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myherowritings · 3 years

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PART 6. FUCK THE RICH, STEAL THEIR CANDY

SUMMARY. Todoroki Shouto was a wealthy, young CEO who inherited his father’s enterprise. You were a barista at a local cafe who wouldn’t mind some extra cash. One day, Shouto came in during an early morning shift and tipped you such a large sum of money, you were certain it had to have been an accident. To your surprise and complete pleasure: It was not.

PAIRING. ceo!todoroki shouto x barista!reader

WORD COUNT. 3.7k

GENRE. ceo/barista au, fluff, eventual smut

WARNINGS. enji...ew, some judgmental rich people, just a little bit of sexual tension and suggestive content to prep for the next part ;3

A/N. gala time omg let’s gooooo writing this made me 100% ready to fight rich ppl fjhjkgf and want to give shouto all the kisses ;p i hope you enjoy and tysm for reading!! xx sof

SERIES MASTERLIST

The only thing you hoped for this past week was for Shouto not to regret the events that happened in the dressing room. (Or, more precisely, the events that didn’t happen because of an interruption but you both had very much wanted to happen at the time.)

(Or so you hoped he did. It seemed like he did…)

You groaned, burrowing your face in your pillows after flopping back onto your bed after a shower. Why was this so confusing?

It wasn’t like Shouto was ignoring you or pretending nothing happened, but he’s just been so busy with work neither of you had time to sit down and really talk. You briefly got to see him for his daily morning coffee runs but you didn’t want to accidentally ruin what little time throughout the work week the two of you had by bringing it up. And now it was the weekend, which would have been the perfect time to talk about it, if not for the fact Shouto was picking you up to get ready at his place and then head to a super fancy gala in less than an hour!

With a charity ball full of strangers you had to prepare for, you supposed your potential romance could take the back seat for a little while longer.

At least the fruity little candies would be there waiting for you.

Snapping you out of your thoughts, your phone buzzed with a message from Shouto telling you he was less than 20 minutes away from your place. Within the last few minutes, you double checked you had the necessities, like your makeup and clothes and hair supplies and shoes and possibly every ‘getting ready’ product you could think of under the sun, all ready to go. Your dress was already hanging in Shouto’s house, ready for you to change into.

Apparently, there wasn’t a moment left to spare since you soon got a call with him telling you he had just arrived. Taking deep breaths, you walked out your door, lugging your bag of belongings in tow.

“Good afternoon, Y/N,” Shouto greeted as you settled into his car. He smiled as you reached over to give him a quick side hug. He squeezed your shoulder gently. “Nervous about tonight?”

You tried to calm the tapping your fingers were doing against the inside of the car door. “Is it obvious?”

“Not really,” he assured. “Regardless, you shouldn’t worry. You’ll be an amazing date and we don’t even need to stay the whole time if you would rather not.”

Amazing date date? Or amazing fake date?

Would it be too forward of you to ask? (Not that anything could’ve been more forward than Shouto pinning you against a wall and almost kissing you just a few days ago.)

“You’re right, it’ll be fine!” you said, trying to sound more confident than you felt. “After all, you’ll be there.”

A smile. “Hm.”

It didn’t take very long for you to get from your place to his seeing as he lived relatively close to his work and therefore yours. He parked in front of a luxury high-rise apartment that was characterized by glass windows and angled architecture. It looked like something straight out of Portfolio Magazine.

“All those ‘Japan’s Youngest CEO Bachelor’ tabloids are starting to make sense now,” you said with a teasing whistle, following Shouto into the building after being greeted by the security guards and receptionist.

He held his hand out to you and you placed yours in his palm as he led you to the VIP elevator that brought you all the way up to the top floor. His hand gave yours a soft squeeze when he noticed your gaze darting around the area nervously.

When the elevator doors opened, your eyes widened as you took in the ceramic floor tiles, the spotless walls, floor-to-ceiling mirror columns, and the natural light pouring in through the bare, glass windows. “Whoa— This looks like a wealthy bachelor pad if I’ve ever seen one.”

Letting go of your hand, Shouto offered to take your bag of belongings and brought it to a room for you to get ready in. “Do you...not like it?”

“Oh, that’s not it at all!” You shook your head earnestly. “This place is so beautiful! And a little cold.”

Both literally and metaphorically.

His penthouse was elegant and sleek, with tasteful decor that probably cost more than a month’s salary for you. But it seemed a little...empty. Not like a home.

Apparently, Shouto agreed.

“I live here because it’s close to work. But it’s a little unwelcoming,” he admitted wryly. “Not something I ever really settled into. Though my mother and sister did try to help decorate.”

You looked at the finely chosen contemporary paintings displayed on some of the walls. “They have good eyes.”

Shouto nodded but appeared to be in pensive thought. “If I were to ever settle down with a family, it wouldn’t be here. But this is what’s most suitable for now.”

Running your fingers against the cold glass windows, you peered down into the city in an attempt to calm your fluttering heart having just learned Shouto valued having a family in the future. Something in you just liked hearing he one day wanted to settle down with someone. You bit your lower lip to stop a hopeful smile from spreading.

“I’m sure you’ll be a great husband and father when the day comes,” you said quietly, still gazing out the window to avoid looking into his eyes. “But, um, anyway— I should start getting ready now! Don’t want us to be late for tonight.”

His hand that was reaching out to hold you suddenly dropped to his side as he stepped away at your words. “Of course.”

You silently cursed yourself under your breath, wishing you had waited a few moments to talk so you could’ve seen what he was going to do. Would he have tried to kiss you again? You hoped that was the case, but it was too late to know for sure now.

“You can get ready in here,” said Shouto, opening the door to what looked like a guest bedroom, your dress hanging on an armoire inside. “There’s your dress. And the bathroom is right there if you need it.”

“Thank you, Shouto.” You resisted the urge to plop right on the huge bed and jump on it while he was in the room. “I’ll try to be quick!”

“No need to rush; we have time.” He checked the watch on his wrist before turning to you. “I’ll be in the shower for a bit but if you need anything just let me know.”

In the shower? While you were under the same roof? Your stomach did funny flips at the thought.

“I’ll keep your offer in mind,” you said playfully, glancing over at the dress. You’d need his assistance sooner or later buttoning the dress up, but there was sadly no time for funny business if you wanted to make it to the gala in a timely manner.

When Shouto left the room to take a shower, you began getting ready yourself. You did your hair and makeup in a way that made you feel confident and happy, and by the time you were done about two hours had passed. All you had left was to change into the dress and throw on some fancy shoes and you’d be set with time to spare.

You were just wondering if Shouto was almost ready when you heard a knock on the door.

Speak of the devil. Or angel. He was much too sweet to be the devil, after all.

“Everything okay in there?” he asked, voice muffled from the outside of the wall.

You nodded before realizing he couldn’t see you. “Yeah! Just putting on the dress now.”

There was a shuffle outside then a pause. Then, “Did you want any help?”

“Yes, please.” You slipped into your outfit and pulled the front over your chest. The fabric was light against your body, making it feel almost ethereal.

After a while, Shouto cautiously opened the door to the room and you turned to catch sight of him. He was dressed up in a fitted black suit with silky red trimmings and a tie that matched the color of your dress. His hair was combed back and to the side, pulled out of his face and giving you a clear view of his forehead. That was one pretty forehead.

All in all, he looked as handsome as ever, but with some extra pizzazz.

“You look great,” you both said at the same time.

There was a beat of silence, then you both laughed.

“I’m only half in my dress and I’m sure I look a bit unruly, but thank you,” you giggled as Shouto walked over to grasp at the fastens on the back of your gown.

He shook his head. “You look beautiful like you always do. The dress just helps compliment it even more.”

His words brought warmth to your cheeks and you were glad you were faced away from him so he couldn’t see your all too pleased expression. “Smooth talker much?”

“Not flattery. Just the truth.”

Your smile grew even wider. “Hm.”

Shouto nimbly fastened the buttons on your back, cold fingertips lightly grazing your skin in ways that sent shivers down your spine. You closed your eyes and hoped that was only a phrase and that he couldn’t actually tell how much your body was affected from such a simple touch by sensing shivers in your spine.

You held your breath as he travelled up your back, skin sparking against skin. Time seemed to slow down as he closed the last few buttons.

“Finished,” he said quietly, though his hands didn’t move from their position on you.

Turning around, you caught his palms in yours, lightly stroking his knuckles with your thumb. Shouto looked down at your hands joined together then back at you.

You murmured, “Thanks for your assistance.”

The tips of your noses were almost brushing together as you stared up at him. If either one of you were to lean forward a few centimeters more, your lips would be touching. Just like in the fitting room last weekend.

And just like in the fitting room, Shouto’s hands encircled your waist and toyed with the buttons on your dress while you tugged at his color.

But just like in the fitting room, there was an interruption mere seconds before the kiss. It’s just that, this time, the interruption was from you.

“Wait! I have makeup on!” you cried, pulling away in despite the dissatisfaction you knew the both of you were feeling. “If we kiss it might get messed up and I’ll have to redo it and then we’ll be late to the gala.”

He made deep a sound of frustration. “Fuck the gala.”

You wanted to. In this very moment, you would much rather ditch the gala and fuck something else, but you had to remain somewhat rational. “But we made a commitment to show up, didn’t we?”

Shouto looked down like he had just been chided. “We did.”

“Plus… The candy!”

He blinked before a grin took over his face. He chuckled, “Of course. Can’t forget the greatest candy heist of the year.”

“Exactly!”

His smile was amused but his hands rested intimately on your hips. “Besides, you put in effort to get ready for tonight, it’d be a disservice to keep you from showing it off.”

Your cheeks warmed at his compliment as you let out a laugh. “Flatterer,” you accused, though your tone had no bite to it. Instead, it was teasing as you brought your palm up to cup his jaw. “We should probably get going if we don’t want to be late, hmm?”

“Mm.”

“But first—” You planted a kiss on his cheek, giving him just a small hint of what could come later that night. When you pulled away, there was a lipstick mark in the shape of your lips where his jawline met his cheek an you smiled, satisfied with your work.

His grip on you tightened as his gaze turned hooded. “If I’m a flatterer, you’re being a tease.”

“Sounds like a good combination to me.”

— ✩ —

Oddly enough, the Naruhata Charity Gala was going quite well.

The food was yummy, there were cute places for you and Shouto to sneak off and take obnoxious selfies, and—most importantly—there were bowls of free candies scattered throughout the entire premise.

A whole building was rented out for the charity ball to be held and the venue even had an outdoor pool and with complimentary champagne (not that anyone was exactly prepared to take a dip in the middle of the night, but the only thing that mattered to the guests was that you could).

Both of you were having fun.

You met some of Shouto’s friends, got complimented by the DJ for your...enthusiastic dance skills on the dance floor, and, for most of the night, Shouto was successful in avoiding making conversation with his father.

Things were going well. Until they weren’t.

You and Shouto were standing in a hallway just outside the main ballroom, exchanging jokes and talking about how many crabcakes a person could fit in their mouth. Totally business as usual, until you heard a group of people whispering only mere feet away from you.

“Are you sure that’s them?” a woman in a red dress whispered—and you used that term rather subjectively since the whisper could be heard by practically half the room—as she glanced at you.

Seeing their gazes, you froze in your spot. Shouto must have heard them to since his brows furrowed as he held you closer to him, protectively.

“And you really heard them, right? Mr. Todoroki has a… You know…”

Another girl who you recognized as another customer from the dress store the other day nodded her head. “Yes, I overheard it with my own two ears when I was getting my outfit. That’s Mr. Todoroki and his sugar baby!”

You almost choked on your crabcake.

Shouto rubbed circles into your back. “You okay?”

“Peachy,” you said sheepishly, trying not to draw even more attention to yourself than there already was. On the plus side, at least more people would notice how hot you look in this dress with your hair and makeup done. (Though it might be for the wrong reasons…)

You vaguely recalled teasing Shouto about looking like a sugar daddy, and he joked back. But you didn’t think anyone would want to gossip enough to overhear a joke and spread it around as a rumor!

The group began chattering some more and seemed to gain a crowd. You even saw a large figure you recognized as Todoroki Enji walking towards you.

“I’m going to have to clear things up, aren’t I?”

Shouto shook his head, a frown present on his face. But you knew his displeasure wasn’t directed at you. “You don’t need to pay attention to this nonsense. People can think what they want.”

“It’s okay! I don’t want to ruin your reputation with the media when I was initially here to help it get better. Besides, they don’t seem to be doing it maliciously. They’re just curious.”

He looked at you, but before he could think of the words to say, you walked over to the group of gossiping partygoers.

You tapped on the shoulder of the one you saw at the store. “Hi! Excuse me…” All eyes turned to you and you tried not to shrink down. “I, ah, I know what you overheard that day at the dress retailers, but I just wanted to clear it up and say it was a joke! Funny right? Well, maybe not so funny to you guys, but it was just an inside joke between me and Shouto.” You laughed, growing nervous at the lack of response. “You see, I’m not actually his sugar—”

Just then, a booming voice interrupted, “Shouto! What are you thinking, son?”

You almost jumped at the sound and turned towards the direction of your date. As you whirled around, you made eye contact with him. Shouto had a furious expression on his face, but when his gaze met yours he tried giving you a comforting smile. Seeing his distress, you immediately made your way back to him.

“A nice woman to boost your media image,” Enji whispered, trying to lead his son to a less crowded area, probably so no one else would overhear or spread more rumors. “That’s all I asked for. Not a…a…you know!”

Was it a criterion that rich people must not know how to whisper? you asked yourself. Either, one, no one was actually trying to whisper, or two, they could not control their volume very well.

“Actually,” you spoke up from behind him. When Enji turned to look at you, you gave him a wave before walking over to Shouto’s side. “I’m not his sugar baby. But even if I were, what’s it to you?”

There was a hush of silence that settled around the room and you almost had to laugh at how comical it was.

“As long as it’s an agreement between two consenting adults, there’s nothing wrong with it,” you said, hoping it didn’t just go in one of his ears and out the other. “You could think of it as like a business deal, but...with more of a relationship aspect.”

Enji’s face turned a shade of red. “That’s not the sort of people someone with Shouto’s upbringing should hang around with. I don’t know how you were raised, but—”

“Stop it, father.” Shouto’s voice was angry as he clenched his jaw. But his arm was wrapped around your waist. You gently squeezed his hand with yours. “You don’t get to make assumptions about Y/N without ever even talking to them.”

“Shouto,” he said in a warning tone when he noticed more and more people were paying attention to them. This didn’t exactly seem like the attention he wanted. “We can talk about this later.”

Shouto frowned. “There’s nothing to talk about. All you have to do is say sorry to Y/N and then we can leave.” He turned around to the crowd trying to pretend they weren’t listening in. “And everyone else, you can stop eavesdropping.”

They look startled at the forward confrontation and you stifled a giggle, leaning into your date with a smile.

He gave you a chaste kiss on your forehead before murmuring under his breath, “Everyone attending a charity gala just to brag about how generous they are but then turning around to judge everyone who might not be in the same circle as them? How shameless.”

Although it seemed like he was whispering it, your hypothesis that rich people really didn’t know how to whisper was right, since it was loud enough for the whole room to hear. Not that you or Shouto seemed to mind.

“You know, if you’re not going to apologize to Y/N, there’s no reason we should stay any longer,” he told his dad as a stiff goodbye.

You nodded in agreement before taking a handful of candy from a nearby bowl. “Well, now there’s no reason to stay.”

Spinning on your heel, the two of you headed for the exit, somehow not caring but all too aware of the eyes on you at the same time. Before reaching the door, Shouto grabbed two bowls of candy in the reception area and walked out the door with it, everyone too stunned to say anything about it. You walked into the parking lot smothering fits of laughter the whole way, still in disbelief about the events that had just occurred.

“For you,” said Shouto as the two of you reached his car, still carrying the candy in his arms.

You choked out a laugh at the audacity of it all. He even took the bowls? The candies were free for the guests, but you weren’t so sure the bowls were. “I… Thanks, Shouto. I’m never going to run out of these candies now!”

“Hm,” was the approving noise he made.

When you both got into his car, he looked at you before turning the engine on. Now that the adrenaline had passed, he had a much more solemn expression on his face.

“Y/N,” he said, sounding apologetic, “I’m really sorry about my dad. And about the gossip. You didn’t deserve any of that.”

“It’s okay. It wasn’t too bad, and none of it was your fault! Besides,” you said, giving his hand on the gear shift a squeeze. After pulling out of the parking spot, he let go of the stick and interlocked his fingers with yours. “I had the best date ever to make up for it.”

“I have to disagree with that because I think I was the one with the best date.” Shouto smiled playfully, squeezing your hand in his.

“Agree to disagree, then.”

He chuckled and you grinned. Tonight was going great until the last hour’s mishap, and while it was uncomfortable and disheartening to hear gossip about you from people who were supposed to be sophisticated, grown adults, you weren’t lying when you told Shouto he was enough to make up for all that bullshit. You were grateful for him standing up for you and basically saying fuck rich people and charity galas in front of them all.

Oh, and for getting you enough candy to last you at least a few months, of course.

He really was the best date ever.

As Shouto signaled to get out of the structure, he asked, “Now, should I take you back to your home or…?”

You shook your head, already knowing where he was going with this (and very much liking it). “Hmm,” you drawled, pretending to think about it. “How about we go back to your place to finally finish what we started?”

“I thought you’d never ask.”

In all honesty, you were quite surprised yourself that you asked. But, damn, would you be glad you did.

a/n: woOO EAT THE RICH STEAL THEIR CANDY STEAL THEIR BOWLS HGFJKS, i’m already so in love with shouto but i have fallen in love with one (1) rich boy even more :3

what to expect in the next part:

yes. it’s time for u know what ;)

y/n and shouto finally……high five <3

jkjk

THE NEXT PART IS THE FINAL PART AND YOU WILL SEE WHY THIS SERIES OVERALL HAD TO BE 18+ KSKKFG

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osakiharu · 2 years

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9:45PM : chifuyu matsuno

content : gender neutral reader, angst, hurt / comfort (i think, i’m still not good at this), ehh reader and chifuyu aren’t in denial but like y’all would prefer it if you were ig, i’ll add more if i can think of it, not proofread

wc : 1.2k

notes : i thought of this idea ages ago but i literally just couldn’t write it for a month because it kept hating it but whatever it’s fine <\3 i need to get better at writing those synopsis things too i fucking suck at it :(

you hadn’t really noticed the snow until a delicate flake settled on your cheek, melting and running down your face along with the few trails of tears beside it. chifuyu sat next to you, head resting atop yours, making a mental note to apologise for crying into your hair and wetting it slightly. you both were cold, chilled by the cool concrete stairs touching your legs where you sat on them and the sparse snowfall began to get heavier. peke j had found shelter under your boyfriend’s hoodie, only peeking his little, pink nose and mouth out to lick the hand chifuyu held tightly. you found the rough swipes of the cat’s tongue strangely comforting as the already grey sky had begun to deepen in colour, nightfall beginning to make itself known to the city.

“y’knew he’d be here, didn’t you?” your voice was quiet, trembling due to the cold and your soft sobs that were beginning to subside. “think he still comes here to see if kei’s come home yet.” he murmured, also feeling tired from shivering in his minimal layers, knitted hoodie not doing the job he thought it was going to do. chifuyu reached over to where the black cat was licking your hand to stroke the warm fur on his little head. “‘s not coming home, j… not this time,” a mewl left the fluffy animal, “i know… miss him, too.” you hadn’t expected chifuyu to show up at your door on the morning of an unpleasantly cold winter day. he’d made multiple attempts to get you to come on a walk with him, seeing as you’d hardly left the house since the 31st of october but every time you’d rejected his proposal.

chifuyu had come to realise that he missed many things at the moment. he missed going on little strolls in the evenings with you, sitting in the park wondering if it would start snowing whilst you were out in the late hours of the day, coming home and cuddling whilst he sat and told you about the new manga series he found. chifuyu missed you, and he missed baji. although less than usual, he’d still seen you through the dull month that had been november, and he knew that he could still call you if you really weren’t in the mood to see anyone. he understood that, and he was okay with it. chifuyu was more than happy to give you the time and space you needed to somewhat recover from what had recently happened. he knew you were still there, he could still talk to you. he couldn’t speak to baji anymore, though. he can’t see baji anymore. neither of you can, no one can. he’s gone and no one can bring him back to him. talking to that tall stone surrounded by flowers was starting to get tiring. he’d never enjoyed it in the first place, but he just wanted a simple reply from his dear friend. a single phrase, a word, anything. things probably would’ve felt somewhat better if kazutora hadn’t gone and put himself back in that dismal cell.

amongst all this, chifuyu had also missed his cat. everyone knew peke j was important to chifuyu, especially you. you knew that cat reminded him of baji with his thick mass of fur and striking yellow eyes, feisty and playful in nature. you remembered the pair getting on like wildfire when they met each other, and baji had almost put the kitten in his pocket before he left. neither you or chifuyu had thought it would be possible to form such a human-like friendship with an animal, but he had done just that. such a close friendship that peke j would take the odd stroll over to his house and sit and mewl at the window. more often than not you would be sitting in baji’s room doing homework together and hearing a familiar pat pat pat on the glass before your friend slid it open and took the cat into his arms like it was his own.

“yeah, but you knew he’d be here.” you peered up at him after blinking away the fresh tears brimming in your sleepy eyes. he was so cute. his little nose was ruddy from the cold and his cheeks were dusted with the same light pink colour. his lips had dark red splotches placed in particular areas where he’d bitten and picked at them, and his hands, one of which had come up to dry your eyes, were still warm and his knuckles had that similar dusting of ruddiness on them. “hm, surprised you didn’t.” the few loving kisses being pressed to the crown of your head was enough to make the welling tears spill over again. through your blurry vision you looked down at the remainder of the stairs that you sat atop. “d’you think he’s walking up the stairs right now, ‘fuyu?” you sniffled and jerked a finger towards the grey steps, “d’you think he’ll show up at the bottom of these in a second?” chifuyu’s shoulders deflated with a deep exhale. “they’re always doing stupid things, aren’t they? kei and kaz… always playing stupid pranks on us and stuff…” you could hardly keep your voice from wavering as your bottom lip quivered. “think they’re doing it again? they are, aren’t they… assholes… not fuckin’ funny are they, ‘fuyu?”

he didn’t respond so you craned your neck up to lay your gaze upon him once more. “are they?” your voice broke. you knew that wasn’t true, that they were playing along with another one of their childish jokes. Nice to pretend that it was, though. “no,” a sob left his mouth, followed by a dry, bitter laugh, “not fucking funny at all, are they?” his red yet still warm hands cradled you into his chest, peke j snuggling further into your hand that he still held. You whimpered something in response but he couldn’t quite make it out. “they’ll stop playing around soon, yeah? promise they will.” he knew you knew kazutora wasn’t coming back for a while, baji at all, but sure, it was nice to pretend for the evening.

chifuyu had practically dragged you to his room, whispering something about needing to get you warm. before you knew it, you’d been wrapped in one of your boyfriend’s huge sweaters and a pair of his joggers that were definitely ill fitting, not that it mattered much to you. the lightning was low in his room, the lamp on his desk softly illuminating his living space as you both cuddled into a mass of pillows and blankets on his bed. a hand had been nestled in your hair, messing and playing with it in a comforting manner whilst you lay your head on a firm chest. “you, asleep?” chifuyu asked, noting that peke j’s purring seemed to be dying down as he gave in to his own fatigue. “yeah… almost,” you forced out, feeling slightly annoyed at the fact that every time you were about to drift off, chifuyu would have something to say or ask you. “sorry… jus’ checking.” he smiled as he tugged the blankets up further until they reached the very back of your neck, drowning the pair of you in them. “g’night, love.” chifuyu hesitated slightly, feeling bad for talking more, but it left him as soon as you gave him a sleepy ‘love you, fuyu.’

he knew he couldn’t bring baji back for you. Not for you, not for him, not for anyone. he was more than happy to pretend that he could, though. Just for a little bit.

reblogs appreciated <3

#tokyo revengers #tokyo rev #tokyo revengers x reader #tokyo rev x reader #chifuyu matsuno x reader #chifuyu matsuno #chifuyu x reader #chifuyu fluff #chifuyu imagines

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no-droids · 4 years

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Mercy, Sabotage, and Dead Space

(gif credit to @redwyyne-archive)

Part One of The Bet series

Pairing: Poe Dameron/Reader

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 12.7K

Summary:

1. No sex.

2. No touching yourself.

3. No orgasms.

Warnings/Tags: DUBCON/NONCON elements, fuckboy Poe (OOC), Enemies to Lovers, degradation/humiliation, mentions of oral sex, SMUUUTTTTTTTT also I’m not sorry for what I did but you’re not allowed to read if you’re gonna get mad at me okay byeeee

***

This.

This shit, right here.

If the question was ever, “What’s the stupidest fucking thing you’ve ever let Poe Dameron somehow talk you into doing?” then the answer is this stupid shit, right the fuck here. This is like. You remember that one game, Mercy? The one where you’d dig your nails in and twist arms and just needlessly inflict pain on each other as children until one of you cried uncle because someone somewhere once decided to turn torture into a matter of pride?

You always thought those games were fucking ridiculous. Who can hold their breath the longest, who can handle a lit deathstick against their flesh the longest, who can take the hardest punch—who cares? It’s child’s play. It’s self-inflicted agony for the sake of bragging rights and even as a youngling, you refused to fall for it.

But then you met… fucking Dameron.

You know those people that… they don’t just rub you the wrong way, but literally every single aspect about their personality is sandpaper against wet skin and your whole entire being feels chafed raw just by existing in their general vicinity for an extended period of time?

You’re… you’re not usually a competitive—much less aggressive person. You never have been. It’s just not part of your nature. If you ever excel at anything in life, it isn’t because of some secret, deep-seated desire to win or be better than anyone else. You just… do you. You do whatever you do, and if it’s good, it’s good. And if it’s bad, it’s good. Because at the end of the day at least it’s still you, and you’re okay with that.

But this?

This shit? Right here?

“This is fucking dumb,” you say, because you know it’s what you both must be thinking so you may as well just get it out in the open. “This is the dumbest fucking thing, Dameron. What are we doing? Why are we doing this?”

The grumpy, orange-jumpsuited figure sitting behind you just sighs heavily and slumps even further down in his bucket seat, as if it isn’t the first time you’ve tried asking this incredibly valid question (it totally is), bringing a palm down to thunk the top of the guidance controls between his legs in a quiet irritation you’re almost certain has everything to do with the very topic you’re trying to bring up.

“Because,” comes that infuriating drawl. You can only see his face from this angle by looking at his reflection in the transparisteel barrier directly in front of you, but even just imagining the way his mouth moves while he rounds out the words makes your jaw clench. “The coordinates we picked up were scrambled and this rendezvous could be going down at any one of thirty-six locat—?”

“No,” you interrupt him with a scowl, “not why I’ve been floating in dead space in this Maker-forsaken ship with you for eight fucking hours a day since… fuck, what’s today? Thursday? Friday? Nope, can’t be Friday, Friday’s our off-day. Thursday, then. …Thursday?” You shake your head. “Ugh, see? Time doesn’t exist when I’m not allowed to cum, life is like one never-ending nightmare.”

“Oh.” He takes a second to think about it in silence, the calloused tips of his fingers scratching the side of his face while he considers. It wouldn’t usually be as loud as it is right now. Maybe it’s the haunting quiet of space surrounding the ancient powered down hunk of metal you’re both stuck in, inadvertently isolating and amplifying the sound—or maybe it’s because your copilot’s jaw is currently covered in a thick, dark beard that you swear barely took his testosterone-overloaded ass a fucking week or two to grow, if that. Regardless, the dark bristles crunch loudly under his short fingernails and it takes you about a grand total of five whole uninterrupted seconds of the scraping sound to realize you’re grinding your teeth along with it. “Well,” he finally says, “that was your stupid idea.”

“Hmmmmmmmno,” you contest firmly, wiggling your elbow back to poke at his shin with your index finger once, twice, thrice, until he finally slaps your hand away in quiet irritation. To the misfortune of you both—and likely the other hundred or so pilots concurrently taking rotating shifts in these tandem x-wings in a glorified mass stakeout, the cockpit of this ship is just way too fucking small. Your arm is squeezed uncomfortably against machinery and electronics to get to him from this angle and a light slap isn’t going to stop you now that you’re here. “You—” (poke) “—have a superiority complex and decided to turn it into a competition, not—” (poke) “—me.”

“Oh, I have a superiority complex, okay,” he scowls and nods in vehement, fake agreement, finally giving up and letting you poke at will, but the appeal is lost as soon as you realize he’s over it and your arm eases back into your lap. You watch his reflection look out of the viewport and scan the empty void of space for the twentieth time in the past five minutes, clearly just as desperate to get back to base as you are. “So what is it you call saying—wait, no no, not even saying, loudly declaring—‘Of course I can go longer without sex than “wham bam thank you ma’am” Dameron, you brainless fucks, it’s a simple fact!’”

“Alright—I don’t sound like that, fuck you very much,” you return, in reference to his shrieking, high-pitched impression of you surrounded by your fellow pilots in the rec room when you’ve had a bit too much to drink. “Also, you don’t have to finger-quote literally every single syllable of my fucking sentence, Dameron. First and last word, that’s all it takes. And if it’s so superiority complex-ey of me to state simple facts, then what is it you call saying ‘betcha two weeks worth of pay you can’t, pretty baby’?”

“Uh, easy credits?” He immediately asks, side-eyeing your reflection through the transparisteel. “ Easy credits. Just begging for it. Two weeks of your slutty, sexy, easy fucking credits just begging to be taken and used— ”

“You need to get laid,” you cut in to tell him bluntly, scrunching your nose in what you hope looks like disgust. As per protocol, the power to the x-wing was cut at the beginning of your shift—what feels like a fucking eternity ago—as a preventative maneuver in case the target falls out of hyperspace unexpectedly. Avoiding the scanners of a fleet that may never actually show means it’s cold and dimly lit in here—just starlight in front of either you, but you’re hoping he can gauge the severity of your revulsion with your back to him. “You just turned my money into a sex object. It was vile. I feel violated on its behalf.”

“Sounds like you’re the one who needs to get laid,” he tosses carelessly back at you, and you roll your eyes with as much sass as you can physically muster, so tired of all the dodging. You know this hasn’t been easy for him either, he just has too much pride to admit it. “Besides, you’ve gotta be past the withdrawal stage by now. Is it really all that bad?”

“The fuck you mean, ‘Is it really all that bad’?” You snap at him, shuffling around grumpily in your seat, hating the way the bulky weapons controls sit right between your thighs and prevent you from closing them. Withdrawal stage, ha. “Of course it’s all that bad. It’s horrible. It’s the fucking worst. And more importantly, how are you not having any trouble with this? Oh, wait—that’s right,” you answer yourself before he has a chance to. “Because you cheated.”

“I did not cheat,” Dameron’s reflection immediately challenges with an accusatory finger pointed at you. “I did not. When the fuck did I cheat? I swapped housing assignments with your shitty roommate and slept in the bunk below yours for a month and a half—all because you don’t believe in the honor system—just so you could tell me I fucking cheated?”

You scoff, feeling your annoyance spark even more. He’s always been able to get under your skin, but the neglect you’ve been forcing your body to endure is just throwing gasoline on an already roaring fire. “Okay, first of all? Rude. I am a fucking joy to have as a roomie, alright? I put up with your snoring, your 2:00 AM dinners, you blasting your radio while I’m trying to sleep, I barely complain about your body odor—”

“My snoring is adorable, I get snacky at night, only sad people with fucked up lives hate music, I smell amazing,” Dameron casually lists off on his fingers, the self-confidence so easy and unshakeable that you swear he’s almost preening at the compliments he just gave himself by the time he’s finished rebutting everything you can think to throw at him. And, while you’d never admit it, he does smell good. He smells… unbelievably fucking good. Always. Something dark and woodsy, you can never quite put your finger on. It pisses you off, so much that you’ve made a habit of pulling a face of disgust whenever the warm, rich scent noticeably reaches you, hoping it deflates his ego just a little bit. No such luck so far.

“Whatever. The point is I’m a good fucking neighbor, alright, I’m neighborly as fuck,” you grumble, crossing your arms over your chest defensively. “And don’t make it sound like I’m putting a chastity lock on your balls every night, because you can fuck anyone you want. In fact, I strongly fucking encourage it—I just want to know about it when it happens.”

Dameron smirks and you groan, already knowing what’s coming. “You wanna hear it?”

Yep, there it is. “Second of all—”

“Feel the whole bunk rock with it?” He goes on, completely ignoring you. “Use the excuse that you’re trapped up top so you can just stay there the whole time and listen? You know you can do a lot more than just—”

“Second of all,” you project over him, “you’re seriously telling me you haven’t had any wet dreams then, hm? No snorgasms? Hmmm? No happy naps? No captain midnights? No mattress fracking? Hmmmmmm???”

His voice very quickly sounds… shocked. “How many fucking euphemisms—?”

“Wait wait, one more—” you quickly interrupt, too much momentum to stop now, “—sleepskeet.”

You watch in immense satisfaction as his expression seems to progress through all five stages of grief, before he exhales a long, unamused sigh and scratches his beard again. You want to pluck each strand of it out of his face one by one. “Anyways. Wet dreams are totally different and don’t count.”

“It’s not different!” You burst out, unable to help yourself, “it’s an orgasm, and rule number three is no orgas—”

“I know what the rules were, Gold-Ten,” he returns calmly, and it infuriates you, how he’s always able to make it seem like you’re the instigator who’s overreacting. And he knows exactly what he’s doing by calling you by your flight designation, and it pisses you off even more because calling him Black-Leader in any other situation besides active warfare just feels like an unnecessary reminder of his skills. Why he’s currently behind you manning the guidance controls and why you’re currently stuck in the front seat with the bulkier weapons systems. “The question is if you’re seriously that bad enough of a sport to automatically disqualify me because of something that happens to any human with a dick indiscriminately when we blueball ourselves.”

“But that’s the entire fucking point, Dameron!” You shrill, throwing your hands in the air in pure exasperation. “There it is! You need it more than I do, you just said it yourself! Not to mention I said I can go longer without sex than you can— sex , not orgasms, but as it turns out I win at both. Now can we please call this shit off so I can finally cum? This isn’t fun anymore.”

“Nope,” he says immediately, popping the P with a bit too much hard emphasis to be genuinely amused. He’s frustrated, too—his voice is too pleased, too fake to not be masking irritation underneath. “Sorry. But this was also your stupid idea, so.”

“You’re insufferable,” you grumble, anger flaring equal to his, just way more… verbal. And descriptive. “Wet dreams don’t count, fucking right. Tell that to the oceans of Kamino I got going on down there, huh? I move on this seat wrong and I’ll slide off it—”

A loud slam of a palm against the controls suddenly echoes throughout the small cockpit, causing you to jump slightly.

“Don’t,” Dameron snarls, “... say shit like that to me. Not right now. Not right now, fuck .”

You go quiet for a moment, not expecting that much of an outburst at something you considered to be a throwaway remark, but then… oh. Something occurs to you, something… sinister. Oh, well, now there’s an idea.

Everything inside you immediately surges up and burns at the thought—the mere whisper of a way out of all of this, quickly, without giving in and letting him hold your surrender over you for Maker knows how long. It’s so fucking simple, you don’t know why you didn’t think of it before. You don’t have to wait him out at all; instead, you just need to… entice him into giving in first.

Neither of you say anything for a while, and you don’t know what he’s thinking (nothing, probably—a dry tumbleweed bouncing across an empty desert landscape, you imagine) but you take the dip in conversation to consider a plan. You can’t go at it too outright, it’ll be too big of a turnaround and he’ll see it coming lightyears away. A halfhearted joke about your pussy tossed out without thinking is what catalyzed the most substantial reaction from him you’ve seen, so… maybe you can keep steering the conversation towards the idea.

“How many wet dreams have you had?” You suddenly ask, your heart beginning to pick up in your chest as soon as the words are out of your mouth.

“Excuse me?” Dameron grunts from behind you, and you catch his reflection raising a thick eyebrow at you.

You take a deep breath and disguise it by stretching your back out just a little bit, lifting your shoulder blades and arching the sore muscles there, before settling back down in your normal crappy posture once more. “Now many times did you cum in your sleep? Had to at least been once for you to claim they don’t count.”

“Why does it matter?” He asks, completely sidestepping the question for the second time. “It was involuntary.”

You shrug. “Just so I know how many freebies I can get tonight.”

“No,” Dameron instantly counters, his voice dead serious. “Not fucking allowed.”

“Why not?” You ask, and this time, there’s significantly less challenge than you’d typically deliver it with. Instead, your voice is soft, questioning. Not argumentative, but curious, and there’s just enough of your point left unsaid that it’ll seem like he conjured the rest of the image himself.

There’s silence while he considers his response to the perfectly executed bait. You assume you’re both picturing the same thing, because it’s what you’ve pictured almost every single night spent in this celibate hellscape. The cool darkness of your shared quarters, the standard-issue sheets that still feel crispy and rough on your skin no matter how many nights you’ve slept in them, with one of your hands pressed tight over your mouth and two of your fingers circle your clit.

“You only get to do it if I’m in the room,” he poses instead, and you swallow thickly, feeling your body tighten with an unintentional drop of pure heat through your tummy at the thought. Maker, it must be really bad if Poe fucking Dameron is getting to you like this. The bane of your existence shouldn’t make your insides twist in on themselves—at least, not in a good way.

“Not like I’d have much choice,” you eventually respond, keeping it purposefully ambiguous. “It’s your room, too. Unfortunately.”

Stars, it’s been so long since you’ve done this, since you’ve walked the fine line between flirtation and seduction, wanting to turn on the charm slowly—gradually ease it up like a hyperdrive lever under your fingertips so that you’re at maximum by the time he realizes you’re even there. You take a moment to glance at his reflection, watching Dameron look back at you curiously, a flash of interest in his eyes.

“By the way, how does that one girl feel about us doing this?” You ask out of nowhere, suddenly remembering the existence of his pretty little number. You’ve seen her under his arm around base at least a few times, which is more than you can say for the rest of them. “Red-Six. Tall brunette with the tattoos—I don’t bother learning names, they all come and go.”

“Nihla,” Dameron nods with a wistful sigh, tilting his head to rest against his shoulder. “Or, wait… Neah. No—it was… Nalal. Yeah, Nalal, I think that’s right…”

“Unbelievable,” you mutter. “One of the greatest mysteries of the universe is how many people get in line for you, I’ll never fucking understand it.”

“They just want me for my cock,” he tells you without missing a single beat, sounding like he’s not joking in the slightest. “It was starting to get obnoxious. Glad I finally have an excuse to turn them down.”

“Unbelievable,” you repeat, stunned by how truly, mind-blowingly full of himself he is. “You’re… fucking…”

You end up just staring at him and making a sound somewhere between a laugh and a scoff, at a complete loss for words, and Dameron eventually shrugs and continues on after you fail to form a coherent thought in the allotted time frame he provides.

“Now I can just tell them I’m in a long-running bet with Gold-Ten over who can sexually deprive themselves the longest and weirdly enough, they don’t seem all that interested anymore,” he remarks, tilting his chin up and rubbing at his beard again, and for some reason… the sound of it bothers you somewhat less now, the way he phrased that resonating deeper inside you than it should. Lower than it should. You blink a few times, almost shocked by your body’s unprecedented response to his admission—Poe Dameron uses you as an excuse to turn down sex with pretty girls? Happily?—and your mind goes blank for a second while he watches you through the transparisteel. “It’s alright,” he eventually goes on, tilting his head. “Sometimes a sabbatical is good. I do really miss pussy, though.”

“Well,” you finally tell him, oddly not having much else to offer at the moment. “I’m sorry? And… you’re welcome. I guess.”

Dameron shrugs once more and makes an apathetic sound without opening his mouth, and you drop your stare down to the machinery between your spread thighs after feeling like you were looking at each other for too long. The position started uncomfortable and seven hours later, it’s still fucking uncomfortable. At first the discomfort twinged at your hips and lower back, but now the sensation seems to be… centering itself a bit more, finding a spot right between your legs, especially when his words echo through your subconscious and make you naturally want to push your thighs together. I do really miss pussy, though.

You try to snap out of it a bit, try to stop hyperfixating on the way your underwear has felt sticky and wet for fucking hours now, but it’s so fucking difficult to chill yourself out when your body already went into this whole situation with a month and a half long stumbling block. He’s not really doing anything at all—he’s leant back in his chair and staring out the window into the black emptiness of space when you steal a look once more, but something about how his casual responses are affecting you makes it seem like he’s the one currently seducing you.

Maker, you have to focus. You have to control yourself. You’re starting to feel a little warm in your thick jumpsuit—a particular shade of orange that does not compliment your complexion but you normally rejoice in wearing regardless. It’s baggy and uniform and hides most of your curves and most importantly, it keeps you toasty on missions like this. Space is cold —especially this far out in the Cauper Void, and there’s no fucking reason this powered down hunk of floating metal should feel as muggy and stifling as it does in here.

“We shouldn’t be doing this,” you suddenly hear yourself say, spontaneously, no thought put into it whatsoever. One last try, one last attempt to avoid it, a last-ditch go at flight before he gives you no choice and you’re left with this one remaining option. “This isn’t a good idea. It’s… not healthy. I don’t want to do this anymore.”

This gets a small chuckle out of him. “I know you don’t, pretty baby.”

“Then let’s just call the whole thing off,” you propose once again, trying to lighten your tone, make it a… a friendly thing. It sounds so fake, even to your own ears—since when would you be desperate enough to let the dreaded petname slide?—but granted, you know what they say about time and measures and all that shit. “We can call it a tie, just go back to the way things were befo—”

He cuts you off and pins you with his gaze through the reflection. “You realize that you begging me to put an end to your suffering is—ridiculously hot, mostly—but also only an incentive to make me keep pushing until you finally give in?”

You groan and comb some of your hair off your forehead, not liking the way it’s getting just the slightest bit damp. “Fine, we won’t call it off, but can we at least just stop—” You immediately catch yourself, not wanting to unintentionally push this too far too quickly, but your hesitation is clear and compelling enough for him to prompt you.

“At least just stop what?” Dameron asks, and though you don’t think it’s intentional or even noticeable from his perspective, something about the way his voice sounds… husky. Low to the ground.

“Stop dragging it out,” you breathe, your heart pounding. Why is your heart pounding so fucking fast? This is a fucking sting op, a facade, so why are you getting so caught up in the lie you’ve spun for yourself? “Finish it. Sooner, rather than later. Quit being masochists about it, just fucking put it to—”

Maker, your eyes instinctively snap to his at your poor choice of wording, having almost said bed on complete accident. Genuinely, you didn’t mean to phrase it that way, but at the same time, the thought of it almost burns you alive. Fuck. Dameron, and you, in bed. It could be mean. It could be rough. A fight for dominance more than anything. He’s bigger than you and he could make it fucking hurt, especially after going without it for as long as you have, but something about how double-edged that type of relief would be isn’t really sinking in for you right now. Like a person slowly dying of thirst that’s fantasizing about drowning. Regardless, the idea of a night with him and the sudden assortment of vivid imagery it provides is enough to get you to shut up and take a deep breath, just wait with your mouth shut for whatever his response is.

Unfortunately, you don’t have to wait long at all.

“This is cute,” he suddenly tells you, and you jerk back and sputter a bunch of consonants stupidly like he smacked you.

“Fuck you?” Are the first recognizable words that can be heard. “I’m not—this isn’t fucking— cute?”

“It’s cute,” Dameron repeats, hiding a soft smile from you with a few of his fingers pressed to his lips. “You,” he says as he points at your reflection, twirling his finger around in circles, “trying to be all sneaky about it, go about your little performance. It’s like… watching a little kid just blatantly fuck up a magic trick but they’re naive enough to think it’s working. Keep going, I’m enthralled.”

You hold still for just a second as ice suddenly sinks through your tummy and clears away any trace of warmth you may have once felt from before. Of course. Stupid. Stupid, you shouldn’t have even tried something like that, you don’t know why you thought…

Horrifyingly, you go dead silent and the lack of an immediate response from you hangs awkwardly in the still air. You’re usually so quick with him, so fiery, letting the things he throws at you just glide right off you, but for some insane reason, you’re actually fucking… embarrassed? A little bit?

You should say something, but your whole body is just frustratingly blank, almost buzzing in mortification, and it gets worse and worse the longer you stay quiet. You don’t usually put yourself in a position to be compromised, and you certainly didn’t think the place he decided to jab this time had particularly thin skin.

You… you’d forgotten what it’s like to have someone laugh at you when you’re genuinely trying your best to flirt.

Well, it’s too late to say anything now, you think. Now it’s just uncomfortable in here—true discomfort, not the typical angry silences. You’re used to that, you’re used to huffing and crossing your arms and ticking your jaw through the breaks in conversation, refusing to say a word because you’re beyond pissed off. This is different. This quiet sits different in the air, this emotion hits different in your chest, somewhere vulnerable. A crack in your armor he found without even necessarily intending to, but at this point, the stupid way you can’t seem to hide the wound from him is just as much to blame.

“So, uh…” Dameron clears his throat as you shut your eyes tight against the awkwardness, but you can still feel a strange little shift in the air from behind you. There’s something about the enclosed space, the quiet darkness surrounding you both, you feel… too close to him. Sharing his air, feeling the energy when it’s cramped and you’re not able to just get up and storm away from him like normal. You don’t like it. You don’t like that you can immediately tell something has changed without being able to see him, that type of intimacy between you is pushing a boundary you can’t quite pinpoint but know exists.

You snap your eyes open and look over at Dameron’s reflection when he’s quiet for too long, and though you try to glare as fiercely as possible at him while you do it, the look on his face almost stops you dead. The pure intensity raging in his expression, the way he’s got his eyes narrowed, flicking back and forth between yours, carefully studying you, wondering if perhaps he may have gotten it all wrong. “I mean, y’know. Theoretically speaking, and all. If I broke, you’d let me fuck you?”

You… aren’t expecting that.

You don’t know why but your heart suddenly starts to race again, but it’s not the same as before. Before it was speeding up and at an angle, like a rocket trying to escape a body’s gravitational pull, to go somewhere, search for something. This time it just feels like it’s ricketing downhill, unsteady and out of control, about to break apart with every single pothole that rattles and slams through you. Shit. You didn’t expect the ultimatum would be presented to you so up front like that—you thought there’d be… some resistance, at least.

Fuck, you take way too fucking long thinking about it, and your face feels warmer and warmer the more you mentally pick apart his specific phrasing, wondering where you should even begin. You still haven’t said anything, but the damage is already done. What should've been a firm, instantaneous go fuck yourself is left suspended, unanswered, open for interpretation. You miss your window of opportunity to shut him down, you overshoot it by a longshot, and then you feel that spark of a what-if flare deep down once more.

No, fucking stop it. Stop it. Maker, your eyes do everything they can to not look at him while you concentrate and work to tap into your anger, stoking the flames of your fire to avoid feeling… temptation. How dare he? How fucking dare he do this to you, especially when there’s no chance to get out of here, to abort mission and cut your losses? You clench your jaw and isolate that fury, magnify it until it’s the only thing you can feel anymore.

“My turn now,” Dameron eventually breaks the silence to clarify, blinking at you, and by this point you’re so fucking pissed off that you don’t recognize that isn’t actually a question.

“No,” you immediately snap, strung far too thin to deal with this new, treacherous territory with him. Defaulting to normal is best, it’s easier. “No, it’s not your turn, and fuck no, you can’t fuck me, not even if it means I win this stupid bet. No to everything that has anything to fucking do with you, alright? Don’t talk to me. You’re lucky if I agree to sleep in the same fucking room as you tonight. And—and?—I think your beard looks dumb.”

Okay, so maybe the last part was just a little bit childish, but you’re in such a bad fucking mood and you want to insult something he’s clearly just trying out for right now, hasn’t yet solidified as part of his usual appearance and unshakeable confidence in it. It’s a downright lie—you think he might look more attractive with it than he ever has. Effortlessly rugged and masculine, framing his face and making his eyes all the more piercing.

You don’t think it works, but regardless, he heeds your sharp words and says nothing for a good few minutes at least. You had hoped the break in interaction would allow you the ability to reset a little bit, give yourself time to work through it, but it’s like the pressure in the air steadily increases regardless of how silent it is in here—or perhaps, because of it.

You can’t help it. You flick your eyes to the transparisteel in front of you once more and catch his reflection staring directly at you, unmoving. It jars you as much as it sparks your anger, and you glare down at your hands and give him a few seconds. A few seconds of grace, of mercy, before you try again.

Sure enough, he’s still got his dark eyes pinned to you when you go to check once more, like he’s actually fucking thinking about something right now, which is just… astounding, for obvious reasons. Mainly, the nerve of him. The fucking nerve of him to be able to look at you like that, like he’s just entitled to study your every feature, searching your eyes for things you’ve never looked deep enough to find within yourself, making incredibly loud assumptions with his mind that he has absolutely no right to be making.

“Shut up,” You snap at him defensively, feeling like you’re sweating buckets even in the freezing emptiness of dead space. You can’t figure out if it’s a cold sweat or if your body is legitimately just malfunctioning under his stare. “Shut up.”

You watch as his reflection suddenly drops his head back against the seat and rolls out the stiffness of his neck, blinking his eyes shut and raising his eyebrows like you’re completely overreacting, like he has absolutely no idea. “I didn’t say anything.”

“You’re not that dumb,” you challenge. “You’re… plotting. Evil plotting.”

A thick eyebrow drops so that only one is quirked up, and a grin pulls at his lips.

“You’re right,” Dameron admits casually after a moment with his eyes still closed, his voice pitched low in the cramped ship. “I was thinking about what it’s gonna take to get you to lose.”

You swallow against the dryness in your throat, starting to unintentionally bounce one of your legs up and down without even realizing it. Fuck, this ship is small, it’s too fucking small in here—you gaze wistfully out at the vast endlessness of space, wanting to grit your teeth at the irony of being surrounded by the one thing you so desperately wish you had.

“I just have to find a weakness,” he shifts forward in his seat and reveals to you, bewilderingly shameless in his honesty. Like all of a sudden you’re an accomplice to this endeavor instead of its target, as if he isn’t spoiling the secret by letting you in on it. “Something that you like, that gets you going. Something that riles you up, gets you all hot and bothered down there—”

“So you can exploit it,” you huff, slouching over a bit and trying not to sound like you’re pouting.

“—so I can exploit it,” he finishes happily, collapsing back into his seat like he’s glad you caught on so quick and he doesn’t have to explain further. “Now we can do the whole routine—the bickering, the tension, the undeniable sexual chemistry we have—or we can skip all that and you can just tell me flat out what it’s gonna take to rev that pretty little engine up, because I want it purring.”

And, it’s so fucking weird, because the specific verbiage that would normally make you cringe just hearing it spoken aloud doesn’t inspire the typical response, even though it feels like it should. It feels like you should be grossed out, it feels like a moment you should screw up your facial expression and act offended, but you’re… not. This is actually fucking working, it’s unbelievable. The undeniable fact infuriates you just as much as it stumps you.

“You do realize that everything you say is a game that two can play at, right?” You point out, not really sure where you’re going with this but feeling heated about it all the same. “What’s stopping me from exploiting something you like?”

“See now that’s a great idea,” Dameron announces, clapping his hands together happily and sending you jumping a few inches in your seat at the sudden sound, your hand automatically shooting up to rest on your thumping heart. “I can tell you what I like, and you can just listen.”

Alright, no, wait—backtrack—

“How about I tell you what I don’t like,” you snip breathlessly, tucking your hair behind your ear and feeling all the blood rush to your cheeks. Default to normal, default to normal. “Your fucking attitude. Your demeanor. The way you talk down to me. You don’t listen. You walk around like you’re such hot shit just because you’re a good pilot but none of that means anything when you don’t ever fucking listen. You’re terrible at it, doesn’t matter who’s talking—you don’t listen to me, you don’t listen to people who actually like you, you don’t listen to orders, you don’t listen to reason—”

“You think I’m a good pilot?” He suddenly asks, and you have to take a second. This cockpit isn’t designed for anything other than sitting, much less turning all the way around, but you’re sure you can find some way to throttle him from here. He chuckles as you let out the loudest sigh you’ve ever heard yourself make—which, is an incredible feat you think both of you should be congratulated for—before Dameron eventually carries on. “You could tell me that,” he admits with a shrug, a hidden smile on his face that he’s trying to bite back. “Or you could tell me the truth.”

You shouldn’t encourage him, but you just can’t fucking help it. There’s something inside you, something you can only compare to a morbid sort of curiosity. Maybe you’re just a glutton for punishment, even more so than agreeing to this bet has already confirmed. “And that would be—?”

“That you use anger as a defense mechanism because I touch a nerve you didn’t realize you had,” Dameron replies breezily. “Have since the moment we met. And that you maybe want me to touch something else, but you’re too stubborn and proud and committed to hating me to ever admit it. You can admit it, it’s okay, I can touch whatever you need me to tou—”

“How about the emergency eject button?” You hiss, finally feeling your frustration peak. “Pop the top on this bitch. Put me out of my fucking misery, right now. You’ve got such a big head that the blood flow will probably keep your tiny little brain warm enough as long as you strap yourself down beforehand, I’ll wait. And then you can go back to base, alone , and find another poor girl to emotionally torture since you probably don’t get enough of it from the ones you work your way through but can never remember the most basic things about.”

Remarkably, that actually shuts him up. You’re doubtful the jab really hurts him, but you’re not going to feel bad about it either way. He deserved that. You cross your arms over your chest and don’t even bother looking at him, huffing and flushed with the climax of your ferocity, now left feeling strangely exhausted in its wake. Eventually your breathing evens out and disappears into the silence, until nothing at all can be heard.

It’s like that for a moment—only a moment, before the loud tearing of velcro suddenly shreds through the quiet in the cockpit, completely rattling you. Automatically your eyes shoot over to his reflection, watching large hands pull the orange jumpsuit apart at his chest and then shrug it over broad shoulders. It’s not sexual. It can’t be sexual, because there’s just no fucking room to allow it—it takes him forever to pull the long sleeves down his arms, but the way he drags it out somehow just increases your anticipation for an event you should have absolutely no interest in spectating. He’s wearing a white sleeveless undershirt underneath and the jumpsuit bunches at his waist, making him look all the longer and more defined as he finally collapses back into his seat and reclines in it, the distant constellations bathing his lean torso in dim speckles of starlight.

Your gaze catches on every good part of him—it falls down the muscular lines of his neck and follows the thin gold chain wrapped around it, disappearing into the white of his scooping neckline. His toned body finds a place to rest and stretch out without looking awkward or uncomfortable, coarse hair darkening his jaw and dusting the strong lines of his forearms—but it’s his eyes that make your heart stutter. They’re endlessly deep and dark and knowing , and you can’t seem to look away from him, not even when he opens his mouth to address you.

“You’re always so fucking mean to me,” Dameron remarks, and for just a split second—just a split second, you feel a stab of regret. “I should eat you out tonight.”

Fuck, he hits the nail right on the head on his very first try, and just hearing the words come out of his mouth so effortlessly makes your pussy clench in on itself in need. Nothing about his inflection changed from one sentence to the next, nothing in his voice made it seem like he just flipped the fucking galaxy upside down with just a few words. To an onlooker who doesn’t speak Basic, they’d have absolutely no hint as to why your face is suddenly radiating heat at an industrial capacity, blazing hot enough to warm the whole cockpit. You feel like you’re literally burning up with it. You have to put a palm to your cheek to make sure it’s not actually on fucking fire. “What— what did you just say to me?”

“That’s what you need,” he drawls, unbothered by the sharpness of your tone. “What you’ve needed, ever since I can remember. Should’ve done it a long fucking time ago, now that I’m thinking about it. How long’s it been? Tell me the truth, I know it’s been awhile.”

You feel like you’re being roasted alive like one of those hairy little Kowakian monkey-lizards that you’re pretty sure have sentient designation but are the first to be skewered and cooked over the firepit regardless. Your heart is slamming against your sternum and you scramble to come up with an even slightly clever response after such an ambush.

“This is your plan?” You raise an eyebrow at him, feeling a bead of sweat drop down your temple and onto the corner of your lashes. Oh fuck, be cool, be cool. “You think this is gonna work? Ask me if I want a weak orgasm and rugburn on my thighs?”

“I can shave,” Dameron proposes quietly, lifting his chin and gently scrubbing the side of his cheek. The sound of the thick bristles against his fingers makes you swallow thickly and push back very vivid thoughts of how his face would feel between your legs. How soft and wet his mouth would feel at the center of that thick, coarse beard. “Tonight, I’ll shave it off. Make it nice and smooth for you.”

Something inside you surges up to assure him he absolutely should not shave, and you actually have to bite your tongue to keep it buried at the last second. Stars, that was a close one, what the fuck prompted that?

“I don’t give a shit what you do,” you quickly return, resisting the urge to wipe your brow. “Beard or no beard, makes no difference. Foreplay is overrated, I’m not big on wasting time.”

“Oh, you poor thing,” he immediately laments—so quick , and the worst part is that the sympathy in his voice actually sounds sincere. You’re having trouble looking him in the eyes right now, hearing the genuine pity come through in his tone. “Who… who did this to you?”

“You said you want to figure out what I like, what turns me on,” you return, tucking your hair behind your ear once more and trying not to sound self-conscious. Maker, how long until your shift is over? You need to get out of here, this shit is… way out of your league. “I’m not into it, so try again.”

“Really?” Dameron takes a moment to look at you, furrow his thick eyebrows at you in barely concealed curiosity, before his head tilts sideways and drops to his shoulder. “Normally I’d respect that, but I meant it when I said you need it.”

“We fucking hate each other, Dameron,” you hiss, a reminder to him as much as it is to yourself. Fuck, you really don’t like where this is going. “You don’t know anything about me, you don’t know what the I n—”

“I bet you think we’d fuck hard,” he murmurs, low enough that you have to take an unsteady breath and physically brace yourself for whatever is going to come from that dirty mouth next. “You think that maybe I’d throw you around a little, give it to you from behind, teach you a fucking lesson for always talking back to me. But that’s primitive shit, Gold-Ten, that’s not for you.”

Resist. Resist . You’re part of the fucking Resistance, for Maker’s sake, you’re taught to hold out until death in torture scenarios. Since when did this tin can suddenly become a new POW camp simulation you have to train for?

“I want to take you apart so slow that you can’t talk at all,” Dameron continues quietly, and you close your eyes, biting your bottom lip hard enough to sting. “We don’t even have to fuck—I mean, I want to, but mostly I just want to taste you. Go nice and slow. I want you on your back, so I can look in your eyes and see all that anger just… fade away. I want to watch you try to fight how fucking good I’ll make it. How hot it’s gonna be when you can’t glare at me anymore, when your pretty doll eyes go all soft and sweet and you finally realize that I’ve never hated you at all.”

Maker. This is a trick. It’s not a question, it shouldn’t be presented like one—this is a dirty rotten trick , and you’re not gonna fall for it. You can’t fucking fall for it. It’s a low blow, and you refuse to even acknowledge he said anything at all. He’s lying to get your guard down. He laughed at your flirting. He’s a shit person, he’s using you, this isn’t real.

Real or not, you still gulp loud enough for him to hear it.

“We could go back to our room after our shift is over,” he offers out of the blue, and you have no clue why, but when he pauses and lets it hang in the air for a second, you don’t interrupt him. You stay completely silent while he waits for you, waits for your typical snarky comeback. You have it in your head instantly, you know what you’d normally say. Your room. It’s not ‘our’ room, it’s fucking your room that you’re generous enough to let him bunk in, a privilege he’s this fucking close to losing—but you can’t find it in yourself to say it right now. Your anger is gradually losing the war to your arousal and you’re forced to watch every single small defeat inside you happen from the sidelines.

His reflection blinks at you through the transparisteel, his eyebrows raising just slightly at your prolonged silence, before he suddenly sits up a little and leans forward.

“And I could lock the door,” Dameron continues, lowering his voice, both in volume and register. “The lights in there are way too fucking bright but I don’t want to be in complete darkness, so maybe we can turn them off and open the port shade, let just enough light come through to see. I could turn on the radio, find something quiet, easy to listen to. Something you like, I’ll let you pick it out. And then… Wait, hang on, which bed?”

You clench your jaw and purposefully say nothing even as your pussy squeezes, glaring right through his reflection into the black void of space.

“Mmm. Your bed,” he eventually decides. “I want you comfortable. You shower at night. Your hair will be wet and you’ll be in those baggy pajamas that you think I can’t see your nipples through, the ones that I know you take off under your covers and then put on in the morning when you think I’m still asleep. That’s good, I want you relaxed, so that maybe… maybe you’d let me take your panties off at some point. And you could lay back and open your legs, and I could go down on you for a little while. However long you need.”

Fuck.

No, this isn’t fucking happening. Your lower muscles aren’t twisting in so hard that it actually fucking hurts, your pussy isn’t leaking through two layers of fabric under your jumpsuit, your body isn’t outright revolting against the sheer neglect you’ve put it through. Maker, it’s fucking painful. You have to clench your hands into fists and dig your fingernails into your palms before you can open your mouth.

“You want to know what I need?” You nearly wheeze, a drop of sweat sliding down the back of your neck this time. Your body feels like it’s three sizes too big for this cockpit and your skin feels like it’s three sizes too small for your body. “I need you to shut the fuck u—”

“What you need,” Dameron purrs, sliding up closer behind your seat and sighing soft against the worn material of your headrest, “is a warm mouth to cum in. Don’t be shy, pretty baby, you can tell me.”

You growl out his last name as threateningly as you possibly can before he purrs yours right back in your ear, and fuck, you’ve never heard it sound so sexual before. Last names allow pilots to maintain a respectful distance from each other. Flight designations are Resistance-wide, but last names are just… allies. Not friends, not companions, but a vast network of people brought together by a common enemy. It hurts to lose a first name. But the way yours sounds rolling off of Dameron’s tongue is just too sinful, too intimate when calling you that is meant to sever intimacy by design. He says it slow and makes it dirty, muddies it in the back of his throat as he slides up even closer to you, until his face is right next to yours as you stare at each other through the transparisteel.

“I’m really…” he pauses, before exhaling through his nose and swallowing thick enough to make his Adam’s apple drop and bounce up again, his tongue coming out to wet his plush lips as he blinks slowly at you with a heavy gaze, “… really good at it. Call me Poe and I’ll do it for you all night.”

Shit, your pussy is just a fucking mess right now. It feels like it’s melting sweet and syrupy all over your thighs, throbbing and pounding and clamping up and screaming at you to do something, at least press your hand down there to alleviate some of the aching tensi—

No— stars, no touching yourself is rule number two. You drop your hands to your thighs and squeeze them, trying to reign yourself back in.

“I think you’re—just projecting,” you try, but turns out responding in general is just an all-around bad idea. Nothing about it comes out right. The ‘just’ sounds like your tongue is stuck to the roof of your mouth and your voice cracks on the word ‘projecting,’ but you don’t even have time to be self-conscious or embarrassed at how much you’re giving yourself away—all your energy has to go towards fighting the tightness between your open legs, how you’re so fucking turned on that you’re worried you’ll cum without even touching yourself. Oh Maker, can you imagine? How fucking proud of himself he’d be? You can’t let that happen, but fuck, holding back something so appealing is so much harder than it sounds.

Tap into that anger, tap into that anger—only, you can’t suddenly find it. Where’d it go? Fuck, doesn’t matter, conjure it. Quick, before it’s too late, get mad —don’t let him lure you into a… a false…

Dameron tilts his chin down towards the line of your shoulder and then slowly turns his head towards your neck, breathing you in gently.

A false sense of…

His soft exhale makes goosebumps break out all the way down your arms.

… What?

“Maybe you’re right,” Dameron acknowledges, talking just under your ear. You watch his eyelids dip and the dark beard brushes against your skin and you catch just a hint of that woodsy, spicy scent engulfing you. Like… teakwood, maybe? Stars, you don’t know, you think you’re starting to lose your mind. What the fuck does teakwood even smell like? “Maybe it’s just what I need. You should exploit it, chances are I’ll still cum first.”

That rockets another painful spasm down low. It hurts so fucking bad—fuck, maybe you could… rub yourself up against these weapons controls? Just a little bit? That joystick, right there, just ease yourself up against it just to nurse this wound a little bit…?

No, fucking— bad. That’s bad, you have to stop—

“This isn’t real, this isn’t—y-you just…” You flutter your eyelashes shut, digging your fingernails into your thighs like it’ll help break through the fog of his lulling voice, how fucking amazing he smells right now. “You just want to win th-the b—”

“ Fuck the bet,” he tells you quietly, his head dipped low enough now that his lips brush against your neck, and you shudder so hard at the sensation that your shoulder almost knocks into his chin with it. “You really think I’m doing all this for a fucking bet?”

Don’t trust him, don’t trust him, don’t—

Your deep breath is so stuttery and uneven that it’s technically just a series of shallow inhales all anxiously strung together, too desperate for oxygen to go about it legato. It’s painfully obvious to him by now, it has to be, but you very quickly miss the shaky breathing as soon as he takes away your ability to do it all together.

“Let me taste you,” he whispers, his voice almost breaking with how gentle it is, how it sounds like it flips in and out of his register when he speaks this low. “Right now, let’s make it real, let m—I know you have to be soaking fucking wet, baby, just let me try a little bit of it, please—I’m… holy shit, I’m so hard just thinking about it.”

“You c-can’t,” you stammer, reaching up to pinch the bridge of your nose in frustration. At him, at the situation, at the painful throb of emptiness between your legs. “Fuck, it’s not allowed, it’s against the rules—”

“It won’t be,” he assures you, and you hiccup when you suddenly feel his hand brush against your side, strong fingers branching out to curve against your ribcage. “You don’t have to do anything, you can stay just like this. Just a few seconds and then I’ll stop, I promise.”

Oh, Maker, it’s on the very top of your tongue, so unbelievably close to telling him something—but you don’t know what it should be. You’re right at the tipping point, on a tightrope right between what you want and what you should want. And, knowing you’re this close to giving in, Dameron slowly eases his hand down your side and starts to trail it inwards, and just the lightest brush of his warm tongue against your neck shatters any composure you have left.

You whimper and instinctively try to close your legs, but you fucking can’t— your knees are forced wide apart by controls and your whole body freezes when his hand slides down and folds gently along the curve of your pussy through the thick fabric of your jumpsuit.

The feeling of being held like this by him is just too good , cradled so perfectly in his palm as he opens his mouth and flutters his tongue out to taste your skin again, giving you a little more of it this time and letting you feel the roughness of his beard with the way his lips move. Your breath catches, then he hooks his fingertips up just the slightest bit and pulls back, and you suddenly have to smack your whole hand over your face in a terrible attempt to stifle your loud gasp.

“Oh, Maker, I c-can’t,” you stammer against your fingers, not being able to trust him or your own body. You continue to protest even after he moves back up, resting his palm low on your abdomen, letting the heat bleed through the fabric and transfer directly to your floor muscles as he lifts his head up from your shoulder. “I can’t, we can’t, I…”

You can’t see him, but you know he’s looking at you. He’s staring right at you through the reflection, studying the way you’re hiding your face from him, how you’re still melting, still losing your composure just from the warm palm pressed tight your tummy.

His touch leaves you for a second. But then the deafening sound of velcro ripping at the crotch of your jumpsuit has you dragging your hand down your mouth and your eyelids dipping.

“Dameron,” you breathe into your fingers, just as his carefully slip into the small opening and begin to work at the button to your pants. “Dameron, this isn’t—you don’t want—”

“You don’t get to tell me what I don’t want,” he grunts at you, and you try not to bite yourself at the sound of him unzipping things and yanking fabric to the side. “What I really fucking want is the real thing, but I guess this’ll have to do for now.”

“I—” Your mind whirs desperately, trying to process when his fingers wedge under your panties and down. But he doesn’t give you a single fucking second. As soon as the tip of his middle finger reaches your slit, he’s dropping it and sliding it through your slick, hot, unbearably neglected cunt.

“Fuck,” he spits, and you feel like you might be about to break your own fucking jaw with how hard you’re clutching it, trying so desperately not to make a noise. The pad of his finger is rough and calloused as it drags against your clit in slow, tight circles, and you clamp your eyes shut and try to breathe normally, but it’s no use. Fuck , it’s been so long . You’ve been aching for it for a full fucking month and a half now and you know that even if he couldn’t feel it, he can hear how drenched you are right now. It’s making an obscene sound as he steadily masturbates you with one heavenly finger, giving your body what it’s desperately craved for so many weeks. “Fuck, baby’s pussy got fucking wet hearing me talk about how good I’d lick it, huh?”

That sends a bright flare launching through you and you gasp raggedly, both hands whipping out to snatch at his forearm where it disappears between your legs. “No, shit, wait, stopstopstopstop stop , I—”

His hand slips out immediately and yet you continue to tremble like his finger is still right there, like your clit is just imagining it so vividly that it’s successfully convincing itself of the illusion. The aching bit of flesh is burning, that good burn, the one that’s searing and bright that makes your muscles continue to chase the sensation long after the stimulation is gone. Fuck, he almost made you cum. He barely touched you for a few seconds and yet your fingers have to tighten into claws to slow your body down the fuck down, flexing against your thighs and trying your best to halt the impending climax.

By the time you’re able to wrangle yourself back from the edge and look at his reflection, his middle finger is already in his mouth and he’s blinking slowly at you, his pupils blown wide. You’re breathing hard at him, staring open-mouthed at the way his lips are closed below his second knuckle, how he takes forever dragging it back out again. You have to close your eyes. You have to clamp them shut and keep them that way, knowing you won’t be able to look at him through whatever he’s going to say next.

Except, oddly, he doesn’t say much.

“Shit,” he breathes, dropping his mouth to your neck once more. “Shhhit. I…”

Your eyes snap open in sudden, blind panic when he doesn’t continue, horrified at the possibility that he doesn’t like it. Dameron always has something to say, he doesn’t go speechless. “Oh—Maker, is it not—?”

“Mmmfuck, just—” he grits, panting hot air against your skin, “—fuck. Give me a second.”

You can only see the crown of his head with the way he’s angled, but you can see his shoulders a little further back. They start… moving slightly. Just the littlest bit, a smooth motion, like his whole body is slowly easing back and forth—

The nav controls are between his legs, you immediately realize. He’s grinding up against them with how close he is to you and your seat.

And suddenly, it’s like there’s a light at the end of the tunnel. A ray of sunshine that breaks through the raging storm. Dameron might cum in his pants like this. Which means you’ll win, and arguably more importantly, you’ll finally be able to cum. You don’t even take a moment to consider the potential consequences—how you’re going to have to withstand the stimulation until he succumbs to it, how you’ll have to outlast—but you’re not thinking straight. You’re not really thinking at all.

“You can…” you suddenly hear yourself whisper, and your heart pounds in your throat when he instantly stops moving. “One… one more. If you want. You can put your finger inside this time, it’s where I’m the… w-wettest.”

“Fuck,” Dameron croaks into the crook of your neck, his voice scraping low and rough and sending a tremor through you. “Fuck, okay, yeah—”

His hand slides across your hip and down, but you catch him just in time.

“But don’t touch my clit.” You try to sound as firm as possible through the breathlessness, still trying to put your foot down even when you’re giving in, and Dameron’s teeth come out as he stifles a soft groan into your neck in response.

“Yes, baby,” he murmurs obediently as his hand sinks down once more, and so diligently, he avoids it altogether. His fingers slide under your panties and fall straight down to your entrance, down to where you know you’re the hottest, where your pussy is flexing and pushing wetness out with a steady, wicked throb. The pad of his middle finger presses gently against the tight muscles there, rubs just the slightest bit to feel that resistance, and then the length of it eases inside you so slowly that your knees rattle against bulky metal.

“Fucking Maker , ” he hisses as he slides it in, his body making a sudden jerk against the controls.

Your eyes roll back at the feeling of something inside you after so long, after such a torturous buildup, and you grasp at his forearm again when it curls naturally up against searing pleasure. Oh, it’s so good, it’s so good, your hands shake while he very carefully moves it in and out, the raw sparks of heat threatening to incinerate you as your muscles cling to every ridge of his finger. He gets it sopping wet, bathes it so completely in your slick that you’re almost certain it’ll come out pruny and drenched.

“Shit, okay,” you pant, squeezing desperately around his finger, “o-okay, fuck, that’s enough.”

His hand pulls out… slower this time. He slips his finger out of you quick enough, but he drags the tip of it through your folds as he retreats, just barely grazing your clit and making you jolt in your seat. Shit, you don’t know if it felt intentional enough to fault him for it—mostly it just excites you, thrills you to have him edge you like this without really needing to put any effort at all into it.

Dameron lifts his head to sink his finger deep into his mouth once more, and you tremble as you watch him enjoy it, staring at the way his shoulders seem to relax as soon as your taste is on his tongue, how his face goes soft with it and he almost slumps.

Relief. Genuine, not embellished. He still doesn’t say anything after he slowly slides it out and blinks at you, no sugar sweet drawl telling you how amazing you taste, no candied words to make you give in and let him have another go. You’re both breathing hard at each other, staring, waiting to see who will break first.

Stars, you… fucking like this. You want him to keep going, but you can’t offer it again. It’s just too exposing, too revealing to let him you’re actually really fucking enjoying this, you can’t—

“Do you w—?” Your voice automatically comes out through the silence without your permission, sounding just absolutely fucking wrecked by this point, but his palm is already slithering back down as soon as you speak, and you make the softest little submissive noise in your throat at him taking immediate initiative like that. He’s not as careful about it this time—his hand finds its target with less frill, his finger slides in quicker, sinking deep into your heat with little hesitation, lighting you on fire from the inside out, and you bite the meat of your thumb to stay quiet.

“Fuck, this is so hot,” he suddenly breathes next to your ear while your legs spasm and you gasp brokenly. “This is so—fuck, pretty baby letting me do this to her, I can’t fucking believe—”

Dameron eases a second finger inside you this time, letting you feel that delicious stretch from this angle, unable to lift your legs or shuffle around to help and subsequently resigned to simply experience it the way he gives it to you. Your teeth have probably permanently indented your bottom lip from how hard you’re clamped down, a testament to how much you’re trying to hold back the loud moan you miraculously haven’t released yet. Somehow it makes it sexier, not letting him hear you, not having your own noises to drown out the spark of urgency in his voice beginning to peek through.

Shit, it’s too much. You can only let him touch you a few seconds at a time before you feel that familiar tug towards mind-numbing bliss, and the more he does it, the more appealing that feeling then becomes. It’s teasing you, floating right in front of you and calling into question what could possibly be so bad about just reaching out to meet it? You could. You could cum right now. What’s two weeks of pay? You could cum all night long if you want, that is a thing you can do—

Quickly snapping out of your hypnotic downfall, your trembling hands snatch at his forearm once more, and Dameron, the fucker, drags his fingers slowly over your clit on the way out— so not accidental, not even close to it this time, but the sensation makes your hips stutter upwards and chase it nonetheless.

“Fuck you,” you groan at his audacity, your chest arching as you drop your head back, “I said don’t touch my—” but two wet fingers slipping past your lips and onto your tongue muffle the rest of your sentence. Your heart does half a somersault before slamming down early, the taste of your pussy filling your mouth as you automatically start sucking on them.

“None of that,” Dameron tells you softly, massaging his fingers along your tongue before pressing a sweet kiss under your ear. “Be nice. I’m being nice.”

You should bite him. Instead, you just close your eyes and mphh weakly around his fingers, your body sagging as you give into it and let him explore your mouth with them, your lower muscles cramping up in painful desperation even when he’s not anywhere near that part of your body right now. Your tongue even comes up to lick between them, swirl around them so soft compared to how hard you’re puffing through your nose.

Dameron slowly inches his fingers out, letting the tips of them rest against your bottom lip for just a brief moment, before his hand is moving again. Not down, but back and around, so he can open his mouth and taste you another way this time.

Shit, you feel like you’re dying. You need air. Your hands clench into fists and you use the back of one to wipe the sweat from the bridge of your nose while he takes his time sampling you like this. If anything, he looks just as blissed out as before, continuing to rub his crotch up against the solid metal between his legs and teasing you with it as much as he’s teasing himself.

“Maker, let me do this for real tonight, okay,” Dameron pants after dropping his fingers from his mouth, sounding like he’s fighting for his breath while you can’t find yours at all. Your eyes flick down to watch the way his hand disappears behind the chair to grab the controls and push his cock up against them even harder, how he drops his forehead to your neck like he just can’t fucking handle it anymore. “Fuck, I’ll shave, I’ll do anything you want, just let me—”

“Cum,” you gasp out before you can stop yourself, and there’s a moment after it where his hips suddenly stutter against the controls, and you both freeze.

Shit. Shitshitshit, did that actually work?

No, you very quickly realize, his body isn’t spasming like it would if he finally emptied his load after a month and a half. He’s just… holding there, his head buried in your neck, completely still.

You didn’t mean it like that. Well… fuck, you did, but you didn’t realize you’d be that reckless about it, that upfront about reissuing the challenge.

Dameron pulls back to look at you from the side this time, but it’s too cramped—he keeps his head turned facing you even as his eyes flick up to the transparisteel to take in the finer details of your features, the thin sheen of sweat on your forehead, and the slightly alarmed way you’re blinking back at him, worried you just shot your blaster at him in the midst of a mutual ceasefire and you fucking missed.

You see the understanding in his eyes instantly fall into place, and it’s not fucking good. Ohhhhhh no, it’s not good. Your chest starts rising and falling rapidly, suddenly registering the position you just put yourself in. Fuck, you didn’t think—you saw your opening, so clearly, you didn’t have time to think about the consequences.

“D-Dameron…” you try your best to placate.

“Don’t touch your clit?” He asks quietly, the raspiness of his voice ripping a hole through you while his hand suddenly shoves its way back down your body once more.

“Dameron,” you whimper, your heart stuttering in panic as you grasp weakly at his arm reaching between your spread thighs, “Dameron, this is—this is against the r-rules—”

“You keep saying that,” he comments, his fingers easily finding the opening in your jumpsuit no matter how hard you flex your thighs against bulky mechanics to try and close them. “How clearly do you remember the rules? What were the rules again?

You open your mouth to respond but his hand sliding under your panties and down just obliterates any chance you were going to attempt. No words, nothing comes out but a shaky whine as his finger sinks into your soaking heat, going right for the kill.

“Come on, baby, the rules,” Dameron reminds you when you never give him an answer. “Tell me. No fucking, no jerking off, and…?”

You suddenly struggle forwards in a last-ditch attempt at preventing the inevitable, hoping you can scoot up enough in your seat to escape his reach from behind. But fuck, your thighs have been shoved wide open for nearly eight hours—none of the muscles are working the way they should be anymore. There’s just enough room in front of you to get there and you probably would’ve been able to do it at the beginning of the shift, even with his hand between your legs like this, but you’re sluggish and your thighs pull sharp and urgent with the movement. The frantic maneuver enough to veer his fingers off course just slightly, moving one of your lips to the side at an angle, and you keep pushing against the pain no matter how useless it is.

“—No cumming,” he finishes for you, and his other hand is slithering up under your arm and groping one of your breasts through the jumpsuit before shoving you back tight up against your seat once more, totally helpless against it. “Probably have another fifteen minutes or so before our shift ends. Better hold it in, pretty baby, because this one is all you.”

“This—this isn’t fair, this is—” The second the slippery pad of his finger presses hard against your clit, you’re biting your lip to cut off a breathless whimper that slips out. “This is… is sab— sabotage— ”

“Oh, I know,” he moans next to your ear, mocking your high plea of distress with a fake, overly sympathetic whine. “Feels so fucking good though, doesn’t it?”

Fuck, it does. The build feels like an orgasm in itself, just working your way to it. You’re already so unbelievably close after just a few seconds of direct stimulation, an obvious consequence of originally agreeing to such a hardcore edging workout. You’re pouring sweat, so swollen and tight between your legs as you do everything you can to revolt against your body’s needs.

“Oh fuck, stop touching my clit—” you gasp raggedly, heart thundering in panic while your lower muscles start to immediately seize up, “oh—fuckfuckfuck— Poe, take your finger off m—”

Instead of doing it, his hand just slows down until the tip of his finger comes to a halt, maybe less than an inch over top of it. You still can’t catch your breath though, not when you feel yourself throbbing against absolutely nothing, the calloused pad holding perfectly still over the bundle of nerves. The swollen bud still arcs and flares at a steady frequency, building and building, and you choke out a wordless garble, absolutely fucking furious that this is what’s gonna make you cum.

“Don’t make me cum,” you switch up your sentence but not the terrified plead in your voice, the way it’s pitching up and out of control in the dead quiet of space. He doesn’t even acknowledge it. “Don’t make me cum, don—”

“Say it again,” he prompts instead, and lightning arcs up your spine.

“Poe,” you wheeze, the words coming from you without thought, your fingernails digging into his forearm even as your hips jerk up into his touch, “fuck, don’t make me cum, Poe—please don’t make me c—”

“But it’ll be so good,” he counters lowly, and your clit throbs in desperation at the richness of his voice when he speaks like this, saying things from deep in his chest. “It’ll be so fucking good when it happens. Stars, you’ll feel so much better, won’t you? Cum right now and I’ll give you as many as I can until we have to go home.”

“N-No,” you whine, feeling his teeth scrape at the crook of your neck. “No, I can’t—”

“Cum for me,” Dameron raises his voice, sharpening it into a direct order. “Right now. Come on— fucking make yourself lose.”

“But I—I—” you sob, starting to feel your body curl inwards, nearly about to succumb to the burning, the tightening, right on its last breath, “I-I don’t want to cum—”

“And I don’t fucking care,“ he hisses while your hands start flexing unintentionally, grasping helplessly at his immovable forearm where it disappears between your legs, the dark hair sliding under your fingertips as you claw desperately at it. “You’ll fucking cum when I tell you to cum and you’ll like it, you disrespectful, cock-deprived, bratty little—”

And then everything goes dark.

No, literally. The stars disappear.

The cockpit is suddenly shrouded in pitch blackness, and you’re almost certain it’s because you pass out, except then Dameron is all but ripping his hand out of your jumpsuit and cursing repeatedly in alarm. You crumple in on yourself, eyes clamped shut and not hearing anything, right at the peak of your ecstasy and ready to soar into the light completely unassisted, your muscles doing all the work on their own—

“—shit, they’re way too close—” you hear his voice shout, “—we have to turn the engines on—Gold-Ten, baby, turn the fucking eng—”

You’re almost there, you’re almost there, you’re gonna cum, you’re gonna fucking—

Your first name, roared out in startling, blinding panic.

You don’t often hear it. Just during roll calls mostly, but only if you’re flying with a different squadron and need a new temporary flight designation for the day. First names hurt. You can’t remember a time you’ve ever willingly told anybody yours.

Your head jerks up to look at his reflection but something else beyond the transparisteel takes immediate precedence. Your brain takes about two seconds to catch up before thundering terror slams through you and halts your previously inevitable orgasm in its fucking tracks. A runaway train about to launch off its tracks suddenly slamming directly into a megaton force-field of cold, hard fight or flight instincts.

A staggering fleet of First Order ships silently plunging out of hyperspace on all sides—your powered-down x-wing stationed right in the middle of the drop location.

***

Stay tuned for part two coming soon!!

#poe x reader #poe dameron #poe dameron x reader #SMUTTTT #reader insert #star wars #fanfic #the formatting on this one is downright horrendous but im so mad that i cant even fix it right now so thatll have to come later im sorry

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favoniuscodex · 3 years

Text

the art of modernity [ chapter two ]

chapter two - instant oatmeal pairing: xiao x gn!reader warnings: canon-typical violence mention, nothing that hasn't already been done in this series. words: ~2.6k words fic masterlist [ prev ] - [ next (tba) ] chapter summary: under yanfei's watchful eye, you sign a contract with xiao for him to stay with you. he's not very pleasant, but you realize you know exactly how to change that. a/n: which means next chapter kicks off the fluff. let's gooo this is our last hard exposition chapter. thank u to everyone's interest so far!

you wake with a jolt.

empty bed? check. still alive? check. no adeptus hovering over you like edward from twilight? check. aches and bruises from yesterday? ... unfortunately, check.

as you sit up, your muscles scream at you to lay back down, yet your mind tells you to go, go, go and find the adeptus before he can kill you. it takes a moment of regulated breathing to actually remember what happened yesterday after the group of five-turned-six of you left jueyun karst.

one: xiao accompanied you back. with only five seats in the car, yanfei ended up sitting smushed between kaeya and xiao. she hadn't complained and the uncomfortable trip back for her served as a minor revenge for her not revealing her (partial) adepti ancestry. you had been slotted in the front passenger seat, next to keqing, who gripped the steering wheel so hard that you feared she would rip it off. the drive back was in silence. childe made a joke at one point. kaeya had laughed, then remembered where the two of them were. nobody laughed after that.

two: yanfei and xiao had dragged you to your apartment. keqing, kaeya, and childe were far too enthusiastic to let the three of you go, yet you couldn't blame them. yanfei had a bounce in her step, while xiao looked as if he was being walked to a morgue, all while looking vaguely nauseous. you had wondered if that was his first time ever in a car.

three: yanfei drafted a contract. thousands of years of experience practicing law (a fact you had learned unwillingly and uncomfortably as yanfei rambled on to fill the awkward silence between the three of you) led to yanfei taking less than an hour to draft an entire forty page document on an agreement of a "truce" between you and xiao, along with adding details of how she would pay you for xiao to stay with you in your apartment and how xiao would be forced to cooperate with any potential mythological studies you might enact.

four: you deeply offended the adepti... or something. you weren't really quite sure what you said wrong, but apparently "yanfei, this contract means nothing if i wake up with a blade in my throat because xiao decides he doesn't like the 'vibes' i quite literally cannot control." was not an appropriate thing to say. yanfei had giggled, yet xiao had looked as if you had slapped him across the face. he muttered something under his breath about how mortals could never truly comprehend the importance of the work of the god of contracts (who had died over a thousand years ago, might you add). yet, he signed his portion of the contract nonetheless and you followed suit.

five: yanfei had left you alone in the apartment with xiao. xiao introduced himself, as if you hadn't been the one to accidentally summon him in the first place and as if he hadn't been the one to threaten to kill you. his words were forced, awkward, and gruff, as if he wasn't quite sure how to address you. in order to spare the two of you from the ugly bonds of small talk, xiao had retired to the cramped small bedroom you had been trying to rent out to someone for months.

six: you went into your bedroom. you went to sleep.

which, inconveniently, leads to now. the yaksha upheld his end of the bargain. he slept..? do adepti sleep? you aren't quite sure and old scholars aren't exactly the type to describe sleeping patterns of the supposed-mythological adepti in detail, yet you figure that you'll find out soon enough one of these days, now that one is living with you.

archons. that fact had yet to fully sink in too. maybe one day, you would finally feel ecstatic over proving a myth to be real and having it choose to dwell in your apartment for some reason. maybe you would also be overjoyed that you were a descendant of a god, even if many generations separated your bloodline that has long since been diluted by humanity. but for today, you could not worry about such things. the adventurer in you had been humbled yesterday. now, you just have to face the music.

if only yanfei had revealed she was half-adeptus sooner, maybe you wouldn't have to worry about xiao deciding he's had enough of the weird energies you inadvertently give off and attacking you. but for now, you check your phone for the time and any notifications, then stumble out of bed and into the kitchen.

in the kitchen, a broad open concept with the living room, you spot xiao sitting at the counter of the island. his brow is furrowed and he noticeably perks up at your entrance, as if he was almost excited to see you. before you can get your hopes up, your stomach growls and you figure xiao is likely in the same boat.

"your home is filled with... strange contraptions," xiao says. "it appears you mortals have progressed at an unexpected rate."

this adeptus is far too chatty for what the microwave says is 8:32 a.m. on a saturday morning. yet, it does not appear to come easily from him. his words are slow and you have no doubt that he is weary of you and your intentions.

"yeah, it's called technology. we can heat up food without lighting a fire, store food in portable cold temperatures, and blow wind around using automated fans. yet, it's all powered by electricity," you explain sleepily, not sure if your words make sense. the small huff of acknowledgement that the adeptus lets out is more than enough to know that your words at least make some sense. either that or he's trying to appease you, but based off what little you know of xiao, he doesn't quite seem like the type.

"you mortals appear to focus on convenience rather than necessity," xiao grumbles after some thought. was he always going to be this... haughty? sure, adepti are immortals in comparison to humanity, but that doesn't make them superior. their time of rule has long since passed, so why does xiao still hold a guarded sense of righteousness over you? whatever. if you are part-god like yanfei says, it's not like he has any reason to be gloating over you anyways... right? despite your research into liyuean mythology, there's not quite much to go off of on partial-adeptus and partial-god relations in comparison to full deities.

but either way, this was the modern day and the adepti sat in their abodes rather than helping humanity, so out of spite, you grab a packet of oatmeal from the cabinet before sliding it his way.

"make the oatmeal yourself, then," you say evenly, trying to leave snippiness out of your tone. it doesn't work well, judging on the way xiao's brow furrows in irritation. nonetheless, xiao pinches the paper packet between two fingers as he reads the label.

"i am not a fan of oatmeal," he decides after a few seconds, dropping the packet back onto the island countertop. even in your tired state, you can still call his bluff. oatmeal didn't just come around yesterday. it's not like you're throwing a processed big mac at his face and expecting him to come to terms with it.

"what food do you like, then?" you ask, curiosity genuinely piqued. even if you thought he was bluffing, this was a way to learn about the appetites of the adepti and how they differed from humans. this was information that had yet to be recorded and it was information from a primary source. dietary information could be used to better understand offerings placed upon adepti alters by ancient liyueans and-

"almond tofu," xiao states plainly. "and mint jelly."

you stare at him. you blink. you blink once more. despite your silence as you mull over his confession, you cannot bring yourself to actually think about your words before you say them. therefore, you ask xiao a question.

"wait, do adepti prefer soft foods due to their teeth or digestive system or something? does taking on a human-esque form not provide you with the same eating capabilities as humanity? because-" you trail off on seeing his slightly irritated expression. oh.

"you truly consider adepti not being able to able to consume mortal foods a possibility? do you have no respect for the adepti?" xiao seethes, amber eyes narrowing as he glares at you.

oh. right. respect. hm. xiao being born in a time where respect towards members of a higher social hierarchy has altered how he views the two of your interactions, yet increasing interconnectedness amongst humans through technology and the collapse of social divisions has led to current-day humans viewing all as equals and addressing them as such, besides the given familial hierarchies. but xiao is not family to you. he is no greater than a stranger in your eyes, yet there is a stark contrast in how he views himself compared to you.

in this moment, you realize you have made an error. you view xiao as a potential friend, while xiao views you as no more than a subject of the long-since-dead rex lapis. he is one of rex lapis' closest comrades, while you likely never would have set eyes on the god apart from the rite of descension if you had lived in the same time period as him.

yet, you're not really sure how to address xiao with the level of respect he desires. after all, you're rather... unrefined. sure, you could use what little formalities the language provides such as sir or o holy adeptus xiao, of which thine hast protected liyue for many millennia, yet neither seem too appealing. he's your roommate, it's not like you're approaching the altar to worship him. you're approaching your kitchen. your name is on the lease after all.

so, you take a step back, fold your arms over your chest, and lean your back against the cool metal of your refrigerator. you were in no mood to pick a fight, but if asking the adeptus basic questions would get him this riled up, you would seek to terminate your living situation as soon as possible. he at least had to attempt to be pleasant, even if you had a tendency to overstep the supposed boundaries of him that absolutely perplexed you.

"adeptus xiao," you begin. your tone is even and xiao looks almost curious at your sudden, cool tone. "do you view yourself as above me?"

"the adepti are far stronger than mortals, thus it is a part of our duties under our contracts signed with rex lapis to help protect humanity," xiao says. his tone is slightly harsh and yet his evasive words are enough to give you your answer.

"as an adeptus once under rex lapis, you are thus beholden to any contract you sign? as like a... duty thing of sorts," you ask and xiao nods in agreement. you let out a slight sigh as you collect your thoughts.

it is time to channel your inner yanfei. you blink and plaster a polite, small smile on your face. that's what yanfei does in the court room, right? in her delivery of information, she must seem firm but pleasant enough to want to listen to, in order to convince the jury. but you are no yanfei and you have no jury. instead, you just have a several-thousand-year-old partial deity sitting in your kitchen with a packet of instant oatmeal in front of him. yet, for your own sanity, you must try.

"i am... unsure as to why you wanted to live with me. you do not seem like the city type nor the type to want to associate with humans, but we all have our secrets, i guess. nonetheless, you agreed to sign the contract, which means you are thereby subject to its terms, right?" you ask and xiao gives a rough nod in return.

"the contract does not say that i cannot admonish your... impudent questions," xiao states and you feel like a snezhnayan ice fisher who has just gotten a bite on their line. you bite back a giddy smile at luring xiao directly into your trap.

"correct, but you are subject to participating in my studies of the adepti, provided that they do not bring you psychological or bodily harm," you say and xiao suddenly looks wary at whatever this conversation might be leading to.

"i suppose," xiao says, revealing his uncertainty. "that the contract does enlist those terms."

"well then, adeptus xiao. i have decided upon our newest study," you say and, despite how hard you try to hold it back, a grin spreads across your face. the adeptus sits up a bit straighter at your words, yet remains silent as he waits for you to continue.

"our first study of the adepti will consist of only you. i do not need for you to request of the assistance of anyone else, unless if you need it. but, i'll be trying to figure out one thing!" you say and xiao looks annoyed as to how you keep dragging this out, so you decide to cut it short before he can snap at you once more. "for our first study, we'll be focusing on what it will be like for an adepti to live amongst mortality and live a typical mortal life."

xiao stares at you. if he's furious, he hides it behind his expressionless face. for once, his typical scowl isn't there, yet you feel almost reassured at his seething reaction. sure, he might be angry, but he respects his previous master too much to defy the bounds of the contract this early, right? your suspicions are confirmed as he exhales sharply, followed by a tight nod.

"you wish for me to live as a human?" xiao questions and you nod enthusiastically, taking a step forward and resting your hands on the opposite side of the kitchen island from him. you careen forward and stare directly into the amber eyes belonging to the adeptus that nearly killed you yesterday. adrenaline rushes through your blood as you realize exactly what xiao signed himself up for.

xiao has inadvertently wrapped himself around your finger and you're determined to make his stay an enjoyable one, even if he loathes the idea at the moment.

"exactly! you don't have to take a mortal form or anything, i'm just interested in seeing as to how you would adjust through going through the typical mortal routine. as for me, i'll be your tour guide through all of this, so don't worry!" you say. your words provide him little relief and xiao stares at you cooly.

"fine. i will participate in your... research," xiao confirms reluctantly after a few moments of silence and you have to bite back an excited squeal. getting to show an adeptus everything humanity has to offer? the excitement nearly overwhelms you, but you have to squash your excitement to focus on the situation at hand.

"alright then. for our first task, i'll show you how to make instant oatmeal! but, there's more than just that flavor," you state, gliding over to the cabinets and pulling out the box. you hastily slap it on the table and push it gently over to him. "take your pick!"

xiao eyes the box uneasily.

yeah, this is good enough revenge for nearly killing me, right?

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#xiao x reader #genshin impact x reader #xiao #genshin impact #//taom #axia's writing

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omiscurls · 3 years

Text

haikyuu!! characters as bed sharing AU’s

taken of pinterest!

characters in question: kiyoomi sakusa, miya atsumu, kenma kozume, suna rintaro, tobio kageyama, kuroo tetsuro, akaashi keiji

kiyoomi sakusa - the “you have too much nightmares, let me try this method on you”

When you look at Sakusa, you wouldn’t guess any of his weaknesses... well except for one maybe

He always speaks so confidently, if he doesn’t feel secure, he just doesn’t speak

So even if you’ve been their manager for... several years, you still know as much about this man’s weaker sides as if you met him yesterday, or even less.

The surprise on your face when you binge watched a series at night, and you suddenly felt the scream definitely coming from outside your headphones was indescribable

Was the room next to yours... Sakusa’s?

you thought nothing of it, but night after night, you heard a lot more, you heard crying, ventilating, calling out random names, and finally you decided that not only is this interrupting your sleep, it’s not healthy for the wing spiker either

come on, the next day is game day, he has to be on his best abilities

nobody wants to deal with grumpy kiyoomi, nobody has the guts

so you remember a method your friend has told you about that their s/o uses on them

it took a lot of courage, but there you are, about to knock on his door...

Sakusa flinched hearing knocks on his door. That definitely wasn’t just a comeback from a dream. Someone’s knocking on his door. Was he being too loud? Did he wake someone up? He prays that it’s just someone wanting something, even if it’s around 2AM, and who on earth would want someone at 2AM.

Normally he would’ve been pissed off, but now he wished for this scenario to come true.

He put on a hoodie before opening the door, since it was cold outside the sheets, besides, who wants to see him in his underwear, right? Especially if it’s marvel themed-

The look on his face when he sees his crush on the other side of the door is priceless. He can practically feel his face going all red.

“Can I help you?” he clears his throat and says lazily, pretending to be annoyed by the fact you allegedly woke him up, even though the tears still flow down his cheeks.

“No, but I can help you” you say, just as embarrassed as he is, and it doesn’t help when he raises his eyebrows like that, so you quickly add “That is, if you like, please feel comfortable to tell me to piss off if I’m being too much, but I have a friend with a problem simmilar to yours and I just...”

“Okay, I’m listening” he interrupts, causing you to look up at him.

When you explain the idea to him, he’s more than pessimistic, he’s laughing in your face, mumbling something about how he thanks you for your concern, but...

You took the opportunity that you’re both sitting on his bed, and just lay on your back.

“Come on, just try”

“No!” he answers almost immediately, but, as he’s also a man of logic...

He really has to be on his best tomorrow, and you’re his only hope at the moment. He reluctantly lays down next to you, and your hand guides his face near your neck.

“Fine, but only so you stop with this idea already. It’s not gonna work.”

You’re both extremely out of your comfort zones, but you’re slowly adjusting. You feel him nuzzle closer, and your hair just instinctly lands in his hair, curling one little curl on your finger.

His showergel smells amazing, by the way. It puts you to sleep instantly, but you know you can’t be the one to pass out first. After a while of silence, you ask him if his trial run has expired already, but there’s no response. His breath evens out, and you’re too afraid to stir away far enough to check if his eyes are closed.

“Kiyoomi? Are you asleep?” you ask, but again, there’s no response.

Oh well.

The next morning he’s so embarrassed that the idiotic idea worked, he can’t even look you in the eyes at breakfast.

atsumu miya as “you’ve been so dejected lately i feel too bad to leave you alone at night”

He didn’t ask for this at all, but yet you ended up being his roommate.

A roommate who was recently going through an extemely tough time.

Seriously, even he feels bad seeing you all in tears all the time, mindless look and not paying attention to anything

Even though you weren’t each other’s favorite people in the world before, you ended up getting closer over the fact that he was the only one to see you at the worst moments

You hated that, but what can you do, there’s no safer place to cry in than your dorm

And even though he kinda made fun of it at first, the longer it kept going, the more concerned he’d get

It got to a point where he literally wouldn’t leave you alone

While still pretending not to like you, of course

Have you eaten? Have you drank something? Have you even left your bed today? How long did you sleep last night? Not at all? You idiot, start taking care of yourself.

You dumbass, you dummy, you moron, you absolute fricking mess

Some of your friends consider him your boyfriend, judging from the messages you get from him

“Dummy, there’s a granola bar in your bag, better eat it” “Hey idiot, I had to run to practice early today. Are you feeling less shitty than yesterday?”

He noticed that, as it is logical, your mood proggressively gets worse as you get tired

And that you actually learned how to cry without sobbing so you don’t wake him up, how thoughtful of you

Well your mistake, now you have an 80kg volleyball player over you.

“Atsu, what’re you doing?” you ask in a tired voice, covering your face with a pillow.

“You’re crying.” he states bluntly, staring at you like a four-year-old.

“Observant, are we?”

“Hey. Dumbass. You didn’t cry for so long already, what happened?” he whispers, sitting by your side, and you can’t mumble words, feeling so ashamed you want to disappear. You fall on your back and pretend not to notice the question.

He sighs audiably.

“Alright then, just know you brought this on yourself” he states, and before you can ask why, he’s already laying beside you.

“W-what’re you doing?” you scream-whisper, right into his blonde hair, and he shivers at the feeling.

“I’m comforting you, isn’t it obvious, you moron?” he hisses. “Although, I can see my mistake now” he states, and you think he’s gonna go back to his own bed, but no, he grabs you by the waist and rolls over, so now you lay on top of him, flustered as ever, thankful for the light being off, at least he doesn’t see your tomato-like face.

“But- Atsumu, please go to your own bed” you plea, but he shakes his head, eyes already closed.

“Nu-uh” he answers “Yours is more comfy, anyway” he jokes, making you chuckle through the tears.

He puts his hand on the back of your head and puts it on his chest.

“Goodnight, dipshit” he whispers, and you manage to fall alseep listening to the steady beat of his heart.

No tears, he’d feel them anyway.

kenma kozume as “the heater broke and i’m cold as hell, can you come here?”

this should not have happened

the guy looks miserable

but, you see, he’s doesn’t have the biggest amount of muscles in his body, his not as ripped as his highschool friends

body fat? also no, he’s a skinny, fairly tall boy who gets cold really easily

for real, he’s wearing a hoodie at all times, and in winter, he looks like a shell of himself

so you’re over at Kuroo’s house on a New Year’s party

the party ended like an hour ago, everyone is asleep

(Lev’s gonna be so dead when Yaku wakes up and finds the tall guy’s head on his stomach)

you’re almost sound asleep in Kuroo’s guest bedroom, so gracefully given to you by the host

the only other person in the room is Kenma, who originally slept in Kuroo’s room together with his best friend, but got annoyed by the weird questions him and Bokuto kept asking

so he asked you if he can sleep on the couch in the room

why wouldn’t you say yes?

earlier that night Kuroo burnt pizza in the oven, so you all opened almost every window in the house to get the smell to leave

and kinda forgot to close the ones in the bedrooms

but no worries, you have a radiator

...right?

why is the radiator set on the highest temperature and still stone cold?

well, doesn’t matter, you can just wrap yourself in the heavy sheets

Kenma, on the other hand, only has a small blanket

And since it’s a party, he’s wearing a shirt, not a hoodie

The boy’s freezing

“Hey, are you asleep?” you hear a very quiet whisper coming from the couch.

“Thought you’re here cause you couldn’t stand the chit-chat, Kenma?” you ask with a grin on your face.

“Yeah, right. Sorry.” he mumbles and you hear him shift in his spot, visibly annoyed by the circummstances. There’s a moment of silence, in which he can feel his face almost burn down from embarrassment.

Oh, my god, you sound like you’re annoyed with him here. Areyou? Come on, tell him you aren’t. He should just let you sleep.

But does he really want to spend the rest of his night feeling his feet hurt from cold? Fuck, Kuroo, you and your stupid pizza.

He gets up, tightly wrapped in his blanket, and checks the radiator.

“It’s definitely broke” he sighs, touching the cold surface, and turns back to the couch, falling on it face down, letting out a groan.

You giggle at his action, and he opens his eyes immediately, hearing the sound of your voice.

“Kenma... I offered you the bed once already, it’s warmer” you start, but he raises his hand and shakes it in a disagreeing gesture.

“No no, please, don’t worry” he mumbles against the couch, trying to ignore the, ironically, burning sensation in his legs. Is this a bedroom or is this Antarctica?

“Oh, come on” you say, opening the sheets. “We don’t want you to freeze, do we now?”

Oh my god, what did you do. There’s so much thoughts racing through his mind right now. Should he do it? It sounds so nice... But should he really?

Fuck it, he thinks, you’re offering, he can’t turn down an offer from you.

He lazily walks over to the bad and lays down next to you, at a reasonable distance, only to hear you laugh again. He spares you an annoyed glance, and you shake your head slightly, rolling over next to him, covering him with the sheets you have wrapped around yourself so tightly, and using his chest as a pillow.

Hold on, that’s not what he signed up for. Why are you... How...?

He hesitantly and gently puts his arm around you, relaxing his body, the scent of your shampoo making him slightly dizzy.

Please don’t notice how fast his heart is racing. This is fine. It doesn’t mean anything, he can promise.

rintaro suna as “hey dude, i hear cuddling helps you sleep, wanna try?”

the most chill person out there

literally you would never have guessed how nervous he was before asking you

it’s just another week, another game and another hotel you are all staying in

and fate is definitely on his side today, since his bedroom is literally next door to yours

he got to your door and left without doing anything about three times before he eventually decided to be a man and knock

has a master plan in his mind

he’s gonna show you a website with an article about how cuddling (allegedly) makes you sleep better

and he’s just gonna be so causal about it

he’s just gonna knock, put on an emotionless smirk and ask you, just like he always does

but here’s the think, he’s not so chill on the outside

“how should I call them? their name? a pet name? bro? no, too much”

but, he does end up knocking

“Hey, Y/N, what’s up?” you turn your head to the door to see a figure of Suna in only his underwear and an oversize t-shirt with the logo of some metal band.

“Shouldn’t you be asleep?” you ask, voice hoarse as you were already drifting off.

“I read this super cool thing, wanna see?” he seems not to mind your comment, as he walks over to your bed and practically throws himself beside you, not minding you laying there, shoving his phone in your hands.

“... help you fall asleep in just three minutes...” you’re mumbling under your breath as you read the headline. “Rin, this sounds so fake” you laugh, falling back on your pillows, as he sighs.

“I wanna try, and it’s either you or Kita, and he gives me serial killer vibes” he mutters, earning yet another serie of laughter from you.

But seeing the serious hint in his eyes, you lift your hands in surrendering gesture.

“Go on with it, Mr Romantic” you state, watching in amusement as he groans at the comment and burries his face in your pillow.

You’re sure this is him considering this mission a failed one and giving up, but then he looks up

“Well, are you coming?” he asks completely serious, and you have nothing left to do than hug him and settle your face in the crook of his neck, not minding as his breathing lifts your hair from time to time and tingles your skin.

Can someone feel your blush through their skin? You surely hope not.

tobio kageyama as the almighty “the hotel room has only one king size bed and we need to share”

He never would’ve thought his teammates would betray him like this

What the hell do they mean there’s only two people rooms available and they’re all in pairs already

Honestly, primary school all over again

ugh

His perfectly happy to be sleeping alone, when he finds out you’re his roommate

this is fine tobio, don’t freak out

well he’s composed about it

a little bit of a “tch” and “well I guess there’s nothing we can do about it”

internally he’s a little girl now, but you never would’ve guessed judging by the annoyed grimace on his face

because how does it matter if you’re sleeping in the same room, it’s not like he was planning to run around naked, right?

it all changes once you press the card to open the room, and when he so gentleman-like lets you enter first, you find out there’s only one, big, king sized bed for couples exclusively

the only thing missing are rose petals and candles prepared for newlyweds

you try so so hard not to burst out laughing

when he enters, he becomes as white as the walls around

he can’t process this, what the fu-

bet he’s spending hours at the reception desk explaining it’s a huge mistake

unfortunately, these were the only rooms left, sorry not sorry, you’re sleeping together

and that brings you to the situation you’re in currently

He’s almost over the edge of making a wall of pillows between you two. You can’t help but feel a tiny bit offended by it, but you know he’s probably just super hyper embarrassed.

“Yama, who don’t you trust, me, or yourself?” you ask with a proud grin painting your lips as you sit on your side, sheets tucked around your waist, back rested on the wall behind you.

He gives you an annoyed glance, before answering:

“It’s not that”

Once he says that, he proceeds to somehow nestle himself in, but he looks like one of those dolls that come with a bedroom furnishing, almost lifeless, resting on his back with hands straight down his body, eyes fixed on the ceiling.

“Relax, will you?” you giggle “You have a game tomorrow, grumpy face”

He rolls his eyes.

You shake your head and turn off the light, mumbling a quiet goodnight, as you turn to your side and place a hand under your head, back facing Kageyama.

Well, this is gonna be a long night, or so you think, up until he falls asleep.

You can physically feel him move around, and you think that’s what’s keeping you awake.

It takes a while for you to realize the star valley ball player is getting unconsciously closer, up until you can feel his breath on your neck.

Ironically enough, it’s you who’s all stiff and nervous now, when suddenly you feel his arm go around your waist.

“Oh you’ve gotta be kidding me” you mutter, but he shifts dangerously when you speak, so you have to give up side commentary.

You decided to tease him just a bit. He’s the one who’s gonna be flustered when he wakes up, you’re on a winning side by being awake.

You smile to yourself before shifting your body closer to his. He sighs contently, almost making you laugh.

Oh how you want him to wake up and see already.

tetsuro kuroo as “we fell asleep on the couch together and now my hand is in your hair and you’re breathing directly on my neck”

you’re over studying, or just helping him with something

the point is, you were working all day

at some point he suggests getting pizza

hell yeah, pizza

you order a little bit too much of it, but since you both are suckers for pizza, nobody can back up first

and as you know, people tend to get sleepy after they eat too much

he has a wide couch, so you can both lay beside each other without having to lay ON each other

and as you tend to get a little bit sleepy, you both shift to lay down instead of sitting, still focused on the work, though

you don’t know why, you don’t know how but it just happens that you fall asleep

you obviously don’t see what happens after that, but Kuroo notices you asleep when he asks you multiple questions and you repeatedly don’t answer, he got it like around question number 4

“Lazy much, huh, sleeping beauty?” he mutters to himself, but smiles unconsciously as he glances at your stoic face

and as if that subconsciously impacted his brain, soon enough he can’t find it in himself to keep his eyes open as well.

Kuroo wakes up to an annoying pain in his neck, causing him to hiss and automatically want to place his hand on the place that ached. Whoops, did he fall asleep on the couch again? Oh well, didn’t he have work to do?

He lifts his hand as he wanted to, but suddenly he feels something shift beneath it, and when he looks down to see you, with your head rested on his chest, breathing slowly, a peaceful smile on your face.

Your legs are tangled with his in some unexplicable manner, and as the man of logic he so obviously is, he can’t even begin to understand how that happened.

Especially why his hand feels so in place, holding you by the waist, closer to himself, and the other one lost somewhere in your hair.

You shift your head slightly up, and sigh contently, now breathing directly on the exposed part of his neck. He somehow manages to not shiver at the tingling sensation, getting more and more flustered by the second.

His heart rate inscreases drastically, making him realize he’s stressed like he’d never been before, as he tries to make up his mind about whether to wake you up, gently push you off and let you rest, or maybe stay in place.

He feels attracted to the last one, but knows it’d only be unfair to you.

But you could wake up if he moved you, and you had a long day, after all...

Maybe he’s gonna let you stay there. Not for long, only five... more... minutes...

keiji akashi as “you’re staying over at my place, you take the bed, i’ll sleep on the floor. no, really, i’m comfortable on the floor. GEEZ FINE we’ll both take the bed, ya happy now?

You wanna know what got you in this situation huh

well, you were over for dinner, but it started raining really heavily

like, really really heavily

and akaashi being the sweetheart that he is, can’t let you go home like that

it’s a long way to the train station, you’re gonna get sick, and what if there’s a traffic accident? he can’t have that

(he just wants to spend more time with you but shh about that)

doesn’t matter how hard you try to convince him you’re gonna be fine. you’re staying and that’s final

it’s cute, he’s cute when he’s worried

well that brings you to where you are currently, already after your shower, dressed in one of akaashi’s t-shirts, oh this feels so couple-ish

you wait for him to finish with his night time routine in his room, admiring all the posters and childhood pictures he has

he has the first ever selfie bokuto took with him framed

when he comes back, that’s when the problems start

“Alright, well, let’s get some sleep, you can take my bed, and I’ll take the floor

And that’s what brings us to the guilt rising in your stomach as you settle in the guy’s sheets, inhaling the heavy scent of his shampoo from the pillow under your head. It’s his house, his bed, and yet he’s sleeping on the floor like some random guest. You’re the random guest here, you can’t help but feel like you’re crashing at his place against his will, and you’re making him uncomfortable.

“ ‘Kaashi?” you whisper, making his eyes open wide to see the dark ceiling of his room. There’s silence for a moment, and then he shifts to turn on the light once more.

“Yeah?” he sighs, bringing one hand up to his face to rub his eyes, unable to open them properly because of the sudden flush of light.

“Are you sure you don’t want to sleep on the bed?” you ask shyly, making him chuckle as he shakes his head.

“Yes, yes I’m sure. Goodnight” he states gently, turning on the light once again. This is gonna be a long night, he thinks.

You cannot catch your sleep. Damn it, damn your altruism and all that shit.

“Akaashi no, I can’t-“ you’re cut of by the sound of him laughing.

“Oh my god. Fine. If I move to the bed, will you sleep already?” he whines quietly, and seeing you nod in the dark, he gets up and picks up his pillow.

You get off the bed, wanting to swap places with him, but are held back by his hand.

“No, if you sleep on the floor, i won’t be able to close my eyes even for a second” he forbids gently, moving you back to where you were previously laying.

Oh boy, you both think, this is awkward, but the warmth of his body pressed next to yours makes it hard to be mad at him for stopping you from leaving.

This is gonna be a long night indeed.

457 notes · View notes

spidernerdsblog · 3 years

Text

Match made in Hell : Chapter Twelve

A/N : Chapter twelve is here. Ah only one more chapter left. Hope you like this chapter. Let me know what you think.

Pairing : Mob! Tom Holland x Reader

Summary : you always wanted a simple life but to be born as the daughter of a dangerous mobster turned out to be a curse for you. Everything changes when your father gets your lover killed and forcefully marries you off to another mobster as a part of a deal. You hate your father and your husband the only thing you seek is now revenge. Will you ever be able to fall in love again or this burning hatred inside you will consume you?

Warnings : fluff, pregnancy, misogyny, mention of blood, violence, language, missed typos.

SERIES MASTERLIST

“What's wrong?” Vanessa looks at you questioningly.

“I think I might have had skipped for a couple of days,” you admit, scrunching your nose.

“Can you be less vague? Cause I’m not getting it” she deadpans as you scowl at her for not getting your implication.

“Okay so I got shot a month ago I hope you remember that. I was on medication right? Well a lot of medications actually” you half shrug “so with all that going on I may or may not have forgotten to take the pills during that time and we got caught up in the moment at one time and things just happened you know”

“Well you guys are literal horndogs I have no doubt in that” she rolls her eyes “but you need to take the test” she states out to you.

“What? Now?” you looked at her stunned.

“Yes and right now” she stresses on her words.

“But I don't have any test kits at this moment” you mutter

“Then I'll ask someone to get them from the store”

“No! don’t tell anyone especially the boys” you give her a panicked look and Vanessa scoffs.

“OK relax I'll go and get it for you” saying so she left immediately. It took half an hour for Vanessa to make a trip round to the store as you waited for her in your room anxiously.

“Here” she hands you the pregnancy test kit. You nibble on to your bottom lip glancing back and forth between the box and her face.

“C'mon go on” she urged you on. You finally stood up and went inside the bathroom. Closing the door behind you let out a deep sigh taking one last glance at the box before opening it. After reading the instructions carefully you proceeded to do accordingly. When you were done you placed the stick on the marble counter and opened the door for Vanessa to come in.

“Done” you inform her.

“OK, now we wait,” she says, glancing at her watch. Five minutes appeared to be five years for you as you paced back and forth while Vanessa chewed on her nails leaning on the counter in anticipation.

“OK it’s time” she announces and you feel your heartbeat quicken. You took a deep breath and stepped forward to have a look but immediately backed off feeling anxious.

“Oh god I can't look at it” you wrap your arms around yourself.

“What?” Vanessa looks at you puzzled.

“You check it for me please I can’t” you gave her an earnest look.

“You're so dramatic” she rolls her eyes and goes to check the result and falls silent taking the test in hand.

“What? What is it?” you ask impatiently.

“Negative” she answers.

“Negative? Really?” you weren't convinced with the result as you looked at her with doubt in your eyes.

“Yeah” she confirms again.

“Oh that's a relief heh” you chuckle lightly “I told you before only it's just a stomach bug”

“You're upset that it's negative, aren’t you?” Vanessa gives you a knowing look.

“What? No I mean… yeah a little it wouldn't be bad you know but nevermind” you fiddle with your hands fumbling on your words.

“So you wanted a baby?” she raises her eyebrows questioningly.

“I mean yeah I love kids and wouldn't mind one of my own specially if it’s a cute little version of my husband running around the house on his little feet” you expressed your little desire.

“You sure?” she reasserts, raising her eyebrows as the corner of her mouth picks into a smile.

“Yeah but it doesn't matter anyways cause the test is negative as you said” you shrugged letting off the thought.

“Well then good news sissy it's actually positive” Vanessa smiles at you widely and you were taken aback.

“What?! You serious?” she nods, holding out the stick in front of you to see it yourself.

“Oh my god you bitch!” you gasp “who's dramatic now huh?” you scowl, hitting her arm lightly.

“Ow! At least I helped you figure out what you actually feel about the whole thing” she places her hands on your shoulders “congratulations sister you’re gonna have a baby!”

“I’m gonna have a baby” you repeat that to yourself. You still couldn’t believe that this was happening as you placed a hand gently over your stomach

“And I'm going to be an aunt. I’m so happy for you guys” she hugs you tightly but soon your face drops as you pull away from her with a worried expression.

“What happened? Why again the gloomy face?” Vanessa nudges you.

“I don’t want my baby to be part of this bloodshed. I have been trying to run away from this and here I’m again pushing my child right into that same hell hole” you rant with tears in your eyes.

“I think you need to first talk to Tom and then make a decision. You understand?” you nod “everything will be fine don’t worry” she pulls you in her embrace comforting you.

It was almost a week that you got to know you were pregnant but still you couldn’t break the news to Tom, you just didn’t have the nerves to do it yet.

****

You stood by the mirror glancing at your reflection though there wasn’t a visible bump but you still rubbed your hand over your belly. The thought of a life growing inside made your heart swell with warmth. Somehow you felt more livelier than you have ever been a certain glow emanating through your features. Maybe this is what people meant by pregnancy glow. You felt happy and content from inside out, you felt complete as if you had found the missing piece of your life. But you still had to tell Tom and the only person you could think of for some advice was your mom as you finally called her.

“Hi sweetie” your mother’s sweet voice comes from the other end.

“Hey mom”

“So what reminds my daughter about her old mother?” she snickers.

“Mom! you really think that I called for another favor” you grimace.

“Well you don't call much for me to think otherwise”

“C'mon mom you know my situation with dad”

“Yeah, yeah I'm just messing with you now, what’s the matter? you sound stressed” she observed.

“I... just really miss you” you sigh

“Sweetie, is everything alright?” she asks with concern.

“Yeah just wanted to hear your voice that’s all”

“I'm your mother Y/N, I can totally feel that something is bothering my little girl?”

“Mom, can I ask you something?” you say taking a deep breath.

“Anything honey”

“Were you scared when you first came to know that you were pregnant with me?”

“What?”

“I mean to say that I was totally unplanned and for my sake you had to marry that man so were you scared thinking about what your future will be in a crime family?”

“Well honestly I had little choice in that matter. I was stuck in the middle of the rivalry so in order to keep you safe I married him. But honey the day I held you in my arms all my fears went away. The only thing I know is that I can spend the rest of my life looking at you. You were never a mistake you were the best gift given to me”

“That's nice to hear” you smile

“But why after so many years you are bringing this up?”

“Nothing I just have somethings in my mind going on right now and it feels a lot” you try to shrug it off.

“Sweetie, what are you hiding from me?” she prods.

“Nothing mom I swear!” you exclaim.

“I know very well what this ‘nothing mom’ means c'mon tell me”

“Well I'm pregnant” you inform as you hear her gasp.

“What?! Oh my god I can't believe my ears, is this really true? This isn’t a prank right? Like you used to do when you were little”

“No mom it isn’t a prank” you reassure her lightly chuckling.

“Oh god I'm so happy for you honey. My little girl is going to be a mom herself? When did she grow so big?” she shrieks eyes welling up in happiness “Does Tom know?”

“Not yet” you inform.

“Not yet? Why what's wrong? Does he not want it?”

“No it’s nothing like that… actually I myself don’t know. This just happened so suddenly though I was thrilled initially but now I’m worried actually scared I-I don't think I will be a good mother. I mean my life is already a mess. I don't want to give this life to my child. They don't deserve this”

“Listen to me Y/N no one is perfect even I made mistakes too and that’s how we learn. How much ever you want to plan your life Y/N, it will always have a way of surprising you with unexpected things that will make you happier than you originally planned” she makes you understand “Tom is a nice guy I’m sure he’ll always be by your side. And I know my girl too and how much strong she is you have got this Y/N just believe in yourself and Tom”

“Thanks mom really needed to hear this from you”

“Anytime honey now take some rest and then tell everything to Tom, speak to you soon, love you”

“Love you too mom” you end the call feeling lighthearted as if a weight has been lifted off your chest. You grew up in a very dysfunctional family which made you yearn for a perfect happy family and when you have finally got it you’re not going to let anything mess it up at any cost.

****

The basement of your mansion was kind of Tom’s personal hell. He had particularly made it to held people captive for whoever dared to cross him and torture them to death. You were actually never allowed down there but today you got to join him. As you approached the room in the basement you heard screams and groans of a man in pain. Tom opened the door and you both stepped inside to find Ethan tied up in a chair beaten mercilessly barely conscious groaning in pain. His body was pale and face bruised with a black eye, nose bleeding, jaw swollen from the right temple down the cheek. Harrison was standing in front of him in a black tank top and jeans all worked up heaving in anger as you noticed his bloody knuckles. Two other lackeys were also present to help him with the interrogation.

“Haz anything so far?” Tom asks, lighting up a cigarette.

“Nothing till now this bastard won't speak up” he mutters, grabbing a fistful of Ethan’s silky black hair and tugging it harshly. Tom stalks towards him and bents down blowing the smoke on his face

“Well mate you have to speak up some or the other time” he smirks with a condescending tone.

“Over my dead body” Ethan grits under his teeth glaring at him.

“Sooner or later you are gonna end up dead anyways but not before you tell us everything you know about the rest of the viper gang”

“You think you can torture me to disclose everything” he snickers weakly “nah you have got the wrong man dude. You gotta do lot more than this”

“You know what Ethan? I'm not good with patience so the sooner you speak up the sooner you get your sweet death”

“And I think I’ve got the time of the world” he laughs tauntingly “why don’t you ask your wife to do it? Maybe she can seduce everything out of me like the pathetic whore she is” he slurs at you with a mocking tone. Tom clenches his jaw as his hands balled into tight fists and in no time he lands a punch right at his jugular as he coughs up blood.

“Watch your bloody mouth!” Tom growls, grabbing him by his collar “you really don’t know how tempted I am to cut you into pieces one by one as I watch you slowly bleed to death” he mutters, looking at him with malice in his eyes.

The scene in front of you wasn’t that pleasant though you’re used to it but with the raging pregnancy hormones everything seemed heightened for you. The room began to feel stuffy as you found it difficult to breathe adding to that the raunchy putrid smell of blood mixed with the smell of nicotine in the room swept through your nose which made your stomach churn and you tasted bile. The urge to throw up grew strong for you to hold it any longer. You grabbed your mouth, letting out a muffled "excuse me" you ran upstairs to your room.

“Y/N?” Tom lets go of Ethan and calls you back worriedly as everyone’s attention turns to you.

“You go check I can handle this” Harrison assures exchanging glances with Tom as he nodded and sprinted off to your bedroom. He finds the bathroom locked as he hears gagging noises from inside.

“Y/N, love you alright?” He knocks on the door

“Yeah I'm fine” you answer before throwing up again. When you were sure that there’s nothing left for you to throw up you stepped out of the bathroom face flushed and exhausted. Tom hastily went to hold your hand.

“Oh my god are you ok?” he gasps lightly

“Yes Tom I’m fine don’t worry” you tell him

“You don't look fine to me” he drapes a hand around your shoulders and slowly walks you towards the bed and makes you sit down.

“Tom it's ok”

“Y/N we need to go see a doctor now” he insists.

“No, no it’s fine a little rest will be enough for me”

“I’m not listening to anything, wait I-I’m calling the doctor at home only” he fumbles pulling out his phone from his pocket to make a call.

“Tom, relax! It's totally normal in the first months of pregnancy” you exclaim

“What?!” Tom frowns as your eyes go wide realizing your slip up “Did you just say pregnancy?” he reiterates.

“Yes” you sigh standing up “I'm pregnant….with our child” you reveal placing your hand over your belly and Tom’s expression changed into a mix of shock and happiness.

“What? You're serious? You-you aren't kidding right?”

“Do I seem to be in the state of joking?” you raise your eyebrows unamused.

“Yeah, yeah right” he mumbles to himself as he processes the news and soon after excitement takes over him “Oh god Y/N this is such great news!” He lifts you up and does a little spin.

“Oh my god Tom put me down!” you squeal

“Oh I’m sorry” he puts you down “I’m just so excited. When did you get to know?”

“A week ago” you said meekly.

“And you didn't tell me? Why?” you felt a little intimidated under his questioning gaze. Even before you could say something he made his own assumption.

“Wait, you don't want this, is that why?” he looks at you with dreaded eyes

“No, No, no that's not what it is?” you shake your head vigorously in disapproval “you have got it all wrong”

“Then what is it Y/N?” he asks you softly.

“It's actually the opposite. I was just scared as it was totally unplanned and with all this going on with my father you are already tensed. I wasn’t sure how you would react” you rambled.

“Oh darling” he breathes out cupping your face gently with his broad hands “you don't know today you have made me the happiest man on this fucking world. This is everything I wanted honey. You, me and our perfect little happy family” you smiled at him as he carefully placed his hands on your belly.

“How far are you? Is everything normal? Are you both ok?” he badgered you with questions.

“I... actually thought you would come with me on my first checkup” you looked at him bashfully “it's-it's just I wanted you to be there with me if you aren't too busy”

“Of course love, no work is more important than you and my little one” he beams with joy. Tom didn’t waste a second to call at the hospital to schedule your appointment.

“Mr. and Mrs. Holland” the nurse calls out

“Yes?” you both respond standing up from your seats.

“Dr. Martin is ready to see you” she informs and leads you inside the room.

“Please lie down” she instructs and you follow by lying down on the examination chair while Tom sits on the chair beside you. The nurse then leaves the room and soon after the doctor arrives. She was a middle aged woman and looked quite experienced as she greeted you warmly.

“Hello Mrs. Holland, I’m Dr. Martin”

“Hello doctor” you smiled courteously.

“So how are you feeling today?”

“I feel fine, doctor, just a little bit tired...” you were quickly cut off by Tom

“No doctor she got really sick and nauseous the other day” he puts forth his concern.

“Morning sickness is normal at this time Mr. Holland. There’s nothing to worry about” she reassures him.

“See?” you whisper with a knowing glare. Tom still wasn’t convinced but let it go for now.

“Ready to have a first look at your baby?” she asks cheerfully as you nod, lifting your shirt up. She rubbed the cool gel on your lower stomach while Tom held your hand tightly. Then she switches the monitor on and runs the tool on your belly. A hazy black and white image appears on the screen as the room fills with the rhythmic beeping of heartbeat. You and Tom stare at the monitor in awe.

“You see right here?” the doctor points at the middle of the screen with a pen.

“Awww that's our baby” you squeeze Tom's hand gently, a stray tear of joy rolls down your cheek. Tom was himself brimming with emotions, he knelt down and kissed your forehead with adoration as you noticed London’s most feared mobster’s eyes wet.

“I can already pick the heartbeats” she reveals further as you both give her a puzzled look.

“Heartbeats? As in plural” Tom asked in shock.

“Yeah two heartbeats” she confirms “you're going to have twins Mrs. Holland” she adds. You gasped and smiled instantly feeling giddy and overwhelmed at the news.

“We're gonna have twins” you looked up at him with a sparkle in your eyes.

“Yes we are, love” a wide smile spread across his face “you gotta admit I did a really good job in there though” he whispers cockily and there he was back again in his usual self.

“Tom!” you glared, squeezing his hand tightly.

“Ow! Sorry, sorry” he chuckles when you both were interrupted as Dr Martin began to speak again.

“You are approximately 8 weeks and all parameters seem to be normal. The babies are growing fine, nothing to worry about. After 10 weeks we can identify the genders” she elucidates “But you have to be extra careful as you are a new mom and with twins. Everything will be doubled for you so maintaining a proper diet, getting a good amount of sleep is very important. No heavy lifting and most importantly no stress at all as it directly affects the babies. The expectant mother should always be happy” she advises.

“We’ll keep that in mind doc thank you so much” Tom acknowledges her.

“Well then I’ll see you on your next check up. Do you want the prints of the ultrasound?”

“Yes please” you both said together.

“Ok I’ll get it right away”

On the way back home the whole ride Tom kept rambling about how everything needed to be baby proofed and keep everything ready as if you are going to labor tomorrow itself. He even suggested that he shift your bedroom downstairs so that you don’t have to climb up the stairs. You had to literally ask him to shut up and relax that you have seven more months to go.

****

You were about to get off the bed when Tom came in with a huge tray of food.

“Good morning love” he went and sat in front placing the tray on his lap as you looked at the amount of food which was double than you usually have.

“What's all this Tom?” you ask frowning.

“Breakfast in bed”

“I can see that but is this a breakfast for a giant? What's with these enormous portions?” you pointed out.

“If I may remind you, you are now eating for three so you have to eat accordingly”

“In no way I'm going to eat that much” you stated firmly

“But darling…”

“Nope, not happening. I said no means no” you shake your head side to side “I don’t want to get fat because after a few I’m gonna be all big and round anyways and then you wouldn't look at me” your hormones getting the best of your insecurities as you rambled without much thinking.

“Hey look at me” he holds your chin between his index and thumb fingers making you look at him “you seriously think that? You. will. always. be. the prettiest woman for me do you understand?” he asks as you nod “I bet you are going to be the most beautiful mom. Our kids are lucky to have a fearless, confident woman like you as their mother” he says looking deep into your eyes “and I can’t wait to see you all big and round” he adds smiling.

“But I’m still not gonna eat all of it”

“Ok you can eat as much you can no pressure” he assures you as you take the fruit bowl in your hand and start to munch on the fruits one by one going into a deep thought.

“Now what is going on in that mind of yours?” he asks breaking you out of your thoughts.

“I think we should tell everyone I mean your mom and dad then the boys they would be thrilled to know”

“So you wanna invite them over lunch?” he offers.

“Yeah that will be really nice”

****

Tom’s family arrived on time, after lunch all of you gathered in the living room as you and Tom stood in the middle. Everyone looked at you both expectantly though Tom’s dad had a disinterested look like all times.

“Sorry for the short notice but this was kind of important and we were really excited to share this news with you” you started.

“Did the police catch your father?” Harry asks out of nowhere

“That would have been really nice but unfortunately no”

“Then what is it?” Harrison asks impatiently.

“Well….we’re pregnant” you both announce.

“What?!” everyone collectively gasped.

“Is it true?” Nikki looked between you two

“Yes mum” Tom confirms bashfully wrapping a hand around your waist and pulling you closer.

“Oh my god this is such good news” she gets up to you and takes your hands in hers “I’m so happy for you” she cradles the side of your face lovingly.

“Finally I'm going to get to see the face of my grandson, my heir. That's some good news after all huh” Tom’s dad remarks with gruff in his voice as Nikki looks at you apologetically.

“Actually dad, we're going to have twins,” Tom added.

“Well that’s good, can't wait to meet my grandsons as they’re going to take over our business in future” he said still emphasizing on having a son and honestly neither you nor Tom wanted your twins to join the mob.

“Oh dear now that’s something big” Nikki tries to lighten the mood “I remember when I was with Harry and Sam it was a lot of cravings and mood swings get ready for it Tom” she snickers as she starts to give you some helpful tips to make everything a little easier for you as this is your first time.

“Congratulations bro” Harrison goes and hugs Tom tightly.

“Thanks man”

“So I’m gonna be the godfather I assume?” he asks.

“Well we’re yet to decide that” Tom snickers.

“What? C’mon man I’m your best friend and I’m going to be the godfather, that’s final. I know Y/N is still angry at me which by the way is your fault but I’ll manage her” he states confidently

“Good luck with that,” Tom laughs. Everyone left after sometime leaving you both all by yourselves in your house. Tom turns to smiling.

“What?” you ask.

“Close your eyes,” he says.

“Why?” you look at him skeptically

“You still don’t trust me don’t you?”

“No” you quip with a smirk.

“Just close your eyes please I have something to show to you” he pouts with puppy eyes

“Okay” you close your eyes “happy?”

“Yes now come with me”

“Where are you taking me?” you ask again.

“You’ll see soon” he takes your hand and carefully guides you up the stairs. He brings you in front of a room with a large wooden door and slowly clicks the door open.

“Now open your eyes” he whispers softly into your ears. You flutter your eyes open to be awestruck as you look inside the room. It was a nursery for your twins. You looked at everything with wide eyes, two twin cribs situated in the middle with cute plushies in it, the walls painted in soft pastel gender neutral shades, the lighting of the room well coordinated making it look warm and cozy. An armchair for you to take rest.

“How is it?” Tom's voice breaks you out of your thoughts.

“Tom, it’s-it’s beautiful” you breathe out “but when did you?” you looked at him quizzical

“Well as soon as you told me I called in some favors and had this room renovated” he reveals to you.

“It's-it's really beautiful Tom” you walked further into the room towards the cribs. Brushing your hand over the wooden railings you picked up the baby towel and rubbed it against your cheek feeling the soft texture.

“Sorry I don't have much idea about all this stuff, I just tried my best to make it as comfortable for you three. If you want anything else just tell me I'll get it done” he says scratching the back of his neck.

“Tom, it's perfect. You did a great job. I love it” you take his hand and place it over your belly “and they are gonna love it too” you reassure him.

“I installed a music system too” he adds, turning on the music as he wraps his hands around your waist and sways gently to the music “it's said that listening to calming music helps during this time”

“Someone has been busy reading I see” you tease.

“Well I just want to be there for you guys” he shrugs nonchalantly.

“Aww where did this softy come from? What did you do to my terrifying ruthless mobster husband?” you joke laughing.

“Haha very funny” he scoffs when you finally notice the lyrics of the song.

“Is this our wedding song?” you ask with a knowing smile.

“Yep”

I know you haven't made your mind up yet But I would never do you wrong I've known it from the moment that we met No doubt in my mind where you belong

“Did I ever tell you how bloody gorgeous you looked that day? Just like an angel from the heavens”

“Oh shut up!” you blushed, hitting his chest playfully.

“What? I’m serious” he laughs “couldn’t take my eyes off you”

“Well you didn’t look bad either” you snicker resting your head on his chest “that was such a long time ago isn’t it?”

“Hmm” he hums

“If anybody had told me that we will end up like this I would have never believed it at all” you chuckle at the memories of the numerous heated arguments you had with each other. But now you find solace in each other's arms.

“We have come a long way” he sighs as you feel him tense under you. Something was still bothering him, you knew it for sure.

“Wanna sit down?” you posed

“No it’s fine I’m not tired”

“Well I am pregnant with twins you know heh” he lets go of you and you go and sit on the floor near the cribs back resting against them. You pat on the empty spot beside you urging him to sit down too. He comes and sits down tilting his head on your shoulder as you run your fingers through his soft brown curls.

“I needed to say something to you” he finally lets out.

“Go on I’m listening”

“Don't mind my dad's words I don't care if they are girls or boys I just want you three to be healthy and safe” he says as you go to kiss his forehead lovingly “If you ask me personally I would be thrilled to have two mini Y/Ns” he add.

“Careful what you wish for Mr. Holland you don’t want thrice the trouble do you?” you chuckle.

“Gladly Mrs. Holland” he laughs before turning all gloomy again “do you think they would like me?”

“You are their father Tom they would always love you”

“But what if they don't? What if they hate me when they come to what kind of man their dad is and everything he has done in his life?” he rambles.

“Tom as the eldest son you didn't have a choice they would surely understand” you try your best to make him understand.

“I don't know Y/N, you know my dad wasn't that present for us. It was just us and mum. And when time came all of a sudden I was accompanying him killing people and beating them to death. I want to change that I want to be there for them, for you in every step of your life and most importantly I don’t want that life for them” he rants out.

“Honey, you wanting to do things right has already made you the best father in the world. They are gonna be so proud of their daddy” you cradle his face affectionately.

“You know what, I'm going to stop doing all the illegal trades” he blurts out.

“What do you mean?” you frown at him.

“Means no more shark loaning, extortion, gambling, contract killing everything, everything that's against the laws. I have already made a lot of enemies” he places a hand on your stomach “and I'm not gonna let them inherit this curse too. I need to cut off my ties with the underworld”

“But what about your dad I don't think he would agree with and your brothers then Harrison?”

“Dad will be angry I'm sure of that but Harrison, Sam and Harry would understand. I want to make sure that you all are safe and no more hiding skeletons in the closet” he gives you a determined look as you smile.

“Do whatever is necessary I'll always be there by your side cause I love you”

“I love you too” he says back as your lips meet softly into a chaste kiss.

I could make you happy, make your dreams come true Nothing that I wouldn't do Go to the ends of the Earth for you To make you feel my love To make you feel my love

****

You woke up the next morning hearing some commotion outside your room. You could hear Tom yelling at his men judging by the tone he was furious.

“What?!” he was shocked “how did this happen?! And what were you morons doing at that time?!”

“Sir-sir” the men stuttered in fear.

“I don't want to hear a fucking word from your mouths! Go and find him now or I'll kill you” he threatens “now get out of my sight!” meanwhile, you slip off the bed and put on your robe before stepping out of your room.

“Tom is everything alright” you ask with a worried expression.

“Oh I'm sorry darling did I wake you up? It’s nothing, go back to sleep there will be no more disturbance” he pretends to act like everything is ok.

“Tom, stop lying, what is it? What has happened?” you enquire.

“Nothing darling I promise” he tries his best to convince you but you weren’t buying any of it.

“You're not gonna tell me? fine! I'll go and find out myself” you glower at him.

“Y/N no wait you” he stops you, catching hold of your hand.

“Then tell me what it is?” you demand with a serious look on your face.

“Ethan escaped”

..................................................................................

Taglist in bio.

#tom holland #tom holland imagines #tom holland smut #tom holland fluff #tom holland x reader #tom holland x you #tom holland x y/n #mob! tom holland #mob! tom

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hobidreams · 3 years

Text

may 1869.

just this once, you let yourself be a little braver.

pairing: joseon king!yoongi x reader genre: smut, angst, fluff? words: 1.4k contains: someone new, something new.

moonlit throne index. this is drabble 20. start from the beginning?

A balmy wind drifts through the open window of your bedchamber, making ripples upon the freshly made spread. You stand in sunlight before the mirror, tracing the faint remnant of the bruise on your collarbone, left by the king’s hungry mouth too many nights before, and wish absently that the mark will stay for at least a few hours more.

As the days grow longer, his visits have become far less frequent, though the minutes he spends indulging in your heat seem to extend ever so slightly in turn. The explanation that leaves your heart intact is that he is occupied by overseeing the administration and results of the national civil exam, the gwageo that took place a few days ago and will bring a new group of eager scholars into the palace. You try very hard not to think about the possibility of his finding his way to another woman’s bed, even though he is well within his rights to. Even though it is expected of a king to have handfuls of consorts in his court. He has, thankfully, spared you of such truths, like he continues to spare you of any details about his life. Theoretically, that makes it easier to not get so attached. Theoretically.

With an exhale, you re-adjust the collar of your blouse to hide the mark and put on your hat before stepping out into the sun, holding a book that you intend to return to the king’s library.

As you walk towards the building, you soon realize there’s a man you’ve never seen before in green scholar’s robes in front of the shuttered doors, pacing back and forth as the dark samo on his head bobs from the effort. What’s he doing? While people may pass by here, they rarely linger.

When the man spots you, his gaze seems to brighten. “Excuse me, uinyeo-nim!”

You come to a stop before him, taking in the wane of his eyes that are like friendly crescents. “Good morning. How may I help you, Scholar…?”

“Park.” He smiles. “I’m one of the newly admitted scholars.”

“Scholar Park. Congratulations on passing the exam.” You return his smile with a small one of your own though you remain on your guard, no matter how kind he seems. Most of the current scholars treat you with disdain (though they at least attempt to veil it on the king’s account, you are certain), as you are a woman and thus beneath them, no matter if the texts you’ve read could rival theirs. This Park must be brilliant though, if he passed the rigorous exam at such a young age.

“Thank you. I’m excited to begin my work! But…” He bites his lip. “The head scholar asked me to obtain a copy of Bang Si-Hyuk’s latest text, and the royal library said that only the king has a copy…” His expressive face falls and you, with a twinge of endearment, think he might be an awful liar if he ever tried. “Would you happen to know how I might borrow from the private library? Should I request an audience with the king? Are there official forms to follow? I really don’t wish to misstep.”

You stare at him quietly, contemplating whether or not you should reveal that you have such access.

He nervously seems to take your lack of answer as confusion. “Yes, I am aware that I should have asked my fellow scholars but they are all so much older than me and I’m afraid that they will take me less seriously than they already do if I cannot complete such a simple task on my own... But no one else has walked by here and I do not want to go back empty-handed and…” He trails off, giving you a look of absolute desperation that warms your heart, despite your reservations.

“Scholar Park. I can retrieve the book for you, if you promise to return it within a few days.” The king wouldn’t notice that it’s missing anyhow, not with how busy he’s been. That, and you get the feeling that the older scholars have been playing a bit of an initiation joke on this poor boy.

“Really? You will? Thank you, uinyeo-nim!” He breaks into a huge grin. “Oh, but uinyeo-nim, how do you have access to the king’s libra…”

You can practically see the moment it clicks in his mind that you are that physician, the one who’s name is irrevocably tangled up with the king’s.

It seems palace gossip is not exempt even from those who have only entered the grounds the day before. You can literally feel the turmoil going on within him as he tries to figure out how to address you, whether or not he should give you the respect of the king’s consort even though you are technically not one in the slightest. Just a lowborn, a hole, even a witch doctor that has bewitched jeonha, as those less polite than this boy have put it when they thought you were out of earshot.

“Hm?” You prompt like a masochist, wanting to see what he says. Wanting to see if it’ll hurt you some more, or if you’ve finally gone blissfully numb.

“N-Nothing, uinyeo-nim.”

You were right. He’s an awful liar.

But you get the book for him anyway, and see him off with promises to meet you back here two days later for the return. Your reality is none of his fault, after all.

That night, the king drops by with little decorum. Opens the door to your chambers and strips off his robes, like he always does. Though this time as he kneads your bare chest in his calloused fingers, pinching the peaked nipples so hard you whimper, you are filled with a need for some scrap of certainty. You want to wipe that coolness from his eyes for even one second, to stoke some intimate fire from him that says he still remembers how you used to be together. How it used to be easier than this. Closer, even though now you know how thick his cock feels as he robs you of air.

“You—ah—you’ve been busy, jeonha?” It’s been getting marginally easier to talk to him like this in the moonlight, his hands making a mess of you. “It’s been quite some time since you’ve come.”

“What, are you that needy for a fuck?” He smirks, but it’s a look more dark and dangerous than playful as he reaches down and finds you soaked. You think you feel the ghost of that word lingering around his question, but it is a small blessing that has not said it aloud since that night in April.

Your face flushes hot. “I-I was just wondering…” You shouldn’t mention it. You really should hold your tongue, but you’re sick of being trapped in your own mind, going in circles with your own insecurity. Just this once. Just this once you want to let yourself ask— “I thought… That perhaps you had taken another conso—oh!” You’re cut off by an abrupt inhale as he sinks two nimble fingers into your cunt. One smooth stroke takes him so deep, only for him to pull out to use the translucent wetness he’s gathered as lubricant along his shaft.

“You think I have time for other women?” He snaps. His stare is intense, but you can’t see a single lie in their depths. “Never have.”

Then he takes you so roughly, you think the bed might break from all the rattling. You have to blink away white spots in your vision when you come and he doesn’t say much more to you for the rest of the night, but you’re smiling almost deliriously all the way through with your nails scratching faint red down his back, the bracelet he gave you dragging over his skin from its home on your wrist. Never, your mind echoes, again and again.

Against all the odds. Against anything you would have expected. Even if he keeps you at arm’s length to the thoughts in his heart, it’s still the chance three-step skip of a grey stone across a rippling pond.

You’re the only one.

a/n: wow. drabble 20. it’s taken us half a year to get here & it honestly feels like a dream that i’ve made it this far. yet there is still so much on the line. so much further to travel together. thank you, if you’ve been here since the beginning. thank you, if you’re just picking up the series 💜 please do come let me know your thoughts on the series as we slide into the present time, with all the tension of the past lingering too closely by. i truly couldn’t have gotten here without all your support ♡

#ficswithluv #bts smut #yoongi smut #yoongi x reader #min yoongi #historical au #moonlit throne #rain writes #how are we feeling about the new scholar? ✨

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illumilu · 3 years

Text

there’s only one bed” - illumi zoldyck x reader

a/n: a very stereotypical cliche for fanfics, but, yk what? cringe makes the world go round. so here, have my drabbling of what would happen if you were to spend an unwanted night in the same hotel bed as the adultrio. i feel like i may have made this way too long again, but who cares?? this time it’s with illumi! aka loml ...

summary: after a lengthy car trip, you arrive at the hotel with illumi, but to your horror (wink wink), there’s only one bed. including: you dreaming abt him when he’s literally right in front of you (embarrassing). this is part two of a three-part series, with the adultrio. hisoka is already written and chrollo will be coming soon!

warnings: no particular trigger warnings, lowercase intended, a lot of fluff! and cuddling! only on your part though, since illumi is basically awkwardness personified... no nsfw <3

illumi zoldyck:

- the trip to the hotel had taken 6 hours. 6 hours in which you had fallen asleep multiple times, cramped your legs, somehow made every sleeping position dangerously uncomfortable, cracked your neck and twisted your back, possibly to the point of no return.

- for mr zoldyck, or rather, “illumi”, as he had instructed you to call him, the trip was no problem. his upbringing, which consisted of mainly torture, included staying awake for as long as a fortnight at a time. 6 hours may as well have been a few minutes.

- “the silent son of the zoldycks” was his reputational nickname, or, rather, “lifeless koi fish”, as your friend, hisoka, enjoyed calling him. either way, illumi was not going to let a car ride tire him.

- when you had first met him, he had scared you. a lot. the entire “trained dangerous traumatised assassin” storyline was one that felt like a threat. you were undoubtedly taking a risk by working with him, but it was one you were willing to; it may have been twisted, but murder was your forte, and you were searching for a partner.

- over time, you had grown to be less intimidated by him.

- you were now colleagues with him, working on a new assassination.

- shockingly, planning murder took time, and who better to plan it with than the assassin himself? you had spent the past day on a “business trip”, paid for by illumi’s grandfather, where you sized up the area and familiarised yourself with yorknew.

- all for the big night.

- tonight was the day before the murder of the ten dons.

- illumi and kalluto would carry out the murder, while you made sure everything went smoothly, via a small mic attached to his clothes. the entire operation was based on trust, and would therefore be executed like clockwork.

- you had taken the necessary mental images and kept the targets in mind; all that was left was a night at a pre-booked hotel and then it would be go-time.

- you had assumed that the hotel would be high-class, with doormen, perhaps some marble flooring and pillars - it was the zoldycks who were paying, after all, and you knew they had money to spare.

- “we’re here.” illumi stated blankly, face reflecting in the window. admittedly, he did look a little bit like a koi fish.

- you nudged past him to look out of the window, leaning over to get a good view.

- oh.

- it seemed you had made quite the overestimation. it was a simple, plain building with a few stories. no doormen or extravagance could be sighted.

- you supposed keeping a low profile was important, but the depressing accommodation was somehow making you wearier.

- the two of you didn’t exchange any conversation on the way up to your room, but you were used to that.

- you and illumi had met around 5 months ago, and most of it had been comfortable silence. you hadn’t expected it to be like that - in all honesty, you had expected him to kill you - but illumi seemed... calm around you.

- it was probably because you shared such an odd passion with him; the logistics of murder. you assumed it gave him a chance to loosen his harsh demeanour and enjoy himself. the both of you had worked on multiple murders together, focusing on theory and planning, but this was a huge assassination. nevertheless, you knew he could pull it off; illumi was smart, you had to give him that.

- finally, you arrived at your hotel room, sighing from the lengthy stairway winding up to your unnecessarily high room. you assumed it was for safety purposes, but for god’s sake; why did safety have to be so enervating?

- illumi pushed the door open, and you walked in with him. finally, you could catch some rest.

- except, you couldn’t.

- a singular bed placed in the middle of the room.

- “why.” you thought to yourself tiredly.

- you stood there silently, waiting for him to say something.

- then, you remembered that he was illumi. he obviously wouldn’t see anything wrong with the situation.

- the bastard.

- it didn’t help that he gave you no visible reaction when you stared at him with your face scrunched up expectantly, as if to ask what his plan was.

- “is there a problem, y/n?” illumi asked, his tone flat as usual.

- you took a deep, worn out breath, clearing your throat.

- after a bit, you shook your head. this was strictly professional. illumi wouldn’t do anything, because he was illumi. nothing would happen.this was an important night, where rest and a clear mind were essential. blame it on the fatigue, and nothing else. you were just exhausted. there was nothing else to it. nothing.

- “no. i’m just a little tired.” you dismissed.

- a silence skimmed past.

- “my grandfather... he often tends to be absentminded. occasionally, he forgets to do certain things, or plan them correctly, i suppose. you could say this is a prime example of such.”

- “zeno forgot another goddamn bed, hm?” you laughed nervously.

- illumi stared at you once again, blinking a few times, in a methodical manner, face neutral and robotic. you smiled awkwardly and remembered that he was not one to laugh at jokes. or anything, for that matter.

- you wondered if he laughed at bloodshed. or maybe hisoka.

- “i’m going to... go to set up my stuff now.”

- turning your back to illumi, you winced at the uncomfortable air. even after all your time with him, you never learnt to stop trying to lighten the mood. the mood was literally just always unnatural, in some way. that was another one of illumi’s specialties.

- after some time, in which you had finalized tomorrow's plan and each changed into comfortable clothes, you watched illumi tie his hair up from across the room.

- his hair had always fascinated you.

- you had always wanted to touch it. honestly, even when you had first met him, apart from his magnetic eyes, you had been drawn to his hair. you imagined it felt like silk sheets, caressing over one’s hands as smoothly as honey. you were glad he grew it out; in fact, upon seeing his teenage photos, you had laughed so hard you ended up getting a nosebleed from hitting your face. illumi had been left in confusion for a while.

- you realized how random you sounded. why were you reminiscing so much?

- shaking yourself back to your senses, you admired as he artfully twisted his hair into a loose bun, strands of hair cupping his elegant, pale face.

- what a beautiful koi fish.

- most people couldn’t compute that illumi had true, human feelings. after all, it would be hard to believe a man like him felt anything. but, of course, he did, unhealthily so. he channeled all his trauma and hurt into his villainy, and received happiness from his villainy, anger from his villainy and occasionally fear from his villainy. however, there was one emotion he could never grasp. he hated himself for it, but soon realised he could manipulate his hatred into villainy, too.

- illumi was a man who could manipulate anyone or anything he wished.

- except himself.

- internally, he had always felt at a loss whenever he confronted his emotions. but, after he had met you, something had changed. as he caught you staring at his hair through the hotel mirror, he couldn’t help but feel something small stir inside of his stomach. not evil, not happiness, not hatred, not anger. perhaps, friendship?

- this tinge of new emotion inside of him initially made him feel uneasy, but that worry morphed into giddiness, a childish high buzzing somewhere in his core.

- eventually, he stood up to face you and suggested going to sleep. you checked the time on the wall clock. 8 in the evening. well, illumi had always been particular. you agreed that rest was essential for tomorrow.

- you hesitantly took the left side, and, upon seeing your choice, illumi followed to lie on the right.

- after a few minutes, you looked back at him, noticing illumi fell asleep abnormally quickly. you furrowed your brow quizzically at the rock-like manner he was in. frankly, he looked like a plank when he slept. you almost laughed, but held it in for his sake.

- he had a very specific sleep schedule, as did the other zoldycks. he could go to sleep immediately at his own command, and stayed perfectly still as he did so. he woke up at 5 in the morning every single day, without fail, almost like he had some sort of alarm clock planted in his body.

- looking at him lying there like a block, you smiled softly. illumi was quite the conundrum to you. you often speculated whether he ever got what he deserved; love, affection, anything really. you knew about his past from when he had told you nonchalantly, within a few weeks of your acquaintance. you always hoped he’d find someone to love him, but doubted whether people would bother looking beyond his bleak surface, and into his excellent mind. lost in thought, you found yourself getting drowsier. you also fell asleep generally quickly, limbs aching from the stupid car ride.

- the night passed.

- illumi was the first to wake up at 5am, stoic and in the same place he had fallen asleep in. no surprise there.

- but you.

- that was the first thing he saw when his eyes opened.

- he did not expect you to be lying on him lazily, snuggling into his body, arm and leg comfortably wrapped around his side. you were breathing lightly, face burrowing onto the ridge of his chest.

- i suppose you didn’t expect to be there either, which he realized, but the point still remained.

- why were on you his chest.

- “y/n.”

- no answer.

- illumi could have pushed you away; in fact, he could have blown you 983 metres away (his personal record).

- but he didn’t.

- it wasn’t the thought of disturbing your comfort that stopped illumi from hurling you into oblivion. it wasn’t the fact that he explicitly enjoyed it, either. he remembered that the mission was today; if he were to wake you, and you hadn’t slept enough, you wouldn’t be at your upmost performance.

- the murder of the ten dons was his priority, right? yes. it was. there was no doubt about it. that was the only and final reason he wouldn’t wake you. end of discussion.

- so, illumi stayed there, waiting for you to wake up and get off of him. 30 minutes passed, and he watched you for every single one.

- hard as it was to admit, watching you rise and fall in sync with his chest made the spark of emotion in his core grow fervently. what had that foreign feeling been? yesterday, he had settled at friendship, but now he wasn’t so sure.

- you looked so peaceful while you slept. less confusing. he remembered the time you had accidentally complimented his hair when the two of you had first met. he had found that amusing. he remembered the time you got a nosebleed from hitting your face too hard - it was after laughing at his teenage pictures, which perplexed him greatly. he remembered the times you two had sat together, working and theorizing on missions, accidentally meeting eyes or brushing hands. one time, you had dipped one of his pins in ink and scratched his name on some paper “for fun”. you had handed it to him and, for some unknown reason, the scrap was still tucked safely in his wallet. your unrivaled intelligence, your idiotic sense of humour, your smile, your lack of common sense, your twinkling eyes that so ironically contrasted his, everything. everything crossed his mind while he lay there.

- illumi found it strange how people remembered the oddest things at the oddest times.

- why did he think of that now, as you were sleeping? even worse, on the day of a meticulously planned assassination. why couldn’t he manipulate his emotions to stop fluctuating around you so much?

- it all frustrated him.

- why had he let you call him by “illumi” so quickly? mr zoldyck would have been fine. and why had he been so lenient with your antics? no one else got to touch his pins. why did he feel like keeping you on his chest forever, and keeping you safe? most importantly, why was he thinking about you so much?

- his contemplation came to a halt when he heard you stir a little in your sleep.

- finally, you’d wake up and he could forget about this entire problem.

- he watched you, expecting you to get up soon.

- you began shuffling around, brushing against his chest, and soon your eyes fluttered open, hazy and glazed over. it almost seemed like you were still in a dream, in some sort of half-sleep.

- “huh?” you whispered quietly, still lying on illumi. you looked up lazily, meeting eyes with him.

- “oh... i get it...” you hummed quietly, falling back onto his chest.

- he furrowed his brows.

- “why are you here?” you hugged him from the side, softly laughing at your ridiculous dream. he tensed up at you embracing him, but soon relaxed after realizing what was going on.

- illumi looked at you, one eyebrow raised. did you... think you were dreaming?

- to be honest, he found it kind of entertaining, the way you were fawning over him. if he let you stay there, he could figure out a lot of things about his newly found emotion. it could be worth it. just not today.

- illumi came back to his senses fairly quickly; you were obviously awake now, so why couldn’t you get off of him already?

- “y/n.”

- “mmm? what? so serious all the damn timeee, illum-”

- “you aren’t dreaming. get off.”

- SHIT

- SHIT SHIT SHIT SHIT SHIT

- you jolted off him immediately, staring down at illumi zoldyck.

- the real illumi zoldyck.

- oh my god what. what. what. what.

- every nerve in your body began to panic, and, in the stress of trying to find the correct words to say, you just ended up making some sort of incomputable “aaaahhh” noise and jumping off the bed.

- illumi had finally gotten up and was now staring concernedly at you.

- an awkward pause.

- “let me just start by saying i did not-”

- “y/n. we have more pressing priorities for today. i don’t care.”

- illumi zoldyck had lied. even to himself. he did care. and so what if he ignored it until it festered so intensely inside of him he couldn’t do anything but tell you? he cared about you. and he knew it.

- “ok. you’re right. you’re right! illumi. one question. was i like that the whole night?”

- “i don’t know. i woke up at 5 and you were there.”

- you looked at the clock. it was 6am? what had he been doing for an hour? you opened your mouth to ask but closed it soon after. you recalled your thoughts about illumi growing up void of affection, or love, or appreciation.

- some questions were best left unanswered.

- “how long was i... mumbling like that?”

- “a few minutes.”

- you gulped. there were a few things you had to come to terms with. shutting your eyes firmly, you apologised profusely, annoyed at yourself.

- “y/n. i don’t care.” he lied once again.

- “you’re right!” you rambled - “the ten dons are today! it doesn’t matter what i said... none of it matters, we can both just forget it!”

- you sounded like you were trying to convince yourself more than anyone.

- “so all we need to do is go over the plan one last time, get kalluto, and then we’ll carry it out, and soon enou-”

- “stop it. you’re wasting time. just go and get ready.”

- you sighed and smiled weakly. on the inside, you were sure your soul had died a little.

- while you left to change, overcome by embarrassment, illumi lingered by the bed for a few seconds. he tried to push down whatever he was currently feeling, but it was no use. the feeling in his core had risen up to his throat, a burst of something waiting to leave his lips.

- for the first time in a while, illumi zoldyck smiled. not at murder, or at power, or fulfillment, or achievement, or even villainy.

- illumi zoldyck had smiled at the thought of you.

- let’s just say illumi had trouble focusing on his mission.

i am honestly so fucking sorry you had to read that whole thing. the way i am literally in love with illumi zoldyck and ended up writing 2857 words bye bye bye i’m so sorry!!! PLZ what?? anyways,, i feel like i heavily underwrote hisoka now, since i did such a prologue thing for this! honestly i feel like this one came out a little boring, im sorry again AAAAA just agh; chrollo should b coming when i have time but i have exams rn so idkkkk hh

either way, likes or reblogs or whatever are super appreciated, but don’t feel forced to or anything! either way, i feel like no one’s gonna see this with my reach LMAOO but anyways thank you for reading, if you made it here! feedback and tips for writing on here are always helpful :)

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wlntrsldler · 4 years

Note

hey!! love ur writings so far, could i request you belong with me with fred weasley? thanks! <3

PROMPT: based on you belong with me by taylor swift (an installment of my taylor swift x harry potter series. to read more about it, click here) Fred realizes that he loves Y/N after seeing her so close to George.

WC: 2.6K+ words

HARRY POTTER MASTERLIST

you belong with me (f.w one shot)

“Sorry,” you mumbled, adjusting the glasses on the bridge of your nose as you collided into someone’s chest. You couldn’t take your eyes away from the ginger boy to the right of you, flashing his toothy grin at Angelina. She laughed at his joke, brushing against his arm in a flirty manner. Your heart fell apart at the sight, almost making you want to crush your glasses under your foot to prevent you from seeing anymore. But it was too late— the image was already burned into your mind.

“Y/N,” the voice called, waving a hand in front of your face.

Suddenly, you were pulled back to reality. You looked up at the person you ran into, flustered that you completely forgot their existence. George. You visibly relaxed, shoulders rolling back into a less tense state, “Sorry, Georgie.”

“Fred, again?” he asked, a sympathetic look on his face as he watched you stare at his older twin longingly. George took some of the books you had pressed against your chest, helping you carry the weight of the stress that occupied your mind. “Will you ever tell him how you feel?”

At his words, your eyes widened. You shook your head furiously, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear, as you bounced up and down on your toes. You gulped, looking back at the older twin, who left his earlier spot and was no nowhere to be found. You frowned, “Never, Georgie. He’s my best friend and I wouldn’t want to mess that up.”

He cocked an eyebrow, faking a look of hurt on his face, “I’ll pretend you didn’t just call him your best friend when I’m right here-”

“You know what I mean.”

“As I was saying,” he shot you an annoyed look for interrupting him before he continued. “He may be my brother and your best friend but you’re my best friend too, Y/N. I’d rather not watch my best friend get hurt over and over again.”

You sighed, lifting your glasses up to rub your tired eyes, “It’s not worth it. I’d rather stay like this and keep Fred in my life than mess up what we have because of my stupid feelings.”

George rolled his eyes, wanting to somehow find a way to convince you to tell his twin how you felt, but when he saw your face drop at the sight of Fred and Angelina in a lip lock, he decided to move on from the topic. He wrapped a protective arm around you, leading you to the other side of the castle. “Come on, Y/N. There’s nothing for you to see here.”

The day continued to drag on with everyone whispering about their excitement for the Yule Ball. You tried your hardest not to roll your eyes at the constant gushing from the girls you passed about their dates. George chuckled beside you, copying the scowl on your face, and gagging as Hermione and Ginny talked about their dates.

You looked up at him as you sat down next to each other, “Who are you going with, Georgie?”

“No idea,” he replied, “Wanna be my date?”

“George Weasley, do not take me as your date because you pity me.”

“Hey, I’m sure I’d have more fun with you than with any other girl I may ask,” he argued, nudging you with his elbow. “What do you say, Y/N? Let’s show my dumber and less attractive twin what he’s missing out on.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at his words, unable to stop the smile that appeared on your face. “Can’t wait.”

George saw you like a sister— almost like Ginny. He wanted to protect you and make sure you were alright, that nobody could hurt you. It just happened to be that it was his daft and dear twin brother to be the perpetrator. He saw this one coming, really. Growing up together, he saw the way you and Fred always had a special connection. It wasn’t until you began to understand your feelings did you stray closer to him than Fred. He took pride in being the more sensitive brother, more observant than the older one, so he always made sure he was there to pick up the pieces after everything happened, like a brother would.

George caught onto your feelings for his brother a few years ago when he saw you staring at him a bit too long for it to be friendly. For years he watched you pine after Fred, too afraid to face rejection or to lose your friendship to say anything. If it were up to George, he would lock you and Fred in a room together until you confessed to him how you felt or until Fred got his head out of his arse long enough to figure it out himself. But he knew it wasn’t up to him so he had to go through the pain of watching his two bestest friends in the world run around in circles. It’s pathetic if you asked him.

You weren’t exactly discrete with your feelings. You were sure all of the Weasleys— Charlie included, who hasn’t seen you since you were 13 when he took a break from tending for his beloved dragons, choosing to visit the Burrow for the summer— caught on to your affections, apart from Fred. Molly would often assign the both of you to do chores together. Even Harry, the most oblivious person you’ve ever met in your life, knew of your feelings for Fred.

You’ve come to the conclusion that nobody could be that clueless. Fred was simply ignoring your feelings so he didn’t have to be the one to break your heart.

The night of the Yule Ball was equally magical as it was confusing for Fred. You descended from the steps, looking gorgeous as ever, snatching the breath of everyone who awaited at the bottom. George beamed proudly at you, eyes twinkling as he watched you strut down with confidence. Fred’s back was turned, not seeing your entrance as he was too busy chatting with his date. You didn’t expect any less from him— he was a gentleman.

It wasn’t until Ron spoke up did Fred finally turn around to look at you. Ron’s eyes bulged out of their sockets, “Blimey, Y/N, when did you get so fit?”

When Fred turned around, his jaw fell to the floor. It was like everyone else disappeared. Angelina’s chatter was reduced to white noise. The sound of the music from inside the Yule Ball was faint. All he could focus on was you.

Ron has a point, Fred thought.

You looked absolutely gorgeous. The color of your dress complimented your skin so well. You looked so mature, no longer the shy girl that he and his brother took a liking to. You were Y/N. And Godric, you were absolutely breathtaking.

Hermione slapped Ron’s arm, scowling, “Ronald, that’s not very nice.”

You chuckled, eyes darting over to Fred for a split second. You blushed when you saw him staring back, mouth agape, like he couldn’t believe it was you. You immediately moved your eyes to the younger twin, taking his outstretched hand before he leaned closer to your ear. George’s breath tickled your skin, making you shiver. He whispered, “Looks like you got his attention.”

You were flustered, hiding your face in the crook of George’s neck to hide the redness of your cheeks. He laughed at you, pulling away to guide you to the entrance. Because your back was turned, you didn’t see the confused look on Fred’s face.

Since when did that start? He made a mental note to ask his twin about it later, an unfamiliar feeling overcoming his senses as he watched George’s hand find the small of your back.

“Fred?”

He snapped out of his thoughts, now aware of the beautiful girl by his side. He turned his head to look at Angelina, an apologetic look on his face. He sent her a small smile, “Sorry, love.”

“No worries, you ready to go in?” She asked, looping her arm through his. He nodded, clearing his throat, trying to shake the image of you and his brother out of his head. As they walked in, Angelina spoke again, “I didn’t know Y/N and George were a thing.”

“They’re not,” Fred blurted out, blinking rapidly as Angelina shot him a quizzical look. He was sure his cheeks were now pink, a sure sign of his embarrassment, “Uh, I mean- I don’t think they are, at least. I’m sure they would’ve told me. He’s my brother and she’s my best friend, after all.”

You would’ve told him, right?

Fred would be lying if he said there wasn’t a weight lifted off his chest when George stumbled into their shared room at 11 PM. He couldn’t bring himself to spend the night with Angelina because the thought of you and George plagued his mind. He shivered at the thought that George would take you back to your room, and Merlin knows what else might ensue. Fred didn’t want to think about it.

He laid in the dark, hoping that the younger twin would make his way inside at a reasonable hour. He still had on his dress shirt but his tie was undone as he laid against the frame of his bed, arms folded behind his neck. His shoes were in two different places in the room. He quite literally shook them off his feet, frustrated that he didn’t know what he was feeling. Fred perked up at any sound that might indicate George’s arrival, deflating when the sound of footsteps walked past his door.

Finally, George walked in, shoes in hand but the rest of his ensemble still neatly on his body. Well, that’s a good sign, Fred thought. George flicked the light switch on, making Fred hiss at the sudden light. The younger twin threw his shoes at Fred, thinking there was an intruder in their room, half-expecting Fred to still be out with Angelina.

Fred squinted his eyes, “What was that for?”

“Oops, sorry,” George chuckled, undoing his tie and plopping onto his bed. “Didn’t expect you to be back so early.”

“I could say the same about you.”

“Why is that my dear brother?”

Fred felt bile rise up his throat, hating the words that rolled off his tongue, “You and Y/N looked rather cozy.”

George cocked an eyebrow, leaning forward to interrogate his brother, “Is that a problem?”

Fred was too worked up to detect the teasing tone in his twin’s voice. He cleared his throat, choosing to look everywhere else but at George’s smirking face. “Yes it is a problem. I’d like a heads-up next time my brother and my best friend start shagging.”

He snorted, “We’re not shagging, you git. We’re just best friends.”

“I thought I was her best friend too and she didn’t go to the ball with me. She went with you, so I find it hard to believe that you’re just friends.”

“Believe what you want, dearest brother,” George hummed, getting up to get ready for bed. “But did you even ask her to the Ball? I’m sure she would’ve said yes if you did.”

“Well, I’m dating Angelina so that wouldn’t work.”

“Precisely,” George rolled his eyes, throwing his balled up tie in his brother’s direction. “That’s why she went with me. You’re dating Angelina, so what’s got your knickers in a twist?”

“I do not have my knickers in a twist.” Fred huffed, getting up to do the same. Silence fell upon the two boys. George was enjoying their confrontation a bit too much, while Fred was now rethinking everything he thought he knew. Was it possible that he was jealous?

No, that couldn’t possibly be it.

Can it?

You’ve preoccupied Fred’s mind since the Yule Ball. Although, he hasn’t brought up his suspicions— and as much as he won’t admit it, his jealousy— over your relationship with his twin, he hasn’t been able to stop thinking about it. It’s gotten in the way of a lot of things.

For starters, Angelina grew tired of Fred’s absentmindedness, forgetting dates and always daydreaming or staring off to where you and George sat when he was with her. She broke it off with him, and truth be told, he was relieved.

He skipped over to where you and George sat, prying the both of you away from each other as he squeezed himself between you. He ignored George’s protests and turned his back on his brother, facing you with a comedic smile on his face, “Hello, Y/N.”

You raised your eyebrows, pushing your glasses up the bridge of your nose, “Yes, Freddie?”

“Just wanted to see how my best girl is doing.”

You shook your head playfully, trying to hide the obvious blush on your cheeks. George giggled from behind Fred, getting up to leave the two of you alone. George knew his plan would work.

You pushed Fred off a bit, his body heat making you more flustered than ever, “Put a cork in it, Weasley. I’m sure your girlfriend would not appreciate you saying that to me.”

“My huh?” he cocked his head to one side, a twinkle of mischief in his eye as he explained his situation to you. “I don’t have one of those anymore, my dearest.”

You dropped your quill, shocked, as you turned to the red head beside you. You imagined he would be much sadder, given the fact that he no longer had a girlfriend, but the grin on his face told another story. It made you believe that the boy in front of you was pulling your leg. You rolled your eyes, crossing your arms over your chest, “Not funny, Weasley. Don’t joke about that.”

“Not joking,” he mused, shrugging it off like it was no big deal. “We broke up like two weeks ago.”

“And you’re not in shambles right now because..?”

“Because it was bound to end, anyway.”

A puzzled look took over your features as you gave Fred your undivided attention. His eyes were studying your face, a small smile tugging on his perfect lips. He leaned over and tucked a piece of hair behind your ear, keeping his hand there longer than necessary, cupping your jaw. You managed to speak despite the shocks that shot through your body— albeit it was more of a squeak, but you were proud of yourself for even uttering something out, “Why is that?”

“Someone…” he trailed off, brushing your skin with the pad of his thumb before blushing madly, like he just became aware of what he’s been doing. You suddenly missed his touch when he pulled his hand away. Fred cleared his throat, “Someone else caught my attention.”

You whispered, still half-dazed from his previous action, “Oh.”

“Y/N?” Fred mumbled, eyes glued to your lips.

“Mhm?”

He licked his lips, inching closer to you. His breath tickled your lips, making your heartbeat a million miles an hour. “Can I?”

“If you want,” you gulped, allowing yourself to melt under his touch.

“I’ve never wanted something more than this. You belong with me.”

“Shut up and kiss me, Weasley.”

He smirked before letting his lips touch yours. He pulled you closer to his body, almost forgetting that you were both in public. It’s not like he cared much over an audience anyway. He only pulled away from you when he felt his ear being twisted. Fred grimaced in pain, eyes screwed shut.

You giggled as you watched Professor McGonagall picking him up by the ear. She wore a fond look on her face that she tried to disguise with a scowl, “Mr. Weasley, I will not have you corrupt one of my best students.”

“Come on, Professor,” he groaned, sending you a cheeky wink, “With the way she was kissing me back, she was the one corrupting me.”

You flushed red, placing your face in your hands, “Weasley!”

Unfortunately, he got a week’s worth of detention. It was worth it because he got a girlfriend in return.

TAGS: @rexorangecouny

#harry potter #harry potter fanfic #harry potter imagine #frances x taylor swift x harry potter #fred weasley #fred weasley imagine #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley x yn #fred weasley fanfic #fred weasley one shot #frances writes #frances song fics

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byulsgrease · 3 years

Note

if you arent too busy, can you write a idol!hwasa x idol!reader, wherein they both have to practice with each other for a special stage. However on the first meeting they become starstruck and cant believe somethings are real, but soon warm up to each other?

i'm not terribly busy but this still took a while anyway oops - sorry this took so long anon! here you go :D

if anyone has requests for the other members hmu cuz I've got 2 more hyejin reqs after this one (not that I'm complaining)

"who says we can't do something on our own?"

(hwasa x idol!reader, ~1.2k words)

cw: food + alcohol mention (y'all know how it is)

I named someone Minjeong - it's not Aespa's Winter, idk anything about 4th gen gg's - 민정 is my Korean name so it's just what came to mind

"Hey, wake up. You've gotta see this. GET UP," a voice piercing through the fog of your sleep.

What a rude awakening. Your shoulders being shaken vigorously by a pair of small hands meant they belonged to none other than Minjeong, your youngest group member. You rolled over to glare menacingly at her with one eye open, trying to pull your brain out of the slumber. All you could see was the bright light of her phone shining in your eyes - a video of some kind. But then you heard the audio:

"Have you seen the clip?" asked the interviewer.

"Yes, my members and many MooMoos made sure I saw it"— Moos? Oh, it's Hwasa. WAIT. Both your eyes flew open as you sat up and snatched Jeongie's phone out of her hand to stare at the video. Your mind immediately flashed back to the interview you did last week - they asked who you most wanted to collaborate with, if there were no limitations. Your ears started to heat up at the sheer thought of the flustered mess of an answer you gave - of course you said Hwasa. Both of you debuted relatively close to each other, within a year, but never interacted much over the years. Mamamoo as a group was a force to be reckoned with, but there was just something about Hwasa specifically. You mostly just admired her unique singing voice and undeniable stage presence, and her relentless drive to always be herself in an industry constantly trying to fit women into a box.

Finally snapping out of re-living that embarrassment, your attention turned back to the phone in your hand. The interviewer must've asked her to send a message in response to you, because you couldn't believe that she was waving and saying, "How haven't we gotten to know each other better over all these years? I'd love to work with you on something sometime," curtly dipping her head in a slight bow.

"SEE? You needed to see that," Minjeong rushed to say, full of energy. "And close your mouth, your jaw's on the floor," jokingly pointing.

You side-eyed her and shut your mouth. "Is this what Loco felt like when she called him during Hyena on the Keyboard?" you wondered aloud.

"At least she's not calling you while on camera," she commented, knowing full well that you'd probably embarrass yourself again if she did. "But hey, at least she noticed you! Can I have my phone back now?" It would be a dream come true to collaborate with her, but cross-company collabs... always a pain. that couldn't be helped. The fantasy abruptly ended with demands from your rumbling stomach. Done with your what-if's, you placed the phone back in your maknae's outstretched hand to get up and make breakfast.

~~~~

With award show season rolling around, the crazy scramble of rehearsing for special live stages without leaking sets and collabs began. Checking your email that morning showed a schedule to record the backing track for a special live stage, but that was it. With who? You texted your members a screenshot, but they all told you that block of time in their schedule was empty. A solo stage? The solo mini-album you released this cycle did relatively well, the title track got a music show win, but not a multi-week chart-topper by any means. Possibilities turning over in your mind, you stepped out from your place to head to the company, totally in the dark about what was in store.

The recording studio always smelled the same along with the couches, a comfort for all the insanely long nights and crack-of-dawn early mornings over the years. With a bit of time to kill, you plopped down on one and gingerly patted the worn cushions as some kind of symbolic thank-you for supporting you (literally).

A hesitant but loud knock sent your gaze directly to the door. Watching it slowly open, you leaned forward to see who it was. Needless to say, your jaw fell to the floor again as you clapped a hand over your gaping mouth, eyes widening. Like a soldier obeying a command, you immediately stood up as straight as possible and bowed profusely at Hwasa, sporting a very similar expression on her face (which you failed to notice, your mind running a million miles a minute).

After a series of frantic bows and miscellaneous utterances to each other, she spoke. "It's nice to finally meet you," she said with calm, surveying your frenzied state. "I guess we're granting that collab wish from your interview, huh?"

The red-hot embarrassment leapt to your face. "I...I definitely made a fool of myself answering that question. And our maknae showed me your interview clip too, which was cool, but never did I think it would actually happen," you stammered. I should probably stop talking.

"Well, here I am," she half-smiled coolly. "Let's get started, I'm really looking forward to finally work with you on this," a gleam in her eye and a hint of excitement in her voice.

The studio suddenly felt a lot smaller with her in it, despite there only being your managers, the producer, and the both of you - less people than you and your members alone. Both of you remained relatively quiet the whole time, rather unsure of what to say or talk about. You watched enough MMMTV to know that all the members on their own were shyer than together, and Hwasa knew the same was true for you. But the work basically took care of itself, seamlessly taking turns in the recording booth, witnessing each other's work style and process. The both of you knew your way in front of a mic, seasoned professionals by now. Upon wrapping up, you bowed politely to each other after a quick exchange of KaTalk info, a short and sweet goodbye.

That was... anticlimactic. I mean, it's finally happening - I can't believe it. But maybe I was too idealistic about maybe creating a meaningful relationship with her outside of work... What does she think of me?

~~~~

In the days leading up to the collab stage, you kept going back and forth on whether to reach out or not, despite now being in possession of her contact info. What would you even say? Thoughts of a witty one-liner or relatable meme came to mind, but maybe she'd assume the worst - that you were clout-chasing, or something. Anxieties abuzz, your phone vibrated in your pocket. The KaTalk notification sprawled across your screen. Speak of the devil, it's her.

"Hey, awards season has me stressed. I know you must pretty busy right now too, but I somehow get off early tomorrow if you wanna grab dinner after work?" You had to reread that one. Oh, what? She's inviting me?

Trying not to be weird about responding too quickly, you typed out, "Wow, yeah, that sounds great! ^^ wait, your company doesn't care about you going out to eat during award season?"

"nah, they stopped having that kind of control over us a while ago, we are the money-maker of the company, after all 😏"

"so I guess this means they don't check your phone either ㅋㅋㅋ"

"nope :)"

You proceeded to set a time and place to meet, someplace with meat.

In the process of feasting on an inordinate amount of gopchang imbued with a splash of beer, you learned a fair amount about each other. You talked career, professional aspirations, the weird habits of your members, and more. What surprised you most was the amount of things she already knew about you, having admitted to watching some of your behind-the-scenes content after seeing your interview clip.

"Ah... I'm sorry if I came across as distant during that first recording session," she confessed, pausing to sip her beer. "I honestly didn't know what to do with myself, I felt a little star-struck."

"Oh what?? I felt the exact same, so no worries - and sorry if I came off similarly distant," you rambled back. A bit of silence fell between you, acknowledging the mutual sentiment. You spoke up after a bit, "Thanks for inviting me out tonight, I didn't realize how much I needed this."

"Thank you for making the time, I had fun getting to know you better," she articulated with a smile. "Maybe it'll make the collab stage better," she added on jokingly. You responded with a nod and expression of mutual affirmation.

~~~~

After that, messaging each other became a regular occurrence, that gopchang outing having broken the ice. Honestly, you tried your best to talk about anything besides work, but the baseline of shared understanding connected you in a way that came more naturally than it did with your non idol friends.

You stood across the way from her at the sound check for the final stage, dressed in joggers and slides. Funny to think that you'd be recording this for real in a couple hours, making eyes with the blinking red light on the cameras surrounding you. It sucks that fans wouldn't get to experience the energy and atmosphere of the performance - Hyejin alone is one thing, but adding someone else into her stage presence? Unmatched. There's nothing quite like a live performance - and while you knew everyone in the industry dealt with the consequences of the pandemic, it certainly took a toll to perform and not feel the energy from fans. But realistically, nothing you could do about it. The sound check went over smooth like butter. The stage chemistry came flowing naturally between you both, even when bare-faced and dressed in just sweats.

And when the time came for the actual filming, you both absolutely killed it, an upbeat mash-up of TWIT and your title track. At the very end came a sliver of hesitation before throwing your arms around each other with a big smile for the ending fairy, proud of the work you accomplished together, and a mental fist-pump to yourself for making friends with one of the industry's finest.

Once again walking to a restaurant that served mostly meat to celebrate, you playfully proposed, "We... should do that again sometime." A little puff of air came out her nose in amusement.

"Yeah, we should. Too bad we're gonna have to wait a whole cycle before we can release anything else together again," she sighed longingly.

"Who says we can't do something on our own?"

#did not know how to end oops #mamamoo x reader #hwasa x reader #mamamoo hwasa #ahn hyejin #hwasa fanfic #hwasa imagines #hwasa #mamamoo fic #mamamoo imagines #mamamoo scenarios #girl group fanfic #girl group imagines #girl group scenarios #kpop #kpop fic #gg fic #gg fanfic #requested

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today-only-happens-once · 3 years

Text

out of focus

title: out of focus

word count: 3955

summary:

The actions of a Fire Nation admiral during a meeting causes some problems for Sokka. The words of that admiral causes some problems for Zuko. They try to take care of each other.

“What did the admiral mean,” Sokka blurts out without really thinking about it, “when he talked about insubordination?”

Zuko freezes, the rag half-out of the bowl and his other hand still bracing Sokka’s (not quite holding it… far too gentle to be holding it). “What—uh. I, uh.” Zuko stops. Takes a breath. Tries again. He still doesn’t look up at Sokka. “When I was younger, I spoke out at a meeting.”

Warnings: burns (description of), violence, threats of violence, discussion of canonical child abuse, characters curse but no curse words are written, character is non-permanently injured, yelling/arguing, trauma

A/N: me? writing a zukka AtLA fic and posting it an hour short of midnight? Apparently, it’s more likely that you’d think.

Read on AO3

Zuko has the patience of a saint, Sokka thinks to himself.

It’s an unusual thought, he realizes. A year ago, if you’d told Sokka that he’d come to think of the Banished Prince as ‘patient’, he’d probably have thrown his boomerang at you. A year ago, Zuko was one of the most short-tempered people he knew. A year ago, Zuko was the face of the enemy.

A lot changes in a year.

Sokka barely stifles a frustrated sigh. The attempt does not seem to go unnoticed by Zuko, who glances at him quickly before the corner of his mouth twitches with something like amusement. The meeting had been going on for hours, and Sokka can’t help but feel that very little progress on the treaty had been made. It wasn’t for lack of trying, Sokka knows, but war leaves messy problems in its wake. He knows that both the literal and metaphorical shrapnel left behind by a century of conflict can’t be swept away in a night or a week or a month.

It doesn’t make these meetings any easier to sit through.

“I want immediate release of all prisoners of war,” an Earth Kingdom ambassador demands.

“I second that,” Sokka hears his father--sitting across the table from him--add, a bit more calmly but no less firm. “I have men in those prisons that haven’t seen their family in a decade.”

“Of course,” Zuko replies at the same time a Fire Nation soldier snaps, “absolutely not.”

Zuko levels a hard look at him. “Admiral, people who were arrested as prisoners of war have no need to remain so after the war has ended.” He looks to Hakoda, then to the Earth Kingdom ambassador. “I’ll draft that mandate tonight and will ensure it’s circulation as soon as possible.”

“This is an outrage!” The slam of a fist against the table makes Sokka’s hand fly to the boomerang strapped to his hip instinctively. The admiral is on his feet.

“Admiral,” Zuko says, his voice steely as he rises from his own chair. The Fire Nation soldier cuts him off.

“Where is the justice for the Fire Nation families whose sons and daughters were slaughtered by those criminals?”

“Admiral--”

“I remember a time when you cared about Fire Nation soldiers! And it’s hard to believe you’ve forgotten, seeing as you ought to be reminded every time you look in the mirror--”

“Enough!” Zuko snaps. “You will watch your tongue or you will be escorted out. You approach insubordination.”

“You are a child,” the admiral sneers. “Though one that ought to know a thing or two about insubordination, given your father’s attempts to brand you with a permanent reminder of its consequences--”

“Warriors!”

“Then again, he always was twice the leader you will never be. Long live the Phoenix King!”

Sokka sees the warning signs—the slight shift of weight, the clench of the man’s fists—and leaps to his feet. “Zuko--!”

“Sokka!”

There’s a blinding light and scorching heat. Sokka feels something slam onto his shoulder and he dives instinctively for cover as the familiar roar of a fireball explodes in front of him. The flames are bright and lick around him, and Sokka throws a hand up to protect his face. He blinks the spots from his vision as he yanks his boomerang out of his belt.

Zuko is standing beside him, his stance ready and his hand outstretched, having evidently dispelled the fireball that had been launched at him. Sokka leaps back up to his feet and hurls the boomerang in his hands towards the Admiral, hitting his hand right as he moves to launch another attack and forcing it to go wide. A burst of flames slam against the wall to the left.

The room is in chaos.

Sokka barely hears the shouts of alarm and curses over the roar of dying flames. He sees his father, already on his feet, diving underneath a bolt of red fire. Across the room, the Earth Kingdom ambassador jerks their hand. There’s a rumble in the ground before it rises and anchors around the Admiral’s feet, holding him in place.

Sokka sees the admiral’s gaze meet his own and narrow. The Fire Nation soldier bares his teeth in a snarl, his fist shooting out. Before Sokka can blink, Zuko steps in front of him, dispelling the flames just as the door ricochets open. Two Kyoshi Warriors flood in and in a series of quick strikes, the admiral drops. Awake, but limp.

Sokka thinks idly that he’s grateful that Ty Lee taught them how to block chi.

“Your father should have killed you that day!” the admiral shouts as he’s dragged through the doors. “He showed mercy on your pathetic, worthless—” the door slamming shut cuts him off.

The silence that follows makes Sokka’s ears ring. He can still feel stale adrenaline coursing through him, his heartbeat pounding in his chest. For a moment, nobody moves. Zuko awkwardly clears his throat.

“Apologies for the, uh, disruption. It shouldn’t happen again.”

“It wasn’t your fault, Firelord Zuko,” Hakoda assures him, but there’s something odd in his father’s expression when he looks at Zuko that Sokka doesn’t understand.

Zuko says something in response, but Sokka doesn’t catch it. As the adrenaline bleeds out of him, his muscles relaxing, Sokka realizes that his fists are still clenched. Sokka forces them to relax, and hisses as it sends a jolt of hot pain through his left hand. When he looks down, he realizes that the skin on the top of part of his hand near his knuckles is a blistering, angry red.

Sokka’s hiss doesn’t go unnoticed. Zuko looks at him over his shoulder, his brows drawn together in confusion before his eyes fall to Sokka’s hand. Then, they go wide.

Zuko turns back around suddenly to address the room, his back straighter. “We will adjourn the meeting for the afternoon. We will reconvene tomorrow.”

“Firelord Zuko—” an ambassador from the Northern Water Tribe protests, but Hakoda interrupts him.

“I think we could all use a breather, Kovrik. Coming back tomorrow with a clear head is a good decision.”

“Yes… yes, I suppose that’s fair.”

Sokka is finding it increasingly difficult to follow the conversation. His hand hurts, and it’s taking every last drop of his willpower and pride to grit his teeth and swallow back the whimper that wants to push up his throat. It’s not until Zuko’s face is taking up his entire field of vision that Sokka realizes everyone but the two of them and his father have left the room.

“Let me see,” Zuko says quietly, then curses under his breath when he looks at Sokka’s hand. “Where’s Katara when you need her.”

“Do you have anything that can help?” Hakoda asks from behind Zuko.

“Yes, sir,” Zuko replies, his brows still furrowed in concentration. “Though it’s not quite as immediate as waterbending healers. But it should help with the pain, and prevent infection. Follow me.”

Sokka feels Zuko take his elbow and guide him out the door of the meeting room and down the hall. He’s distantly aware that Zuko is moving quickly—not quite a jog, but only barely shy of it—through a network of corridors. His hand feels like it might still be on fire, and Sokka looks down at it again just to be sure that’s not actually the case. He tells himself that he’s endured injuries more painful than this. The broken leg was worse, he thinks, though it does little to actually help with the burning sensation in his hand.

He’s vaguely aware that Zuko says something quickly to two guards that are flanking a set of doors before he rushes in. Sokka looks up and realizes it’s Zuko’s chambers. He’d only been in here a couple of times before, largely while Zuko was still recovering from Azula’s lightning strike in the weeks following the end of the war.

“Wait here,” Zuko tells him before disappearing through another door on the far side of the room.

“You had good reflexes in there,” Sokka hears his father’s low, soothing voice speak up. He’d had almost forgotten he was there. Hakoda moves the chair that had been beside the bed closer to Sokka in a clear direction to sit down.

“Lots of practice,” Sokka replies as he sits. He hisses a little again as his hand flares and grits out a swear behind clenched teeth.

“Easy,” Hakoda says softly. He places a bracing, comforting hand between Sokka’s shoulder blades. It’s grounding, and he’s grateful.

“Wish Katara was here,” Sokka tells him, echoing Zuko’s comment from earlier.

“I know. Unfortunately, I don’t think she’s coming to Caldera for a while. She’s still in Ba Sing Se with Aang.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. Her magic water comes in handy though.” Sokka gives his father a tight smile. “Get it? Hand-y?”

Hakoda snorts just as the door opens again. Zuko has his arms full of a large bowl, his hands fisting a few vials and some bandages. There’s something pinched about Zuko’s expression, and the way he doesn’t meet Sokka’s eyes as he kneels in front of him feels odd. The bowl is full of water, Sokka realizes, as he sets it on the ground and begins to empty the vials into it.

“Can I see your hand?” Zuko asks, and the question—for some reason—catches him off guard.

Sokka blinks. “Yeah. Sure.” He grimaces as he places his hand in Zuko’s, but the excessive gentleness surprises him so much that Sokka almost forgets that his hand hurts.

Zuko was many things, but Sokka can’t remember a time—even after he started to get along with the Fire Prince—that he would have described Zuko as gentle. But his grip on Sokka’s hand is careful. Almost excessively so.

Zuko hums in the back of his throat as he inspects the burns. “I don’t think it’ll have permanent damage,” he says quietly. “But I still need to treat it so it doesn’t get infected. It… might hurt, a little. But then it should feel better.”

“No permanent damage. That’s good,” Sokka says. He swallows, and nods. “Okay.”

For a long moment, the only sounds that fills the room is the quiet splash of water in the bowl as Zuko submerges the cloth rag again and wrings it out. Sokka lets his gaze float around the room.

Zuko has left it mostly bare. There’s a portrait of Iroh and a woman that Sokka remembers being the Fire Lady—Zuko’s mother—hanging on the wall near the headboard of the bed. On the dresser beside it is a drawing that Sokka did of the group of them months ago. He sees a pile of papers on the desk across the room. He thinks one of them has Aang’s signature at the bottom, but it’s too far away for him to know for sure.

Bright, painful heat searing his hand slams his attention back to Zuko in front of him and Sokka yelps, yanking his hand away. Zuko grimaces, retracing his own hand.

“I’m sorry,” he says, sounding more earnest than Sokka expects. “This part is painful, but it’ll stop hurting in a minute.”

Sokka fights to pull his breathing back under his control. In through his nose, out through his mouth. “Right,” he manages, his voice tight. “Right, sorry.”

“Don’t be. I know it hurts.”

Something about that line—and about the fact that Zuko still hasn’t met his eyes since returning from the other room—drags Sokka’s thoughts back to the conversation in the treaty meeting. There were several things that the admiral had said to Zuko that Sokka didn’t quite understand. He could only remember pieces of things said, but they repeat in Sokka’s head like disjointed pieces of a puzzle that he can’t quite make fit together.

seeing as you ought to be reminded every time you look in the mirror… insubordination… your father’s attempts to brand you… consequences…

Sokka’s gaze falls back to Zuko, dutifully bowed in front of him. There had long been pieces about Zuko that Sokka had found puzzling. Things about him that didn’t quite fit together. Sokka considers himself a person pretty good at figuring out how things worked together, and that extended (with less success) to figuring out how parts of people make up the sum of their whole.

Zuko, though… Zuko had always been something of a mystery. But as the words of the admiral ricochet in his mind, there’s a picture beginning to come together that is still just a little too hazy, a little too out of focus, to fill in the spaces that Sokka felt were missing.

“What did the admiral mean,” Sokka blurts out without really thinking about it, “when he talked about insubordination?”

Sokka’s brow furrows as Zuko presses the rag to the back of his hand again. Sokka realizes that his hand has stopped hurting, but he’s too preoccupied with what Zuko said to pay it much mind. “After the stuff at Ba Sing Se? When you went home?”

“No, I, uh.” Zuko clears his throat. “Before that. Before… yeah. Earlier.”

Your father’s attempts to brand you…

“What happened?” Sokka asks. The way Zuko’s shoulders seem to tense doesn’t escape his attention, and there’s a part of him that wonders if perhaps he shouldn’t have asked. But it also feels like a question that once asked, is too late to take back.

Zuko pats Sokka’s hand dry with another towel and begins to gingerly wrap a bandage around it. He keeps his gold gaze steady on the work. Sokka keeps his gaze steady on Zuko.

“My uncle allowed me to attend a war meeting where they were talking about some battle strategies to use against an Earth Kingdom battalion. There was a general that wanted our newest fleet to serve as a distraction while we mounted an attack from the rear,” Zuko begins. There’s something off about his voice, though. Something detached and careful. He keeps wrapping the bandage. Around and around and around.

Sokka frowns. “That’s not fair,” he says. “Your newest recruits? They’d be slaughtered by an experienced battalion like that.”

Zuko sighs, his lips pressing into a thin line. “Exactly,” he says in a low voice. “And that’s what I told them. I wasn’t thinking. I just… yelled at him.” Sokka opens his mouth to disagree—it sounds like Zuko was thinking, unlike anybody else at that meeting—but Zuko cuts him off as he secures the end of the bandage to Sokka’s palm. “My father didn’t… take it well. I was challenged to an Agni Kai, and I thought I would be facing the general in it, so I accepted.”

Zuko gathers the bowl and empty vials as he stands, crossing the room to set them on the edge of his desk. Sokka stands up slowly as Zuko does so. The pieces that had been out of focus for so long are starting to come together, and Sokka feels his stomach rolling with a leaden weight against what he can sense is coming.

“No…”

“It wasn’t the general,” Zuko continues, his voice so quiet that Sokka is sure he would have missed it if it hadn’t been dead silence around them. “It was my father.”

“You faced your father in an Agni Kai?”

“Not exactly. I…” Zuko stares down into the bowl of water beside him, his gaze distant. “I couldn’t fight my own father. Instead, I begged him for forgiveness. I was met with a fistful of flames.”

Zuko gestures vaguely at his face, and Sokka’s blood turns to ice.

“He…” Sokka’s throat closes, cutting off the rest of that sentence. All this time being chased by Zuko—all this time being friends with him—and he’d always assumed that the scar was the result of a training accident, or a fight with a firebender he lost. Sokka thinks bitterly and viciously that the second assumption wasn’t far off but his own father—

“I was banished after that,” Zuko says, and his voice is hollow and empty and wrong. And he finally, finally, meets Sokka’s gaze. “I was told to bring the Avatar back and all would be forgiven, or to not come back at all. That was before you and your sister woke Aang up from the iceberg.”

Sokka stands very, very still. He glances down and realizes his hands are trembling. He curls the non-bandaged one into a fist to get the shaking to stop. “How old were you?” he asks, and he doesn’t know why—of everything he could say—that’s the question that tumbles past his lips, but he feels like it matters.

“Thirteen.”

“Thir—” Sokka cuts himself off, scrubbing a hand across his mouth and swallowing hard. “Thirteen. Tui and La, when I was thirteen—”

Sokka breaks off again, his throat closing, his gaze falling to his father. When Sokka was thirteen, his father had left to go fight in the war and told Sokka he couldn’t come along. He’d protected Sokka, and though Sokka had found his way into fighting in the war regardless a few years later, he knows his father had only been trying to keep him safe. The idea of his own father striking him—let alone with a fist full of flames to his face—was incomprehensible.

Hakoda doesn’t look back at Sokka. His gaze is trained on Zuko, and there’s something in his eyes that Sokka doesn’t quite understand. But he’s seen it before. It was the same look Hakoda wears when he hears other water tribe soldiers recount war stories. The late-night ones. The ones where their voices betray the weight on their shoulders and tremble with the generations of nightmares on their backs.

Sokka takes a sudden, faltering step forward, and Zuko instinctively tenses. Sokka freezes. “Zuko…”

Zuko shakes his head. He coughs a little, as if trying to clear his throat. “Anyway. That’s—that’s what the admiral was talking about.”

“You…” Sokka tries again, his voice carrying just the barest hints of hysteria. “You were his kid.”

“Yeah, well.” Zuko’s gaze meets Sokka’s again. “He spent most of my life wishing I wasn’t.”

“Zuko,” Hakoda speaks up, his voice a low, soothing rumble to Sokka’s trembling nerves. “I… hope you understand that you didn’t deserve that.”

“I know, sir,” he replies, sounding steadier than Sokka feels. Sokka feels a little like the ground has shifted beneath his feet as he stares at his friend across the room. Zuko continues, frustratingly calm. “It… I didn’t at first. It took me a long time to understand that it was wrong of my father to do that. But I know now.”

“Where is he?” Sokka demands, flushing with a sudden and intense fury.

Zuko blinks, looking taken aback by the vehemence charged through Sokka’s voice like a steel rod. “Where’s who?”

“Ozai.”

“Sokka, what are you gonna do? Fight him? He already lost.”

“Against Aang, not against—did Aang even know?”

Zuko’s brow furrows and he rubs the back of his neck. “Um. I guess I don’t know. I never told him. I… never told any of you.”

“Yeah—and what’s that about, huh?” Sokka demands. “Why didn’t you tell us?”

“Sokka,” Hakoda warns, but Sokka’s words are already bubbling up throat and spilling past his lips, hot and bitter and angry.

“What, did you think we wouldn’t care? That it wouldn’t matter?”

“It doesn’t matter!” Zuko waves a hand towards the window that overlooks the courtyard. “My father already lost to the Avatar, Sokka. The war is over. The fighting is over. Aang took his bending. And that—I don’t know about you, but that’s the best, most justified end to his legacy I can think of.”

Sokka is still shaking. He can’t explain why. He knows, logically, that Zuko is right. He’s right. But Sokka can still feel his hands shaking, can still feel his heart hammering in his ribs with the urge to run something through with sword, can still feel the way his eyes sting with tears he won’t let fall. Sokka clenches his jaw and rips his gaze away from Zuko out towards the window, where he can see the sun setting on the horizon and painting the palace courtyard in an orange light.

“Wherever he is, I hope he rots,” Sokka says finally, and yet it still doesn’t feel like enough. “He deserves worse.”

Sokka looks back at Zuko, whose gaze is a little wide. He looks… taken aback. Sokka cocks an eyebrow.

“Don’t tell me you disagree—"

“No,” Zuko replies, shaking his head. “I just… Nothing.” The corner of his mouth tugs upwards in the barest hint of a smile. Sokka doesn’t understand why, just like he doesn’t understand why it uncoils the tight knot of burning anger in his chest.

Sokka takes a deep breath. Wills himself to relax. It helps… a little. There’s a beat, and then Sokka hears his father take a step forward. “Thank you for helping Sokka’s hand, Firelord Zuko.”

Zuko blinks, and Sokka swears his cheeks take a faint pink tint as he rubs the back of his neck. “Oh. Uh, of course, sir. And… just Zuko is fine.”

Sokka glances over and sees Hakoda smile, inclining his head. “Understood.” He looks to Sokka. “I should draft a letter to Bato tonight to update him on the treaty. Will you be okay without me?”

Sokka rolls his eyes teasingly. “Yeah, dad. I think I can manage.”

Hakoda squeezes his shoulder, nods to Zuko again, and quietly slips out of the room. The silence afterward seems to stretch, and Sokka feels the lingering tension bleeding out of him as he looks at Zuko, who quietly shuffles through the papers on his desk. Sokka watches him for a beat, his gaze lingering a little on the scarred tissue across his face. Sokka swallows.

There are other questions Sokka thinks he could ask. Like why—after doing that—Zuko was still so bent on returning home to his father. But there’s a part of Sokka that thinks he maybe understands.

Spirits know that he understood what it was like to crave the approval of your father.

“Hey,” he says, and Zuko’s gaze snaps over to him. “I… thank you for telling me. I… know that wasn’t easy, and… it means a lot that you trust me with that.”

“It… it wasn’t a question of trust, you know,” Zuko replies quietly, averting his gaze. “Not telling you, I mean. It was just—”

“I know,” Sokka says, and means it. “But I also know what it’s like to have things you don’t necessarily… want to relive. So it means a lot that you told me.”

The corner of Zuko’s mouth twitches again. He takes a deep, slow breath. “Thank you for listening,” he says.

“I like to think I’m a pretty good listener,” Sokka teases, shrugging.

“You are,” Zuko says, with far more sincerity than Sokka felt was warranted for what he’d meant to be a joke. Sokka blinks at him, and Zuko clears his throat, ducking his head a little. “I was thinking of getting some tea. There’s a place just outside the palace. It’s not as good as Uncle’s, but um. Did you want to come?”

“Yeah,” Sokka replies with a small smile. “I could use a cup of tea.”

#avatar the last airbender #zukka #zukka fanfiction #zuko fanfiction #zuko #sokka #not ts #we interrupt your regularly scheduled broadcast to give you this fic for an unrelated fandom woops

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no-droids · 4 years

Text

The Floor is Better

Part Eight of the Rough Day Series

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 9.4K i am. appalled.

Warnings: SMUT, very vague attempts at sprinkling in hints of an overarching plot, language, the slightest bit of angst, TONS OF FUCKING FLUFF WOWWWW

A/N: This is by far the softest smut I’ve ever written. I will say that there is a hint at butt stuff tho (just a HINT—THERE IS NO ACTUAL BUTT STUFF IN THIS GUYS) so brace yourselves

***

Alright so this bed is, like. Atrociously uncomfortable.

It’s not even a bed. It’s a cot. Just a bare minimum place to sleep, shoved into the wall and taking up less space than the ship’s armory. Like a… like a really shitty gurney almost, except no padding. So not even a gurney then, just a fucking. Piece of metal. Just a piece of fucking metal to sleep on.

There’s surprisingly a bit of space to maneuver yourself when you’re pulled into the cubby completely like this, and yeah, it’s quiet and dark in here but man does your back hurt. Is his spine made of metal, too? Is that why he prefers this? The floor isn’t a feather mattress by any stretch of the imagination, but at least there aren’t any uneven support bars digging into your side.

You’re on Coruscant, and Mando’s been gone for over three weeks.

It. Fucking. Blows.

You’ve literally run out of ideas to occupy your time. You’re far enough above Coruscant’s dangerous underworld to not worry about any potential… mishaps, like what happened on Corellia, but the only issue with the ground being so far below you is that it’s not like you can just stroll down the road and buy yourself a deck of cards at the nearest merchant. The only shop within walking distance of this hub contains the bare essentials; things like food, medical equipment and bacta, spare electronics and parts—all of which you purchased without hesitation. Other than that, you need a ship to travel anywhere in this massive galactic capital, and while you just so happen to have a ship, what you don’t have, at least right now, is a Mando.

Fuck, but you did. Before he left, you had Mando all to yourself for at least a full hour. After he landed the Crest in a long-term terminal and turned his attention back to you, for some reason, he was insatiable. It didn’t really make much sense back then, but in hindsight, it’s like he knew good and well how long he was going to be gone this time, attempting to search for a quarry on a planet with a population that broke a trillion last year. It makes sense. With this many people, a biometric tracking fob would be almost useless, and sure, you realize he set the ship down in the long-term terminal for a reason, but long-term with Mando typically means a week or two. You suddenly realize that in a handful of days, he’ll have been gone a full month.

You suppose you probably could fly the ship somewhere else and send him a coded coordinate set of your new location, but for some strange reason, you can’t seem to reconcile going to all that trouble just because you’re bored out of your fucking mind. You don’t want him to have to travel another however many miles out of his way to get back to you just so you won’t have to twiddle your thumbs for weeks on end. You don’t want to run the risk of trying to make a quick trip there and back without alerting him of any change in location, either, especially on a planet this size. He could return to the hub at any time, and if he comes back to a different ship parked in this lot, you’ll probably never see him again.

Okay, no, that’s not true—he hunts people for a living, and you have his kid. You probably just wouldn’t see him for at least another month or so, and by then he’d be fucking livid.

So. You stay here. The baby offers a distraction, but only to a certain point. The ship is pristine right now, inside and out. Fucking pristine. Almost… almost compulsively so, you reluctantly admit. The console’s entire motherboard has brand new soldering and connections. You used ear swabs to clean and polish each individual button, key, and knob in the entire flight deck. You… may or may not have even labeled and color-coded the heat shrink wrap on every single cable in the Crest’s patchbay, all five-hundred and something of them. When you pried open the metal paneling that covered all the ship’s interior routing jacks, you remember gasping at the sight of a mechanic’s worst nightmare and wondering if the last person who touched it took even more than a few hours on its installation. What used to be a horrifying tangle of haphazard wiring is now a lovely set of rainbow snakes meticulously gathered and bound together with zipties, and you’re incredibly proud of it, though you still haven’t decided whether or not you should be.

There’s also a very particular reason you’re in this poor excuse for a bed. You still very clearly remember Mando’s unfiltered voice in the pitch darkness, telling you he wants to come back to find you in his bed. To find you in it, so he can fuck you though it.

Well. Three weeks ago, sleeping in here sounded like a good idea. You even have a pillow now, and a blanket you can lay out beneath you while you curl up under the one you brought from home. It’s thick and warm—probably a shock blanket, to be honest, since you did happen to find in the medical section—but it still doesn’t offer near enough padding to feel like you’re laying on an even surface right now. Mando could theoretically get on top of you in here and fuck you—there is enough room vertically. He might break one of your ribs on accident though, just judging from the way this one Maker-forsaken support bar seems to dig into your ribcage no matter which way you position yourself in here.

Stars, your back hurts. You should just lay on the fucking floor. If he hasn’t come back by now, what are the chances of it happening tonight? But then your mathematical hindbrain immediately reminds you that statistically, the chances are the highest they’ve ever been. The longer Mando’s gone, the more likely he is to come back every single day that passes.

It’s just as well, you figure, grabbing the tracks beneath the bed and slowly beginning to squeak yourself out of the wall. You try not to let your fingers get pinched between the railing and the slider, but that just means the quickest you’re able to inch out is in intervals the approximate length of your index finger. It’s dark in the hull—the baby is fast asleep in his crib in the cockpit, and the long-term terminal you’re parked in is quiet. It would be a perfect time to sleep, if you could. But here’s the thing—

It sucks that Mando’s gone for this long, absolutely. It sucks that you slept on this awful fucking bed for three whole weeks when you could’ve done this ages ago. But most of all, it sucks that you don’t have anything else to do. Because that means you can’t occupy yourself, and when you can’t occupy yourself, your mind starts to wander. And then you start to fixate on things you probably shouldn’t fixate on, for your own good.

Things like blood on your hands. The baby limp in your arms. A voice spitting, “pretty little bitch like you would sell for at least—”

Your eyes snap to the corner of the hull for the millionth time, the sight of where it happened, before you shake yourself out of it and hop down off the suspended cot.

“This’ll be good,” you whisper quietly in the darkness to yourself, pulling the blankets off and grabbing the pillow. It’s… it’s something you’ve started to do when you need to instantly snap yourself out of a dreaded line of thinking but you don’t have anything stimulating around you to help. Talk to yourself, talk about anything, just talk out loud and focus on the sound of your own voice. If you listen hard enough, it’ll drown out your thoughts. “The floor will be great. The floor kicks ass. I like the floor.”

You spread the fluffiest blanket down on the ground as far away from the offending corner as possible, and then close the much shittier metal bed into the hull wall before collapsing on your clearly superior one, never once ceasing your rambling nonsense about the floor.

Oh, this is nice. This is fantastic. Your back is still tight and achy from three awful weeks of sleeping on a “mattress” clearly made for someone with no concept of comfort, but being able to stretch out on a flat surface with a large shock blanket that feels like a fucking cloud under your body? Your eyes are already starting to droop.

“The floor is better,” you whisper, yawning and snuggling deeper into the pillow. The terminal is quiet. The kid will be asleep for a while. Mando won’t come back tonight. Mando won’t come back tonight. “The floor is better. The floor… the floor…”

***

You jerk awake to something kicking your leg, hard.

Gasping, you’re instantly pulling the blanket over your chest on reflex and bracing yourself for another impact, except then whatever kicked you is immediately toppling over your shins and stumbling to the floor with an unfamiliar grunt.

You and a man you don’t recognize blink at each other for a few seconds; him taking in the way you’re curled up on your makeshift bed, and you taking in the way he’s got his face squished against the metal ground, apparently not quick enough to use his arms to try and soften the abrupt tumble.

It’s like all your blood suddenly thickens and the adrenaline digs claws into your chest. Your first instinct is to fucking bolt, but then your eyes instantly flick to the cockpit, where you know the kid is still sleeping.

Only—you can’t move. You’re frozen in terror, quickly blinking your wide-eyed gaze back at the man on the ground. You know you could’ve only been staring at each other for a few seconds at most, but with the way your mind is hurtling right now, it’s long enough for you to have just the briefest flicker of confusion as to why he hasn’t appeared to have moved either.

Except then another set of footsteps slowly begin clanking up the ramp.

Your heart is fucking slamming up against your ribcage at about the rate of four beats per footstep, but as soon as you catch a flash of beskar stepping onto the ship, you‘re reaching up to clutch your chest with your palm like you just finished a long-distance sprint and trying to take deep, calming breaths.

It’s just a quarry. It’s just a quarry. His hands are cuffed behind his back. It’s a quarry.

The Mandalorian slowly comes to a stop right in front of your outstretched legs and the sharp angles of his chrome profile silently stare down at them, unmoving. You swallow thickly and try not to blush as his helmet tilts towards you and follows your knees up to your hips, along your heaving abdomen and chest, before eventually coming to a rest on your face.

He holds there for a second, taking you in. You bite down your lip and feel your heart thundering under your ribcage, blinking up at him as your cheeks flush in a boiling hot mixture of panic, embarrassment, and relief.

His metallic visor carefully follows the length of your body back down again, pausing once more at your feet.

And then he sighs heavily through the modulator, loud enough to echo through the silent hull, before slowly stepping over them.

“Well, well,” the quarry says, stealing your attention with a sick smile creeping across half his face as it’s smushed against the floor. “Who’s this, Mando? She’s just darling, isn’t she? Does Gideon know your crew has a lovely new addit—?”

The bounty abruptly cuts off with a strangled yelp when Mando bends down and grabs him by the collar, yanking him to his feet and then shoving him forward towards the carbonite chamber.

You collapse back down onto the floor with a relieved breath and try not to tremble with the adrenaline comedown. Maker, you woke up barely a minute ago but almost all of it was spent in fight or flight—or in your case, freeze—mode, and you’re already fucking exhausted again.

“I’ll tell him—” you can hear the quarry snarl just before Mando slams him into the metal frame. As much as you try to just tune the confrontation out for the moment and focus on slowing your heart rate, you still manage to catch bits and pieces. “See him again… be interested to know…”

You close your eyes and breathe deeply, counting to three during each inhale and exhale. Fuck, that scared you. You almost had a fucking heart attack, and it takes you a few seconds to get your body under control again. But then you realize you haven’t heard anything from Mando’s side of the hub for an extended moment, and the carbonizing gas hasn’t yet filled the room.

Your head turns and if you squint from this distance, you can make out a leather glove clamped tight around the quarry’s throat, the man’s face a red-purple by this point as he sags weakly against the chamber.

“Mando!” You bark quite suddenly, and beskar shoulders jerk straight at the sound as the bounty immediately takes in a giant, ragged breath from under a marginally loosened grip. Mando quickly releases his neck altogether and punches in a few buttons on the control panel to the right, and then freezing gas soon solidifies the gasping quarry into solid carbonite.

He stays with his back to you for a moment, letting the cloud disappear completely before he moves a single muscle. When he does eventually turn to look at you, he still doesn’t say anything.

He just stares. The lights in the hull glint off his helmet, and you tug the blankets up your chest a little further on instinct. Fuck, three weeks is a long time. You’re defaulting in a way, finding it impossible to not reevaluate him after a long absence. Before he left, you’d gotten a bit better at gauging his mood and countenance, been more relaxed and friendly around him, but now, after some time away from him, he’s still so… jarring. Unpredictable, even when standing still. Especially when standing still.

You’re just trying to play it by ear, trying to respond to him the way he responds to you. Only—it feels like he’s either not responding to you at all, or you’re just too rousing of a stimulus to show a response.

“You…” you breathe, and for some reason your heart rate is beginning to kick up again instead of decelerate. You should be calmer now that he’s here, but he still hasn’t said a word. “Y-You scared me.”

Mando stays rooted to the spot, just a motionless suit of armor, with the exception of his chest moving with breaths and his fists repeatedly clenching at his sides, and fuck.

Fuck, you’re wet.

You feel like prey right now. You’re starting to gradually build into another fight or flight mode every second he’s staring you down, refusing to speak, but you also feel a stirring deep down in your floor muscles. He’s so fucking tall from this angle, so broad and—

He steps a single foot forward. You flinch at the abrupt movement, practically soaking your underwear now. Mando takes another step forward, and you wet your lips and start to crawl back on the bed just a bit, staring at him with wide eyes.

Maker, the tension is making it hard to breathe. You’re silently begging him to come take care of you after such an agonizing three weeks apart, and Mando’s body language looks like he’s more wound up than you’ve ever seen him. He starts pacing directly to you, crossing the hull rapidly, and your heart thumps furiously with every step he takes.

But then he gets right to the edge of the blankets and suddenly stops short. He looks down at the neatly made bed at his feet, and then down at his body.

You try not to make an audible huff of disappointment when he abruptly collapses down onto his back with a clatter right there on the floor, just a few inches shy of the blanket, immediately bringing the backs of both hands up to press against the face of his helmet. It should look weird considering his knuckles are pushing hard against the visor, almost like he’s covering his eyes or has a headache but is rubbing the beskar instead of his forehead, but it doesn’t. It just makes you want to rip that armor off his body even more and remind him again of what his skin feels like.

“What are you doing?” You try not to make it sound like a breathless pout as you squirm impatiently under the blankets. “Come over here.”

“I’m dirty,” is the first thing that comes through the modulator, gravelly and distorted but his voice burning a fucking hole through you after not hearing it for almost a month. “I need to shower before I touch you.”

You don’t know why, but something about the way he says it makes you throb hard between your legs.

“Will you please just…” you bite your lip, stopping yourself short of saying take your clothes off and go with, “please, just—hurry. I’m…”

Maker, you don’t know how to say it, and Mando soon rolls his helmet to the side to look at you when you don’t finish your sentence. Desperate for it? Hurting? Feeling your clit pulse right now even though he hasn’t laid a finger on you yet?

“I missed you,” you eventually finish lamely, breathless as you fidget and bite your lip.

“Yeah?” He breathes, suddenly turning the rest of his body on his side to face you. “Tell me.”

“I… I want to show you,” you return quietly, scooting closer towards him. “But you’re being withholding.”

Mando doesn’t say anything for a few seconds, but the front of his visor burns into you, steadily increasing your need for him the longer he silently stares at you.

“Show me, then,” he says after a moment, and the sentence rolls through you with a shudder.

You swallow thickly, and slowly start to pull the blanket down. It’s unnerving that his helmet doesn’t move, even though you can literally feel his gaze lowering and searing hot along your newly revealed body. You’re not even naked, not in the slightest, but with the way his shoulders tighten and his spine tenses just slightly, you would think you were completely exposing yourself to him right now.

“Do you want…” Your fingers waver near your belly button, caught somewhere between wanting to pull the hem of your shirt up for him and wanting to pull the waistband of your pants down. “What do you want to see?”

A breath comes through the helmet; slow, but shaky.

“I have to shower,” he grunts sharply, suddenly, his fist clenching at his side. You don’t take offense to the stern tone. He’s clearly repeating the sentence as a reminder to himself, not to you.

“You can get me dirty,” you breathe regardless. “I don’t care.”

“I just spent three weeks on Coruscant’s surface,” Mando grits. “I can’t touch you, I’ll infect you with someth—What are you doing?”

You bite your lip at him as an answer, bypassing your prior conflict altogether by slithering your hand down the front of your pants.

“What are you doing?” He repeats through the modulator, just as your fingertips wedge underneath the hem of your panties.

You shiver at the sensation, your eyes losing focus just slightly as you trail down the front of your pussy. “I… I missed you.”

“Fuck,” Mando barks, and then he scrambles to stand up. “Stop. I’m taking a shower, just—just stop.”

You ignore him, turning on your back and widening your knees so he can still see the way your hand is still moving down between your legs, your finger just barely brushing the top of your slit. “But it feels good.” “Take your hand out of your fucking pants,” he orders tightly. “Right now.”

Your eyes flutter up at him as you do what he says, slowly bringing your hand out of your trousers. “Hurry,” you murmur, biting your lip and blinking innocently up at him. “Please.”

He doesn’t say a word, but his cape does make an audible sound with how quickly he whips around and shuts himself away in the tiny fresher.

***

You forget how long it takes to undo the beskar armor sometimes. In fact, throughout the entire duration of Mando’s shower, you’re able to quietly sneak up to the cockpit and navigate the ship out of the terminal, pull up the coordinates for the next quarry on the navcomp while rising to a high enough altitude above the galactic capital, make a jump into hyperspace, return to the hull, shut off the lights, and slither back under the covers before the fresher actually turns off.

Soon, Mando raps his knuckles against the door separating the two of you, and you’ve completely wiggled out of your clothes by that point, the blanket resting just below your naked waist. “Hey,” his unmodulated voice calls from behind the thick slab of metal. “Eyes closed for a second.”

“I’m not looking,” you agree, draping your elbow across the bridge of your nose and waiting patiently. He gives you a few seconds regardless before the door is sliding open. You expect it to quickly shift shut again, plunge the room back into pitch blackness like before, but he hesitates. It takes another moment for you to realize that he’s probably just staring at your naked chest while he stands there in the doorway, light spilling into the hull and illuminating you waiting for him with your eyes obediently shut.

“I thought I told you not to sleep on the floor anymore,” he murmurs after a quiet second, and you bite your lip and shuffle your shoulders impatiently against the floor, arching your chest out just slightly to entice him to come closer.

“Fuck that bed,” you breathe with your arm still pressed over your eyes, and your nipples feel tight in the cool air. “Your armory is bigger than that bed, Mando. Doesn’t that tell you something?”

“Yeah,” he returns, finally shutting the fresher light off and shifting the door shut behind him, beginning to make his way over to you. “Tells me that there are more guns than people on this ship, as well it should be.”

“Maker, you’re impos—”

You’re cut off by Mando dropping to his knees and slowly crawling over your body, and fuck he’s as naked as you are, he’s naked and his skin is warm and damp from the shower and his hair is still dripping as you slither your arms up his chest and comb your fingers through it.

You can’t see a damn thing but you’re instantly thanking your lucky stars for that fact when his head drops down and a hot tongue drags up the curve of your neck. Okay, this is better. This is always better. Even when you can’t see a damn thing, feeling the hollow of your jaw be caressed by a blazing wet furnace and tugging your fingers through his hair will always be better than when he keeps the helmet on. Maker, you almost forgot how fucking good his mouth is, how soft and warm it is, and you can’t bite down a whimper when his lips finally trail up your chin and seal against yours.

You moan when his tongue gently slides into your mouth, unable to stop yourself as your cunt fucking throbs between your legs with arousal, and Mando even lets out a short huff of air through his nose and a low noise quietly slips through his vocal cords as he tastes you. The barely audible sound is enough gasoline to your fire that you wrap your arms around his shoulders and your legs around his lower back before tugging, wanting his cock pressed against your cunt so you can rub yourself against it while he kisses you.

Only, something in the way Mando’s elbows immediately buckle and the hiss of air through his teeth before he unceremoniously collapses on top of you makes you instantly let him go.

“Hey,” you say, letting him bury his head into the crook of your neck and puff a short few breaths of hot air against your skin. “What’s wrong?”

“Fuck,” he grunts, sounding somewhere between discomfort and legitimate pain, moving to prop his arms up next to your head again but taking a moment before trying to push himself up. “Back. Back hurts. Too—” he winces when his shoulder moves a certain way, “—too old for this.”

“Here.” There’s just enough space between you and Mando to wiggle out from underneath him, quickly turning around and swinging a leg over his back as he abruptly drops to the floor with the extra weight. “Let me rub your back.”

“Shit—come on,” he groans against the blankets. “I haven’t touched you in three fucking—”

Your hands trail up his spine, slow and gentle, and Mando cuts himself off. He shudders under your palms as they carefully push and roll into the small of his back, and the muscles curving down under your touch gradually rise as he breathes in a lungful of air. “Let me rub your back,” you repeat softly, letting your voice lull just a bit in a lower register, and all the air immediately releases from under your hands.

“Okay,” he relents, but his spine still holds straight and tight with tension.

“Okay?” You repeat, dragging your palms back up until they’re roughly in the middle of his spine. “Tell me if I go too hard.”

Mando barely huffs with a chuckle beneath you. “Yeah, okay, I’ll tell you if—nghh—”

You dig your knuckles into the dip right beneath his shoulder blades and start kneading, and Mando makes a strangled noise and sags into the floor. Your smile is almost impossible to hide, but the pitch black hull does the job just fine as you press and roll your knuckles into the hills and valleys of his back. The noises he makes are a mixture of soft gasps and chokes, but it gives you the perfect opportunity to explore his body in ways you haven’t been able to before.

Your thumbs you dig in and follow the curve of his spine down, squeezing through the tightness in his lower back. The skin under your hands is soft and giving, even though you can feel massive knots hidden underneath. You take all the time in the galaxy with it, isolating each ache and pain and then grinding your knuckles into them steady and hard enough to make Mando groan brokenly under the pressure. You work at it for a while, trailing your fingers up to his neck and massaging the base of his skull, not being able to imagine how much those muscles have to hurt after holding up a heavy beskar helmet every single day. Your hands explore everything you can from this angle—you squeeze the tops of his shoulders, slide your palms down and squeeze his biceps, the muscles under his elbows, the ones wrapped around his forearms.

“This alright?” You ask after a while, and you barely get a hoarse grunt from him in response. His body is perfectly relaxed under yours, almost dead if he wasn’t still breathing, and you slowly walk your hands down the length of his back until you’re braced upright on him once more. “You gonna make it?”

Eventually, he drags his forearms up so he can prop them against the blankets and slowly roll over underneath you. You allow the lazy movement, lifting your hips up as he rotates, feeling his smooth skin shift under your palms until he finally comes to a rest on his back.

“My turn?” He asks through the darkness.

“Your turn for wh—?” You gasp as his grip instantly tightens, and then he’s abruptly switching your positions until he’s on top of you. Almost all of your breath is knocked out of you when Mando grabs you and flips you over until you’re on your tummy, and then whatever remains suddenly whooshes out when he straddles you and plops down on your lower back.

“My turn to give you a massage,” he says, and you let out a quiet, “fuck—” when his palms land on your shoulders.

“Wait—” You pant, “—Wait, hang on, I don’t need a—”

Thank the fucking Maker you turn your head quick enough to muffle a loud moan when his fingers begin rubbing hard circles into your deltoids. Stars, sleeping on hard metal for three weeks was truly a nightmare for your posture. The knots in your upper back burn under the steady push and press of his touch, and it’s like your muscles can’t decide if they want to relax under the manipulation or tense up against it.

“Maker,” he murmurs, his thumbs frame either side of your spine and slowly drag downwards, and your voice almost cracks as you hide another groan in the pillow. “Why does your back hurt? What did you do to yourself?” “I slept—” you gasp when his knuckles roll up the length of your sides. “Slept—on that piece of fucking scr-scrap metal—you call a—” his fingers press firmly against the valley below your shoulder blades, and then widen apart to start squeezing your arms, “—a bed for three weeks,” you manage to gasp, sparks of sensation shooting down to your fingertips as he rubs the muscles along the length of your biceps.

Soon, Mando’s hands come back down to rest on the small of your back, and he begins digging his thumbs into the base of your spine. “Why did you do it for so long if it hurt?”

“You said—” You cut off with a moan into the pillow as he slowly scoots back until he’s sitting on your thighs, his hands moving downwards and kneading the soft flesh of your ass, pressing deep into the sore muscles while you struggle to remember what you were going to say. “Said you wanted me to sleep in y—”

His thumbs start slowly moving inwards, his large hands butterflying out along both cheeks and squeezing. He spends a second just grabbing and pulling your pillowy flesh, shamelessly spreading you and manipulating it until you’re throbbing between your legs again. He’s being so brazen about it, too, gradually moving his thumbs closer and closer together until they’re digging into the crevice.

“Hey, uh,” you pant, starting to tense up a bit as his thumbs begin moving downwards. “Ma—h-hey, you’re getting really… close to m-my…”

His hands keep steadily moving down, and you’re starting to squirm just a bit at the unfamiliar sensation of someone’s fingers pressing and kneading the unexplored skin between your cheeks.

“Getting real close to your what?” He drawls out from above you, low in his throat, and your cunt pulses with need.

Fuck, you’re gasping raggedly into the pillow, wondering if the absence would truly make him this bold. You’re halfway caught between nervousness and being incredibly fucking turned on, and the way he pauses right above your asshole and just holds there makes your the muscles deep in your lower abdomen twist in anticipation and heat. Fuck, you’re soaking the blankets beneath you, you can tell. A thin sheen of sweat breaks out across your body and it’s all you can do to just lay there and wait for it with bated breath.

But then his weight is suddenly lifting from you and sliding down the length of your legs, settling at your feet. You barely have enough time to let out a deep sigh—half of it relief and the other half… disappointment, maybe?—before he grabs hold of one of them, the size of it only slightly bigger than his hand, and firmly presses both thumbs into your arch.

A groan of approval slips through your vocal cords and you go practically boneless underneath him, not realizing how tense you just were a second ago.

“Fuck, that’s s-so good,” you murmur into the pillow, grabbing the blankets at your sides and fisting them subconsciously as he clamps his large hand around your heel and squeezes.

After spending just as much time and attention on the other foot, you feel him grip both your ankles and start working circles up the length of your calves with his thumbs. His hands flex against the backs of your knees when they get there, and then your breathing kicks back up again when they gradually drag up your subtly clenching thighs.

But then they come to an immediate halt about halfway up, and you have to bite back a huff of distress when he just holds there. Fuck, why did he stop? Why did he stop?

“Sweet girl,” he eventually breathes out, sounding somewhere between chastising and shocked. Your eyes flutter in the darkness at the tone, the endearment after nearly a month without it, and you wiggle slightly on the bed with arousal. “Is this…?” Mando brushes his fingers along the inside of your thighs, and you can feel the way his cock pulses as he presses it tight against your leg. It’s not until he drags his hand down to your calves that you feel the slick heat coating the tips of his fingers, wiping it off on your relatively dry skin.

The pitch blackness makes it impossible to truly tell, but you’re sure your eyes roll back. Stars, you are so wet for him, you’re leaking it halfway down your thighs. It’s been too long since he’s touched you. You can feel your lower muscles bearing down and coiling tight, your entire pelvic area now cramped up with need.

When his hand carefully moves up and a finger just barely ghosts over the soft flesh of your lips, you can’t stop yourself.

“Touch me,” you hear yourself suddenly beg, goosebumps breaking out along your skin while he begins to slowly trace the outside of your slit, up and down, up and down. “Oh, fuck—please, Din, touch me, I—”

“Hush,” he tells you softly, and fuck, he’s on top of you and you physically can’t do anything to encourage him to hurry up. The only thing you can do is kick one leg out as wide as possible and just shudder helplessly against the floor, trying to give his hands more room to work.

You feel desperate, your blood pounding through your ears as he takes all the time in the universe exploring you. “Stars, don’t do this—I need you to—”

“Hush,” he murmurs once more, before moving both fingers to spread your lips apart ever so slightly, your slick heat seeping out to coat his fingers and the blanket below. “Relax for me.”

Maker, your lower muscles are tightening down and throbbing in equal parts, and you just can’t relax, you can’t relax when you’re this close to cumming all over his hand even though he’s barely touched you. You’ve been aching for it this whole time, but now there’s a bite to it, a slow burn that begins to engulf the lower half of you in simmering heat. “Din, please, I missed you so m—”

You choke when you feel the slightest brush of a fingertip next to your clit, before he’s firmly pushing down and tracing a torturously strong semi-circle around the top of it.

Your toes curl and your body locks up and you gasp his name into the pillow, flexing every single muscle in your body in response to his touch until you’re impossibly rock hard with tension under him.

“Poor thing,” Din whispers, slowly tracing an arch back around the other way, and your entire body trembles with it. Maker, you’re soaking his hand, slippery and hot and every nerve from the waist-down feels sharp and exquisite at the same time. He leans down to press his lips to your shoulder blade while starting to rub strong circles around your clit. “All alone for three weeks, nobody around to look after you. Make sure you’re seen to.”

You’re not sure which way is up right now, and not being able to see anything isn’t fucking helping either. You feel dizzy with sensation, shaky as his tongue slowly drags up your skin, and you actually feel water rush to your eyes in torment when he pulls his hand away.

You open your mouth to beg him not to stop, but then he’s already moving. Grabbing your hips and slowly lifting them until your knees have to shuffle up to compensate. He still keeps your head buried in the pillow, though, still keeps the upper half of your body firmly pressed against the floor. You pant into the fabric half covering your face and fist the blanket underneath you, biting your lip and clenching your thighs as two hands carefully settle along the backs of them.

Fuck, he keeps you there for so long. He drags out the anticipation until you’re downright hurting for it, waiting with your ass up in the air for him to do something—anything to help relieve your stress instead of continuing to build upon it.

“Fuck—” he whispers, “—missed you, too.”

When his hot, velvety tongue finally glides through your slit, something about it makes you moan brokenly into the pillow, spread your knees and arch your back even more in presentation. Fuck, there’s just something about the mindblowing eroticism of your positioning right now, how you’re bent in half and letting him lick through your folds however is easiest for him, something about it hits just right and makes your orgasm suddenly pull up tight and fast.

“Din—” you breathe frantically, your knees shuffling apart and your hips pushing back against his mouth. “Din, I’m gonna cum—”

His hands come up to clamp around your thighs and hold them steady. And then he lowers his chin to seal his mouth over your clit, slowly dragging his slick tongue over it, again and again and again, and fuck, you can’t do anything to stop it. Everything surges up, searing hot and wet as you go rigid and gasp his name, shuddering your way through the debilitating bliss as it arcs brilliantly up and down your spine.

By the time you’re finished, you’re slumped against the floor in exhaustion. He pulls away and sits up, and you try to push yourself up too, but a large palm firmly flattening along your spine stops you. The sound of him spitting and the subsequent slick glide of his hand around his cock makes you groan hoarsely against the pillow and relax back down again.

Din eases his way inside you and the thickness of him as he slowly breaks you open is fucking electrifying. Your sensitive channel hugs tight to every fucking inch of him, lighting your nerves up from the inside and sending skittering shocks down your thighs. You melt into the floor and take what he gives you until his hips touch your ass, sagging against the ground as he stands so tall and upright on his knees behind you.

When he slowly pulls back out, you can hear the wet sound it makes echo throughout the pitch black hull. Maker, he just starts up a slow, steady rhythm, his steel grip on your ass holding you steady as he pushes in and out of you. It’s blinding, making you writhe against the floor while he gives you his cock at a languid pace, dragging the pleasure out but snapping his hips against yours whenever he does reach the apex of his strong thrusts.

It’s as agonizing as it is blissful, and you moan softly into the pillow the entire way through it. Except—you’re too full of mindless pleasure, too stimulated to want to remain stationary for this long. You need to move, you need to show him how much you thought about him while he was gone.

“Din—” you whimper, breathless and needy, turning your head back slightly to unmuffle your words. “Turn over.”

“In a second,” he huffs, his cock continuing to steadily rock into you. You’re bent in half, taking it the only way he’ll give it to you and not even being able to push back into him. “No—l-later. After.”

You whine, frustrated, clawing and pulling at the blankets under your arms. “Please—”

“Fuck,” Din pants, “fuck, what do you need? You need it faster?” His speed kicks up the slightest bit, and stars, you have to bite the back of your hand to muffle the ragged noise you make in response. “This what you need? Tell me.”

There’s not a good way to phrase it. Mostly, you just… feel the need to participate in this more directly. You know from experience that he likes to finish when he’s on top, but after weeks apart, you… you need to be what makes him cum, not what he holds steady and uses to get himself there.

Your voice comes out frantically, pleading gasps for him to grant you this one thing. “Just turn over, please—pleasepleasepleaseplease—”

His thrusts falter, until they stop completely. He sounds like he’s having as much trouble breathing as you are, but his hard grip on you gradually loosens. “You—do you not—?”

You don’t let him finish. As soon as he lets you go, you’re pushing yourself up and turning around, grabbing his shoulders and all but wrestling him down to the cushioned blanket. Din grunts and lets you do it, dropping down onto his back and snaking his hands up your naked chest as you climb over him with weak, trembling limbs. Once you get his cock into position and sink down though—fuck, you grab his wrists and yank them up until his palms are cupping your tits, and Din hisses below you. Your hands are barely large enough to wrap around the backs of his, but you force him to squeeze them nonetheless, and then you begin to ride him in earnest.

He curses, bracing his feet against the floor and shifting his knees behind you, and then he starts pushing his hips up into yours in time with your downward rolls. Maker, he hits something deep inside you at the angle, something that makes you gasp every time your hips meet. Your palms drag down his wrists and forearms as he keeps groping your breasts, throwing your head back in ecstasy as another orgasm starts to stir somewhere low in your core.

“Stars, I—I think I m-might—” You barely have enough time to gasp it out before he’s releasing your breasts and anchoring his grip tight to your hips, beginning to angle and isolate in on that one spot that drives you fucking crazy. The strong thrusts pull you forward until your palms are braced on the floor next to his head, and you just moan and push back against it as he fucks deep into you.

“Fuck, I missed you,” Din says again, his disembodied voice sounding tighter and more desperate in the darkness, like it’s coming out against his will. “I—I missed you, t-too, sweet girl, I f-fucking—missed—”

You choke out a cry as another wave of euphoria all but fucking evicerates you. Your elbows buckle and you fall into his chest, but Din wraps both arms around your back and keeps fucking you through it, gritting breathless curses at the ceiling as your cunt spasms around his cock.

“Tho—ught about you—” he groans, husky and low next to your ear, “every… fuck, every fucking day—thought about y—”

His body tenses and his thrusts stutter to a halt, and then he grinds up into you, gasping your name into the pitch black hull. Your body is crushed into his chest when his hips jerk against yours, and you bite his shoulder in satisfaction, squeezing hard around his throbbing cock.

When Din finally settles back down to the floor again, both of you are spent. Neither one of you fucking move. You don’t say anything while you catch your breath against his chest, slumping down into him as his knees suddenly drop flat.

“Fuck,” he breathes. “Fuck. I’m. I’m never taking a bounty on Coruscant again.”

You laugh lightly, swallowing and turning your head to settle in the crook of his neck. Your knees shuffle up slightly until you’re resting all your weight on top of him, his cock still engulfed in your hot center. As soon as you lift off him, you know you’re just going to dribble a mess all over these nice blankets, so you decide to put it off for as long as he allows it.

Din doesn’t seem to have a problem with it at all. In fact, his chest shifts just slightly beneath you when he reaches down to catch one of the blankets and pull the fabric over the both of you, collapsing back into the pillow with an exhausted sigh and doing absolutely nothing to encourage you to move whatsoever.

“Corellia was worse,” you tell him instinctually, and he grunts and brings his hands up to trail his fingers along your lower back.

“Corellia was over within a day,” he points out, and. Shit. You know he’s just being diplomatic about it, but something in the way he casually brushes it off suddenly makes you go quiet. He’s right, you probably weren’t on Corellia for more than a few hours total. Not that you necessarily expected him to, but he clearly doesn’t realize the events that took place there have haunted you for weeks.

When you don’t immediately say something in response, Din stops dragging his fingers up your spine. You can feel his chin lower slightly, his jaw brush against your forehead. “You oka—?”

“I killed someone on Corellia,” you whisper, and your words hang heavy in the still air immediately afterwards. “A man is dead because of me.”

He doesn’t speak. For a long time, Din doesn’t speak.

By the time his voice eventually does come through the darkness, you’d almost convinced yourself he wasn’t going to say anything at all.

“You’re right,” he tells you bluntly, brushing your hair back from your shoulder. And, for some reason, you’re not expecting it. If you were able to get a verbal reply out of him at all, you… you hoped he’d argue with you even just a little bit, if only to make you feel even the slightest bit better. “A man is dead, and you killed him.”

Though his voice is soft and you know he’s not being intentionally cruel, it’s like he reached through your ribcage and crushed your heart himself. Your shoulders tense at the feeling, wanting to instinctively curl yourself inwards and make yourself smaller in response to it. Only, Din’s broad chest prevents it. All you can do is hide your face as best you can in his neck and let the unfiltered truth weigh heavy on you in the silent hull.

“But you’re wrong about one thing,” he eventually says. “He’s not dead because of you. That implies you had a choice. You didn’t. He’s dead because of him. He gave you an ultimatum, and you did what you had to do. Don’t feel bad that you won.”

“I didn’t win anything,” you whisper against his throat, uncomfortable with the implication.

“He initiated a confrontation, and you finished it,” he asserts. “You did what you had to do, and you did great, so don’t—”

“Great?” You close your eyes and try not to sound as upset as you currently feel, because you know this is just him being polite. He does this for a living. He’s probably lost count of how many people he’s killed in his lifetime, so what’s one body to him? You shouldn’t have let the conversation lead here, especially after such a lovely moment. “I… I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought it—”

“Listen to me,” Din suddenly says, curling the tips of his fingers against your shoulder blade. “There’s something you need to understand, and I’m not trying to hurt your feelings by telling you this. But the galaxy will never be as kind to you as you are to it. You’re tenderhearted, and that’s not a bad thing. Hang onto it, but recognize that it’s rare. It’s not something that you’ll come by often. You’ll never see as much of it in anyone else as I see in you.”

Maybe it’s because you know he’s not used to comforting people that the words actually manage to make you feel somewhat comforted. They’re blunt and honest, but they also allow an unobstructed glimpse into his feelings for you, specifically because of that.

“I just…” You bite your lip and snuggle your head deeper into the crook of his neck. “I just wish I could… somehow…”

His chest expands fully with air underneath you, and then you can literally feel yourself slowly sink down a few inches with how deeply he sighs. But… this isn’t the normal Mando sigh. He doesn’t sound frustrated with you, exasperated, or impatient. He sounds… empathetic. Understanding.

His hand comes up to cradle the back of your head and comb his fingers through your hair, tugging at some of the tangles at your nape. “What would you have done differently?”

You don’t answer him, because you immediately see what he’s getting at. You’ve told yourself these things a million times over in the weeks he’s been gone. Regardless, he goes on for you.

“Would you have chosen to land the ship in a different spot? Risked a different person following you onto it?” He asks, and though the overarching point to this line of questioning is already blatantly obvious, his voice is still kind. “Would you have taken that vibroblade to a different part of his body? Given him a slower death? What else would you have done, sweet girl?”

You stay silent, fluttering your eyes shut. His fingers lazily trail up and down the length of your spine, goosebumps breaking out on your skin once again.

“Even if there was something you could’ve done—even if his death had been your fault,” Din murmurs, “—listen, do you remember what you said to me? When I told you my name—before that, do you remember what you said? You said that some things just belong to people. That there are certain things that people just own, right? Fundamentally. And you can do whatever you want with them. You can choose whether or not to share them with others, you can hide them, or you can. Change them. Burn them away. Remember?”

You nod as much as you can with your head buried into his neck like this.

“Well, you’re right,” he continues, his voice softening. “Some things do belong to people. But some things… some things you can’t change. Some things you can’t hide, and you can’t just burn away forever. But that doesn’t make them any less yours, understand? You killed someone. It doesn’t matter what I tell you, or what you tell yourself. The end result won’t ever change. It can't change. You own that now, and you’ll carry his death with you. Just like I carry every single one of mine.”

He’s… he’s right. You don’t have to like it, but he’s right.

“I don’t like it when you quote me to me,” you eventually whisper, your lips brushing his throat.

“Too bad. I got another one for you,” Din rumbles, and you can feel his gentle smile against your hairline as he tilts his head and presses his lips to your temple. “The Way says no take-backs.”

You narrow your eyebrows into this perfect little corner of him, not liking how curt and unapologetic it sounds rolling off his tongue. “Did I say that?”

“Yep,” he huffs at the ceiling. “Half-asleep, yet observant enough to be annoying.”

Your mouth twists, trying to appear visibly offended in the pitch blackness for some reason but fighting back a smile. “Would you rather I be oblivious and adorable?”

“No,” he says immediately, and then you blink a few times in the darkness at the sincerity in his tone. “You’re smart. Well—you’re an idiot sometimes, but you’re smart. That’s good. That’s your best weapon. Use it.”

“Use it?” You ask, your voice quiet but curious. “For what?”

He takes a second before responding, his fingers continuing to trace gentle, subconscious shapes along the curve of your spine. “What planet are we going to next?”

The abrupt change in subject is stark and immediately noticeable, but you wrack your memory for the coordinates you brought up earlier when he was in the fresher nonetheless. “Naboo.”

“I was thinking,” Din says, shifting just the slightest bit under you. You groan when you realize his cock is still inside you, soft but still gorgeously thick enough to not slip out. “Might… might be a good idea to show you some things. Give you a few self-defense tips before I head out again. Naboo is one of the safest planets in the galaxy. We can… take a few days.”

“Yeah?” You breathe, a spark of excitement bringing an immediate smile to your face.

“Yeah,” he repeats softly, the scruff on his jaw rubbing against your temple as he nods. “Been awhile.”

“Okay,” you bite your lip on a grin and try not to let him hear the happiness in your voice. Fuck, a few days. A few days he’s delaying his job to spend with you. Maybe you’ll be able to sleep on an actual mattress at some point. You truly can’t fucking wait.

You two stay like that for quite a long time, just resting and breathing with each other in the pitch black hull.

“We just wouldn’t have gone to Corellia, how about that?” You find yourself saying after a moment of comfortable silence. When Din doesn’t speak, you elaborate. “You asked me what I would’ve done differently. We just wouldn’t have gone to Corellia. Avoided the whole fucking sector altogether, like I plan on doing for the rest of my life.”

And then your whole body abruptly jerks up and down exactly once with his genuinely amused huff of laughter from underneath you.

Your expression immediately narrows. This is the third time you’ve ever made him laugh in all the months you’ve known him, and somehow all three of them have been at your own expense. “What’s funny?”

“Absolutely. You could’ve—” he clears his throat, “—convinced me. Not to hunt down a bounty.”

He doesn’t make a sound beyond that, and had you not been laying on top of his chest as it subtly vibrated with stifled chuckles, you wouldn’t have known at all that he found that to be so funny.

“I could’ve… wooed you,” you try after a second, and nope. You feel like you’re on top of a silent, quaking faultline now, and you do your best to keep a frown on your face as you rock back and forth on top of him. His cock almost slips out of you in the commotion. Almost.

“Get some sleep, you sweet talker,” he eventually sighs when he calms his breathing, kissing your forehead and settling back down into the blankets. “The kid will be up in a few hours, probably less.”

“He’s your son,” you grumble, still sulking somewhat at his blatant disregard of your seduction talents. “Takes after you. For all I know he looks just like you, too.”

“Sleep,” Din tells you, bringing a hand up to cup the back of your head and push it deeper into the crook of his neck. “That’s enough talking.”

You stomp down the playful urge to bite him and settle into him instead, closing your eyes and breathing him in. Fuck. A few days on Naboo. You’ve only heard nice things about the beautiful planet. You wonder if it has an ocean. Could a planet be called beautiful if it doesn’t have at least one? You’ve seen rivers and lakes on planets Din has taken you to, but there was always land on the other side. You’ve never seen an actual ocean before, you’ve only heard about them. Water, as far as the eye can see. There has to be an ocean on Naboo, right?

“Hey Din, are there any—”

“Stop.”

It’s alright, you’ll ask later.

#the mandalorian #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian x reader #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #fanfic #reader insert #no-droids #rough day #smut

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stephspurs · 3 years

Text

A Family Affair | Euro 2020 Football Fanfiction

Life is beautiful and life is cruel. A window into the souls of the victorious and the vanquished. In a way, football did come home during the summer of 2021. Follow along Amelia’s journey, navigating the football world as a tactical analyst for the italian football team, with a brother and father part of the three lions. Will Amelia leave Italy and come back to England? Will she leave the Serie A for the Prem? Will she set aside the bianconeri stripes for new colours, leaving behind friendship for love? Maybe she can have both...

Hello my lovelies!! Part 3 sees a whole lot Amelia's beautiful brain & you get your first slice of interaction with the british boys - leading up to an all important Mykonos adventure (part 4 - out friday). As usual, please let me know your thoughts and feelings, and let me know what you want to see happen with Amelia and her story! Updates have increased to 3/week! I hope you're enjoying it as much as I am!

Love always,

Steph xx

UPDATE as of 31/07: I've made some additional editing changes due to some feedback about the confusion between ben white (her brother) and ben chilwell (not her brother LOL). Nothing has been added to the story, just the addition of either surname has been added where i think it could be more straightforward - for future readers!

Part 3. | parte terza

warnings; none - just a whole lot of feels.

word count; 2081

writing tools; third person until dashed line, first person thereafter.

next update; Friday 30/07 5pm AEST. Updates are three times/week (Monday, Wednesday & Friday)!

Tags (as requested by users); @footballffbarbiex @obsesseds-world @abysshaven

link to fic masterlist here

It was the day after the final match and Amelia should be nursing a hangover due to the large amount of red wine she consumed with her Italian counterparts the night before. However, she finds herself at St. George’s Park before 9am, meeting one of her father’s colleagues who directs her to the recreation room that she remembers from a few days prior.

Standing outside the door, she assumed she was just waiting for her dad as agreed on the phone an hour earlier. As she was waiting, she could hear Gareth Southgate give a team talk to the players, praising them for their ability and pleading for them to bounce back from this defeat and use it to push on. The next voice she could hear was that of her father, giving them the tactical run through of the game. She listened to the points her father made, and both agreed and disagreed with some. Unexpectedly, the man sent to collect her opened the door and ushered her inside.

She stood at the back of the room, facing her dad and Gareth, whilst the team and other management staff had their backs to her. Making eye contact with her dad, he smiled slightly.

“Whilst I can offer you my opinion on the match last night, to better prepare you for the next time, there is no better opinion to learn from at this moment than that of your opponent. Amelia, would you please come up here” Dean really threw her into this situation, that again, she was not prepared for nor did she want to participate in. However, the 30+ sets of eyes that had currently turned around to stare at her didn’t exactly inspire a choice to be made here.

_____________________________________________________________

“Lads, this is my daughter. I taught her everything she knows, which was probably too much considering I can now recognise that it was her signature plays that the italian side used to their advantage last night. Treat her with respect, or I will let her at you. Which i’m sure you all saw a few nights ago in this very room” My dad spoke as I walked up to the front area, weaving in and around beanbags with players occupying them.

Standing in front of the Three Lions was more nerve wracking now than it had been when she was confronting her brother, maybe Fede did offer her protection as his bodyguard. Either way, she put her big girl pants on (figuratively speaking, literally she was wearing her official puma tights and Italian polo) and got on with it as if she was speaking to her team.

“Thanks Dad. Hey guys, I think the first thing I would like to say is that you’re allowed to feel exactly how you feel right now. There is no rush to ‘get over it’ or ‘push on and learn’. You need to feel this now, feel it throughout your body, understand the pain and then turn it into motivation.” I speak to the group, trying to accurately express how sincere I am to this group of heartbroken men.

“As for tactics, I can stand here and praise you for how good you really are but that's not how you are going to learn. You came into the game hard and fast.” I paused, understanding the innuendo just as it was flying out of my mouth. I pursed my lips and tried to hold my giggle in, however some of the boys seem to have the same sense of humour as I do. My brother, face of steel and eyes that burn into any man that tries to joke with me.

“Sorry, can’t help myself. So yeah, you took charge of the game from kick off and we were not ready. You had the aggression and desire to push from the start and that's what you did, Shaw, you really surprised me with that goal. Not because I didn't think you could do it but because I wasn’t anticipating you being someone we had to watch so closely.”

“Again, something you guys need to keep in mind is that it is literally my job to know everything about you and how you play the game, what foot you prefer, who you pass to, how long you hold the ball before you pass, do you like to assist or score...all of these things make a massive difference in each play we make.”

“The error you made came around the 25th minute of the game, we had settled into the game and did what we do best - we slowed you down. In Italy, in the Serie A, which is where most of my team play, the game is a lot slower. There is more skill and tactic used to ensure a favourable outcome. Again, i'm not saying you all don’t have skill, but the Prem favours pace over tactics and strategy. The only way we were going to be able to win was by making you play our game, but in your half of the pitch.”

At this point, all of their eyes are trained to me and the more senior players of the team, like Henderson, Walker, Coady, Kane, they understand what i’m trying to say. Gareth, my dad and other members of staff are sitting to one side, arms folded and a slight smile on their face at the simplicity of my approach to such an important game. I direct my next question to them.

“Can I ask - have you already selected your man of the match?”

“Off record, yes we have. Before I announce to the team who it is, can I direct the question back to you and find out who you would award it to?” Gareth poses back to me, interested to hear my opinion.

“While the obvious choices would be Kane, Sterling, Maguire - your players who perform week in week out and are consistent and no doubt deserve an award as such. I would recommend Declan Rice. Personally, he was the most instrumental in the match last night. Every time we turned to attack, he was there to stop it. He was a player I was confident that I knew the extent of his ability, when it was obvious that I didn't.”

The boys around him, Mason Mount & Ben Chilwell, offered him a gentle shove and ruffle of the hair, to show their encouragement to the bashful boy who seemed surprised at the praise he was receiving.

“The other player that I think deserves a bit of a shoutout, and not because of his hair, is Jack Grealish.” I spoke, looking around the room until we locked eyes. I wanted him to understand how serious i was about my next words.

“You are so dangerous on the ball, you are an asset as a team mate, you aren’t guilty with the ball, but you have the power behind you to score when the opportunity presents itself. The moment you were subbed on I pulled Jorginho to the side and told him to treat you like Chiellini and Bonnucci were handling Sterling and Kane. You were one of my players to watch, and for good reason”

At the end of the little session, I said thanks to the boys for listening and that I hope to see them again in a tournament. The only way to be the best is to beat the best. After a quick round of applause that made me feel more special than I am, I walked past my brother, gave him a quick ruffle of his hair and met my dad at the back. Gareth dismissed the boys and they all stood up, breaking away and grabbing some breakfast that was set up to the side of the room, for one last team meal.

“Mills!! I’ll get you an almond croissant and a coffee, come sit with me!” Walker shouted from across the room.

“Oi mate, she’s my sister not yours” Ben counters from the back of the line.

“Yeah she's your sister by blood, mine by choice.” Kyle firmly states and begins his way to one of the tables.

“I suppose i better join Kyle before he drowns everyone in his tears” i joked with the england officials i was standing with before walking over to Kyle and a few of his team mates.

“Sooo am I supposed to pretend I don’t know who you all are so you can introduce yourselves? Or do we just mutually agree that I know too much about each of you and not bring it up?” I question the boys, jokingly. They all laugh and I sit down in the space Kyle left between himself and John Stones. I sat there and got to know some of the boys on a less competitive level, working out who was a leader both on the pitch and off it. After listening to the boys joke around and just be mates, rather than teammates, I leaned over to Kyle.

“Hey, before I go, do you think you can introduce me to Bukayo? I want to speak with him for a moment.”

“Yeah sure, I'll take you over there. Why are you nervous? You've never been shy before” Kyle questioned back at me.

“I’m not nervous, I'm just hyper aware of the sensitivity of the moment. Last night would have been tough”

Saying goodbye to the boys, Kyle directed me over to a table that was sitting my brother Ben White, Kalvin, Ben Chilwell, Grealish, Saka, Sancho & Rashford.

“Hey boys, Ben, I just wanted to come say goodbye before I head off.” I directed towards my brother. He pulled up a chair and asked me to sit for 5 more minutes, claiming he deserved it after months of no contact.

“Ben here didn’t let us know he had a sister as smart as you...what happened to you Ben? Did you miss that gene?” Jack Grealish poked at my brother. With his signature scowl on his face, Ben White let his mates laugh at his expense.

“Oh don’t make fun of my brother Benny, that’s my job!” I joked back, setting the boys off again with my brother’s childhood nickname. It was nice to hear some laughter again from a side that looked so solemn the night before.

“No in all seriousness boys, I especially came over because I wanted to talk to you Bukayo - what you did was so impressive. In a final, as the last penalty taker, to take on the responsibility of the nation at the age of 19! Not many players would dare to do that. You have earned a lot of respect, particularly from the Italian camp.” I spoke with a smile on my face, directed at the young boy.

“The same goes for you two” Now looking at Sancho & Rashford.

Bukayo looked down at his hands & smiled, before getting up and walking to my side of the table. Anticipating what he was going to do next, I stood up and welcomed him with open arms. Grateful that he understood my message and was beginning to accept the praise he so deserved. Stepping back from the hug, I turned to address the group of lads one more time.

“If any of you fancy a change of pace and want to come over to the Serie A, just give me a call - Benny can give you my number!” I start to speak, before I'm cut off but my brother.

“Stop poaching my mates! I’ve already lost you to another country. I don't need to lose anyone else” He jokingly says while standing to walk me out of St. George’s Park. I know it was a joke but I can't help but think there was some truth to that.

It had been more than 3 years since I moved out of our family home to start my life in Turin, and not one moment had i regretted it or thought i made the wrong decision. Don’t get me wrong, there are times when I wished I was closer to my family, but I know I had to make that move to prove to myself I am just as successful as I hoped I would be. Not saying I have learnt everything there is to learn with the Serie A giants, Juventus, but maybe it's time for a new challenge? Maybe I can bring the strategic spin on the game to the fast paced action of the premier league?

Part 4. | quarta parte

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harrylilies · 3 years

Text

The Royal Series | Pt. VII

The Royal Series Masterlist

Sometimes, time ran faster than you could comprehend. A month after your trip to Amsterdam, you were filled to the brim with contentment.

Not only were you happy that you and Harry were official, but somewhere amidst that trip and what followed, a friendship seemed to spark between you and Prince Fred.

Fred was more than meets the eye. He was respectful, funny, and an understand person, and perhaps that all was deeply appreciated but none other than your best friend, Nia, whom Fred had been seeing for a short while after way too many stolen glances, soft teasing, and hushed conversations in Amsterdam, though they were yet to make anything official.

"Y/N, come on," Fred groaned as he sat on your sofa. "I can't possibly take her there."

You rolled your eyes, putting your laptop aside as you crossed your legs and turned his way. "You can't always take her to fancy restaurants, that's boring."

"And I can't also be seen in an amusement park when our families are basically planning our wedding."

You sighed, your shoulders slumping in response.

“Also, about that, have you told Harry yet?"

You pursed your lips together, shaking your head. "No," you looked at him, "I haven't."

"Y/N..." Fred dragged, leaning his head back.

"I know! I know what you're thinking but I can't tell him anything when he's on tour. Tonight is his last day in the first leg of the tour then he's coming back and won't go back until March. I think I have time." You shrugged. "I have time, don't I?"

"Not for long." He answered, reaching to take the cup of orange juice you poured him. "If he's the right person, he'll stay." Fred reminded you.

"What if he's the right person and he doesn't?" You asked quietly, "How can he, after his girlfriend drops news like that on him?" You rubbed your temple, closing your eyes.

"Have some faith, will you?" Fred said, "Have you told your brothers about him?"

"Not yet. I'm telling them tonight. They're coming over for dinner." You answered him, standing up and stretching your arms over your head.

"What an eventful life." Fred chuckled, unlocking his phone and looking at the screen. "Fuck, I have to leave. I have two hours to get ready for my date."

You cooed, poking his arm. "By the way, Nia will look stunning tonight."

“How did y-Ah,” he chuckled, “Group chat or whatever.”

"You bet." You pointed at him, "Don't forget. The olive jacket, not the navy blue one."

"Yes, ma'am." Fred nodded, walking towards the door with you behind him. "Have any plans for that breakfast in Buckingham we're having tomorrow?"

"Think we should have fun. Show Ganny that this is the last thing we need." You told him, holding your door knob.

Fred nodded as he looked at you while holding his jacket on his arm. "Seeing Harry tomorrow?"

You grinned, nodding. "I am."

He smiled, leaning down and pressing a chaste kiss on your cheek. "Have fun tonight. I'll see you tomorrow."

"You have fun, too. Take a picture or two and send them to me, yeah?" You wiggled your eyebrows making him laugh. "I'll see you tomorrow, Freddie."

With that, he left.

Right as you closed the door, FaceTime's ringtone came from your laptop. You took long strides towards it, smiling when you saw it was Harry. You instantly accepted the video call, already feeling giddy as it connected.

It only took about 3 seconds before you saw his face, looking tired yet with a heart-warming wide smile, "Hi."

You tilted your head, smiling softly at him, "Hi."

"I'm at the airport," Harry said, flipping the camera to show you what was around him before turning and showing you a group of people, all waving and calling for him. "Was just there with the fans." He informed you before flipping the camera again so you could see his face. "And I miss you."

If you really and literally had butterflies in your stomach, you were pretty sure they were constantly growing in numbers every time you talked to Harry. "I miss you, too. I'm seeing you tomorrow, aren't I?"

"You definitely are. Y-Hang on, baby," his eyes looked away from his phone as he talked to someone else.

Completely oblivious to the tint on your cheeks and the wide grin on your face at the pet name. "Baby." You had whispered quietly to yourself, leaning your head back on the couch.

"Hm?" Harry looked at you, "Did you say anything, love?"

"No," you shook your head. "You just called me something new, that's all."

Harry's eyebrows furrowed and if it weren't for the fact that he was a continent away, you would've kissed that frown away. "I did?"

"You called me baby." You giggled.

The amusement and admiration went both ways because hearing your giggle, seeing you with your hair up in a messy ponytail and glasses on your face, Harry couldn't help but silently admire the way you looked and sounded. You looked effortlessly beautiful; the kind of beautiful he never encountered and the kind of beautiful he never would've thought would call "his.” "I did, didn't I?" Harry smiled, looking at you through his phone's screen, "You bring out the sap in me."

"I'm not complaining." You shrugged with a soft laugh.

Harry chuckled, looking up from his phone before looking at you again. "I have to go now, love."

"Are you still sure about me not picking you up from the airport?" You asked him.

"We can't risk you getting seen." Harry repeated his words from a couple of days ago, "I'll be all yours at 7 tomorrow."

You sighed, nodding. "Right, I know. You're right. Text me when you land?"

"Of course. I'll see you soon. And because I won't be there tonight, goodnight, baby." He pressed his lips to his front camera, making you break into a smile.

"Goodnight, H." You pressed a kiss to your hand before putting it on your laptop screen. As you both waved, you ended the call.

"How's your campaign going, Tiny?" Your brother, Harry, asked before taking a sip of his wine.

"Really well. We reached 3 million just last night." You grinned, watching as everyone erupted in supportive cheers.

"Y/N, that's amazing!" Meghan gasped.

"And it's only going to grow and get better. Good job, Y/N." Kate smiled warmly at you before looking at William.

"I knew you could do it." William said with a grin, "Pa would be so happy for you."

You cringed, "Let's not talk about that part of the family right now," you began, tucking a locket of hair behind your ear, "Especially since I'm telling you something that they won't like."

Your brothers and their partners all broke into serious faces, looking at you intently. Har put his fork down, leaning closer to the table, "Are you okay?"

You nodded instantly, gulping a sip of wine. "I'm okay, great even. It's good news."

"Well say it, I'm shitting myself." Har said, making you laugh.

"Okay, uh," you cleared your throat before looking at them. "You know Harry?" Everyone looked at your brother in confusion, making you roll your eyes. "Not this one."

"Styles?" William asked and you nodded, "Oh, you mean your Romeo. What about him?"

"We're uh," you smiled nervously, putting your hands on the table. "We're together now."

"Like officially?" Meghan asked.

You nodded, "I saw him when I was in Amsterdam with my friends and we made it official."

Meghan awed, standing up and approaching you to wrap her arms around you, "I'm so happy for you!"

You grinned, letting her give you one final squeeze before she sat down beside your brother. "He really seems decent, Y/N. I'm happy for you." Kate grinned at you.

"Thank you, Kate." You smiled back at her before glancing at your brothers who seemed to be in thought. "What?"

"When are we meeting him?" William asked, "Har, you remember a move or two from your military service?"

"Of course, I do. We can learn a few new moves, too. Just to show him that he can't break Tiny's heart." Harry replied back, dramatically hitting his fist against his palm, laughing as you groaned.

"Yup, you're never meeting him." You nodded.

"Aw, come on!" He laughed, "We're just looking out for you."

"Just because I'm a father of two kids and soon third, doesn't mean I'm any less of an older brother to my baby sister." William shrugged at you with a teasing grin.

"You're awful!" You laughed as you all began to stand up from the table.

"Wait," Kate looked at you before laughing in disbelief, "Does that mean he met Fred in Amsterdam? He knows?"

You nodded, "They did. Actually, here’s the funny part. Harry still doesn't really know about the whole thing with Fred."

"Oh shit." Meghan instantly reacted.

You nodded, holding yours and William's plates in your hands as you shook your head with a smile to your two housemaids once they approached to help, giving them a “Thanks, we got it” as you walked to the kitchen, your brother Harry behind you with his and Meghan's plates. "Are you going to tell him?"

You put the plates by the sink before leaning on the counter as the rest came to the kitchen, putting plates and cups away. "I am. Tomorrow."

"Noticed you and little Freddie are friends now." William said, fixing the apple magnet on your fridge.

"He's interested in Nia."

"I feel like you're in a teenage drama series." Kate joked.

You laughed, "But seriously, I'm happy with how things are now. I mean, imagine how bad would it be if he wasn't actually interested in someone else? Besides, he's a great person."

"Harry's just greater." Har said before letting out a low groan, "We have to find him a new name."

"Romeo." William said, making you swat him on the arm.

"Romeo it is."

"No!"

Standing up and smoothening your black dress, you smiled politely at Fred's parents.

"So good to see you, Your Highness. You have grown to be a beautiful woman." His mother, Lady Gwen, smiled at you as she kissed your cheeks.

"Thank you. You look wonderful." You complimented her with a smile.

"There's the princess! Look at you!" His father, Dean, exclaimed, shaking your hand enthusiastically.

You chuckled, glancing at Fred who rolled his eyes at his parents from behind them. As they both moved to greet your family, you and Fred greeted each other with a firm handshake, both snickering to yourselves. "Hello, Fredrick."

"Hello, Your Highness Princess Y/N. It's wonderful to see you." Fred said, bowing his head.

"How was your date?" You whispered, wide eyed.

Fred grinned, the blush on his cheek not going unnoticed by you. "Amazing."

You let out a low squeal before looking behind you at everyone else settling, "We should sit. Come on."

Taking your seats and sitting after your grandmother sat, everyone chatted quietly.

"Y/N here told me that you had fun in Amsterdam." Your grandmother told Fred, smiling at him.

Fred glanced at you before looking at her and nodding, "We did. Y/N has very nice friends."

"She does," she staggered, "It's only because she's nice herself. When she was young, you could easily mistake her for an angel." She laughed.

Your siblings snickered under their breath, knowing for fact that none of you were angels when you were younger. You had broken way too many ornaments and precious Chinas to be angels.

"What about your older days, Y/N?" Fred smirked, looking at you.

You shrugged in a smug manner, "Not so angelic. What about you, Fred? Are you any angel?"

"Definitely not. I like to relax by listening to heavy metal and attending raves undercover. In fact, I have taken a liking for tattoos. Think maybe I should get a small one," he leaned closer, as if he only wanted to direct his next words to only you, "On my rear." Fred said before leaning back on his chair casually, holding his cup of tea as his parents stared at him in shock, as did the Queen,

"Vulgar." You said under your breath jokingly, causing him to laugh, covering his mouth.

"Scandalous." He whispered.

"Oh honey, you're too humble," Lady Gwen began, looking at her son as she chuckled nervously. "You know, Y/N, Fred here is an amazing polo player, just like you." She grinned, raising her eyebrows.

Giving her a tight smile, you replied. "Oh, I actually stopped playing polo."

Her face fell, glancing at her husband who coughed to stifle his chuckle. "Is that so?" She chuckled reluctantly, "Well but you still play the piano, right? Fred here is excellent when it comes to music. Fred plays piano so well."

"I don't actually. I like playing the cello. Piano is a bit boring for me." Fred replied.

"And I don't always play the piano for everyone. Just a few people get to see and hear me play the piano." You added before steadily eating a berry.

Your eyes caught your grandfather who was laughing as he looked at his cup of English tea. He looked up, giving you a discreet wink before bringing his cup to his lips.

"Remember when you broke that cello Eugenie got for my 21st birthday?" Har asked you, playing along.

You nodded, "God, these instruments are just enormous. Take up too much space."

"Okay," Lady Gwen laughed awkwardly, "Tell us about your Amsterdam trip. It was fun, wasn't it?"

"It was," You nodded, "My favourite part was when we all went to that nude beach."

Your father, Prince Charles, choked on his tea, having Camilla rub his back soothingly. Your brothers, however, weren't discreet as they burst out laughing, your grandmother looking at you in horror.

You casually sipped your tea, looking at Fred, "It was a fun trip, wasn't it?"

"It's really cold, isn't it?" You asked one of your personal guards, Sid, hugging your sweater closer to your body as you got out of the car.

"Just like how December should be." He smiled warmly down at you.

"It's our favourite season of the year, Sid." You smiled, remembering how years ago when you were younger, you had a conversation with Sid about how you liked December season and how festive it was, "You can really go the coffeeshop around here or do anything you want."

Andrew nodded at you as they both walked you to Harry's front door, standing at a fair distance. "We'll feel better waiting here."

"If you change your mind, you can text me. I'm just going to stay indoors." You said before ringing Harry's door bell and taking a step back.

"Have a good night, Princess Y/N." Sid tipped his head slightly at you.

"You, too, Sid. And you, too, Andrew."

As soon as you finished your sentence, the door opened to none other than the man you would proudly shout that he was yours. His hair tousled on his head, almost transparent framed eyeglasses fixed on his nose, a grey sweater and black joggers covering him as he stood barefoot. Harry instantly wrapped his arms around your waist, making you squeal as he carried you off of the ground, walking backwards and inside the house, making you wrap your limbs around him as you pressed a kiss to his cheek.

"God, I missed you." He breathed out against your neck, pressing a chaste kiss on your skin before kissing your shoulder. He kicked his door shut after making sure your guards weren't standing there and walked inside his house, with you still wrapped around him.

"Feels like years since I last saw you." You whispered against his shoulder, moving your lips to press a kiss on his sweater clad skin. "You smell nice."

"Yeah?" He smiled, plopping on his couch, with you on his lap. His hands moved to clasp his fingers behind your back to support it, making you lean back to get a better look at him.

You grinned, moving your hands to cup his cheeks, squishing his face so he looked like a fish, making you laugh and Harry to shut his eyes, letting out a muffled "kiss.” You let his cheeks go, resting your hands on his shoulders and leaning down till your lips were pressed against each other, chest to chest.

It was something that puzzled Harry himself. You see, Harry read all about relationships, the stages and love. He read about women and men and mostly knew about what to say and when to say it (sometimes). He read all about the thumping heartbeats and butterflies. He read all about the stages; infatuation, liking and falling in love. Harry read all about lust and emotional connection. Harry seemed to know what to do and understanding to how he was feeling; he had a plan. But that's the thing. It was never about lists and plans.

You meet someone for the first time and all of the sudden, it's like your heart has been yearning for so long. You see them and you think all about the good the world has to offer — the good that you want to offer.

You meet someone and all you want to do is write about them; their eyes, their laugh, the crinkle of their nose.

You make lists and plans and it all crumbles when you meet someone. That's the thing about love, the best kind of it is when it's spontaneous. When you have no idea what the fuck you are feeling or when the fuck you began to feel it but fuck, it's going to be the best feeling you've ever felt.

So, with a blanket covering the both of you, Amy Winehouse's vinyl playing and your hushed whispers making you giggle as your head was on Harry's arm as you both lied down on the sofa, it all felt natural and familiar. His hand playing with yours, lacing your fingers together before tracing your palm lines as he told you all about Tokyo. Looking into his face, your lips seemed to have a mind of their own as they pulled up in a faint smile as you watched him talk, green eyes boring into yours.

Without thinking, his hand that was draped from the sofa as you slept on his other arm was raised, beginning to softly stroke your hair as Harry continued talking, seeming oblivious to his actions. You hummed, turning to your side and fully looking at him, your leg on his.

"How do you celebrate Christmas?" He asked gently, looking at you with so much care.

"Well," you lied more comfortably in his arms, "We go to Granny's country home in Norfolk. We open gifts on Christmas Eve then at 5 that day, it's time for tea and all that in the saloon then it's fancy dinner. I usually stay with Will at his place instead of with Granny because it's always too noisy and there's always a commotion there so we leave after dinner," you told him slowly, your palm on his chest as he looked down on you, "On Christmas day, we have breakfast then we attend the church service at St. Mary's Magdalene. At 1, it's turkey time then at 3, we watch granny's speech. It's hectic but nice."

"That's really eventful," Harry admitted, bringing her body closer to his, "When are you usually done with everything?"

"Around 5:30."

"What do you say," he began, his dimple seen as he gave you a cheeky smile, "You spend the rest with me?"

Your eyebrows furrowed but the smile didn't leave your face as you shuffled back a little to have a better look at his face, "Where?"

"Back at my home, in Cheshire." Harry nodded slowly, his hand grazing and tracing your hip.

"With- with your family?" You let out a small laugh of disbelief. Harry grinned and nodded. "You want me to meet your family?" You asked quietly, moving to lie on top of him, making him laugh and lock his arms behind your back.

"It's Christmas. I can't think of a better vibe for a first meeting and I certainly can't wait for next year's Christmas." Harry answered, giving you a shrug.

"Are you sure about this?" You asked him, nuzzling your head in his shoulder as you tried to stifle your grin.

"I'm sure." Harry replied back as quietly.

And because for the rainbow to beautify the world, there has to be rain, your smile faltered. You sighed against his shoulder before pulling away and sitting up, getting somewhat seated on Harry's thighs with your legs on either side of his body.

"What is it?" He asked, frowning. "Does it make you uncomfortable? Because we've been together for a month? I just - I thought that we've known each other for three months now and it has been ama-"

"H," you chuckled, cutting him off. You leaned down, giving his lips a soft peck, "It's not about that. I'm flattered that you want me to meet your family."

"Then what is it?"

You leaned back again and sat, your palms resting his stomach, your eyes traveling to the bit of skin that showed from when his sweater rose up, seeing a hint of his tattoos. "I have to tell you something." You spoke, avoiding his eyes.

"Baby, you're making me nervous." Harry admitted, resting his hands on your thighs.

You gulped, glancing at his eyes for a second before looking back at where your hands rested. "I'm, uh," you stuttered, a deep frown on your face. "You know Fred?"

"Your friend?"

You cleared your throat before nodding slightly, "You know how I'm the only daughter?" You asked him, watching as he nodded, "Well, since I'm the only daughter, my family decided to plan my life ahead. My siblings did what they wanted because, I don't know, they thought of them as hopeless cases I guess but they waited for 11 years for a girl and when I came, they couldn't," you shook your head, "They couldn't have but the best for me. The best for the monarch, So they, uh," you fiddled with your fingers on his stomach, "They arranged a marriage for me."

What?" Harry instantly reacted, pushing himself to lean on his elbows as he looked at you in disbelief. "What does Fre- He's-" He sucked in a breath, "You're arranged to marry Fred?"

You nodded reluctantly, cringing when you heard Harry let out a small chuckle of disbelief.

"So you have your life planned and I'm guessing your firstborn's name and you come into my life because...?" Harry asked in disbelief, the hurt in his tone being clear enough for you to pick up on.

"No, no," you instantly denied, looking at him. "I know it sounds bad but it won't happen."

"It won't happen because you're hoping it wouldn't or it won't happen because you talked to your family and this isn't actually going to happen?" He asked you firmly, looking intently at your eyes.

You gave him no answer first, making him scoff slightly before plopping back on his back, moving his hands to his face as he rubbed it. "Harry, I wasn't lying to you." You said, moving off of him to sit beside him instead.

"You kept this from me, Y/N. Don't you think that this was the first thing I should know? You let me meet him for fuck's sa-What was he doing with you in Amsterdam? What was that?" He looked at you with a frown.

"My grandmother had him come with me as a way to get us to know each other." You replied quietly.

"And you did. Fuck, Y/N, and all these times you told me that you were with Fred, were you practicing your vows? Choosing the table cloth?" He asked sarcastically, making you almost wince.

"No, Harry. I told you the truth. I don't want to be with him. I'm not going to be with him, whatever happens."

"So your entire family must hate me, don't they?"

"They don't," you shook your head, "It's just my grandmother and father, they're still somewhat attempting because they think you're a fling or it’s just me rebelling against them."

"Am I? Am I something you're rebelling against them with, Y/N?"

"Of course not!"

Harry sighed, his rings clad hands moving to cover his face. "Is there anything else you're not telling me?"

"My brothers know about you and they want to meet you," you began, "And Fred has been seeing Nia."

"And how is Nia coping?" He asked, looking you, resting his arms beside him in defeat.

"She knows that nothing will happen. That there's no way this marriage will happen." You assured him, "I know it sounds ba-"

"Awful." Harry corrected you with a small chuckle, making you smile sympathetically.

"Awful. But I haven't been lying to you. When I told you that I really like you, I wasn't lying," you shook your head, "When I told you that being with me wasn't easy, I wasn't lying either."

"What about that time you told me that you weren't scared?" He asked gently, one hand reaching to grasp your hand on his stomach.

"I don't want to lose you." Your reply came the second he closed his mouth, determination and sincerity dripping from your words.

Harry sat up, leaning towards you until it was you on your back and him hovering you, "And I don't want to lose you."

#The royal series #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #harry styles x princess #harry styles imagine

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