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corroded-hellfire · 4 months ago

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Mad Love - Eddie Munson x Reader

Summary: Eddie goes to visit Dustin at college and meets the Harley Quinn to his Joker at a Halloween party

Note: I had this idea because I needed a good Harley and Joker fix after watching the insane disappointment that was Joker 2.

Warnings: smut, p in v, unprotected (wrap it up), oral, m receiving, alcohol, Harley and Joker are crazy and so is Eddie so what do you expect

Words: 5k

“The party is where?”

“It’s at a house on the edge of campus.”

“A frat house, Dustin. A frat house. How do you even know these guys?”

Dustin sighs and grabs his deerstalker hat.

“I’m tutoring one of the guys who lives there,” he says.

“And this isn’t just some prank?” Eddie asks, a brow raised in skepticism. “Cool frat bro asks his younger, nerdy tutor to come by his Halloween party?”

The shorter man scoffs and shakes his head.

“Clay is a good guy,” Dustin defends. “You think I wouldn’t have been able to sniff out if he was some douchebag bully by now? My asshole detector is accurate, and you know it.”

“Fine.” Eddie picks his purple blazer up from where he laid it over the back of a chair. He slips his arms into it and adjusts it until it’s comfortable. “The music will probably be shit, though.”

“Look dude,” Dustin says, “you don’t have to come if you don’t want to. You can hang out in my dorm. Or one of the dining halls stays open pretty late. Grab some food.”

“Nope,” Eddie says with a shake of his head. His green-tinted curls sway with the motion. “I drove for hours to see your scrawny ass; I’m not going anywhere. Plus, I love Halloween parties.”

“Exactly how many have you been invited to before?”

“Hey, I provided great party favors in high school. I was a welcome sight for the most part.”

“Doesn’t mean ‘invited’...” Dustin mumbles as he adjusts his Sherlock Holmes cloak.

Eddie hears him anyway and knocks the hat off his friend’s head before grabbing the bag of makeup he brought to complete his costume.

Eddie’s first thought when he walks into the frat party is that it looks exactly like every college movie he’s ever seen. Red solo cups are in almost every hand, with a dozen or so already lost or discarded on the hardwood floor. The music is awful, as predicted, and despite the chilly October air, the room feels muggy because of all the bodies crammed inside.

“I don’t know what half these costumes are supposed to be,” Eddie shouts over the thumping bass.

Dustin shrugs in response and the two of them move farther into the room. The deeper into the crowd they get, and the more he looks around, the happier Eddie becomes that he came. Apparently, most college girls like to go for the “slutty” versions of costumes and Eddie can’t say that he minds one bit. A particular girl in a Princess Leia gold bikini catches his eye, but Dustin grabs his arm and drags him towards the stairs before he can even muster up a witty line to say to her.

“Why the fuck did I dress as a clown?” Eddie murmurs to himself.

“Eddie!” Dustin shouts. “This is Clay!”

The older man’s immediate reaction is that this guy looks like a much taller and less douchey Jason Carver. He doesn’t exude the same sense of superiority and holier-than-thou-ness that the Hawkins High basketball player did.

Clay offers his hand to Eddie with a smile.

“Nice to meet you,” he calls above the music. “Dustin has told me a lot about you.”

Eddie shoots Dustin a smirk, to which the faux Sherlock Holmes rolls his eyes.

“Good to meet you, too,” Eddie says, shaking the man’s hand.

“Keg’s over there,” Clay says, gesturing towards the front corner of the open area, “bathrooms upstairs. Have fun!”

“Thanks, man,” Dustin replies.

Eddie feels like his head is on a swivel, looking in every direction at all the girls around him. He’s pretty sure he’s never been around this many girls in his life.

“Come on, Joker,” Dustin says, patting his friend on the back. “Stop looking over your shoulder like Batman is gonna pop out at any second and let's go get a drink.”

“M’not looking for any man, dude,” Eddie says as they head towards the keg. “Besides, you’re not old enough to drink.”

“Ya know, for a villain, you’re pretty uptight. Especially for one who used to sell drugs.”

Eddie shrugs and swipes up a clean solo cup. He opens his mouth to reply as he takes another step towards the keg, but he’s cut off as he almost bumps into someone also going for the tap.

“Whoa! Sorry there, Puddin’.”

Dark brown eyes go from his own black sneakers to black boots with red laces, scan up one red and one black pant leg, a long sleeve top with the colors on the opposite sides, and up to the prettiest face Eddie’s ever seen—even if there’s a black mask over her eyes. The cherry on top is the black and red jester hat with the small white cotton balls on the ends.

“My apologies, darling,” Eddie croons, sketching a bow. “After you.”

The female clown giggles and shrugs her shoulders coyly.

“Thanks, Mister J.” Her voice is sweet and clear, even above the noise of the party.

Dustin doesn’t need to be dressed as Sherlock Holmes to figure out how Eddie is looking at this girl. The college freshman sees the way his friend’s eyes follow every move she makes as she fills her cup with beer.

“I, uh, see a friend from my chem class,” Dustin says, shooting Eddie a sly smirk. “I’ll leave you clowns to it.”

Eddie nods without really listening, eyes never leaving the red and black dream standing in front of him. Once her cup is filled, she steps aside so her villainous counterpart can take his turn.

“Where you been hiding on me, huh?” Harley asks before taking a sip of her beer. “I don’t think I’ve seen you before. Then again, I guess the white paint and red lipstick could disguise anyone.”

“I could say the same to you.” Eddie nods to where she’s left a red lipstick stain on the rim of her solo cup.

“Well, I do have to admit that I’m not quite as outgoing when I’m not hiding behind a pound of makeup and a mask.”

“And I have to admit, I don’t actually go to school here.” Eddie winces before taking a large gulp from his own cup.

“It’s my lucky night, then!” She grins and reaches out, a red glove tugging on a purple lapel to bring him in closer. “Not here visiting a girlfriend, I hope?”

“Nah.” Eddie shakes his head as he leans into her space. “Visiting a nerdy freshman that I took under my wing last time he was a freshman.”

“Sherlock Holmes?” Harley asks. She tilts her head to the side and Eddie can’t help but smile at how it adorably skews her hat.

“That’s him.”

“That’s so cute!”

The keg starts to gather a crowd, so the dynamic duo steps out of the way. Unfortunately, it’s closer to a speaker that has the music blaring in their faces.

“Outside?” Harley mouths, hitching her thumb over her shoulder towards the backyard.

Eddie nods and follows his fellow jester out into the crisp autumn night. Partygoers mingle in varying costumes, conversations able to be heard out here even over the thumping bass flooding out from the house. There aren’t any empty chairs or places to sit, so the pair decide to take a lap around the yard.

“What do you study?” Eddie asks as they walk side by side.

“Psychology,” she replies, giving a small dramatic bow that lets the white pom pom balls on the end of her hat shake back and forth.

“Ah,” Eddie says, raising his eyebrows. “Not just Harley Quinn then, we’ve got Dr. Harleen Quinzel herself.”

“In the flesh,” she says with a cheeky shrug of her shoulders. “Or, well, in the clown suit and makeup, anyway. It’s my last year so I figured it’s time to go all out and have fun. Hence the costume.”

“And I just dress like this regularly,” Eddie jokes, adjusting his purple tie with his free hand. “I’m a natural green head, by the way. None of that dyed shit for me. It’s always so obvious when it’s fake.”

“It goes so well with your deathly pale complexion and naturally thick eyelined eyes,” she says, gesturing to his makeup.

“Don’t forget the au naturale blood red lips,” Eddie adds, puckering them for emphasis.

“Who could forget those lips?” Harley’s eyes darken as she speaks, her gaze drifting down to Eddie’s mouth before coming back up to meet his eyes.

“God, it’s freezing out here,” a girl in a hula skirt and coconut bra complains as she hurries past the clowns with a friend, heading towards the door for the house.

“I’m comfortable,” Harley says, stopping to do a twirl in between steps. “Have no idea why she could be so chilled! They call me crazy, but at least I know to be covered up outside in Indiana in October. Ah, but I suppose that would ruin the sexiness of her costume, wouldn’t it?”

“Well,” Eddie says, not hiding the fact that he’s looking her up and down. He figures he might as well shoot his shot. “You’re literally covered from head to toe, down to your fingertips, and you managed to be the sexiest one here tonight.”

It takes her a moment to recover from the unexpected compliment. Flirting? Okay, she was absolutely doing it too. But Eddie’s words warm her from within and she can feel the heat seeking its only outlet in this costume: her face.

“Aha, but word on the street is that you’re crazy too, Mister J.”

“Maybe crazy, but not blind,” Eddie replies.

She smiles and it makes Eddie’s heart stutter in his chest.

Before Harley gets a chance to open her mouth and reply, the back door of the frat house busts open and a whole gaggle of drunken guys come spilling out.

“Stupid boys,” Harley says, shaking her head. She looks back to Eddie and offers her hand, palm up. “Wanna go for a walk?”

“I’d be delighted.” Eddie’s white gloved hand takes her black gloved hand, and the two intertwine their fingers as they head to the side of the frat house, to walk around to the front.

There are still people streaming into the party. Cars are parked up and down the street and some are clearly circling the block to see where they might be able to squeeze in as well.

Harley leads Eddie across the street and down a side road, away from the chaos of the party.

“So,” she says once they’re far enough away to hear one another easily, “what’s your real name, Joker?”

“Eddie,” he tells her, giving her hand a soft squeeze. “What about you?”

She tells him her name and Eddie can’t help but think how pretty it is.

“But tonight I’m Harley, cause she ain’t as shy as I am,” she says.

“I’m pretty sure Eddie is on the same level of outgoing-ness that Joker is, so I’m good with either,” he says, making her laugh.

The two of them walk towards the heart of campus and come to the point where Eddie actually starts to recognize buildings.

“This is the student center, right?” he asks.

“Yep. The best place to get good on campus, just as a heads up.”

“I will definitely keep that in mind. My buddy says he mostly eats in the East dining hall cause it’s right in front of his dorm building,” Eddie explains.

“That’s the East dining hall right there,” Harley says, pointing to a long one-story building to their right.

“Which makes that Haynes Hall.” Eddie gestures to the looming brick building behind it. “That’s where I’m crashing.”

“Is that so?”

The sultry, suggestive tone goes right to Eddie’s cock.

“Would you, uh, like to see it?” he asks, tilting his head to the side with a small smile.

“You know,” she says, leaning forward to rest her hands on the lapels of his purple blazer, “I lived there back when I was a freshman.”

Eddie feels his heart drop. Was he reading the signals wrong? If so, what does it mean that she has her hands on his chest right now?

“I’m curious to see how it changed over these past three years,” she finishes.

The grin on Eddie’s face is as wide as the one the fictional character he’s dressed up as usually sports.

“Well, let’s not keep you in suspense any longer,” he says.

Harley gladly slips one of her hands into one of Eddie’s and tugs him in the direction of the twelve-story building. As soon as both of their pairs of black shoes are squeaking down the entryway hall down to the elevator, Harley gently pulls her hand away from Eddie’s to yank off the red and black gloves. The Joker follows suit with his own white ones, wanting to be able to hold her hand without any offending material in the way.

Their fingers lace together as if it’s the most natural thing in the world for the pair of them, and Harley jabs the elevator up button with her thumb. The silver doors glide open and as soon as he’s inside, Eddie is pressing the button to Dustin’s floor with urgency, before switching to the button that closes the elevator doors.

The moment the doors slide closed behind them, Eddie backs Harley up against the side wall of the elevator and cages her in by resting his arms against the litany of flyers that have been taped up on either side of her head. Her black mask slowly starts to slip down her nose as she gazes up at him. Eddie lowers his head to hers, his mouth only a breath away. A cheerful ding letting them know they’re on the right floor interrupts the almost-kiss.

Her eagerness is clear with the harsh tug she gives Eddie’s arm to lead him out of the elevator and down the thinly carpeted hall.

“Uh, 802,” Eddie says, scanning the room numbers of every door they pass.

“Oops,” Harley says with a giggle. “We’re going the wrong way.” She does a clumsy attempt at a ballet spin to turn one-eighty degrees and face the other end of the hall.

As soon as Eddie starts to think that they’re never going to find this goddamn room, they turn a corner and skid to a halt in front of the correct door. Eddie digs the extra key that Dustin gave him out of his pocket and slips it into the lock.

The moment they’re inside, Eddie is fumbling for the light since he doesn’t know the layout and can’t blindly lead her to the bed. The last thing he needs is either of them tripping on some textbook and breaking an arm.

Dustin’s bed is pushed against the right side of the wall and Eddie already makes a mental note to beg his younger friend’s forgiveness as he’s either disinfecting or burning the sheets later. Speaking of said younger friend…

Eddie doesn’t have the time or inkling to go digging through Dustin’s drawers to find a sock to hang on the doorknob, so he kicks off his sneakers and yanks at his black socks. One gets tossed to the cluttered floor while Eddie opens the dorm door and puts the other on the doorknob. The universal sign that you better come back later—even if this is your room.

Now Eddie can return his attention to the one place he’d like to keep it tonight: the beautiful jester in front of him.

“Why don’t you take a seat, Puddin’?” Harley coos, patting the edge of the mattress.

He sits down where she instructed and is rewarded with the sight of her kneeling on the floor between his spread legs. Eddie drops one of Dustin’s pillows down on the floor—since the bedding is all going to need to be taken care of anyway—and she gives the man above her a grateful smile.

Bare hands work at the belt holding the purple pants up and Eddie can’t keep his eyes off of them. He admires how soft and smooth they look as her fingers nimbly work. She then pops open his fly and drags down the zipper. Eddie lifts his hips and together the two of them push the pants and his boxers down his thighs. His cock springs free, already hard and begging to be touched. Her eyes immediately land on the precum beading at the head and she licks over her lips eagerly. A soft hum from the back of her throat is the only warning Eddie gets before she takes his length in her hand and immediately begins licking up the side of his shaft.

Eddie’s head drops back with a low groan. One hand falls to the mattress beside him while the other gently rests on the crown of her jester hat. When she takes the head of his cock in her mouth, Eddie clenches the comforter that his hand is resting on in his fist.

“Fuck,” Eddie moans. He tilts his chin forward to look down at the sexy supervillain sucking his dick. The bright red lipstick leaves a ring around Eddie’s cock that he never wants to wash off. He watches her go deeper and deeper each time, the crimson smears getting closer to the dark patch of hair at his base.

When her head begins to pick up speed, bobbing up and down, Eddie knows he needs to stop her before the real fun begins. Gently, he presses against her shoulder, which she is able to interpret and pulls her mouth off his cock with a pop. She looks up at him and her black eye makeup has smeared, smudging beneath her eyes and dark tear trails carving a path down the white face paint—all with the mask still in place.

“You’re too good at that,” Eddie tells her with a breathy chuckle.

“Good thing you stopped me, or I would’ve just kept going,” she says, laying her head down on his thighs and looking up at him with eyes shiny from tears. “And where would the fun be in that?”

“Exactly, darling.”

Eddie helps her up from the floor and she takes a seat on the bed next to him. She watches his every motion as he stands to kick his pants and boxers all the way off. Once he’s finished, she turns so her back is facing him.

“Would you mind unzipping me?” she asks.

“Not one bit.” Eddie leans in and presses a kiss to the side of her neck, which causes a shiver to go down her spine as Eddie drags the pull tab in that same direction.

Harley stands and kicks her boots off before shimmying the bodysuit costume down her frame. Eddie’s eyes make sure to capture every last detail of the reveal. With every new area of skin that’s exposed, it becomes his new favorite. The black lace bra and red lace panties make him chuckle.

“Even in the right colors down to that sinful underwear,” he remarks.

“Thought it was only fitting,” she says with the shrug of one shoulder. She kneels down on the bed and leans forward, working on popping open the buttons, first, on the yellow vest beneath the blazer, and then the mint green shirt below that. “Didn’t think that anyone was actually gonna see me like this tonight, so that makes for a nice surprise.”

“Didn’t think you’d be hooking up with someone with clown makeup on?” Eddie teases as he shrugs out of all his top layers.

“I could ask you the same question, Mister J.”

“Mm,” Eddie hums as he slips his arm around her waist and lowers her down to the mattress. “So we’ll be naked, just clowns from the neck up.”

“You’re already naked,” Harley muses, her eyes running up and down his bare form as he crawls on top of her. “Least you can do is make it even.”

A sound suspiciously close to a growl rumbles from Eddie’s throat before he speaks.

“Gladly.”

She arches her back, and Eddie counts his blessings when he’s able to unhook her bra fairly easily. He helps her get it off her arms and throw it somewhere in the dorm to be found later. Next, she lifts her hips off the mattress and Eddie is able to free her of her panties in one fell swoop.

Calloused fingers run up the outside of soft thighs before he lets them trail down to the part most aching for his touch.

Harley feels on edge—his hand is so close and he can’t move it fast enough. A desperate whimper tumbles from her lips and Eddie can’t help but find it adorably endearing.

“P-Please, Eddie,” she whines.

“I’ve got you, baby,” Eddie croons. His fingers travel down farther, and she automatically drops her legs open wider for him. A thick middle finger slides down and up her slit. “Fuck, you’re soaked.”

“Want you so bad,” is the only thing she can get out, through a hoarse wispy voice.

“Is my Harley Quinn all needy? Hmm?” Eddie’s voice is soft and slow as his middle finger slides up and presses against her clit.

“Yes!” Her hands grip at Eddie’s upper arms and her eyes practically roll back in her head as he rubs tight circles against her sensitive nub. “Yes, Puddin’. Need you so bad.”

“Tell me what you need,” Eddie purrs.

“You,” Harley whimpers. “Your cock.”

“Whatever my partner in crime wants.” Eddie smirks as he positions his body on top of hers and guides his cock to her entrance. He moves slowly and she feels every inch as he pushes inside of her.

“Feels so good,” she whimpers, reaching up to hold on to some part of him.

“Tell me how good, baby.”

“M’so full,” she whines, hands moving higher so her fingers tangle in his green-tinted locks. “You’re so fucking big.”

Eddie’s hips pick up the pace, building a steady rhythm that makes the mattress below them squeak. Neither can hear over the sound of their labored breathing, though.

Using her grip on his hair, Harley pulls Eddie’s face down to hers and smashes their mouths together. Their lips meld together and tongues dance with one another, only adding to the intense pleasure. A particularly hard thrust of Eddie’s hips has them moaning into one another’s mouths. When the kiss breaks, Eddie buries his head into her neck while Harley’s breaths become even more shallow.

“Jesus Christ, you’re so fucking tight,” he growls against her skin. “Feels goddamn perfect.”

Fingers tighten in Eddie’s hair in response, and the man isn’t able to hold back a guttural groan when she gives a small tug on the strands.

“Someone likes his hair being pulled,” Harley murmurs.

Eddie pulls back and looks down at her. He opens his mouth to respond but breaks into strangled laughter before any words can come out.

“W-What?” she asks.

“I had some witty retort questioning if you like your hair pulled, but I can’t even see your hair because of that adorable fucking hat.”

Harley lets out a soft giggle and shakes her head from side to side so the white pom poms on the end of the sides wiggle all over the place.

“How are you so goddamn sexy and insanely cute at the same time?” Eddie asks, a breathy laugh of his own coming out as his hips keep up their punishing pace.

“Mm, well, insane comes with the territory.” She grins and Eddie can’t help but dive back in to press his lips to her again. The red lipstick each of them is wearing smears to combine a shade of red that’s a compromise of both hues.

“Can I take your mask off?” Eddie asks against her lips.

“Please.”

Eddie balances himself hovering over her body before he reaches up with one hand and takes the small black mask off her face. He gently tosses it to land on top of the costume in a heap on the floor before focusing on her face. It’s still covered in white makeup with black tear tracks, but he can see much more clearly what she looks like underneath the whole Harley Quinn getup and it makes him smile.

“Beautiful,” he says, not even realizing he said it aloud at first.

“Not so bad yourself, gorgeous,” Harley says, giving him a wink.

A minor tilt of Eddie’s hips has his cock hitting just the right spot to make her see stars. A mix between a gasp and a moan erupts from her throat as her hands move to grab Eddie’s upper arms. Her fingers curl into his triceps and her eyes fall shut at the immense pleasure of Eddie’s cock repeatedly brushing that perfect spot.

“Holy shit,” she gasps.

“Good, baby?” Eddie coos.

“Uh huh,” she mumbles, forehead crinkling as her mouth falls open in awe. “God, right there, Eddie.”

He doesn’t need to be told twice. Eddie drills his hips into hers, his eyes boring down at hers as she blinks them open.

Face still scrunched up in ecstasy, Harley stares right back up at Eddie. The combination of him hitting that spot over and over again mixed with the intimacy of the intense eye contact creates a familiar tightening in her lower abdomen.

“Eddie, I’m gonna—fuck, I’m gonna come.”

“That’s it,” Eddie rasps. “Come on my cock, sweetheart.” He reaches down and rubs her clit in time with his thrusts into her.

The friction is just what she needs to send her over the edge. Her back arches off the back, pressing her breasts into Eddie’s chest, and she lets out the most beautiful moans that Eddie’s ever heard as the wave of pleasure crashes over her.

The clenching of her already tight pussy around Eddie’s cock has him spilling into her seconds later. His thrusts are sloppy and desperate, but it sends a warm pleasant feeling over Harley as she comes down from her high.

Once Eddie is spent, he rests his forehead against hers. The face paint on both of them has smeared and smudged, now runny from sweat. They just gaze at one another as they attempt to catch their breaths.

“God, that was good.” She finally breaks the silence.

“So fucking good,” Eddie agrees. He leans down and presses another kiss to her lips before rolling to the side and plopping down next to her.

There’s a silence between them that has the potential to turn awkward, but they turn their heads to look at one another at the same time, and they both burst out in laughter.

“Do I look as funny as you do?” Harley asks, reaching up and smearing some of the white paint on his cheek.

“I’m afraid so,” Eddie replies with a nod.

“What a couple of clowns we are.”

Eddie snorts a laugh and brings his hands up to cover his face. When he pulls them away, they’re covered in white and red smears. Harley goes to lift her own hands to her face but stops halfway and lets out a soft squeal that turns into laughter.

“What? What is it?” Eddie asks.

She can’t stop laughing, so she turns her hands to show they’re now green from the coloring in his hair.

“Oh damn,” Eddie says, starting to laugh himself. “I’d say we’re in need of a shower.”

Harley turns on her side to face him and props her head up on her elbow.

“The bathrooms in this dorm aren’t co-ed,” she says. “Buuuut I also know that no one really gives a shit.”

“Dr. Quinzel, are you proposing we shower together?” He widens his eyes in fake shock.

“As long as you lend me something to wear afterwards, Puddin,” she croons, leaning in to press a kiss to his lips. “I can’t exactly go around looking like this.”

“Looks good to me,” Eddie says with a smirk, which earns him a playful swat on the chest. “Even with the hat.”

“Oh my God, I can’t believe I’m still wearing this thing,” she says with a laugh.

“May I?” Eddie gestures towards the jester cap.

“Go for it.”

Eddie undoes the strap that was holding the black and red hat in place and gently removes it from her head. He can’t help but give a goofy grin now that he sees every part of her—except the clear skin of her face.

“Fuck, you’re gorgeous.”

“Flattery will get you everywhere, Mister J.”

After both clowns have shed their makeup and are squeaky clean, Eddie lends her an oversized hoodie and she pulls her panties back on. Eddie changes into a pair of pajamas he packed with him.

He takes a step over to the bed now that he’s freshly dressed and winces when he sees the sheets. The navy-colored fabric is smeared with white face paint, red lipstick, and black eye makeup—not to mention other spots and stains that Eddie doesn’t even want to think about Dustin finding.

He makes quick work of yanking all the bedding off and shoving it into Dustin’s hamper. Clean? Burn? Both? Eddie’s not sure, but he’s leaning towards the fiery option. If the situations were reversed, Eddie would not want to be sleeping on these sheets ever again.

“Say, partner in crime.” Eddie sidles up next to her and wraps his arm around her waist. “Want to destroy some property with me? Quick question though…is it only arson if it’s a building or does it count for lighting anything ablaze?”

“We can just ask the cops when they arrest us,” she says with a shrug. “I’m sure they’ll know. Or maybe it’ll be Batman who gets us!”

The response makes Eddie chuckle. He leans in, cupping her clean, clear face in both hands and presses his lips against hers. The two of them get caught in the moment, mouths moving fervently, when there’s a voice outside the dorm door.

“Oh, you’ve got to be shitting me. This asshole doesn’t get laid the entirety of high school, but now it happens in my room? God damn it, Munson. Stranded out in the hallway as Sherlock fucking Holmes. Just perfect.”

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fan fic #eddie munson fan fiction #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fic

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anakinstwinklebunny · 2 days ago

Note

not for bunnytine but lil request about SWEETHEART! ANI on a beach day with his kids and his wife. Just do your magic bun bun

he’s absolutely the type of dad to go diving to see colored fishs then make sand castle with his kids and lose the key of the car in the sand 😭🫶🏻 he’s so precious.

PAIRING: sweetheart!anakin x f!reader

𝓕𝓛𝓤𝓕𝓕 ❦

Warm sun shined down in long strands on your body, the waves rolling in with a gentle hush while your eyes followed Anakin, who was knee-deep in the crystal-clear water, with Luke and Leia squealing beside him. He’s been out there with them for almost an hour now, diving under the surface every time they ask him to find ‹more fishies›, coming up with exaggerated gasps and splashes, so the twins would burst into constant laughters

“Daddy, did you see a big one?!” Leia bounced excitedly, running up to him to clutch onto his shoulders

“Oh, sweetheart, I saw the biggest fish. It was this big.” Anakin spread his arms dramatically, to which Luke only furrowed his brows in deep confusion, as if he wasn't really believing his father.

“That’s not real,” Luke mumbled, acting skeptical, yet still wide-eyed.

“Of course it is,” Anakin grinned, leaning closer, voice dropping to a whisper. “I even asked if it wanted to come home with us, but it said it has a big fish family here.”

Leia gasps. Luke's thinking.

“Can we see it?” Leia asks, almost getting ready to throw herself into the water

“Not unless you can hold your breath for ten whole minutes,” Anakin teased, tickling under her chin before hoisting her up. “Now, who’s ready to build the biggest sandcastle in the world?”

The answer comes immediately. The three of them rushed to the shore, to which you shook your head, laughing softly as Anakin flopped onto the sand next to you, water dripping down his curls.

“You should’ve seen the look on their faces when I told them I fought off a sea monster,” he grinned, leaning down to kiss your lips gently as Leia and Luke started gathering shells for decoration.

“You’re gonna turn them into little liars,” you teased

“Storytellers,” he corrected with a playful smirk, before standing up to walk back to the twins. Then, twisting his neck to look at you, he waved his hand towards you “Come on, baby, you’re on moat duty.” he called

So, you couldn't just ignore that. Joining in, you let Anakin guide the twins with all the seriousness of an architect, brows furrowed as he taught Luke how to properly shape the turrets and Leia how to build the bridges. You chose to just listen, letting Luke sit in your lap and help him make a small sandcastle

It’s seemed like the greatest family day. The kids are giggling, having fun, Anakin’s smiling so hard his dimples ache, and you’re soaking in the warmth of the moment—until...

Anakin's grin falls slightly, expression getting serious “Hey..uh..where’s the car key?” Anakin patted his pockets, blinking.

You pause. “What?”

“I… I think I…” He lookrd at the massive stretch of sand around you.

Oh no.

“Anakin.”

“Okay, nobody panic—”

“Daddy, did you lose the key?!”

“I—technically, yes.”

Luke groaned dramatically, flopping onto the sand as Anakin tried to calm everyone down

You press your fingers to your temples. “Anakin—”

Anakin sighed, rubbing his face before finally looking at you with his best sheepish grin that hopefully was supposed to fix everything. “Babe. Sweetheart. Love of my life. How mad would you be if I said we might be stranded here forever?”

TAG LIST: @kingdomhate @divineani @haydensprettyprincess @skyguys-princess @catnipaddictt @heartscone @haydensbbg @inneedsoffanfics @jediavengers @literally-izzy @anisluvrgirl @slutforfinnickodair @xhunnybeeex @fuckmyskywalker @gallerygourmet @ysrjune @anakinskwkler @bimbo-baggins17-deactivated2025 @cookybananas @emotionallybruisedx @diorvalentina @sevinax @throughparisallthroughrome @aniiuv @ritosparty @ninastyless @lily-strnlo @thesassypadawan @awhhayden @sydkneez @anisangeldust @l1ttle-misssunsh1ne @anakinca @rubiesarepretty @luluartpop @nikiloveshayden

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mystic-writings · 6 months ago

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i love you, we’re okay | poe dameron

PAIRING — poe dameron x fem!reader

SUMMARY — when poe finally returns from an unexpectedly long mission, you have something to tell him.

WARNINGS — pregnancy, fluff, mentions of sex, suggestive scenes (but not really), mentions of vomiting, real-word cursing

WORD COUNT — 3,375

NOTES — the pipeline that led me to writing this is actually insane btw! couldn’t explain it if i tried, but this is my first attempt at writing for poe since 2020, so i’m still rusty on the star wars slang/lingo!

masterlist | taglist

You’d never found more solace, more protection from the state of the world around you than you’d ever found in Poe’s arms. It was usually your favourite place to be — and one of the reasons why you hated when he went on missions so often. That, and the sole possibility that he might not make it back.

It was why you cherished the days when he made it back to D’Qar, straight back to you.

You’d been both eager and entirely too worried for his return this time around, a simple mission taking entirely too long to complete. When he’d first told you about it, he promised he’d be back in a week at the longest. That week turned into two, turned into three, and you were nearly worried half to death until you were awoken by your datapad, the sun barely cresting the horizon as it beeped incessantly, a transmission from Leia herself stating that Poe was in the debriefing room with her.

She’d relieved you both from your duties for the day, supposedly just to spend time together after being apart for so long. You knew the intent behind her message, the subtle jab at the surprise you were hiding from your boyfriend, and you fully planned to follow through the moment you saw him.

And then he was showing up at your door, hands pulling at fabric and lips meeting skin, and the rest of the world simply fell away, leaving only you and Poe at the centre of the universe, showing each other exactly how much you’d missed one another.

The sun was surely up by now, as Poe rolled onto the bed next to you, chest rising and falling with heavy breaths, his lips stretched with that beautiful post-sex smile that always left you breathless. Shifting under the sheets, you reached out to pull him close, relishing the way he so easily fell into your body; his face settling in the crook of your neck, breaths fanning across your sweat-slick skin, an arm falling across your torso.

You settled into the mattress, your hand reaching up to gently scratch at Poe’s scalp. He hummed contentedly, wriggling beside you in an attempt to get closer to you, as though your bodies weren’t already pressed together.

“Poe?”

“Hmm,” he hummed, somewhere between a groan and something more inquisitive, muffled by your shoulder.

“I’m glad you’re back,” you whispered as you stopped scratching his scalp, pressing a light kiss to his hair, doing very little to fight the way your sudden, oncoming tears wavered your voice.

Poe lifted his head, worried eyes meeting your tear-filled ones. He propped himself up on his elbow, reaching up to brush stray hairs from your forehead, his fingers lingering as they drifted down your face. “Hey, I’m okay. I didn’t get hurt. I’m right here, alright?”

Your heart swelled as Poe spoke, the comfort in his assuring, gentle tone bringing a fresh wave of tears to your eyes. He always had a habit of doing that, of making sure you were okay. Making sure you knew he wasn’t planning on going anywhere you couldn’t reach him. You nodded, doing your best to blink away the tears, though all you managed to do was make them fall.

Poe’s hand returned to your face almost immediately, the calloused pad of his thumb sweeping gently across your cheek, wiping away any trace of your unease. A quiet sigh escaped him as you leaned into his touch, his palm splaying across the side of your face, allowing you to soak up his warmth. “What’s wrong, baby?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” you choked out, reddened eyes opening to meet his worried ones. “I promise, Poe. You were just gone for so long, and I…” a sharp inhale, a beat of anxiety, your eyes locked with his as you forced the words out in one big breath. “I’m pregnant.”

Poe remained silent as his eyes searched yours, and you could practically see the gears turning in his head. For a moment, you worried that this wasn’t what Poe wanted; that he would leave, without a word, and abandon you entirely. And then, like the sun splitting the clouds after a rainstorm, Poe’s lips stretched into a smile bigger and brighter than you’ve ever seen.

“Really?” He asked, breathless as he took you in, watching a matching smile spread across your own lips.

You nodded, fresh tears coming to your eyes, glimmering and unshed. Happy tears. With another inhale, you glanced down at the space between you, soon to be filled by a swelling stomach and the life you created. “I’m still trying to wrap my head around it, y’know? And I’ve known for, like, two weeks,”

“Are you doing okay?” Poe asked, his hand drifting to your waist, fingers gently grazing against the skin of your stomach. “Any morning sickness? Or are you not that far yet? Do you know how many weeks yet? What about fatigue?”

He prattled the questions off so quickly that you could barely process them, a giggle escaping your lips and promptly cutting him off. Poe frowned, making you laugh even harder. “What’s so funny? Am I not allowed to be concerned here?”

“No, you’re perfectly allowed to be concerned, Poe,” you took a breath, calming yourself as much as you could. A wide, playful smile still split your lips as you spoke. “I just… where did you learn all of that?”

“Hey, I read,” Poe defended.

“You read… pregnancy books?” You asked, fighting laughter once again.

“Okay, not pregnancy books. But my mom… her friend was pregnant when I was younger, they used to talk about a lot of that stuff together and it just sort of… stuck, I guess,” Poe shrugged, pressing a chaste kiss to your lips. “Now, tell me everything.”

You huffed playfully as Poe rolled over, sitting up and adjusting the pillows behind him. Leaning against the wall, he pulled you into his lap, keeping one hand on your hip and the other loosely wrapped around your bare torso as you rested your head on his shoulder.

“They said I was about seven weeks when I found out,” you began, fingers running along the chain Poe kept around his neck, hosting his mother’s ring. “So… I’m almost nine weeks along now? Ish?”

Poe hummed, his fingers brushing absently against your stomach. “No nausea, surprisingly. Except the one time, but I’ll get to that. I haven’t done a scan yet, though. Was waiting for you to get back.”

You glanced up, finding Poe’s eyes already on you, a gentle smile on his face. “I didn’t want you to miss anything.”

“I know,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to your hairline. “Thank you.”

You smiled back in response, deciding to finally get to the good part. “As for how I found out…”

“Y/n, you have to stop working so hard,” you hadn’t even heard Rose approach you from behind, your head practically buried in the underbelly of one of the older, disused A-Wings.

Sighing, you took a step down from your ladder, squinting at your friend. “I’ll be fine, Rose. I’ve almost got this thing back to combat ready, anyway.”

“You need to eat. And shower. And rest.” Rose insisted as gently as she was able, crossing her arms as she stared you down. “How long have you been out here, anyway?”

You huffed, stepping from the ladder, moving closer to Rose in order to reach your toolbox, which she’d conveniently been standing beside. Her eyes followed you as you dropped your soldering wand, grabbing a rag to wipe your hands.

“What’s it matter, Rose? I’m fine. I’ve gotta get this damn thing fixed before Poe gets back so he can dock his X-Wing here, and I’d rather get it done now, since—” you huffed, frustrated at your own body for betraying you and allowing your chest to constrict, for letting your eyes fill with tears as you throw down the rag, pulling at the zipper on your jumpsuit, pulling it down to the waist, revealing your sweat-soaked tank top and allowing your skin to breathe. “—since apparently no one knows when that’s gonna be.”

Rose’s eyes softened, her hands falling back to their sides as she watched you panic, frantic fingers pulling at your suit, fumbling to tie the arms around your waist. “Y/n, come inside. Get something to drink, please. You’re gonna hurt yourself like this.”

“I’ll be fine,” you whispered, pinching the bridge of your nose. “I’ll be fine. Just need to keep— keep working.”

You pressed your fingers to your eyes, practically swaying as a wave of nausea rolled over you, practically knocking you off your feet. You heard Rose call your name, worried and shaky as she watched cautiously. Trying to tamp it down, you took a deep breath, almost instantly regretting the action. Instead of the cool air you were hoping to breathe in, all you smelled was char from the soldering wand, the smell of metal and grease and sweat infiltrating your senses and bringing the bile in your stomach all the way up your throat.

Your hand flew to cover your mouth, eyes flying open to make brief contact with Rose before you darted to the other corner of the docking bay, emptying what little you’d been able to eat for breakfast into a waste bin. It was uncomfortable to say the least, but Rose’s heavy footfalls eventually faded, followed immediately by a soothing hand rubbing circles on your back.

When you were finally done, heaving and out of breath, Rose helped you stand.

“Are you going to listen to me now and get some rest?” Rose asked, more sympathetic than authoritative.

Murmuring a confirmation that you were, indeed, going to take a break, you leaned into her small form, eyes fluttering closed to take a moment to properly breathe. The taste lingered in your mouth, acidic and bitter, making your stomach want to turn on you again. Your skin seemed to develop another layer of sweat, sticky and gross as it clung to you.

Rose stuck close as you began walking on your own, stumbling as you headed to the docking bay’s entrance, your head spinning almost violently. You didn’t even get the chance to mutter your friend’s name before you felt your knees giving out, the world falling around you, fading into nothing before you even hit the ground.

“You worked yourself half to death?” Poe asked, an edge to his voice, making your shoulders tense. “That’s how you found out?”

“I didn’t work myself to death,” you muttered, lifting your head to meet Poe’s eyes. “I just… worked on the A-Wing for a bit too long, that’s all. They fixed me up nice and new in the medbay, anyway.”

“And how long is ‘a bit too long’, exactly?”

“Uh…” you hummed, trying to stall for time before you eventually muttered, “Eleven and a half hours,”

“Maker—!” Poe groaned, lightly hitting his forehead with yours, his eyes squeezed shut. He took a breath, grounding himself as he squeezed your hip before pulling back and looking at you. “You know you can’t work for that long even when you’re not pregnant, right? That’s way too dangerous!”

“I needed something to keep me busy!” You blurted, winding an arm around Poe’s neck, adjusting yourself. “I couldn’t— you not being here, not getting any communication from you, it terrified me, Poe. Not knowing if or when you were coming home, I couldn’t think about it. So I worked on the A-Wing.”

Poe sighed, squeezing your hip one more time. “I’m sorry. For not… for not telling you it was gonna take longer. We weren’t allowed any communication. Too close to the First Order, they would’ve tracked it right to you.”

“It’s okay, Poe.” You whispered, tangling your fingers in the curls at the nape of his neck. “You’re here. You’re alive. That’s enough.”

You woke with a sharp breath, a pounding in your head, and harsh light bleeding through your eyelids. Pressing the heel of your palm to your temple, something snagged on the back of your hand. Pulling back, you forced your eyes open despite the bright, sterile lighting, finding an IV taped expertly to your skin.

Glancing around, you groaned when you realised you were in the medbay. Heaving a sigh, you pushed yourself into a sitting position, which was much harder to do when your bed was already at an angle.

The trills and beeps of a droid caught your attention, the bed rising to meet your back as a med-droid beeped happily at your conscious presence. “Good evening, Miss Y/n! You’re finally awake!”

“What happened to me, exactly?” You rasped, coughing slightly at the dryness of your throat. Almost immediately, the droid handed you some water, which you took gratefully even if you were already getting fluids from the IV.

“You fainted, Miss Y/n!” The droid was all too chipper about your accident, forcing you to bite back a groan. “My scans indicate that you are dehydrated and lacking proper nutrition, Miss Y/n. The fluids are administering proper hydration and vitamins.”

You nodded gently, still aware of the present, but lessening, throbbing in your head. “Anything else? Anything General Organa can yell at me for later?”

“My scans do not indicate any life-threatening conditions, Miss Y/n.” The droid informed you, and you felt your chest get a little bit lighter. “But I did detect a secondary life form, Miss Y/n. Congratulations! Would you like to see?”

The med-droid’s words caught you off guard, stealing the breath from your lungs as you stared at it, entirely hung up on three words, spoken in a metallic, chittering voice. Secondary life form. When you finally found your voice, you squeaked out, “Secondary life form?”

“Yes, Miss Y/n. It appears you’re pregnant! According to my scans, you’re approximately seven weeks!” The droid chittered, trilling and beeping away after the fact. “Shall I inform General Organa?”

“No!” You nearly shouted, fear shooting through your nerves. “No, thank you. Just… call her here, please?”

The droid rolled away, chittering an enthusiastic ‘yes, Miss Y/n!’, and you gave yourself the moment alone to catch your breath, properly. The air was tinged with the scent of medical grade disinfectant, burning your nostrils as you breathed it in. You closed your eyes, following what felt like a thousand different trains of thought, all of them landing on one of two things: Poe, and what this would do to your future with the resistance.

You hadn’t talked about it much with Poe, but you knew he’d always wanted a family. Of course, all of the times either of you had brought it up — about three times in total between both of you — the dreams he’d had about building a family always came after the war. When the world was safe and he was free to live whatever life he wanted, wherever he wanted it. Of course, knowing Poe, that life would take place on Yavin-4, where his father could see his son happy and his grandchildren thriving.

What would he have to say about this? About you, pregnant on a rebel base that could be attacked at a moment’s notice, unable to properly defend yourself? What would you do with yourself, unable to fight, taking care of the most vulnerable being in the galaxy?

You didn’t bother thinking about it further, knowing that it would only push you into a spiral. Thankfully, the medbay doors hissed open, revealing a relieved General Organa, pushing through and rushing to your bed.

“Are you okay?” Her maternal instinct seemed to be strong when it came to you and Poe, though she’d never explained why. “Rose told me you were in the medbay, then I got the transmission from the med-droid that you were awake. What happened?”

Your cheeks flushed as you ducked your head, embarrassed as you recounted the events to your general. “I overworked myself, General. But I, uh, the droid told me something else. I thought you would want to know—”

“Is there something wrong?” Her voice was calm, steady, and warm. Your chest swelled, most of your anxieties slipping away.

“Not quite, General, I— the droid said I’m pregnant.” Your voice faltered for a moment as your eyes met hers, your confidence flickering ever so slightly when she didn’t give a response. “General?”

“Effective immediately, you’re no longer allowed on active duty,” General Organa said, her voice still warm. A slight smile crossed her lips, despite the professionalism she took on. “I want you on light duty from here on out, Y/n. Until you’re 14 weeks, you may work on repairs, but after that, you’ll be supervising, nothing more. The engineers have space for you to assist with their material designs, and training is lacking as of late.”

Neither of you spoke for a moment as you processed her instructions, deflating slightly at the idea of not quite being able to do what you enjoyed for a while, but you were glad that you could still work nonetheless.

Another beat of silence, General Organa’s widening smile, then, “Congratulations. I can’t imagine how happy you must be.”

You chuckled, watching the General place her hand gently atop your own. “It’s… more nerve wracking than anything, actually. I don’t think I’ll have the space to be happy about it until I tell Poe.”

“If there’s anything I can guarantee, it’s that this is a good thing.” She assured, squeezing your fingers. “You’ll make great parents, both of you.”

“Thank you,” you whispered in a shuddering breath, turning your hand over and taking the General’s hand in yours. “That means more than you know.”

Nodding gently, General Organa squeezed your hand once more before departing to draft the papers for your altered work restrictions and removal from active duty, leaving you in a silent room to process the news by yourself.

“Leia let me stay on long enough to finish the A-Wing,” you murmured, Poe’s face long since nestled in the crook of your neck, your lips ghosting against his neck. “Got it done, with Rose supervising. Made me take a break every hour. Slowed me down, but I finished it. A few days ago, actually.”

“I don’t give a damn about the A-Wing,” Poe muttered, forcing a quiet laugh from you. “I just care that you’re okay. Both of you.”

Your heart swelled, Poe’s voice vibrating your skin, your love for him threatening to swallow you whole. “You’re… happy about this? Really?”

“Are you kidding?” Poe lifted his head, kissing your cheek, pulling back to meet your eyes with a smile. “I couldn’t be happier. We’re… I mean, shit, we’re having a kid!”

“We are,” you smiled, warm and gentle as you watched Poe’s widen. “I know it’s not like you talked about, but… we’re having a baby,”

“I don’t care about anything I said before,” Poe scoffed. “I care about now. About you and about our baby. We’re gonna be just fine, I promise. Even if that means I have to end the war myself.”

“I’d much rather you didn’t,” you said. “I think my child deserves to meet their dad.”

“Dad…” Poe whispered, eyes trailing to your stomach. “I’m gonna be a dad.”

Poe looked up, as though your words finally made him realise what was going to happen to him. You watched his eyes fill with tears, unshed as he took his hand away from your waist, splaying it across your cheek and pulling you into his lips.

Even if you must’ve kissed Poe hundreds of times before, he still managed to take the breath from your lungs every time his lips slotted onto yours. His lips were like heaven, like home to you. Like comfort, safety, and every ounce of love in his body flowed into yours, no matter the reason why he was kissing you. Whether it was hello, or goodbye, or simply because Poe wanted to kiss you, he always made sure you could feel how much he loved you. And you did the same.

His lips seemed to say it all without speaking a single word. I love you, we’re okay.

forever taglist: @mazerunnerrose @theboldandthebootyful @miraclesoflove @heliads

poe dameron taglist: open!

#poe dameron #poe dameron x reader #poe dameron x pregnant!reader #poe dameron x you #poe dameron x y/n #poe dameron imagine #poe dameron fluff #star wars fanfiction #star wars x reader

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januaryembrs · 1 year ago

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HOT UNDER THE HELMET | Poe Dameron x Mechanic!Reader

Request: Hi, would you mind writing for Poe Dameron where Poe accidentally injures the reader (whose a mechanic), which is how they meet for the first time. And would you mind using the dialogue prompt “Oh, oh my god! It was an accident! I’m so sorry!”?

Description: Poe finds out the hard way the best mechanic in the resistance is also most beautiful woman he’s ever seen; too bad you’re so hot headed.

word count: 1.5k

trigger warnings: sexism, fire, women in stem facing problems even in space (because ofcourse they do).

main masterlist

As much as you would love to admit times of war made people more benevolent towards each other, you’d be dead wrong. Not only had you been one of the only females in the resistance who knew her way around a wrench, but as it also turned out, not even the risk of dying could pull a males head out of his arse.

You heard snickering before you saw them. The other three mechanics in your squadron crowded around a starfighter, laughing to themselves as they watched you tinker with a leaky engine, your body strewn across a lying board as you worked above yourself, your tools against your foot.

Rolling out from underneath the ship, you paid them no mind as you searched for a screwdriver small enough to fit the flathead you needed removing. Scanning your work area, that you were proud to say you kept much neater than the blaster brained males you shared a space with, your brow furrowed when you saw your equipment nowhere to be seen.

“Looking for something?” You heard Zagg, one of the males, say, and you felt a rage boil up inside you at the smug look on their faces as you regarded them with a sweaty, pissed off expression.

“Where’d you boneheads put it?” You snapped, hauling yourself to your feet as you approached them hotly, your scowl only growing as they burst out laughing, “Real mature. The galaxy is going to bantha fodder, and you guys are hiding my tools,”

“You know, if you need help from someone who knows what they’re doing, you could just ask,” The tallest of the trio, Bran, goaded you, a smarmy smile on his face as he watched your cheeks puff with exhaustion, whirling around to charge up to him, no matter if you did have to turn your neck upwards to confront the pig of a male.

“Why don’t you pick on someone your own size, instead of going after little girls who make you look like rookies,” You hissed, eying up the other two who seemed to exchange a sneer, “Leia chose me herself, handpicked me from the academy. You three nerf herders got through on sheer size alone, and it’s obvious you feel the need to compensate everywhere else possible,”

You sauntered away, back towards the rear of the workshop where spare apparatus was kept, banging around the drawers with a foul mood, muttering about how useless the opposite sex was in times of crisis.

As if he had heard the call of a siren, Poe strolled into the hangar, fully suited with his helmet under his arm, an all too cheery smile on his face for the belly of the beast he was unknowingly heading straight for.

Catching the eye of one of the mechanics, a freakishly tall man that seemed to be chatting to the other two as they stood around an X-wing with a huge hole ripped into the body of it, he watched the worker drop his bitter face and regard him with raised eyebrows when he saw the chirpy pilot approach.

“General,” He nodded respectfully, though there was not a single trace of regard on his face. “You’ve come for your ship?”

“Leia said you had your best guy on it?” He said, almost missing the way the three of them nodded hesitantly, “She said it should be ready today,”

“Right this way, General Dameron,” The shorter, beefy one said, leading him away to a pristine looking starfighter, by far in the best shape he could see it being without it being brand new. He thought he caught a snigger behind him as the mechanic, whose oiled badge read as Kripply, took him over to the ship, “Why don’t you give her a whirl? As you said, we had our very best on the case,”

Poe looked at him with an odd mix of a smile and wariness as he couldn’t miss the devilish excitement the man looked at him with. Had he sat in paint again, he wondered. Finn had had a field day walking him around the entire compound with two white ass cheek marks on his suit, he wouldn’t put it past his co-pilot to try his luck again seeing as Poe had been the one to win at cards last night and had not so graciously rubbed his credits in the man’s face.

“Sure, let’s give this baby a whirl,” He said after a moment, his hair falling all over the place as he shoved his helmet over his thick, sable locks.

Maybe he had a case of bedhead, he wondered. Afterall, he’d not exactly been sober as he’d stumbled back to his room last night, his winnings buying him round after round of smuggled Corellian Whiskey.

He hopped up onto the wing, yanking himself into the cockpit that had been cleaned thoroughly, and he didn’t know why he ever doubted his repair team if this was the condition they left their vehicles in. The engine hummed to life as he flicked the tiny lever, and he couldn’t help but appreciate the oddly floral smell inside the small flight deck, and he wondered if they had gone so far as to spray freshener in there.

You had found a spare tightener that would fit the screw, the last thing that needed fastening up before the engine should be good to run, Leia’s general would be by any second now.

Rolling back under the vehicle, you tuned out the way Zagg cackled over the sound of an engine springing to life, you assumed their own, focusing on the tiny panel you had yet to cover the machinery with to protect the pilot from any stray blaster fire cutting the engine.

But no sooner had you settled on your back beneath the jet, your hand reaching up for the metal sheet, you heard the familiar rumble of oil being fired through the motor, the drums whirling as the ignition started and a short blast of heat hit you in the face.

You blanched as you knew that meant, knew what would come shooting out any second now. Heat always got kicked out of the engine first, the left over energy dishcharged out of the bottom grate. Because then came the fire as it sprung to life.

Your hand came up before you could think through what you were doing, the hard work you were unravelling in the interest of keeping your face intact, your brain from turning to crispy mush, as you yanked the oil pipe from where you’d connected it to the drum, the thick black liquid pouring over your entire body as you stumbled from out beneath the plane, just incase your plan hadn’t worked.

You heard the engine cut, the sound of the cockpit sliding open as someone cursed from above, and you were filled with a new wave of rage as two feet jumped from the wing above you, turning to the three men who watched with entertained chuckles.

“What happened, I thought you said-” Poe had started chewing out the males who didn’t seem to care all too much about the fact the jet had broken down, when he felt two hands shove him from behind, and he spun on his heel with annoyance.

His face dropped entirely when he saw you, covered head to toe in a thick, gunky oil, your nostrils flaring as you glared at him with a heat he had yet to see from a woman before.

Usually women were so receptive to his charming good looks. Not this one it seemed.

“What the kriff was that, man,” You yelled, shoving his chest again with your slimy hands, and he quickly put it together what had been the problem.

“What that me?” His brows flew into his hair line as you looked at him like he’d just learned there were stars in the sky, “Oh, maker! It was an accident! I’m so sorry!”

“Oh he’s sorry. Thank goodness he’s sorry,” You threw your arms up, wiping the oil away from your eyes with slippy hands, and Poe had no idea what to say for the best.

Though, he supposed telling you you were by far the prettiest woman he’d seen in moons was not the correct thing to go for, despite the fact it was the first thing he’d thought.

“I’m a decorated pilot, I would never intentionally-” He spluttered, but you had already turned away, heading towards a small work bench where a bunch of old, dirty rags lay, supposedly for hands only.

“You can decorate my ass, general. You’re waiting another week for that plane,” You seethed, barely regarding him over your shoulder.

And he stood there, speechless, because what was he supposed to say. No one had ever spoken down to him like that, not since he’d grown into his good looks and had women falling at his feet to be near him. Certainly not since he’d become leader.

You huffed past him, as he was rooted to the spot, jaw hung slack as you left the workshop, cursing him out clearly to yourself, and it was only then that he turned to the other three males who had watched him get his ass served to him with another round of sniggers. “Who in the maker was she?”

#poe dameron x reader #poe dameron fanfiction #poe dameron imagine #poe dameron x you

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briarberrythornedhart · 6 months ago

Text

Well... That’s Settled

Cw: none. Just fluff and eventual romance

It’s Saturday. A rare Saturday where you and your co-worker Eddie both aren’t working.

You knock on Eddie’s front door. Waiting a bit and hearing nothing. You knock again.

You hear “Coming. Shit! Fuck! Coming!! shit shit… Hold your gaddam horses” from Eddie— kinda muffled.

He opens the door with a scowl … and a glint catches your eye. A sewing needle in his mouth. He pulls the needle from between his teeth, it is trailing black thread. His scowl is softening into mild surprise.

“Oh it’s you??” He says

“It’s me. You…are... sewing ?? something?”

“Got a new patch for my vest at the show last weekend.” He holds up a black patch that says ‘Sloppy Seconds’ on it. “What’s up?”

“You said you were off today, and you could help me??? But your phone was busy… and probably I should have waited but it’s nearly eleven…”

“Nono, it’s cool, c’mon in.” He holds the screen door for you with his palm, fingers spread wide. “You are always welcome at Casa Munson. Didn’t think you’d take me up on my offer s’all.”

“But, Eddie Munson, you’re my only hope.” You did your best Leia Organa and Eddie grinned at you in acknowledgement of your effort.

“So you’re saying I’m a space wizard??” He fished for the compliment with typical cocky swagger.

“I’ve seen you use the Force on people with weak minds.” You wiggled your fingers in the air.

“When?? When have I ever done that?” He laughed.

You imitated Eddie’s midwestern accent that had that Munson Family brand Tennessee honey drizzled on it. “Golly, Officer, I didn’t think I was speeding. Oh - Keith, you said you didn’t want me to close on Tuesday, you personally want to walk the deposit to the bank, remember. Nah, you don’t need to roll to detect cursed objects right now after picking up that innocent looking pendant ...?”

“Well.. my magic doesn’t work on you, anyway.” He wryly pursed his lips.

It does though. It always does.

You watch him put the needle into a pin cushion that looked like a tomato and he laid his project aside.

He bends over the couch arm to do this and you can see the bit of un-inked skin above his gray boxers where his shirt rides up and his jeans ride low.

You can see the nice curve of his butt where one of the pockets is torn and his boxers show there too and you wish to hell he wanted you back.

You sigh. That would be so nice.

He stands and looks at you with his eyebrows raised in query. “What??”

So you change the subject. “Why don’t you put patches on your jeans? They are rapidly becoming more hole than fabric. Denim isn’t supposed to be... lace.”

He grins again. “That’s just air conditioning for my knees. S’very practical.”

“Including the hole on your left ass cheek - that’s for air circulation too, is it?”

His eyes widened. He runs his hand down his butt, fingers dipping into the hole. “Shiiiiit, why didn’t anyone tell me??”

“Presumably because we were all enjoying it?” You suggested playfully.

His eyes snap to yours. “Enjoying what? Me, looking like a total dork??”

“It’s called deshibile - it’s very fashionable.”

“What are you even talking about?? You're so... aggravating sometimes, I swear to gawd!” Eddie jogs down the hallway and you follow. He tries to get a good look in the mirror by his custom Warlock - she’s so pretty - but he calls her ‘Sweetheart’ - lucky tart. “ How long were these jeans ripped to hell on my ass??!! I only have two pairs - so - you saw!! You totally saw this yesterday and you didn’t even say....”

“Your boxers are keeping you decent - you just have a ripped pocket. It’s fine - You look fine. Why do you care? Keith doesn’t care about ripped pants - like - you wear shoes to work... so you are one up on Argyle with the flip flops. Now if you went commando, that might be a problem.”

He is running his hands through his hair. “I can’t afford more jeans right now... fuuuuuuck.”

“You have sewing supplies right here - You just need another patch, Eddie - from older jeans or an old t-shirt... it would barely show - until our next pay day and then we could go thrifting together? If you want?”

“Yeah.... yeah... sorry - just went to that concert and I shouldn’t have because we needed a plumber last week and money’s tight.”

You nodded. Money is always tight. The job pays you both very little. You know why you stay (to see Eddie) - but you don’t know why Eddie doesn’t get a better job.

“Hey - I’m sorry, I said you were ‘aggravating’, man, I-I didn't mean it - I mean, you do Drive Me Insane, but I guess I kinda like it... how we joke around.” Eddie leaned his forehead into the mirror - closed his eyes. “You’re a good friend, you know?? And... and I promised to help you out. But, I kinda forget what with??”

“Because I didn’t say. Because it’s a secret.”

“Oh! Covert mission, huh?” Eddie turned with - well it wasn’t elegance but it was beautiful just the same. He clapped his large hands together and rubbed them up and down with glee. “What are we up to?”

“I’m making a mix tape. For a guy I like. And I know you have the perfect set up to record on.”

“For a guy??”

“Yeah - I’m into them - dudes - in general.” you snarked. “Girls aren’t out of the question , but I do tend to go for...”

“I know-ah. I mean. You wanna use my equipment - and my music, I assume??”

“Some of it.” You nodded at Eddie. Eddie has a great music collection.

“My stuff... To court some loser...”

“He’s not a loser. He’s perfect.”

“No guy is perfect, I guarantee you.”

“He’s handsome. He’s kind and generous. He’s funny... on purpose. He has these lips...”

“Stop - I do not want to hear about his lips. Where’d you even meet him? At...”

“You know - around Hawkins...” You cut him off before he can ask ‘at work?’ and you’d have to come up with some crazy lie.

“You sure he’s single?? Maybe he’s dating half of Hawkins?? Maybe he’s gay?” Eddie is not looking at you - he’s flipping through records in a milk crate.

“Maybe he is all of those things - or he’s not into me at all - or maybe he’s not into anyone - that’s why I’m making the mix. I can tell him I like him in the j-card and in the musical subtext - if he’s not into me and can never be - we can just be friends. I’ll die a little, but that’s okay - every day we die a little more, right?”

“Morbid. But, accurate.” Eddie turned back to you. “Okay - I said I’d help you and I’ll help you - but we are making two mix tapes. One to express your interest in this guy - who probably doesn’t deserve you by the way. And one for you. Just for you. Deal?” He asks this like he’s the one convincing you of this project. Your idea - your excuse to spend time with Eddie - as much as you can finagle.

“Deal.” You go to shake on it and Eddie stops and spits in his right palm first. He checks you to see if you are grossed out. By his saliva?? No. Opposite really. “So - not a blood pact?” You kid and spit as delicately as you can into your palm - hold it out for him as brave as you can be. He grins, shakes it. You try not to think about your spit combined on your hands. Fail utterly at that.

“Okay... tell me about this Paragon of ‘Manly’ Virtue...” Eddie rolls his eyes.

“You said you didn’t want to hear about his kissable lips, his pretty eyes, his nice ass...”

“God! Stop - I didn’t know you were so fucking horny!! I meant his musical tastes.”

“He’s beautiful and I am an appreciator of his physical attributes. He’s not just a piece of meat though... he’s also got a great voice... and he’s very clever...”

“And you’re what - gonna only put really horned up slutty music on this tape and probably sleep with him immediately - you Can’t!! I mean, don’t - he might have crabs or something. You gotta be more careful.”

“He’s probably not going to like me back, but if he asks me on a date I’ll be sure to ask him point blank if he has crabs, first thing.”

“I’m just sayin’ maybe get to know him a bit before you offer your... body.”

“Okay - noted - Hmmm - ‘Horned up Slut Music’ What’s that filed under in your milk crates system ‘H’ or “S’?? Wait - did you just mean SKA?”

Eddie pushed into your shoulder with his, playfully, and was unusually quiet for a while. Picking up records and tapes and showing you song titles. Gently steering you away from anything that sounded like a Direct proposition for sex with the ‘mystery guy’.

Finally stopping you. “Now you’ve got 97 minutes of music, you’ve got to edit.”

“I thought we were making two mix tapes?’

“I’m making the second one. You have enough on your mind with mr. wonderful. When he breaks your heart you can listen to my mix and cry on my shoulder, and I’ll go kick his ass sideways.”

“I appreciate the offer, but I wouldn’t ask you to do that.” You looked down in your lap.

Eddie put two fingers under your chin and lifted your eyes to meet his. “Is he...like... is he so much better than me?” His voice broke a bit on the end.

You couldn’t speak - why wouldn’t words come out??

Eddie sounded put out but his eyes weren’t mad. “Like, other than the lips and the ass... or whatever - what’s he got that I don’t?”

You kinda... launched into his lap. You absolutely kissed him with tongue right off.

Eddie scootched like a crab into his bed - pulling you with him. Kissing you back.

“Am I a close second? You could settle for me, I’m kinda okay with that, considering the kiss you just laid on me didn’t feel like second prize.” Eddie looked so sweetly befuddled. “I do not have crabs and I’m not secretly dating anyone and I’ve been into you since day one.”

“Eddie, you are the guy.”

He blinked.

“You made me a mix?” Eddie’s pretty eyes got a twinkle in them. “But the messaging is so vague - how will I know if you are really attracted to me when you didn’t use any music to indicate a deep lust for my person.”

“You’ll just have to read the j-card.” You teased back.

#my fic writing #fluffy #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #bisexual!reader #stranger things #mix tapes

186 notes · View notes

iamquiantrelle · 24 days ago

Text

PLAYING FOR KEEPS ────── iamquaintrelle (✨💕)

⌗ pairing : jules koundé x black oc

⌗ tags : @irishmanwhore @lettersofgold @deonn-jaelle @sucredreamer @greedyjudge2 @f1-football-fiend @2serenity0 @peyiswriting @coffeevacation

�� summary : jules is focused on himself — no girlfriend, no drama — but now he seems to have both after pictures of him having fun at a friend's house party shows up in tabloids, and now fashion houses are calling for him? and his agent wants him to keep up this charade? ♡ masterlist.

Jules was all about the grind lately. Training, press, brand meetings, repeat. No time for relationship drama or late nights that didn't involve reviewing game footage. His DMs were constantly filled with heart emojis and "my friend thinks ur cute" messages that he left on read. The tabloids called him cold, but he called it focused.

That's why he was surprised to find himself at Antoine's 90s/00s-themed house party in Le Marais after a crazy few days of attending Fashion Week shows. The apartment was a vibe — exposed brick and big windows with vintage MTV music videos projected on one wall. Someone had hung those metallic dangly curtains everywhere, and the whole place was tinted in purple and blue LED lights that made everyone look like they were in an old-school music video.

The crowd was a mix of football players, fashion week leftovers, and local party regulars. Girls in low-rise jeans and crop tops were everywhere, and more than a few guys had committed to FUBU jerseys and backward caps. Jules had kept it simple - white tank, vintage Prada sport pants, and a gold chain.

"Get Low" started blasting through the speakers and suddenly everyone was dropping it like it was 2003. Jules nursed his drink by the window, watching the chaos. The bass was so heavy he could feel it in his chest, mixing with the persistent buzz of his phone. Probably his agent wondering why he'd been tagged at a party instead of resting before tomorrow's training.

He was about to leave — this wasn't really his scene anymore — when he spotted her across the room. The girl who regularly roasted his outfit choices at Louis Vuitton, looking completely different outside the store. She was wearing what looked like a reconstructed Dapper Dan-inspired vintage LV monogram dress that definitely wasn't official merchandise, her hair up in two buns Princess Leia would envy. And she was absolutely destroying everyone in a dance battle to "The Whisper Song."

Jules couldn't help but smile. Who knew the girl who told him his €500 sweater made him look like a sad corporate mascot could move like that?

He didn't realize he was staring until she caught his eye mid-body roll and smirked. The same smirk she gave him last week before telling him his new Balenciaga sneakers looked like "orthopedic shoes for a cyberpunk grandpa."

Maybe he'd stay for one more song.

The dance battle ended with her throwing up peace signs and disappearing into the kitchen. Jules found himself following, weaving through a crowd of people that was tonguing each other down. The kitchen was quieter, if you could call anything quiet when Lil Jon was screaming "YEAH!" through the speakers next door.

She was perched on the counter, drinking water from a wine glass like it was champagne. Up close, he could see her dress was definitely handmade - a masterpiece of Louis Vuitton shopping bags.

"Your Air Force Ones are actually clean for once," she said instead of hello, looking him up and down. "Did you finally learn how to use a magic eraser, or did you just buy new ones?"

"Do you ever get tired of roasting people's outfits?" Jules leaned against the fridge, trying to look unbothered, but she always had a way to get under his skin.

"Do you ever get tired of giving me material to work with?" She grinned, taking another sip of water. "What's a football boy doing at a fashion week afterparty anyway? Shouldn't you be in bed watching game clips or whatever it is you do?"

"Shouldn't you be at Louis folding scarves or whatever it is you do?"

"Bold of you to assume I fold anything. I'm strictly there to judge people's choices and occasionally sell bags to WAGs who pretend not to know who you are."

The music changed to "Say My Name" and a chorus of drunk screaming erupted from the living room. Jules found himself laughing — actually laughing — for the first time in what felt like months.

"I'm Mila, by the way," she said, extending her hand like a queen waiting for someone to kiss it. "In case you were wondering who's been destroying your fashion confidence for the past three months."

"Jules," he replied, even though they both knew she definitely knew who he was. "In case you were wondering who's been ignoring your styling advice for the past three months."

"Well, Jules, now that we're introduced, want to tell me why you keep coming into my store just to ignore my professional opinion?" She hopped off the counter, landing gracefully despite her platform boots. "Because either you secretly love being told your taste is questionable, or you're really bad at shopping anywhere else."

He was saved from answering by a girl bursting into the kitchen, her Y2K butterfly top slightly askew. "Mila! Dom's about to play your song but he's also about to pass out so if you want to—"

"That messy bitch," Mila muttered, already heading for the door. She turned back to Jules. "Don't leave yet. I still need to tell you how that chain is giving wannabe 2003 Justin Timberlake."

Jules watched her disappear into the crowd, presumably to save her DJ friend from face-planting onto his equipment. The kitchen felt weirdly empty now, even as drunk partygoers stumbled in and out looking for mixers.

He should leave. He had early training tomorrow, and his teammate was definitely going to snitch to their coach about him being out late. But then Nelly's "Hot In Herre" started playing, and he could see Mila through the doorway, dramatically lip-syncing every word while trying to prop up a swaying DJ.

Maybe he'd stay until the end of this song too.

Three songs later, he was still there, watching Mila and her friends absolutely destroy the choreography to "Dilemma." She kept catching his eye and grinning, like they were sharing some private joke about everyone else at the party.

By the time two in the morning rolled around, the crowd had thinned out, the playlist had switched to slow R&B, and Jules found himself back in the kitchen with Mila, both of them picking at the sad remains of the snack table.

"I'm starving," she announced, examining a stale chip like it had personally offended her. "And not in a 'these sweaty pretzels will do' kind of way. In a 'I need real food immediately' way."

"There's a McDonald's around the corner," Jules heard himself say, even though he hadn't had McDonald's since his academy days. "If you want actual food."

Mila's eyes lit up. "McFlurry run? In this economy? In these outfits?" She grabbed her tiny matching shoulder bag. "Absolutely yes."

The McDonald's was exactly what you'd expect at two-thirty in Paris — a mix of drunk tourists, exhausted delivery drivers, and a few fashion week zombies still in full runway looks. Jules and Mila probably should've looked out of place, but somehow they fit right into the beautiful mess.

"If you tell anyone at Louis that I'm eating McDonald's in this dress, I'll have to kill you," Mila said, stealing one of his fries. They'd grabbed a corner table, their knees bumping underneath because the space was tiny. "I have a reputation to maintain."

"What, the reputation of being fashion's most brutal critic? Pretty sure that's safe." Jules pushed the fries between them to share properly. "Yesterday you told a guy his Gucci loafers looked like something a divorced dad would wear to a casino."

"First of all, they did. Second of all—" She paused mid-fry theft, eyes narrowing at something over his shoulder. "Don't react, but there are definitely people taking pictures of us right now."

Jules started to turn but Mila kicked him under the table. "I said don't react! God, you're bad at this. Just act natural." She took a dramatic bite of her Big Mac. "Though I guess the tabloids catching you eating McDonald's is better than them catching you at that party."

"My agent's going to kill me," Jules groaned, but he couldn't bring himself to care that much. He was having too much fun watching Mila attempt to eat a burger while maintaining her cool fashion girl image.

"Please, this is probably good for you. Hot football player eating late night McDonald's with a mystery girl? Looking like a whole vibe in vintage Prada? The internet's going to eat this up." She dipped a fry in her McFlurry with zero shame. "No offense but you could use some spice in your public persona. You're getting a reputation for being boring."

"I'm not boring, I'm focused," he protested, but even he didn't fully believe it anymore. Not when he was sitting in McDonald's at almost three in the morning, watching one of Paris's most exclusive luxury store employees demolish fast food like it was her last meal.

"Sure, focused," Mila smirked. "That's why you keep coming into my store just to get roasted. Because you're so focused."

Before Jules could defend himself, Mila's phone buzzed. She glanced at it and nearly choked on her McFlurry.

"Oh my god," she turned the phone to show him. "We're already on Twitter."

The photo was actually good — like, annoyingly good. Someone had caught them mid-laugh, fries scattered between them. The harsh McDonald's lighting somehow glowed against the gold hardware of Mila's reconstructed dress and the vintage Prada track jacket Jules had thrown on before leaving the party. They looked like an editorial trying to be casual, except their laughter was too real.

"Look at the quotes," Mila scrolled, her platforms kicked up on his side of the booth now. "'Who is she?' 'The way they're matching without matching?' 'That LV reconstruction is everything!' At least they appreciate art." She gestured to her dress with a fry.

Jules leaned back, taking in the situation. He'd spent years cultivating his image - the serious athlete who just happened to have top-tier taste. The guy who could mix high fashion with streetwear so well that GQ had done a spread on his game day arrival fits. But he'd never looked this… effortless. Something about sitting across from Mila, who treated Balenciaga sneakers and McDonald's fries with the same level of critical analysis, made everything feel less curated.

"Your agent's definitely awake by now," Mila said, still scrolling. "The fashion girlies are going crazy trying to figure out who I am. Ooh, someone recognized me from Louis! Watch this turn into 'Football Star and LV Girl' by the afternoon."

His phone buzzed. Then buzzed again. And again.

"That's probably my team's PR group chat exploding," he groaned, but couldn't help smiling. "Think Louis Vuitton will fire you for eating McDonald's in a dress made from their shopping bags?"

"Are you kidding? This is the most interesting thing that's happened to their brand this week. Fashion week's been boring." She stole his phone, adding her number. "You're going to need my contact info when this blows up anyway. Can't have you telling reporters the wrong designer credits for my outfits."

The notification previews were already wild — his agent, his teammates, fashion blogs, sports accounts. But watching Mila save herself as "LV's Meanest Stylist 👑" while demolishing what was left of their fries, Jules found himself caring less about damage control and more about when he'd see her again.

Even if it meant getting roasted for his next outfit choice.

It wasn't as brutal as Jules expected. Well, physically at least - he'd stuck to Gatorade at the party and he snuck in a power nap on the plane ride back to Barcelona. But his phone? Complete disaster zone.

217 unread messages. 68 missed calls. His agent had sent a voice note that was just straight screaming. Even his mom texted, asking who "that girl with the beautiful dress" was.

Jules scrolled through his notifications while his coffee brewed, still in his designer silk pajamas (that Mila would probably roast him for if she knew about them). Twitter had done its thing with someone had already made a thread analyzing their "couple aesthetic" and how it was "shifting the paradigm of sports-fashion crossover." Whatever that meant.

His phone buzzed again. Mila.

LV's Meanest Stylist: your form for running away from paparazzi outside my store is terrible btw. someone just showed me old pics. we need to work on that along with your sweater choices 💅🏾

He caught himself grinning at his phone like an idiot. Before he could reply, another text came through:

LV's Meanest Stylist: also check vogue's instagram story. we're about to have an interesting day at work bestie 🥰

The Vogue story was… a lot. They'd picked up the McDonald's photo, paired it with his past fashion week appearances and what they could find of Mila's work fits. The caption was killing him: "Football's New Fashion Power Couple? Jules Kounde spotted with mysterious Louis Vuitton stylist - serving looks and McFlurries 👀"

His agent was calling. Again.

Jules finally picked up his agent Bruno's call, putting it on speaker while he got dressed for training.

"Have you seen what's happening? This is Cristiano and Georgina levels of potential. She was at Gucci, he was just shopping, now look at them!" Bruno was in full spiral mode. "And yours is even better - you're both already in fashion, both have the aesthetic, and that McDonald's photo? You couldn't plan this kind of organic viral moment."

Jules tugged on a vintage Helmut Lang sweater (that Mila had actually approved of last time, even if she said it made him look like "an art curator having a midlife crisis, but in a hot way"). He thought about how he'd started finding excuses to visit Galeries Lafayette whenever he was in Paris, always timing it when he knew she'd be working. How she'd clock him the moment he walked in, already preparing her roast for whatever he was wearing.

"Bruno, it's not like that—" he started, but his agent was on a roll.

"The internet loves her already. She's got that whole 'devil in Prada' thing going but make it Gen Z. Plus she works at Louis! Do you know how perfect this is for your image? You're already getting more luxury house follows—"

Jules thought about Mila's unfiltered commentary on everything - not just clothes. How she'd rate people's outfits out loud in public like she was doing director's commentary. Everyone assumed it was an American thing, that typical no-filter attitude, but Mila took it to an art form. She'd call out fashion week scammers and hypebeasts with the same energy she used to debate whether Jules' latest Bottega purchase made him look like "money or new money."

"—are you even listening? This could change everything. The serious athlete image was working but this? This is—"

"Bruno," Jules interrupted, "I actually need to get to training. Can we talk strategy later?"

After hanging up, he stared at Mila's last text. She'd sent a photo of the crowd outside Galeries Lafayette:

LV's Meanest Stylist: these vultures really think i'm gonna serve them looks at 8am? bestie we need to coordinate our chaos because your fans are UNHINGED

He smiled, typing back: wear something worth getting photographed in, LV's meanest stylist 👑

Her response was instant: bold words from someone who owned those tragic Balenciaga crocs

His Urus purred through Barcelona traffic, Kendrick's "N95" drowning out his thoughts about the chaos waiting at training. The teasing was going to be relentless - his teammates lived for any crack in his usually composed life, yet his mind kept drifting back to Mila instead of dreading the locker room jokes.

Jules parked at the training facility, but didn't get out immediately. Against his better judgment, he pulled up Twitter.

"Fuck…" he muttered, running a hand through his locs when he saw he was still trending. The newest viral photo wasn't even from McDonald's - someone had snapped Mila at work in Galeries Lafayette, probably from earlier this morning.

She looked exactly like herself - unbothered and effortlessly cool in a blazer from Pharrell's men's line, paired with cigarette pants and what looked like an LV open-back crop top. Her brown skin glowed under the store lighting, her straight dark hair falling perfectly with curls at the ends, even as she seemed to be mid-roast of whatever poor soul was in front of her.

The comments were wild: "THE MATERIAL GIRL AND FOOTBALL BOY WE DESERVE 😭" "nah her style is actually insane?? that blazer with those pants??" "when is she coming to watch him play in barcelona tho 👀" "they literally match without trying, your fave couples could never" "LV girl has more sauce than half these football wives I'm crying"

Jules caught himself smiling at his phone. The internet was doing that thing where it turned real people into characters, spinning narratives from two photos. But they weren't completely wrong about Mila's style - she didn't just talk the talk. Even in the leaked store photo, she looked like she'd walked off a runway but make it corporate chaos.

His phone buzzed with another text from her: "your fans found my old fashion blog. it's giving parasocial relationship but make it haute couture"

The Barcelona training ground was already buzzing when Jules walked in. He'd tried to time it perfectly - not too early, not too late - but it didn't matter. He could feel the eyes on him before the comments even started, everyone had definitely seen the photos. His attempt to slip quietly into the locker room failed spectacularly when Marc, their goalkeeper, slow clapped his entrance.

"Damas y caballeros, nuestro propio personaje principal ha llegado (Ladies and gentlemen, our own main character has arrived)," Marc announced, grinning like he'd been waiting all morning for this moment. "El hombre que rompió Fashion Twitter con McDonald’s. El rey de las colaboraciones inesperadas. El..." (The man who broke Fashion Twitter with McDonald's. The king of unexpected collabs. The—)

"Cállate," Jules threw his bag at Marc, but he was fighting a smile.

"No sabía que lo tenías en ti (Didn't know you had it in you)," Pedri chimed in, not looking up from his phone where he was definitely scrolling through the trending topics. "Todo este tiempo actuando demasiado centrado en el drama, luego te vuelves viral con la reina de la mala de Louis Vuitton." (All this time acting too focused for drama, then you go viral with Louis Vuitton's queen of mean)

Jules started unpacking his bag, trying to maintain his usual unbothered expression. The kit designers had actually consulted him on this season's away colors - not that he'd tell his teammates that. They already thought he was too into fashion. "Todos ustedes necesitan mejores pasatiempos."

"¿Mejor que verte tendencia en todo el mundo? Nunca." Marc was scrolling through his phone now, perched on the bench like he was about to give a presentation. "Dios mío, ya hay cuentas de fans dedicadas a ti: ‘Jules and Mila Fashion Archive’ ya tiene 5 mil seguidores. Espera hasta que descubran que realmente vas a su tienda solo para que te asen—"

"¿Cuánto tiempo has estado tramando esto?" Pedri interrupted, finally looking up. "Porque mi chica sigue su blog de moda y aparentemente has estado en el fondo de las fotos de su tienda durante meses."

Jules paused midway through lacing up his boots. He hadn't known about any store pictures. The thought of him showing up in the background of Mila's content while she probably roasted his outfits to her followers was… actually exactly her style.

"Recuerda cuando firmó por primera vez y usó esos crocs de diseñador para entrenar?" Marc was on a roll now. "Apuesto a que ella tendría un día de campo con esas fotos—"

"Esas eran ediciones limitadas," Jules defended.

His phone buzzed in his locker. Speaking of the devil: your team's social media manager just followed me. should i be worried or flattered?

"Ooh, está sonriendo a su teléfono!" Lamine, one of the younger players, called out. "¡Julio en realidad está emocionando! ¡Rápido, que alguien tome una foto antes de que vuelva a su cara de modelo en reposo!" (Ooh, he's smiling at his phone. Jules is actually emoting! Quick, someone take a picture before he goes back to his resting model face!)

"¿Qué está diciendo?" Marc tried to peek at his phone. "¿Está asando tus opciones de atuendo a larga distancia? Porque esos pantalones de chándal que usaste la semana pasada..."

"Focus up!" Flick's voice cut through the locker room. "Save the gossip for after training. Jules, we'll be discussing social media strategy with PR later. Apparently, you're bringing in a new demographic we need to 'strategically leverage' or whatever they're calling it."

Jules grabbed his water bottle, already dreading the PR meeting. He could just imagine the PowerPoint presentation they'd prepared. As if his relationship with Mila - whatever it was - could be turned into a marketing strategy.

Another text came through as they headed out to the pitch:

LV's Meanest Stylist: some fashion blog found pics of you actually wearing the pieces i suggested. they're calling it a 'slow burn fashion romance' i'm screaming 💀 there's a whole timeline of your store visits matched with your match day fits. these people are UNHINGED. anyway good luck at training bestie, try not to get distracted thinking about my incredible style 😘"

"Julio!" Marc waved a hand in front of his face. "Deja de enviar mensajes de texto a tu gurú de la moda y concéntrate. A menos que quieras que el entrenador te haga hacer sprints adicionales."

He was definitely going to get megged at training for not focusing. His mind kept drifting to Mila's text about his match day fits - had she really been paying that much attention? The tabloids were about to lose their minds when they figured out he'd been lowkey getting styled by her through carefully timed "roasts" for months.

"Jules! Less smiling, more running!" Flick yelled.

Worth it though.

Mila's apartment looked like a crime scene of designer pieces she'd tried on and discarded. Her phone had been blowing up since that McDonald's photo dropped - fashion blogs, sports pages, and now Jules' agent calling for the fifth time.

She scrolled through her messages while heating up leftovers, pausing on one from her boss: "The engagement on our posts is up 200% today. Whatever this is, keep it professional." As if she hadn't kept it professional these past few months, roasting Jules' questionable fashion choices within the walls of Galeries Lafayette.

He'd shown up last fall during her shift, and when she'd told him his designer sweater was giving "tech startup CEO at a midlife crisis festival," he'd actually laughed. Started coming in several times a month, sometimes just to debate the merits of vintage versus new season pieces while she restocked displays.

Her phone lit up. Jules' agent again.

"Might as well," she muttered, picking up. "Hello?"

"Mila! Finally! Let's talk about this organic marketing goldmine you two have created—"

She moved the phone away from her ear, letting the agent ramble about engagement metrics and brand synergy. Her DMs were flooded with fashion houses wanting to "collaborate." Three months ago, they wouldn't even respond to her portfolio.

Her work phone buzzed with a store notification. Someone had requested her specifically for a styling appointment. Probably another footballer looking to recreate whatever was happening with her and Jules.

Mila put her phone on speaker, letting the agent's voice fill her kitchen while she made tea. He was going on about metrics and demographics, something about Jules' engagement being up 300% since the McDonald's photo.

"—and the fashion houses are loving this organic crossover moment. Your reconstructed piece was genius, by the way. Very editorial. Which is why we think—"

A text from Jules cut through the noise: "my PR team found your tweet about my 'tragic but endearing' yeezy phase. they're using it in the presentation. traitors."

Mila smiled despite the chaos. At least he was still giving her material to work with: "you wore those shoes to a MUSEUM opening. i was professionally obligated to drag you."

She hadn't meant to be at that party last night. Wasn't planning on going viral at McDonald's in a dress she'd reconstructed from LV shopping bags, yet here she was, accidentally becoming part of a narrative she hadn't signed up for.

Mila rolled her eyes, adding honey to her tea. She had three unfinished designs due next week and a client waiting on a custom piece. Whatever this was about could wait.

"—you two should continue dating. Or at least appear to be dating."

Her spoon clattered against the counter. "We should what now?"

"The optics are perfect!" The agent was on a roll. "The brutally honest stylist and the fashion-forward footballer? It's a narrative goldmine. Louis Vuitton's numbers are up, Jules' brand deals are through the roof, and you're already getting offers from—"

"We're not dating," Mila cut in, even though that was obvious. She'd just roasted his outfit choices for months and accidentally gone viral. That wasn't dating.

"Exactly! But imagine if you were. Or if people thought you were. The fashion week appearances, the match day fits, the social media moments..."

Her phone buzzed with a text from Jules: "my agent's crazy right? please tell me you're not actually listening to this facetime dating pitch"

"Listen," Mila pinched the bridge of her nose. "I style people. I critique awful fashion choices. I'm not about to play girlfriend for your marketing strategy."

"But you're already styling Jules. Already critiquing his choices. Already going viral together. Why not make it official? Think of the opportunities. The connections. The—"

Mila looked at her tea, then at her phone, then at the pile of design work waiting for her. This was ridiculous. She had deadlines. Real work. Actual goals that didn't involve pretending to date a footballer with occasionally questionable taste in sneakers.

But...

Mila glanced at her reflection in a mirror, mentally calculating. Jules wasn't completely lost when it came to fashion - boy actually had some drip. And unlike half the footballers who came through her store, he had his natural teeth - not a veneer in sight. The fact that he was fine as hell was just a bonus to his actually decent taste level.

Plus, this job was starting to drain her. The endless hours at Galeries Lafayette, the entitled clients who thought money could buy style, the corporate bullshit of it all. Last week some wannabe influencer had thrown a fit over a bag that wasn't even in production yet.

She could use this. Use him.

"What's in it for me?" Mila interrupted the agent's monologue.

The typing bubble appeared from Jules: "did you just ask about benefits? mila please don't encourage him-"

But she was already running the numbers. Fashion houses were watching. Her reconstructed pieces were getting attention. And Jules... well, having a footballer with actual potential to not dress like a fashion disaster wouldn't be the worst thing for her portfolio.

"Access to special archives for your reconstruction pieces," the agent started, like he'd been waiting for her to ask. "Front row at fashion week - not just Paris, we're talking Milan, New York. Creative control over Jules' match day fits, which means direct lines to any fashion house you want. Plus, Vogue wants to do a feature on your work - the pieces you've been creating, your styling philosophy, all of it."

A text from Jules popped up: "he's offering you the archives?? even I can't get in there 👀"

"And?" Mila took a sip of her tea, playing it cool even though her mind was already racing with designs she could create with archive access.

"And your reconstructed pieces get official LV backing. No more 'unofficial' collections. They're interested in a limited capsule release - young, edgy, sustainable. Everything you've been pushing for."

She set down her cup. Hard.

Another text from Jules: "take the deal before he offers to throw in his firstborn child 💀"

"Timeline?" Mila asked, already thinking about the archive pieces she could remix, the connections she could build, the doors this could open. "And I maintain creative control? Over everything?"

"Six months minimum. And yes - you've already proven you know what you're doing with his image. The McDonald's photo's got more engagement than his last three brand deals combined."

She glanced at her mood board, covered in designs she couldn't legally produce. Yet.

"Fine. But I have conditions."

Twenty minutes and several non-negotiables later, Mila's phone lit up with Jules' incoming call. She barely said hello before he started.

"So you like me that much, huh? Agreeing to be my girlfriend and everything?" His voice was annoyingly smug.

"Please. I like archive access and creative control. You're just the pretty package deal." She flopped onto her couch, kicking off her slippers. "How are you feeling about all this anyway?"

His laugh was unfairly sexy through the phone. "You're not exactly bad to look at yourself. Could be worse ways to boost my image than having fashion's meanest critic on my arm."

Mila rolled her eyes but couldn't help smiling. "Careful, I can still roast your outfit choices to my followers."

"You'll have to do that in person. Come to Barcelona - we need to get our stories straight anyway."

"I'll see what I can do." She examined her nails, trying to sound casual even though her mind was already picking out outfits.

"Mhmm," he hummed, voice dropping lower. "Bonne nuit, chérie."

"Sweetheart? Really getting a head start on the pet names?"

"Gotta save face, right?" She could hear his grin. "Sweet dreams."

The call ended and Mila's face broke into a wide smile, staring at her ceiling.

Oh, this was going to be interesting.

.................tbd

#jules kounde #jules kounde x black reader #jules kounde x black oc #jules kounde x you #footballer x oc #footballer x reader #fc barça fic #fc barcelona fanfic #jules koundé fanfic #jules koundé fanfiction #quain’s masterlist #quainwritings

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starkwlkr · 8 months ago

Text

love potion no. 9 | sebastian vettel

teenage!sebastian vettel

summerween series

Sebastian Vettel was a flop with the chicks. Every girl he talked to would ignore him and walk away. What was wrong with him? Did he have something stuck in his teeth or was it his braces?

He didn’t let it get to his head until he met Y/n L/n. She was the most beautiful girl he had ever seen. Everything about her was perfect. A girl like Y/n could never be seen with a nerd like me, thought Sebastian. She was the prom queen, everyone liked her, she had the best grades and she was most likely going to Yale or Harvard.

And what did Sebastian have? The reputation of being the school’s biggest nerd. How could he ever be with the most popular girl in school?

It all started when a Halloween dance was announced at school. Everyone was excited for it especially since they could wear costumes. Most couples were already thinking about their couples costumes. Sebastian had nothing in mind. He could go as Beetlejuice or maybe Peter Parker (not Spider-Man, everyone dressed up as Spider-Man). His thoughts were interrupted when his dream girl sat across from him at the table. It was study hall and he spent it in the library along with several other students.

“Hi.” Y/n L/n said to him. “Sorry I didn’t ask, but is it okay if I study here? I can move if you want me to.”

“No!” Sebastian said rather loudly. “Um . . I mean you can stay. No one is sitting there.”

Y/n smiled at him then proceeded to sit across from him. She took out her books and notebook and began to study. Sebastian didn’t get much studying done. He kept glancing at her, wondering if maybe he could start a conversation with her. By the time he actually built up the courage to say something, the bell had rung signaling the end of study hall. Y/n was already gone.

“Stupid.” Sebastian whispered to himself.

The days leading up to Halloween dance were pure hell for Sebastian. He heard many rumors that Jason, the most popular boy in school, was going to ask Y/n to the dance. That couldn’t happen, no! Sebastian needed to take you to the dance. Since it was a costume required dance, he needed the best costume to impress you so he looked through his old yearbooks and pulled up the class pictures from grade school. He found her name and read over her likes and dislikes, hobbies, and what she wished to be when she grew up. Every kid had a page like that, some kids changed, no longer liking Barbie or toy cars, but Sebastian never did. He still liked comics, cars, old movies.

You never changed either.

Likes: Star Wars, the color pink, almond M&M’s

That’s it! Star Wars was his answer. It was pretty obvious that Y/n would chose to go as Princess Leia so Sebastian bought pieces of clothing to resemble Han Solo. He hoped that she would be impressed.

The day of the dance finally came and Sebastian was nervous. All around him people were dressed as witches, pirates, devils and angels and what was he dressed as? The captain of the millennium falcon.

He stood around hoping to spot Y/n, but there was no sign of her. Maybe she stayed home . . . This was a stupid idea anyway. Sebastian was defeated so he walked to the gym door and was about to leave when he bumped into Y/n in her costume.

“Holy shit! Han Solo!” She gasped when she saw Sebastian in costume.

“Princess Leia . . .” He cracked a smile. Y/n was dressed in Leila’s outfit from The Empire Strikes Back. “Hi.” He shyly said.

“Hi, Seb! I didn’t know you liked Star Wars? I love it! My brothers don’t so I really have no one to talk to about it, but maybe you and I could—”

“Y/n!” A friend of hers ran up to Sebastian and Y/n. “What are you wearing? We agreed to be cats!” She gestured to the fake drawn on whiskers and cat ear headband. “You look . . ”

“Pretty. She looks pretty.” Sebastian cut in. He really didn’t know where he got the confidence to speak up, but he was glad he did.

“Sure,” her friend rolled her eyes. “I don’t think Jason would like a prude for a girlfriend.”

“Well I’m not here with Jason.” Y/n stated. She then grabbed Sebastian’s hand and pulled him away from her friend. “You can have him!” She and Sebastian ran down the hall to god knows where. Sebastian didn’t really care in the moment. He could believe he was holding hands with her, especially dressed as Han Solo and Princess Leia.

Y/n and Sebastian ended up in the art room where they were laying on the rug staring at the painted ceiling.

“And don’t even get me started on all my ‘friends’! One of them called my dad hot! It was so uncomfortable so I stopped inviting them to my house.” Y/n revealed. She laughed it off knowing she was never going back to her friends.

“Oh god.” Sebastian chuckled. “I didn’t realize you knew my name.” He changed the topic.

“I’ve always known. We’ve been in each other’s classes since grade school!” Y/n pointed out. “You’re a really cool person, Seb, and I really like being with you.”

“You’re the only person who calls me Seb, you know. I like it.”

Y/n giggled. “Did you drink some of the punch?”

“Yeah, why?”

“Amber Marsh spiked the punch.”

So that’s where the confidence came from. Thank you Amber Marsh I guess, thought Sebastian. He couldn’t remember how many times he had gotten punch.

“Y/n?”

“Yeah?” The boy and girl continued looking at the painted stars on the ceiling.

“I like you.” He admitted.

“I know.”

That was the closest they got to their Han and Leia moment until a year later when Sebastian finally said ‘I love you’ to Y/n. She replied with the classic ‘I know’ line that made Sebastian’s nerdy teenage heart melt.

TAGLIST

@yannew @annieoncrack @stinkyjax

#formula 1 #f1 x reader #formula 1 imagine #f1 imagine #f1 x you #sebastian vettel fluff #sebastian vettel x reader #sv5 fanfic #sebastian vettel one shot #sebastian vettel imagine #sebastian vettel fanfic #sebastian vettel fanfiction #sv5 #sv5 x reader #sv5 imagine #summerween series

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triscribeaucollection · 3 months ago

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Daughter

(/SLAMS a new Time Traveler General Leia fic on the table for Whumptober)

My second cousin, once removed.

That was how Padmé introduced her, to fellow Senators, to Jedi and clone troopers, even to Palpatine himself, mere hours before his dramatic death. In the chaos that followed, very few eyes gave the matronly woman at Padmé’s side so much as a second glance.

Their mistake.

“We’ve received word from Onderon,” Sabé called out, on the other side of the sitting room. “Steela Gerrera and Lux Bonteri confirmed their attendance at the peace talks.”

Padmé hummed, flicking through her list of accepted invitations, refusals, and undecided systems who could potentially be swayed one way or the other. With the losses of Grievous, Dooku, and now the puppetmaster Sidious, the Confederacy had fairly quickly fallen apart; the Banking Clan, Commerce Guild, Techno Union and others only able to hold off from profit-driven in-fighting for so long. With the facade of their ‘dedication’ to the cause collapsing in upon itself, more and more Separatist worlds were deciding they would, perhaps, like to come back to a Republic eagerly tearing itself free of corruptive influence.

Nearly two hundred Senators and lesser politicians had already been ousted from their positions on charges of accepting bribes, engaging in fraud, and colluding to grant more extravagant emergency powers to the Chancellor.

Padmé, her handmaidens, and their unexpected savior remained hard at work to ensure the continued momentum of their successes.

At least until a chirp upon her comlink indicated the arrival of a guest.

“No need,” Padmé told the others as she stood, halting a shuffle to hide incriminating datapads out of sight beneath blankets and within bags of personal hygiene items. “It’s only Bail and Fox.”

Sabé, Dormé and the rest relaxed, returning to their tasks. Only the oldest woman in the room remained tense, sharp gaze following Padmé while she hurried to the main door.

As one of the strongest candidates for Chancellor, Bail needed to remain under armed protection at all times. Fortunately, dressing inconspicuously and being accompanied by an aggrieved Commander Fox counted - at least as far as Bail himself was concerned. Fox, on the other hand, began grumbling under his breath the moment they cleared Padmé’s external security and entered the apartment foyer. “Can’t wait until morning, or a proper escort, no, he needs to come visit now in an unarmored speeder-”

“I’m afraid I’ll need to donate quite a few cartons of pastries to the Guard offices tomorrow,” Bail murmured, smiling even as he slipped off his dark cloak. “And possibly a new caf machine.”

“Three caf machines,” Fox huffed. “The shinies keep trying to experiment every time you send another one.” He rolled his eyes quite dramatically, after pulling off his helmet.

A year before, opening up and airing his annoyance so clearly in front of non-clones would have been unthinkable for the commander. It delighted Padmé each and every time she was allowed to bear witness to the easing of that wall, as well as its latest, near total collapse; the removal of whatever influence Sidious was exuding over the Coruscant Guard seemed to have done wonders for lifting a weight off Fox’s shoulders, and his inhibitions at the same time.

Which wasn’t to say the man didn’t still perform his job admirably. A hint of sound drew his eyes instantly towards the doorway to the living room, fingers twitching towards holsters before they went still.

“Leia,” Padmé said, even before turning around. “May I present Guard Commander Fox? And Bail you know, of course.”

“Of course,” the woman replied, voice dry, one brow raised ever so slightly. “Commander. Senator.”

Fox let out a soft grunt, flicking his gaze back and forth between the two women. “...resemblance is definitely stronger, when you two aren’t in uniform.”

‘Dressed up’, others might say, but Padmé felt the word uniform had the right of it, when she needed to step into the role of Naboo’s representative and carry the expected image thereof. Leia, for her part, had spent most of the past several days in a much less eye-catching series of dark grey and blue outfits: just elaborate enough to pass muster as Padmé’s relation and assistant, with plenty of concealed pockets for weaponry, but otherwise quite plain. With their hair hanging loose and both in practical sleepwear, however, Fox certainly had the right of it.

They looked like mother and daughter.

Only, in reverse of the actual family tree.

“I realize this may be futile, considering whom I’m asking,” Padmé murmured, looking at the woman who would have been her child in another life. “But would you two consider helping me convince her to take a break before she burns out?” Despite her gentle tone, the words caused annoyance to flicker across Leia’s face, and something in how she tipped her chin- adjusted her stance- reminded Padmé viscerally of Anakin.

From battlefield to Separatist space to Coruscant, Leia had maintained a whirlwind of activity, removing major players from the board and only briefing pausing to actually introduce herself to others. In the week since Padmé met her, she didn’t think Leia had taken more than four or five hours rest each night, too focused on assassinating Palpatine and setting the rest of their political purge in motion. Even since successfully killing the Sith, she’d remained intent on continuing to work, to restore the Republic before it could finish falling apart.

Fox, who substituted spite for sleep and drank at least six cups of caf per day, only snorted.

Bail proved more useful.

The tall man stepped forward, reaching, and like a planet drawn to its sun, Leia came closer as well to grasp his hands. “However the election results turn out, I will be returning to Alderaan for a few days afterward. Would you consider accompanying me?”

Leia froze. It took a long moment for her jaw to flex, for the question to creep out, “Are you- certain?”

“I’ve already sent a coded message to inform Breha about you,” Bail answered, equally quiet. “She’d like to speak in person, whenever you have time for a call.”

Motion rippled through the woman, too large for a tremble, too subdued for a shudder. Her eyes darted towards Padmé, who smiled. “The console in my chamber is triple-encrypted. No one will interrupt you.”

Several more seconds passed, before Leia jerked her head in a nod. She held herself so rigidly, so constantly, a general poised over her battlefield holotable, never ceasing in her planning and commands and constant self-control. For an instant, though- for an instant, holding onto Bail’s open hands and sagging ever so slightly, Padmé saw instead a girl who’d lost too much, too fast, and desperately hoped to get even some small measure of it back.

When the two Organa senators went to place their call, Fox let out a deep breath and sagged in place himself. “Alright. Maybe that was worth coming out here in the middle of the night.”

Padmé hid a grin, threading her arm around his and carefully towing the commander along to join her handmaidens. “I wonder, if you stay involved with Bail and Breha, whether or not Leia will agree to come intimidate your shinies out of experimenting with the caf machines?”

“Ha.”

#star wars #time travel #general leia organa #padme amidala #bail organa #commander fox #the clone wars fix-it

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jessicas-pi · 23 days ago

Text

The only sign of trouble Sabine had was some shouting from an alleyway before she was nearly knocked flat onto the pavement by a pair of boys rushing out into the street.

She'd managed a daring escape from her governess and had been hustling along, head whirling in thought, eager to get to the small coffee-house where her friends were meeting, when this near-collision happened. She staggered backwards, crashing back into a gentleman who caught her by her arms, steadying her, and then turned to berate the fleeting boys for knocking into a lady.

She stepped away from him, towards the alley, intrigued by what they might be running from, and found nothing in the alley but filth and a heap of rags.

Then, the heap of rags moved.

Gradually, it formed itself into the shape of a ragged boy who had been curled into a ball, seemingly protecting something. He muttered words that would probably have been very foul, if they had been intelligible, and looked around, first down the far end of the alley, and then towards her.

His gaze lit upon her and froze.

She stared right back at him.

His face was smeared with blood.

It dribbled from a cut on his forehead and dripped from his nose. He really looked awful, and she only wondered for a moment why before her blood surged in anger. Those boys must have given him a sound beating.

Sabine stepped forwards, treading lightly through the grimy alley, and crouched down in front of him. She pulled out her handkerchief, offering it to him wordlessly.

He stared at her with wide eyes for a few seconds longer. It was a reaction she was rather used to. She knew she didn't look like most English girls—and not in a way that won her an abundance of admirers.

Except, she realized, as he continued to gaze at her in something that might have even been awe, maybe this time, it just did.

She couldn't say she wasn't flattered, but the staring was getting a little old.

"You're bleeding," she reminded him, holding the handkerchief out to him.

"I'm... Ezra..." he replied, the corner of his mouth twitching up towards a boyish grin. His accent was pronounced, and slightly nasal.

She raised an eyebrow, handkerchief still held out to him.

"I—I sell papers," he stammered, still staring at her. "Those boys—they wanted the money I made, but they didn't get it."

She waved the handkerchief at him a little.

"It's not much," he continued. "But—by gee, I held onto it."

She rolled her eyes and smacked the handkerchief against his red-smeared mouth, stopping up the blood.

"You're a bloody American," she observed with some amusement. "Aren't you?"

If possible, his eyes got wider. He likely wasn't used to high-class ladies using low language. If that was the case, then he ought to meet her friends. They'd give him a shock.

"Well—I guess I am American, and bloody, too." He laughed bewilderedly as he reached up, his fingers brushing against hers as he took the handkerchief from her. He lifted the handkerchief away from his face, glancing at it and then pressing it back to his face. "Golly, I hope you didn't do all this fancy stitching on your own, 'cause it's getting a bang-up dye job right now."

"I didn't—and you can keep it. I don't think I want it back anymore."

The boy looked at her with something like awe. "Gee. Thanks, miss."

She giggled, standing up and offering him her hand. He stood up without taking it, mumbling that he didn't want to get dirt on her nice gloves.

He was a funny boy, and if she'd had time, she might have talked to him more, but Sabine was on a tight schedule. As it was, she would only have a chance to stop into the coffee-house for a moment to hear the news from Leia and Jyn.

"I must be going now," she said, nodding her head to him as she stepped backwards. "Stay out of trouble, now, paper-boy."

He blinked at her.

"But I—" he stammered. "I don't—know—your name?"

She grinned. If he didn’t know who she was, she wasn’t going to tell him.

"You've got my monogram,” she said, gesturing to the handkerchief as she skipped backwards. “Figure it out!"

Sabine turned, darting across the street. If she hurried, she would get to the coffee-house before Leia finished expressing her opinion of members of Parliament, and those were always worth hearing.

When she reached the other side, she glanced backwards. The boy was standing at the opening of the alley, the handkerchief clutched in his hand as he stared at her. When he saw her looking back, he raised his other hand and gave her a little shy wave.

Sabine grinned and waved back, momentarily caught up by a rash impulse to dash back across the street and invite him along. Americans were rather revolutionary, weren't they? He'd get along well with the girls.

And the girls would be absolutely delighted to learn about my trans-Atlantic admirer, she added mentally. Leia could be a merciless tease when she felt like it, and Jyn would probably jump at the chance for a bit of revenge over Sabine's delighted reaction to meeting her friend.

No... she'd better not risk it.

Shame, though. She rather thought she'd have liked to see more of that boy.

#SURPRISE! THE SABEZRA SHERLOCK HOLMES AU LIVES!#idk if I'm gonna write all the ficlets in chronological order but I'm starting off with the very first one at least #so we get backstory... still no actual detective-ing though lol #221b spectre street au #sabezra #ficlet #stay tuned for more! maybe! eventually! could be a while!

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dazaih · 6 days ago

Text

wingman - luke skywalker x reader

chapter one chapter two -> luke

your university roommate han solo finds a rival (and love interest) in student council president leia skywalker, but both of them are too stubborn to admit that they have feelings for each other. luckily, you and her twin brother, luke, devise a plan to get the two of them to spend more time together. challenges arise, however, when you start to develop a crush on him.

chapter warning: mentions of drugs and alcohol

a/n: part two as promised! more parts to come after this!

Things were not okay. For Han to supposedly hate this girl, he was up your ass about cleaning, freaking out about the slightest item being out of place or the smallest smudge being on the counter. He had vacuumed the floor twice already, remarking that he didn’t want Leia to think she was better than him because his living room was messy. You had to fight the urge to roll your eyes, and he was really starting to get on your last nerve before a knock at the door interrupted the argument you’d been having. Eyes wide, he shoved the vacuum cleaner in the hall closet, concealing the evidence that he’d cared enough to clean in the first place, and took a deep breath, walking over to the door and opening it.

Leia was, to put it simply, one of the most breathtaking women you’d ever seen. Her hair was styled into a single braid that rested neatly on her shoulder, and she wore a beautiful white sundress that, despite being relaxed in appearance, was probably worth more than your entire closet. She wore a dainty necklace with matching earrings, and a little pink cardigan to fight off the evening chill. Her nails were perfectly manicured, and you could smell the soft, floral scent of her perfume from where you were standing. You supposed Leia Skywalker had to dress nicely no matter where she went, but in the back of your mind, a small suspicion lingered.

“Han,” she huffed, glaring at him as she stood in the doorway, “Aren’t you gonna let me in? It’s cold out here.”

Evidently, something had distracted him, but he was pulled from his thoughts by Leia’s voice.

“Sorry, your highness,” he spat, moving to the side to let her in, “Hope my shack is up to your standards.”

He shut the door behind her, and you had known Han Solo long enough to recognize that he was nervous. You brushed it off as him being uncomfortable with his sworn enemy seeing a vulnerable part of him such as his home, but again, you were growing suspicious.

“It’s nice,” she said, looking around, and when her eyes landed on you, her demeanor totally shifted, “Oh! I’m so sorry, I didn’t realize you were here! Han told me he had roommates, but I didn’t realize—I’m sorry. I’m Leia.”

Her smile was bright, and she held out her hand for you to shake. You stifled a giggle when you made eye contact with Han, but you greeted her warmly anyway, introducing yourself.

“Did you do the decorating?” she asked, looking intently at everything on your walls.

“Han and Chewie helped a little, but yeah, it was mostly me,” you explained.

“It’s really cute,” she told you, her tone sounding genuine, and you beamed at her. Han rolled his eyes.

The two of you talked some more, and you found yourself really liking Leia. She was sweet, and she seemed genuinely interested in what you had to say. You told her a little bit about your major, and when you mentioned being a transfer, she even asked if you had been adjusting well.

“Glad you’re getting along, but didn’t you come here to do a project, Princess?” Han interrupted, his arms crossed. You might’ve been imagining things, but you thought you saw a faint blush on her cheeks in response to the nickname. You raised an eyebrow at Han, but said nothing.

“It was nice meeting you,” Leia told you, walking back to the dining room table and putting her bag down.

Han pulled a beer from the fridge, sitting down across from her and taking out his notebooks.

“You’re drinking already? We haven’t even started,” Leia said, sounding annoyed.

“Sorry, Princess. Didn’t realize I needed your permission to drink in my own house,” he snapped, and no, you weren’t imagining things. She was totally blushing.

Leaving them to bicker and research, you went back to your room, shooting Chewie a quick text:

you: i think this girl LIKES him and he is just too much of an asshole to see it

A minute later, your phone dinged.

chewie: bruh i thought that’s what may have been going on. he’s so stupid

chewie: keep eavesdropping tho i want updates

You laughed quietly to yourself, deciding to give them as much privacy as you could for the next couple of hours.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

chewie: do u still want pizza? heading home soon so i can pick some up

You had fallen asleep, and the house was quiet when you woke up to Chewie’s text message. Curious, you decided to make the journey back into the kitchen. When you arrived, you were surprised to see that Leia and Han were no longer sitting across from each other, but that he had moved his chair to be right next to hers. They were looking over some kind of document on his laptop, Leia typing notes on her own as he scrolled through the pages. They truly were just studying, but they were sitting so close to each other that you felt your suspicions had been confirmed. Feeling like you were interrupting something, you cleared your throat to announce your presence, the two of them startling at the noise and looking over at you.

“Sorry to bother you guys while you’re studying,” you apologized, “But I wanted to ask if you were staying for dinner, Leia. Our other roommate is gonna bring home some pizza on his way back from class. We were thinking of watching a movie and having some drinks, if you’re interested.”

You knew Han Solo, and you knew that he was too stupid to realize that Leia might actually not despise him, so you were hoping to wingman for him a bit.

Leia looked genuinely conflicted for a moment before signing sadly, offering you a polite smile as she spoke, “That actually sounds really nice, but I promised my brother I’d watch The Shining with him tonight.“

“That’s what we were gonna watch! You could invite him, if you wanted!” you blurted, and Han shot you a mean look that you assumed meant to back off before you embarrassed him. You guys were not supposed to watch The Shining tonight, but you were worried that if Han and Leia couldn’t spend some quality time together outside of homework, they’d resort right back to their bickering come next week, and Han would never realize that the reason for their tension might be because she liked him.

“Kid, she already said—“ he began, but Leia cut him off.

“Really?” she asked, grinning when you nodded, “That’d be great! I think you’d like him a lot, actually.”

That comment made Han raise his eyebrows a little, but he just sighed and gave you a look that you couldn’t quite decipher. Grinning at him, you texted Chewie back with an order for pizza and told him a little bit about your wingmanning in the process.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Chewie showed up with dinner shortly after, introducing himself to Leia with a quick word or two. She seemed to catch on to the fact that he was quiet, which you were grateful for, and the four of you started making plates for yourselves.

“There’s uh, beer in the fridge,” Han mumbled to Leia, an attempt at being a good host.

Before you could snicker at his awkwardness, there was a knock at the door.

“Oh, that must be my brother!” Leia said excitedly, heading over to the door.

When she opened it, you felt your breath catch in your throat. There stood Luke Skywalker, wearing a tan sweater that was slightly too large for him and a pair of beat up Converse that looked much too worn for someone of his tax bracket. His blond hair looked like it had been professionally styled to appear boyish and fluffy, but knowing the Skywalker genes, you guessed it was probably just naturally that perfect. His eyes were a vibrant blue and shone even in the poor lighting, and his nose was lightly dusted with freckles, likely due to practicing soccer outdoors. His smile was most captivating, though, and you felt the room light up as he beamed at you.

“Hi!” he said excitedly, holding up a bag, “I brought donuts.”

The boy’s cheery disposition greatly contrasted Leia’s professionalism, but she didn’t seem to be bothered by it, pulling him into a side hug. Of course the Skywalker twins would be siblings who actually got along.

“You must be Han,” he exclaimed, turning his attention to your roommate, and you briefly wondered how he knew who Han was, as Chewie was still hovering by the counter. Did Leia show him Han’s social media? Did she describe him? Again, you were suspicious.

“Uh, that’s me,” the other man replied, awkwardly shaking Luke’s hand.

“I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Han sputtered, and immediately you made eye contact with Chewie, who was hiding a smile behind his hand.

“Oh, um, only good things, I hope,” he replied, scratching the back of his neck.

“Nah, mostly bad!” Luke said happily, placing his bag of donuts down on your kitchen counter, “That’s alright, though. Thanks for inviting me.”

You couldn’t stop yourself from laughing at that, Leia and Han both clearly embarrassed by the interaction, and you wondered if Luke had known that his sister might be interested in the senior or if he was just totally oblivious. When you caught his eye, though, there was a hint of mischief in his gaze, and his smile looked a bit too much like a smirk from this angle. The two of you were playing a similar game, then.

You all chatted a bit at the counter as you got your food, and after you grabbed a drink, you decided to investigate Luke’s donuts. When you read the name on the box, your breath hitched, recognizing it as the fancy bakery located in the heart of the city. The Skywalkers probably lived in some sort of penthouse nearby, and Luke had picked up the donuts on the way here. You began to feel a little nervous, the fiscal barrier between you and the Skywalker twins starting to become more apparent.

Your surprise must have been obvious, because Luke strolled over to where you stood ogling the dessert—just the box, actually, because you’d been so surprised by the logo on the lid that you hadn’t even managed to look inside.

“Have you tried these before?” he asked you, and you briefly wondered if he was mocking you, because no, you didn’t just have a hundred bucks to spend on a dozen donuts. When you looked at him, though, you realized he was serious.

“Um, I haven’t, but I’ve passed this bakery in the city a few times. I’ve always wanted to try it,” you explained, hoping he couldn’t sense your anxiety.

“They’re my favorite,” he told you, opening the box to reveal the most expensive looking donuts you’d ever seen, intricate designs and fresh toppings making your mouth water, “You should try this one.”

He handed you a donut with rich chocolate sauce layered across the top in a marbled design, and when you took a bite, you were confident that this had to have been the best dessert you’d ever eaten.

“Good, right?” he asked hopefully.

“Delicious. Thank you, Luke.”

You licked some of the chocolate sauce from your finger, and when you glanced up again, you were surprised to see Luke following the motion with his eyes. When you locked gazes again, his cheeks were slightly pink, and you were beginning to wonder if the Skywalkers just had a blushing problem and there was nothing else to it.

He stood up a bit straighter, seemingly shaking off whatever he was thinking about, looking at you with the same joyful confidence as before.

“I’m glad you liked it,” he said sincerely, “I wanted to talk to you about something, actually. Is that okay?”

Surprised, you replied, “Me?”

“Yes, you,” he confirmed, chuckling at your response, “Maybe privately, if that’s okay.”

You were still puzzled by what he meant, but to avoid giving away your confusion, you nodded. On the other side of the living room, there was the door to the small screened in porch area that you made Han and Chewie utilize for their drug habits, not wanting the apartment to reek.

“We’re gonna step outside for a second. Luke has a question about the movie. It’s a spoiler,” you announced clumsily, your half-baked excuse making Han roll his eyes.

“No one cares if you spoil it. Just say it here,” Han argued, he and Leia having moved to the couch. They sat on opposite ends, Chewie in a recliner in the corner. These two needed help.

“I care,” Leia told him seriously, crossing her arms, “Why do you want a spoiler anyway, Luke? You’re the one who wanted to watch this movie.”

It was Luke’s turn to join in on your little white lie.

“I love scary movies, but you know how squeamish I am. It’s just for a little peace of mind so I don’t embarrass myself later,” he said, and his lie made yours much more believable. Apparently there was a little bit of truth in this, though, because Leia didn’t press further after that. Han gave you a weird look as you stepped onto the screened in porch with Luke, shutting the door behind you softly.

“Okay,” he began, grabbing your shoulder and looking you in the eye. His touch startled you, but again, you didn’t want to make a fool out of yourself, so you tried to be as casual about it as possible, “I think my sister is in love with your roommate.”

Your reaction was strong, to say the least. You let out a shocked laugh, shoving him lightly in disbelief.

“You’re kidding,” you replied, unable to conceal your amusement, “I’d be so pissed if I were her. You just exposed her.”

“Not really. She’s in denial. She thinks she hates him,” he admitted, frowning for a moment before continuing, “But she seems like she’s having a good time. I mean, she even invited me so she could stay later. You don’t invite your brother to the house of the guy you supposedly hate.”

“Right?” you exclaimed, excited to meet someone who understood your frustration, “The house had to be spotless for her today. I thought Han was going to strangle me if I left any of my sweaters in the living room. He swears he’d rather drop out than do this project with her, but he vacuumed the entire apartment today. Twice.”

Luke’s face lit up, and he gave you his most genuine smile yet. His expression then faltered slightly though, and his brow furrowed a little.

“It sounds like they’re both too stubborn to take initiative,” he mused, sounding a little sad, “I’m worried Leia will realize that she had a nice time tonight, freak out over what that could mean, and then say something snarky to him when they see each other in class again.”

“I’m worried Han will do that too! That’s why I lied and said we were planning to watch The Shining tonight. I was trying to get her to stay a little longer, and I was hoping that the switch to a more relaxed setting would break down some of their ice, but—“

“But they’re sitting on opposite ends of the couch with their arms crossed,” he finished for you, letting out a frustrated sigh, “This is ridiculous. I do think the laidback atmosphere helps, though. She puts herself under a lot of pressure to act a certain way when we’re in class and stuff. It can kind of come off as standoffish, I think. That’s not how she means it though.”

“I understand,” you told him, “So, do you have a plan? Is that why you wanted to talk to me?”

He nodded, something akin to pride in his features as he leaned in closer, his voice growing much quieter.

“I think we should make them think that they’re wing-manning for us.”

You pulled back sharply, searching his face for some indication that he was just making fun of you. There was no way that his plan could even suggest that he, Luke Skywalker, would ever have an interest in you. It just wasn’t believable. You were cut from totally different cloth—not in the same way that Han was, but in a way that was much less interesting and much less attractive. Han had a rugged bad influence attitude to help in his circumstances, but you couldn’t really think of any niche that you filled that would be equivalent to this.

“Us?” you asked, wondering if you had misunderstood, “I’m not sure I get what you mean. Like, me and you?”

Confused, he replied, “Yes?” and cocked his head to the side a little, studying your features.

“Don’t you think that’s a little…”

“A little what?” he questioned, his expression difficult to read.

You realized then that you couldn’t just say, Oh, it’s a little difficult to believe that Luke Skywalker would want to be with me, because then you’d have to confess that you did, in a lot of ways, see him as living in a somewhat separate world than you. You’d probably just freak him out if you told him that you got major imposter syndrome from just being around him and his sister. Not really knowing what else to say, you hinted towards your concern as lightly as you could.

“Nobody really knows who I am,” you decided to say, pausing to study his reaction, “Wouldn’t it seem kind of random?”

You were surprised to see Luke rolling his eyes, this slight attitude not a trait of his that you’d clocked yet. He’d definitely caught on to the undertones of your worries, then.

“That stuff doesn’t matter,” he told you seriously, his expression unreadable to you now, “But if the idea makes you uncomfortable, we can come up with something else.”

“It doesn’t make me uncomfortable!” you blurted, “It’s not a bad idea. If they have a common goal, they might actually learn how to get along. But what should I do? I mean, what if I mess up and they get suspicious of us?”

Luke grinned, clasping your shoulder again as if you were old friends.

“You ever had a crush on anyone?” he asked, continuing when you nodded, “Just act like that, then. Don’t worry about making it look super convincing.”

“Why, because you’re the master manipulator here?” you teased, shoving him lightly again.

“Of course I am,” he replied smoothly, that mischievous look in his eye again, “My mom’s a senator, after all, right?”

You weren’t sure, but he seemed to be throwing the fact that you were acutely aware of his reputation back in your face, daring you to comment on it further. So, naturally, you did.

“I figured,” you told him, happy to banter with him at his expense, “I knew it all along. Can’t trust a politician or their kids, apparently.”

He chuckled, and you couldn’t help but notice that his laughter was a little bit deeper when he seemed to be genuinely amused. The two of you continued talking for a little bit, Luke asking you lots of questions about your major and what the last year has been like for you as you’ve been adjusting to school. He didn’t say much about himself, though, taking care to keep the conversation focused on you. You filed that detail away in the back of your mind, telling yourself that you might need to be a little bit guarded around the Skywalkers despite their apparent good nature. Regardless, you found yourself really enjoying chatting with him. Maybe this wouldn’t be so hard after all.

Inside, Han kept a watchful eye on your silhouette. He saw Leia’s brother touch your shoulder twice, and he narrowed his eyes when something the boy said had made you laugh particularly loudly, the sound able to be heard from the couch. He looked at his watch and moved to stand, only to be stopped by Leia’s hand on his arm. He jerked away immediately, looking at her like she was crazy.

“Wait,” she told him, her expression serious, “Just let them talk for a minute.”

Shocked by her audacity, Han scoffed at her.

“I don’t think your royal jurisdiction extends to my place, your worshipfulness,” he hissed, rubbing his arm where she’d touched him, “Besides, it’s been fifteen minutes. Are we watching this movie or not?”

“Easy, Captain,” she said with an eye roll, “I can see you run a tight ship here, but are we really on a time crunch? It’s Friday night, after all.”

He sighed, not moving for the door like he’d intended to but not exactly relaxing back into his seat, either.

“I think Luke is getting along with your roommate really well,” she continued, “I don’t want to interrupt.”

“Maybe a little too well,” Han murmured, your laughter piercing his ears once more, filling his chest with an anxiety he wasn’t quite familiar with.

“Oh,” she replied, as if she had realized something, “I’m sorry. I must have misunderstood your dynamic.”

“I must have misunderstood your dynamic,”he sneered, mocking her, “Why do you always have to phrase stuff like that? Can’t you just say what you’re thinking? Clearly?”

“Well, I was trying to before you started making fun of me,” she snapped, but decided to go on anyway, “I wasn’t trying to set my brother up with someone you have feelings for, you know.”

Han almost choked, and even Chewie chuckled lightly, shaking his head.

“It’s not like that,” Han explained, sighing, “It’s absolutely not like that. At all. Kid’s like a sibling to me.”

“Oh,” she said again, and then, with a hint of understanding, added, “Oh. An overprotective older brother thing, then. I see now.”

“Whatever,” he mumbled, crossing his arms.

“I feel that way about Luke.”

“Well, you guys are twins.”

“I still feel older sometimes. And I worry about him. That’s why I don’t think we should bother them.”

Her tone made Han nervous as he stared at the outline of your frame standing next to Luke. Normally, he wouldn’t inquire further about anything a Skywalker said to him, not believing that they were worth the energy. However, he was concerned that you might really get bright-eyed and bushy tailed over this kid, so he decided to humor Leia.

“What’s there to worry about? I mean, seems like he does just fine. Captain of one of the best college soccer teams in the country, always surrounded by people whenever I pass him.“

An emotion that he couldn’t identify passed over Leia’s face, her brow furrowed in deep thought. Finally, she met his eyes, looking at him nervously.

“He’s had a hard year,” she said simply, and Han snorted.

“Haven’t we all. What, he get into some trouble or somethin’ like that?”

“I don’t feel comfortable revealing all of his personal matters to you,” she replied, regaining some of her composure, “But no, it’s not like that. Sometimes I’m just worried that he’s not surrounding himself with people who have his best interest in mind, and your roommate seems really genuine, and I want to encourage him to talk to people like that more, but if you think it’s a bad idea—“

“It’s fine,” he assured her quickly, not looking at her, “I wasn’t trying to say he was a troublemaker or anything. I guess a few more minutes wouldn’t hurt.“

Leia’s eyes lit up, and Han felt something strange in his chest. He decided not to think too much about it.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

After scheming a little more, you and Luke entered the living room, your cheeks rosy from the cold air. Han and Leia were still sitting on opposite ends of the couch, but they seemed to have been talking a bit, at least. Still, they should at least sit together, you decided, and the next step of your plan commenced.

“Leia, I have a few seltzers in the fridge if you want one. I don’t care for beer much, to be honest,” you offered, noticing her empty hand.

“That’d be great,” she replied with a polite smile.

“Can you bring me one too while you’re up?” Luke asked sweetly, having caught on to your idea.

“What, are the Skywalker twins too good for beer?” Han scoffed, taking a swig of his own to make a point.

“I’ll just bring some in here and we can put them on the coffee table for easy access,” you replied, making your way to the kitchen.

“That’s too much to carry. Let me help,” Leia said, standing and following you into the other room.

When you came back, Luke had taken her spot, wrapped in a blanket and grinning up at her when she glared at him.

“You took my seat,” she pointed out, feigning annoyance as she handed him a seltzer.

“It’s warm, and I’m freezing. I was outside, after all.”

She rolled her eyes, and before she could sit next to her brother, you said, “It was pretty cold out there.”

“Oh! I shouldn’t have taken your only blanket. Sorry,” Luke replied, moving to unravel the bundle he’d made for himself.

“It’s alright. We can always share.”

He nodded, glancing at the spot next to him and smiling at you. When you sat down, he placed the blanket over your lap. Leia, on the other hand, looked nervous, standing awkwardly with her hands on her hips. The only remaining seat was between you and Han, which meant that she would, of course, have to sit next to Han. The man seemed to pick up on her uneasiness, because he immediately started teasing her about it.

“I don’t bite, Princess,” he quipped, gesturing to the seat next to him.

“You’re manspreading,” she snapped.

Signing, Han sat up a little straighter and moved his legs closer together.

“Is this acceptable, your grace?”

She didn’t dignify that with a response, and at last, she bit the bullet and sat down. Luke tapped your knee excitedly under the blanket. You guys were pretty good at this, you thought.

You’d seen The Shining plenty of times, so when a particularly stressful scene came on, you glanced sideways to see whether or not Han and Leia would react. Normally, Han was a pretty smooth talker, and he extended that behavior to the women he liked. You didn’t put it past him to pull some cheesy maneuver that would result in his arm being around her under the guise of providing comfort during a scary movie. If this were any other woman, you were willing to bet money that he would. However, those other women were not a Skywalker.

You were surprised to see that Han was already staring back at you, fixing you with a look that oozed suspicion. You mouthed a quick what to him as discreetly as possible, and he pointed to his phone, a silent demand that you check your own. When you did, you saw that he had texted you.

han: We have other blankets.

You only smiled, putting your phone away and focusing on the movie again. It had only been an hour, and Han was already buying into the facade you and Luke had only just begun fabricating.

Speaking of Luke, you were starting to wonder if the bit about being easily frightened by horror movies held some truth. His eyes were wide as he watched tensions between Wendy and Jack begin to worsen on screen. He had been nervously sipping his drink and had gone through two seltzers now, having just cracked open a third. They weren’t strong, and it would take quite a few to feel anything at all—at least, that had been your experience. You were on your third as well, and you only felt a little bit buzzed.

When Luke leaned over to whisper something in your ear, however, you were wondering if he had gotten a little tipsy.

“You know,” he said, voice low, “I actually am a little scared of horror movies.”

“I could tell,” you whispered back, “Why’d you wanna watch it then?”

“Some of my friends want to watch it this weekend, and I don’t want them thinking I’m lame. I was gonna watch it with Leia first so I’d be less visibly freaked out when I saw it with them,” he confessed, grinning as if he knew it were a little bit ridiculous.

“Well, now I just think you’re lame,” you teased, watching his smile widen from the corner of your eye. He leaned in to whisper to you again, his breath fanning across your neck as he did.

“You can’t think I’m lame. You’re supposed to like me, aren’t you?”

You giggled a little, shuffling underneath the blanket a bit more. Maybe you were a little buzzed, too, but you didn’t get to flirt with beautiful men often—especially not men like Luke—so you didn’t really mind that you hardly knew him. It was just for fun, after all.

You brought your lips to his ear this time, whispering back, “I don’t mind that you’re lame. Need me to hold your hand so you don’t get too scared?”

Without a word, his hand immediately found yours underneath the blanket, lacing your fingers together with strength that you could only assume was retaliation for your teasing. You moved your intertwined hands to rest on your leg, making the gesture subtle but its outline still visible through the blanket. If Han or Leia noticed, then your facade would be further solidified.

The palm of your hand touching Luke’s was not what you had planned when you first saw him walk through your door. His beauty was radiant and kind, and he carried himself with a confidence that you could never even pretend to have. Even though it was only a scheme, you couldn’t help but feel flattered that he thought it was believable for you two to like each other.

Throughout the rest of the movie, Luke would occasionally flinch, prompting you to squeeze his hand. When you did so, you could feel his pulse rushing through the veins of his long, delicate fingers, only a little bit calloused from his sports training. You’d heard that as the captain, he was always optimistic and encouraging during soccer practice, even when the coach was intent on putting them through hell. Because of the prestige of the team, you imagined he had to do strength training in addition to regular practice, so to feel such a small amount of weathered skin was surprising. For Luke’s hands to remain unscathed despite rigorous training seemed right, though, as normal standards did not apply to the Skywalkers in any regard.

“She needs to shoot him,” Han said, his voice piercing the tense atmosphere. You and Luke turned to look at him. Han must have seen something in his expression, because he added, “Geez, kid. Thought you wanted to watch this movie?”

There was that familiar blush again. Subconsciously, you gave his hand another squeeze.

“I like scary movies because I like being scared. It’s fun,” he countered, leaving out the part about his other friends wanting to watch it with him.

“Not some kind of adrenaline junkie or somethin’ are you?”

That made you glare at Han, because that was such a stretch that the only explanation could be that he was being overprotective of you—a trait you’d seen him carry out once or twice before. If he was going to start picking fights with Luke, the entire operation would be a bust. You hoped Luke wasn’t as stubborn as Leia and Han were, or else he’d inevitably take the bait and worsen the relationship between his sister and your roommate.

If Luke sensed the underlying suspicion in Han’s comment, he didn’t show it, simply offering the other man lighthearted laughter in response. Han seemed taken aback by the lack of argument enough to let the whole thing go, opening another beer and stretching out. When he did so, his leg bumped against Leia’s, causing the woman to jump slightly in her seat. She didn’t move away, however, and you gave Luke an excited look.

The rest of the movie went on like that. Han and Leia making minimal and awkward physical contact while you and Luke pretended to be enthralled by each other, while also pretending like you were trying to be inconspicuous about it. Like his father, Luke was a pretty good actor, and now that you’d seen that he wasn’t just going to pull back and laugh in your face like it was some big joke, you were able to follow his lead quite well. When the movie ended, Chewie was the only one who moved, flicking on the lamp on the nightstand and walking out onto the porch to smoke. When the room was once again illuminated by the lamp’s soft glow, your entangled hands became more obvious underneath the blanket. You wondered if Han had noticed, but judging by the way he had turned to look at you, you were certain he had.

“What’d you guys think of the movie?” Luke asked, breaking the tension. You let out a sigh of relief.

“I really liked it. Psychological horror is one of my favorite genres. I also like that the film is more ambiguous than the book. And one of my favorite paintings is in the hotel,” you rambled, happy to be questioned about your opinion.

“Kid’s a nutcase when it comes to films and art. That’s why we never watch movies unless none of us have seen them before,” Han murmured, emphasizing the last part, “I guess this was the exception, huh?”

His skepticism wasn’t going to throw you off.

“This is one of my favorite movies,” you retaliated, “And you haven’t seen it yet. Neither has Chewie. And Luke and Leia wanted to watch it, and Leia was already here. It worked out perfectly.”

“Ain’t that convenient?”

Before you could defend yourself, Luke interrupted smoothly, asking you about the artwork in the film as you explained that the paintings hanging in the hotel were done by the popular landscape painting clique, the Group of Seven. He listened intently, eyes wide and sincere as he continued to hold your hand under the blanket.

“I can’t believe you know all of that. That’s so cool,” he told you, and you wondered if he was being serious or if he was just continuing your public display of affection. Something about his expression made you believe he was being genuine, but he was too calculated to tell for certain.

“Annoying is what it is,” Han scoffed before finally turning his attention back to Leia, “Well, Princess? Care to grace us with your opinion?”

“It was fine,” she said simply, her arms crossed as she narrowed her eyes at him.

“Oh? That’s it? Guess bureaucrats like yourself can’t share their thoughts with us common folk.”

He was behaving as if he wanted her to dislike him, like he was daring her to invest any part of herself in him, ready to show her that no, he couldn’t be bothered to be civil to her for more than a few minutes. You wanted to smack him. You watched as they argued for a few minutes, Han’s insistence on bringing up Leia’s status indirectly implicating Luke as well.

“I’m sorry that he keeps—I don’t know, being himself. I promise he’s a good guy,” you whispered to him, the bickering of the couple next to you about to drive you up the wall.

“I know. He only started sitting next to her in class because one of the other guys was being creepy to her.”

Surprised, you replied, “What? He never told me that.”

“Well, that’s what Leia told me. She was trying to be cordial about rejecting him, but it just didn’t work. She was trying to decide if she was gonna give him a piece of her mind or not, worrying about her reputation and stuff. Then all of the sudden, she just stopped complaining about him. When I asked what happened, she told me that she wasn’t sure, but she’d heard from someone else that they’d seen Han yelling at the guy in the hallway. That was all in the first week of the semester.”

“Man,” you mused, still shocked by this new piece of lore, “He never told me and Chewie any of that. Just started ranting about how annoying Leia was all the time.”

“Well, she thought he was being possessive over her at first, so she was uneasy. But then he was an asshole, so now she just complains about him.”

You giggled quietly, appreciating that Luke was filling in some missing blanks for you.

“What’s so funny?” Han asked, his attention now back on the two of you.

“Nothing. What did you think of the move, Han?”

“Didn’t like it,” he spat, still eyeing you suspiciously.

“Do you like anything?” Leia exclaimed, now seemingly exasperated.

“Sure I do. Beer, my van, cigarettes. Chewie, sometimes.”

“Not me?” you interjected.

“Not right now,” he grumbled, though there wasn’t a whole lot of venom behind it.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw a small smile forming on Leia’s face, which only deepened when Han stood up and offered to throw her empty seltzers away. She then checked her watch—sterling silver with diamonds decorating the frame—and looked at Luke. Getting her meaning, he squeezed your hand a final time, standing and beginning to fold the blanket.

“We should get going,” she announced, standing, “It’s getting late.”

“Thanks for inviting us,” she said, and you were surprised when she offered you a small side hug again.

“What, no hug for me?”

Han was standing in the living room again, hands on his hips in that judgmental way of his. Your surprise only deepened when, with a roll of her eyes, Leia patted his shoulder fondly.

“Maybe next time,” she remarked slyly, and even Han faltered.

“That’s ambitious,” he mumbled, though his expression had softened despite his best efforts.

“Not really. We have to finish our project.”

As the two of them planned their next study session, Luke appeared at your side, leaning to whisper in your ear for the final time that night.

“I had so much fun meeting you. Let’s do this again sometime,” he said, his voice low and just a touch teasing. Your face flushed, but you couldn’t let him get the best of you now.

“I’m looking forward to it,” you told him, matching his tone.

When he stepped back, he beamed at you, mischief in his eye again. He nodded, and placed his hand on the small of your back to step by you. When you looked up, you saw Leia staring, and you hoped that the interaction had been enough to indicate to her that the two of you had some apparent chemistry.

“Oh, don’t forget your donuts!” you called out, stopping them as they approached the door.

“You keep them. As a thanks for having us over,” Luke replied, his cheery disposition having returned.

Before you could protest—he’d only had one, and these were so expensive—they were out the door, Leia telling you thanks again for hosting.

As soon as the door shut, it was just you and Han. He stared at you expectingly.

“What?” you finally asked, growing irritated with his condescending glare.

“Oh, please. Don’t give me that shit. What the hell was that?” he hissed.

“What was what?”

“Are you crazy? Trying to fuck a Skywalker?”

“Am I—“ you stopped yourself from snapping at him and pointing out that he’s the one who was trying to make a show of not liking Leia, realizing that if he thought you were onto him, he might shut the whole thing down out of spite. Instead, you took a deep breath before continuing, calming yourself down, “Han, it’s not like that. I’m not like you, y’know. I don’t get people throwing themselves at me every time I go out.”

“That’s just ‘cause they’re scared of me,” he said quietly, not meeting your eyes. Despite his tone, he was starting to feel bad already.

“Maybe, but that’s not the point. He was just really interested in what I had to say, and it was really nice. I’m not marrying him or anything. It’s just flirting. Besides, you flirt with girls you’ve just met all the time. Why’s it matter when I do it?” you said, the truth behind your excuse making your heart clench a little. Luke had been really kind to you, and he had asked about your interests. You hadn’t received male attention that earnest in a long time.

Han finally looked at you again, staring at you with a conflicted expression and furrowed brows.

“Those girls aren’t Skywalkers,” he snapped, sighing, “And you ain’t like me, kid—“

“Thanks. Rubbing salt in the wound, I see.”

“That’s not what I meant. You’ve got a good heart. I’d just hate it if some pretty brat fluttered his eyelashes at you a few times, got you interested, and then screwed you over. I don’t wanna have to kill the senator’s kid for breaking your heart.”

You exhaled slowly, this rare display of sincerity from him melting you a bit.

“Han,” you said seriously, placing a hand on his arm, “I know you think I’m naive, but I’m really not. I can take care of myself. I promise.”

He nodded, and for a second you thought he might hug you. Instead, he just ruffled your hair and slapped you on the back in his typical fashion.

“Hey,” he began, voice quiet, “Wanna get drunk and eat the rest of these high class donuts?”

“Sure. We can watch another movie, and you can pretend to hate it when I over-explain it to you while you write it down as a Christmas gift idea in your notes app.”

He shoved you forward lightly, scoffing and grabbing the box of donuts.

“Thanks for trying to look out for me, by the way,” you told him, grabbing a few more drinks before settling in.

“Sure, whatever,” was his dismissive reply, but under it all, you knew he was in your corner.

You put on another movie and Chewie reentered the room, silently taking his seat in his recliner. Everything was back to normal, it seemed, until Han checked a notification on his phone and nearly choked.

“What?” you asked, leaning forward to read his screen.

1 new message

From Leia: thanks again. i’ll host next time.

From Leia: you can bring your roommates btw

Both of you swallowed hard, not quite sure what you’d gotten yourselves into.

#luke skywalker #mark hamill #star wars #luke skywalker fanfiction #luke skywalker fluff #luke skywalker imagine #luke skywalker x reader #luke x reader #star wars imagine #han solo #han solo fanfiction #luke skywalker headcanon #mark hamill x reader #star wars fanfiction #star wars au #luke skywalker x you #star wars x reader #princess leia #chewbacca

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mxltifxnd0m · 1 year ago

Text

𝗔𝗡𝗜𝗗𝗔𝗟𝗔 𝗩𝗦 𝗦𝗖𝗢𝗨𝗡𝗗𝗥𝗘𝗦𝗦

»——•——«»——•——«

Summary: You and Stiles can’t choose a couples costume

Pairings: Stiles Stilinski x fem! Reader, Scott McCall x platonic fem! Reader

Words: 1.6K

»——•——«»——•——«

Warnings: no use of y/n, fluff, language, suggestive, spicy, implied smut, BUT NO SMUT, kinda a college au!

A/N: This was intended to be released in October, but I could not figure out how to finish it for my life. But hey, better late than never, am I right? Anyway I had no clue that Han and Leia’s ship name was Scoundress, but the more you know. Also, it is my first time writing for Stiles!

not beta read but YOLO

𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘭𝘦𝘴 𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘬𝘪 𝘮𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵

»——•——«»——•——«

"I don't know why you insist we should be Anakin and Padme! We would fit Leia and Han more for Halloween." Stiles whispered harshly, not looking up from the notebook that he was scribbling in.

You roll your eyes at him, "What are you talking about? I said we could do either, but I'd prefer if we were Anakin and Padme." You whisper to him. His head snaps up to protest, but a chair scrapes along the carpeted floor and interrupts Stiles.

"There you guys are! I was wondering where you were." Scott says a little too loud, and the people at the other tables surrounding you and Stiles give Scott a dirty look.

"Scott, I know you don't visit the library often, but we typically use our inside voices." You whisper as he sits down next to Stiles. Scott shoots you a glare.

"Anyways, I disagree. We should be Leia and Han, and that's final." You can see that Stiles is done with the conversation.

You squint suspiciously at your boyfriend, "You just want to see me in Leia's slave outfit from ROTJ, don't you?" You can see a red flush creep up Stiles's face and the tips of his ear as he stammers, trying to defend himself before giving up and returning to his notes. You chuckled under your breath to avoid disturbing the other students.

Scott looks between the two of you, confused, "What are you guys even talking about?"

"We are trying to figure out what costume we will wear to the party your frat is hosting." You explain, your voice low, "But we are split between two costumes. I want us to be Anakin and Padme, but Stiles-" He snaps up at the call of his name, focusing on the conversation, "-wants us to be Leia and Han." You glare at Stiles.

"I thought Luke and Leia were together?" Scott says cluelessly. Both you and Stiles groan loudly at Scott's words. A girl from a nearby table glares at you and shushes you. You apologize quietly and turn your gaze to Scott.

"We've gone over this before Scott. Luke and Leia are siblings, and Han and Leia are together. Do you just forget the movies as soon as we watch them?" Stiles asked exasperatedly.

"No, I tend to fall asleep halfway through the marathons," Scott says guiltily as he scratches the back of his neck. Stiles closes his eyes and uses his hand to rub his face frustratedly. Stiles murmured something under his breath, and Scott's face screwed up into an offended expression.

"I heard that."

"Yeah, no shit, you did. I'm the one who said it for your little werewolf ears to hear." Stiles scoffed quietly at Scott.

Scott goes to retort, but you snap your fingers twice to get their attention. "As much as I would love to see the two of you bicker, we all know how loud you guys get when you do, and I don't fancy getting kicked out of the library." You smile sardonically at them. They roll their eyes at you but yelp in pain as you lean over the table and tug their ears.

"Could you guys be quiet? Some people are studying." The girl from earlier whispered firmly to you guys.

You wince at her tone, "Sorry, we're leaving now." You whispered. You glared at Scott and Stiles and started to pack up your things to leave the library. Stiles scrambled to pack his things, and the two boys followed you outside the library.

Stiles wraps an arm around your shoulder as you walk through the quad. You thread your fingers through his hand, and he squeezes your hand three times. The annoyed expression melted off your face, and a smile replaced it. You take a quick glance at your phone, checking the time.

Your eyes widen, "Shit! I have to go! My class starts in 10 minutes." You untangle yourself, "Our discussion isn't over." You tell Stiles before separating yourself from him, pecking his cheek, and waving goodbye at the both of them as you speed walk to your class.

»——•——«»——•——«

The sound of a keyboard clacking echoes through your silent bedroom. You're hunched over your laptop on your bed as you work on one of your papers for your English class. Lofi beats play quietly in your headphones as you read through your paper for the final time before returning to it tomorrow to edit it. A knock at your bedroom door catches your attention.

"Yeah, what's up?" You say to your roommate as she peaks her head into your room.

"You have a visitor." She says with a knowing smirk on her face.

You roll your eyes at her, smiling, "Tell him he's actually banned from the apartment, then let him in." You instruct as you remove your headphones and stretch your back from your hunched position.

She nods and closes your door before leaving. You can hear the voice of your roommate and Stiles's voice talking lowly in the apartment's entryway. You hear a scoff from Stiles and footsteps quickly entering the apartment and heading toward your room. He burst through your door, pointing at you.

"You are so mean, you know that?" Stiles says with a slight pout on his face. He removed his backpack and toed off his shoes to leave near your door. He stands in the doorframe for a moment before you see a mischievous glint passes through his eye, and you catch it.

"Stiles." You say his name warningly.

He sends you an innocent smile before quickly running towards you and jumping onto your bed. You yelp loudly, closing your laptop and moving it out of the way of Stiles's landing. He lands on top of you, effectively pinning you to the bed. You can feel Stiles's chest move from his giggling fit as you try to squirm from underneath him. You give up after trying to push him off of you and thread your hand through his hair, scratching his scalp. He relaxes on top of you, settling his total weight on you. After a few minutes, he eventually rolls off you and sits on your bed.

"Any reason as to why you're at my apartment?" You ask him as you sit up and shift until your back rests against your headboard. You go to grab your laptop, but it's quickly moved from out of your reach, and you turn to glare at your boyfriend.

"Oh, don't give me that look, you know what that does to me babe." Stiles sarcastically as he moves your laptop to your desk.

"Besides, I'm here to present my argument as to why we should be Han and Leia for Halloween and not Anakin and Padme." Stiles moves closer to you and boops your nose after he finishes his sentence. You scrunch your nose at his actions and shake your head at him.

"Nope, not going to hear it."

He groans loudly, "I knew I shouldn't have asked you out, you prefer the prequels over the originals." He flops down on your bed, his head landing on your lap as his legs dangle over the side of the bed.

"Is that your way of saying that we should break up?" You raise an eyebrow at him.

He shot up from your lap, "NO! Absolutely not. You're like the woman of my dreams. I'd be an idiot if I broke up with you. Especially with the amount of shit we went through together in high school. I actually had dreams about marrying you, so-" His hands wave wildly as he begins to ramble. You roll your eyes at him and grab his chin to kiss his mouth to shut him up. He immediately shuts up and melts into the kiss. You peck his lips before pulling away.

"You're such a dork." You smile at Stiles.

"You're dating this dork."

"Yeah, maybe Lydia was right. I am out of your league." You joke, and a noise of offense comes from Stiles. You chuckle at his pouty expression and peck his lips.

"I'm kidding babe." You say as you pull away. You move around the bed to straddle him, your thighs on either of his hips, his hands coming to rest on your waist, and you rest your arms on his shoulders.

"How about we make a compromise? We go as Anakin and Padme this year, and then we can go as Han and Leia next Halloween." Stiles opens his mouth to respond, but you quickly put a finger in front of his lips.

"I wasn't done, and to sweeten the deal, I'll wear Leia's slave outfit underneath both costumes." You lean closer to Stiles, "How does that sound." You whisper seductively in his ear and plant a kiss underneath it before pulling back to see his whiskey-colored eyes darkening slightly with desire. His hands tighten around your waist before flipping the two of you around, you landing on your back. At the same time, Stiles settles in between your open legs and hovering above you.

"It doesn't sound fair, but if you wear the outfit often then I'll let it slide." He says lowly, lowering his face closer to yours.

"Deal." You say breathily, your lips brushing his as you speak.

"Deal." He says before smashing his lips against yours passionately. Your hands begin to wander and tug at each other's clothes. The room slowly grows hot and fills with low groans and whines coming from both of you. After you finished, you guys showered, went out to get the costumes, and tried them on when you returned to the apartment.

Let's just say the slave outfit came off as soon as you put it on.

#daisy writes #stiles stilinski #stiles my love #stiles stilinski x reader #stiles stilinski x female reader #stiles stilinski x fem reader #stiles stilinski fanfiction #stiles stilinski imagine #stiles stilinski fluff #teen wolf fanfiction #stiles stilinski x you #stiles stilinski x y/n #halloween fluff #teen wolf x reader

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mariaofdoranelle · 8 months ago

Note

so ummmmm........will we be blessed with more of the booty-call dare????? asking for a friend (me) ❤️👀😍❤️👀👀

Leia, my love, there is NOTHING I wouldn’t write for you. Especially when I’m having this much fun heheheh

The Booty-Call Dare - part 2

Read part 1 here!

Warnings: physical injury

Words: 1,6k

Rowan hung up his phone, confused and a little dizzy after Aelin’s call.

He barely paid any attention to the weight he was lifting in the bench press, that phone call took all the space in his mind.

In the years they’ve been friends, Rowan never, ever even dared to expect her to booty-call him. Not that he didn’t want it, of course.

It wasn’t news that Rowan had a crush on Aelin—who didn’t?

He grunted through the burning in his arms, it seemed like today was one of those rare days in which gym failed to empty his brain.

And then something dawned on him, like he was finally able to see through the mist: Aelin had just scheduled what sounded very explicitly like a hookup, about 58 minutes from now. For whatever reason, out of all the hang outs they had, tonight she needed him naked—in her own words, to ‘bang’.

In the few times he dared to entertain the thought of something romantic happening between them, Rowan never thought she’d just call him and very bluntly—

Wait, what the fuck was he still doing here at the gym?

At the exact same moment realization hit, Rowan lost his grip on the weight and watched as it crashed on his chest.

At first he winced at the sudden crushing feeling, but quickly rolled the barbell off his torso. Rowan had no time to be in pain—he needed to get his ass home and get rid of this post-gym horrid smell for Aelin.

Rowan only noticed the two gym bros that ran to help him when they were already pulling the weight off him. He showed his appreciation in brief words—he had somewhere to go, after all.

“Dude, you okay?” one of the guys asked, brows furrowed in concern as he watched Rowan get up and leave.

He would be in about 57 minutes.

˜˜

The following hour was a blur. One quarter of it was the longest shower of his life, but between driving home, cleaning the apartment, changing his bedsheets and getting the wine ready, Rowan barely had time to look at himself in the mirror before Aelin got there.

She didn’t say anything at first, just looked at him with a small smirk from under her lashes in a way that made his brain short-circuit. In a red wrap dress with her natural hair falling in gentle waves over her shoulders, she looked like present from the gods, wrapped just for him. She took a small step forward, hesitantly watching him, and that’s when Rowan lost his patience.

He gently pulled her face to his, one hand on her cheek and another on her neck, and watched it as her eyes slowly closed, her mouth soft and ready for him. When their lips touched—shit, feeling her pillowy lips was almost too much, and so far from that he used to imagine.

Aelin brushed her hands over his chest to his shoulder without breaking them apart, which made him stiffen, but he roughened up the kiss so she wouldn’t notice. Whatever happened at the gym, he could brush aside for a few hours. Rowan could die tomorrow, but he was still fucking Aelin tonight.

But then she put both hands on his chest again and literally pushed him inside the house, which brought a sharp burst of pain. He masked his flinch by turning around to lock the house, but it was enough to buy him time. One not-so-deep breath, one good wince and he turned back around to her, ready to go.

“Hi,” she said in a suggestive tone he’d never heard before—maybe he heard another girl use it, but never so perfect, so Aelin.

“Hey, yourself,” Rowan whispered, tugging her hair behind her ear.

Aelin’s hand went from her hair to the ends of his shoulders, and instead of basking on the motion, he went rigid, too worried she might slide her hands over his chest again.

She stopped almost immediately, her head tilting in confusion. “You good?”

“Perfect.” Rowan leaned to kiss her again, but stopped halfway. “You good?”

“Perfect.” Aelin gave him an intimate, radiant smile and resumed their kiss.

She tugged him by the neck, leaning her back against the wall and bringing him with her. This kiss felt more heated, it felt like something shifted as Rowan bit her lip and Aelin pulled the short strands of his hair, as if that torturous hunger for each other alone made the world stop.

She took the air out of his lungs in a way that made it physically impossible to breathe, and that’s how perfect his Fireheart felt tonight.

While sucking the skin of his neck, she fumbled with the buttons of his short-sleeved shirt and gaped when it was wide open.

“Rowan, your chest—“

“I know,” he said and kissed her again. Rowan took good care of his body, he wasn’t shy about it.

“No, that’s not…” Aelin pushed him back gently this time and stared into his chest with widened eyes.

He looked down to find that an explosion of red and purple adorned his chest, in a shape that resembled the barbell that fell on him an hour ago.

“This looks like some fighting pit shit,” Aelin murmured, then looked straight into his eyes and snapped, “You’re not fucking around with that, are you?”

Because of her visible distress, Rowan told her a cleaner, less horny version of his story.

“A weight—what weight?” Aelin sized the bruise across his chest and asked, “That one you do with two hands? How heavy was it?”

“Heavy.” Giving her the real answer wouldn’t help on his case.

Aelin squeezed her eyes shut and her shoulders dropped with a heavy sigh, as if whatever she was considering pained her.

“Put your shirt back on.”

“I— what?”

She picked his shirt from the floor and stood behind him to help him get dressed. “Try not to move your torso, just—“ Rowan thrust his arms out behind him to aid her, but it only made her curse under her breath and urge him to be careful.

˜˜

The prospect of fucking Aelin must’ve worked like an adrenaline shot, because once it was off the table, his ribs started hurting like a bitch. The doctor put him on painkillers now, which turned excruciating pain into a discomfort of sorts.

Trapped in this ER—more precisely, between one wall and three sides of the privacy curtain the nurse had closed—Rowan was glad he had Aelin to look at. She only left his side when absolutely required to, during his X-Ray, and now waited for the results with him, on a chair while he sat on a hospital bed, naked from the waist up.

They didn’t talk much, not if he excluded the amount of times she called him an idiot for dropping that weight; in fact, the last real conversation they had was that godsdamned phone call. Apart from holding his hand and some casual touches here and there, Rowan had no idea where he stood with her anymore. Every look she gave him was a kaleidoscope of worry and appreciation and something else he couldn’t pinpoint, it was absolutely nerve-wrecking now that his mental energy wasn’t channeled into his own physical pain.

Rowan cleared his throat. “About our phone call.”

“What about it?”

He looked down at that bruise that looked worse by the minute. “I’m pretty sure this thing is gonna compromise my performance tonight.”

Aelin blinked, her face morphing in a way that ‘disbelief’ didn’t sound enough to what she seemed to feel.

“Rowan, you’re injured. There won’t be a performance at all.”

Shit. He suspected that might happen, but he didn’t anticipate this crumpling weight on his chest when the answer finally came.

He had one chance, one job to do. And he fucking ruined it.

“I’m sorry. I know I won’t be able to do that in a way you deserve and…” Rowan pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to think of a way to screw this up less than he already did. “Do you think we can at least salvage the friendship?”

Aelin tilted her head, a silent sign that she lost him.

Feeling his cheeks heat, Rowan explained, “You have… urges that I can’t meet in the timeframe you need me to.”

“What? No!” She straightened in her seat and kept strong eye contact as she said, “I booty-called you. It’s a sacred rite in modern society, I can’t un-booty-call you now.

Rowan was about to put his own desire aside and call out that insane logic when the sound of Dr. Towers opening their privacy curtain interrupted the conversation.

Black sheet against luminous board, two imperceptible stripes disturbing the transparent that symbolized his bones meant that he was fucked. Two broken bones, two women glaring at him in that curtained cubicle; Dr. Towers had a bland, teacher-like sort of death stare, but he avoided meeting Aelin’s—especially when the doctor warned that his tiny fracture could’ve been much worse, given the amount of weight he lifted.

“I want you in bed for a week, in the very least. The pain you feel will tell a lot of what to do and when, but no strenuous activities for the next six weeks.”

Aelin raised her hand to ask, “What about strenuous activities in bed?”

“Well, that depends on how strenuous this activity is,” the doctor said, struggling not to laugh. “Let’s give it two to three weeks if you go easy on him.”

Dr. Towers put too much faith in him. Rowan would easily break two more ribs just to fuck Aelin tonight.

A/N: 🕊️ goodbye goodbye goodbye their fuckfest was bigger than the whole sky 🕊️

PART 3 HERE

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#rowaelin #rowan whitethorn #throne of glass #rowaelin fanfiction #rowan x aelin #ask #aelin x rowan #rowaelin fanfic #throne of glass fanfic

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steddieasitgoes · 1 year ago

Text

@steddiemas Day 15 Prompt: Spread Holiday Cheer

Tags: Established Relationship, Future Fic, Christmas Fluff, Sending Holiday Cards, Eddie Munson Loves Steve Harrington

wc: 1554 | Rating: G

Read on ao3 | ao3 collection

Eddie’s perched on the kitchen counter, two fingers deep in a jar of peanut butter when the front door creaks open and shut. Barefoot patter across the reclaimed wood floor until Steve appears in the doorway. He has a stack of mail tucked under his arm. An open card clutched between his hands.

“Did Dustin tell us Suzie was pregnant again?” Steve asks. He swats Eddie off the counter as he walks to the corner they’ve designated for unopened mail. Dropping the mail on the stack of overflowing flyers and magazines they’ve yet to get through, he squints at the card in his hands.

“I talked to him yesterday and he didn’t mention anything,” Eddie mumbles, mouth full of peanut butter. “Why?”

“She definitely looks pregnant.”

“Sweetheart,” Eddie chastises as he winds the lid of the peanut butter back on the jar. “You can’t assume she’s pregnant just because she looks a little…”

The words fizzle out as he rests his head on Steve’s shoulder. His eyes take in the Christmas card in his hands. Henderson’s are always his favorite. The boy’s always had a thing for dramatics, something that hasn’t waned with age. Or the growing brood of kids he’s acquiring.

This year's card is Star Wars-themed. Dustin dressed as Han and Suzie in Leia’s white costume. Their oldest son is Luke, lightsaber held high. The twins in homemade R2D2 and C-3Po costumes.

The youngest has been painted green, channeling Yoda if Eddie had to guess. And of course, their dog rounds out the eccentric bunch in a homemade Chewbacca costume.

One glance at Suzie’s growing belly, stretching the fabric of Leia’s dress is all it takes for Eddie to confirm Steve’s suspicions. The message at the bottom of the card also helps.

“You really should read these with your glasses on,” Eddie teases, fingers reaching over Steve to tap at the message printed at the bottom. “Says here their “galaxy” is growing in spring.”

“Christ,” Steve says, shaking his head. “He’s building a damn sports team over there.”

Eddie snorts. “More like a D&D group. They’re going to be the Von Trapps of the Dungeons and Dragons world one day.”

With a snort of his own, Steve shakes Eddie off of him and crosses the room to their fridge. It’s not uncommon for the yellowing white door to be flooded with messages and cards, but it’s ten times worse during December. Eddie can barely get into the freezer without a card or two falling, taking their magnets with them.

Still, Steve doesn’t let the cluttered fridge stop him from hanging Dustin’s card up there amongst the rest. Eddie watches as he takes a step back, hands coming to rest on his hips as he admires the holiday spread in front of him.

Dustin’s card sits towards the top, sandwiched between one from the Sinclairs — a back shot of Lucas, Max, and their daughter Ellie hand in hand on a beach in California — and one from the Byers-Hoppers — Hop and Joyce sat in their matching rocking chairs on their porch with dopey smiles on their faces as they look out on their hoard of grandkids.

There’s a card from the Wheeler-Byers, too — a caricature of their family, the boys, and their army of dogs no doubt drawn by Will himself. It sits beside the one from El and Erica, a joint holiday postcard from Italy where they’re studying abroad.

Nancy and Jonathan are the most professional of the bunch — no surprise given Jonathan’s photography skills and Nancy’s perfectionism. The one of Jeff’s kids is one of Eddie’s favorites, the trio screaming on Santa’s lap while Jeff and his wife smile at the camera. A close second is Gareth and Freaks who decided to hit up the local JcPennys for awkward family portraits with their girlfriends.

Robin and Chrissy’s is front and center, the two of them kissing under the mistletoe while their daughter rolls her eyes in the background. Beside it is one from Wayne and Scott, a grainy shot that Steve took himself the last time they visited Hawkins. There’s one from Eden and Argyle from Missouri, which was news to everyone when it arrived.

A handful from Steve’s past students tacked up over each other along with ones from their coworkers. Fleeting faces in their lives, along with permanent fixtures.

In the center of it all is their card from this year. They took it back in July when prices were cheaper and Steve could order them in bulk without breaking the bank. They’re smiling at the camera on the couch in their living room, a silly Santa plush sits between them. Both in godawful ugly sweaters with Santa hats perched on their heads despite the sweltering summer sun peaking in from the bay window.

Maybe he’s biased, but he thinks theirs is his favorite.

Eddie’s pretty sure it’s the best one they’ve ever taken which is why he feels the wind knocked out of him when he spots Steve frowning at it.

“Everything okay, Stevie?”

Steve hums, prying his eyes away from the fridge to look at Eddie. He offers him a soft smile and a curt nod before excusing himself. Eddie’s pretty sure he hears him mumble something about needing to start this week's lesson plan.

Eddie knows it’s a lie — it’s the final week before winter break and Steve never teaches during it — but he doesn’t call him out on it. Instead, he lets his boyfriend slink out of the room. When he’s gone Eddie shifts his attention back to the fridge, eyes squinted as he tries to puzzle out what has Steve so bum hum bug all of a sudden.

He doesn’t get it at first. There’s nothing different about this year's cards than the hoards they’ve received in the past. Everyone who should be up there is up there, smiling wide at what this year has given them. Happy parents and smiling kids, wild pets, and even wilder adventures.

His eyes are making a third pass over the cards when it clicks. Eddie knows Steve’s not disappointed with the way their life has turned out, but it's clear from the cards littering their fridge that something is missing.

Every card screams family, except theirs.

Well, Eddie thinks, that simply won’t do.

💌 💌 💌💌 💌 💌💌 💌 💌💌 💌 💌💌 💌 💌💌 💌 💌💌 💌 💌💌 💌 💌

It takes three days for Eddie to pull everything together. The minute Steve leaves for work on the fourth day, he gets to work setting everything up. In a matter of hours, their living room gets transformed from a moderate Christmas room to one that belongs in those cheesy movies Steve always has on.

He’s relocated the tree to the middle of the room, decked everything out with garland and twinkling light, and hand-painted the Santa’s workshop sign he stayed up late making last night. After an hour-long call with Jonathan, he manages to get the camera and tripod set up.

Getting their pets dressed takes the longest, but after chasing everyone around and bribing them with a shit ton of treats he gets all 3 dogs, 4 cats, Parrot, snake, and bunny in their respective holiday attire. He’s putting the finishing touches on his own look when he hears the familiar creak of the front door.

“Eds?” Steve calls, voice tinged with curiosity. “What’s going on?”

“We’re taking our Christmas card picture,” Eddie says, appearing around the corner in a red Santa suit.

Steve blinks before slowly looking around the room. The dogs and cats all match in elf costumes. Pierce the Bunny and Ozzy the Parrot are somehow keeping elf hats on their head and Sizzle the Snake has a ribbon wrapped loosely around her body like the world's most delicate Christmas present.

Eddie watches as Steve takes everything in, lips parted in that cute confused look he always gets. Fish out of water, he likes to tease.

“Don’t worry, I have your costume here too,” Eddie says, holding up a matching red Santa suit.

“I’m confused, we already sent our cards out for the year.”

Eddie hums. “We did, but we forgot to include some very important members of our family in the card. Don’t you think our friends deserve to have all our beautiful faces on their fridges?”

“I mean, I guess? It’s going to cost a fortune though this late in the game.”

“Our family is worth it.”

💌 💌 💌💌 💌 💌💌 💌 💌💌 💌 💌💌 💌 💌💌 💌 💌💌 💌 💌💌 💌 💌💌 💌

It costs them an arm and a leg to get the cards printed and sent out in time, but it's worth it to see the smile permanently etched on Steve’s face as he tacks it up on the fridge, replacing their original card.

This time when he steps away there’s nothing but pure happiness on his face.

“I know it’s not the big family you dreamed of,” Eddie says, wrapping his arms around him as he admires the display. “But it’s still pretty great, right?”

“It’s perfect, Eds.”

💌 💌 💌💌 💌 💌💌 💌 💌💌 💌 💌💌 💌 💌💌 💌 💌💌 💌 💌💌 💌 💌

The following year, Dustin’s isn’t the only card with a new face on it. Steve, Eddie, and their army of pets are joined by a pair of timid smiles. A brother-sister duo whom they’ve been fostering since February. If all goes as planned, they’ll be permanent fixtures on the Munson-Harrington card for decades to come.

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