. Doesn't she miss her dad at all?

Exactly! This isn't a bad faith criticism where we're demanding the show do a ton of emotional work that there just isn't time for in the fighting focused plot; a claim that it's awful because it's not functioning as one genre (like a drama, soap opera, etc.) over another (action/adventure, fantasy, sci-fi)... I mean we get nothing in regards to this issue. Not even crumbs. And these connections are, supposedly, at the very heart of the "trust love" narrative. I think it's easy for people to forget what happens between volumes — especially given the "Only the latest volume is canon" mentality — but we literally had Ironwood announce to Ruby that he'd need to use his army to keep the grimm attacks at bay once the Salem secret was revealed and then a volume later Ruby reveals the Salem secret (along with a whole lot else that is scary, horrifying, and generally negative-emotion educing) after she's cut all ties with Ironwood and his army is fully engaged in keeping Salem at bay. There is no discussion, let along concern and worry, about how many people she just got killed for an announcement that the show has failed to justify. Why is telling the world about Salem worth the casualties it will cause? What is the world going to do against the immortal witch? Ruby doesn't know. That's her whole dilemma this volume: wanting easy answers and then crumbling when she can't think of any. Problem is, she endangered the whole world before admitting, "Oh, I have no idea how to stop all this awfulness."

I mean, I understand on an emotional level why the hypocrisy of Ruby's lies and secrets don't land because most people in the fandom dislike, or outright hate, Ozpin. That's really going to color any reading there, when suddenly the beloved hero is mirroring someone you despise — you'll do whatever mental gymnastics are necessary to keep them separate. But Ruby has no evil contrast here. This is all her. We watch her make a decision that she knows will endanger the entire world, including her loved ones, and it's never even raised as a concern. The same way no one raises concerns about going to Vacuo. Yes, supposedly escaping was the only option available (I say "supposedly" because the plot did a terrible job of convincing us that evacuation was still necessary with Salem currently exploded and it having been established that she's only after the Relic on Atlas), and in a crisis situation they aren't necessarily thinking about long-term survival (that's my own stance regarding Ironwood's desire to rise high: he's not thinking about how to live there indefinitely, just how to survive the next few hours), but why send them to the Kingdom they know Salem will attack next? The Crown is hidden. You have the Lamp and the Staff. You know Salem is after all the Relics, so of course she's going to Vacuo. And so you dump however many refugees there, in the city she's gunning for next, intentionally setting up the next Fall of Atlas? Yeah, we all know it's because structurally the story hasn't been to Vacuo yet, but in-world it makes the characters look incredibly stupid. Why dump an entire Kingdom's worth of people in the most hostile environment, with the most wary citizens, a place you know the Big Bad is heading to next, when you could instead split them up and send them to safer Kingdoms that aren't currently in Salem's path? "Oh, it's because Vacuo still has huntsmen and they need huntsmen to combat all the grimm." There wouldn't be a massive grimm problem is Ruby hadn't told the whole world about Salem!

And this problem of not thinking through actions in a way that demonstrates real care for the world is just compounded over and over on a personal level. It's the same way Ruby doesn't care about what happened to Qrow until she hopes he can fix everything. The same way she doesn't react to Yang "dying." The same way Yang didn't mention Summer for five volumes. The same way Jaune, Yang, and Nora rejected Ren until he fell in line. The same way Blake is trying to inspire Ruby when they've barely exchanged a handful of sentences since Beacon. The same way, as you say, no one has made mention of the family they've left behind, let alone considered how building a communications tower might be a way of reconnecting with them, especially when at least two of them — Ruby and Oscar — left completely out of the blue. Are they presented as caring about how that inevitably hurt their care givers? Nah. The fandom gives Tai so little slack, but at least the story showed him watching Ruby's message and being upset at the danger she's in. When was the last time the girls mentioned Tai?

... have they mentioned him since they left home?

The show has done a terrible job in the last couple of years of showing that these characters actually care for one another, beyond a superficial level, especially when all the cute friendship moments that function as filler are obliterated the moment one of them disagrees about something (see: Ren). There's no sense of place and little sense of real family, from Weiss doing multiple 180s with Whitley, to Blake being the only one who reacts to Yang's "death." It all rings so hollow. I'm supposed to believe that Ruby is still the one to inspire the world towards unity when she, at the point of her speech, still hasn't even tried to reconcile with Ozpin, has been betraying Ironwood this whole time, insta-turned on the Ace Ops for trying to make her face consequences for the crimes she knows she committed, fought her way into the kingdom because she didn't like the peaceful solution Cordovin offered (send Weiss), hasn't made mention of her father, collapsed over hearing her mother's name only to get over it seconds later, at this point in the volume barely interacts with her sister, and is leading a team whose attitude ranges from "Glares at Marrow for daring to suggest she works with anyone other than Yang" and "Points a weapon at her baby brother because she, apparently, can't even manage to work with a minor civilian family member." This is the team who is going to inspire Remnant to unify against Salem, the group who keeps not unifying with everyone they need to work with? There is a serious disconnect here. You can't tell the audience to "trust love" while failing to show basic love and support among the cast, and you can't try to make Ruby the poster child for unity when she has, since Volume 6, has consistently failed to unify with anyone: not Cordovin, not Qrow until he agreed to stop questioning her, not Ozpin, not Ironwood, not the Ace Ops, not even Robyn considering that was all Yang and Blake. Ruby's struggle right now is an inability to work with people who don't agree with her 100%, her biggest flaw is an all or nothing attitude, and the writing is failing to see how that might just be a problem when she's telling everyone else to put their differences aside to work together. Having Ruby actually try to connect with people more, worry about them, express love for them, etc. — both family and allies — would at least help soften this issue, but without it her characterization has severely tanked in terms of the compassion the show wants us to believe is still there.

#rwby #rwde #salt #mymetas