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sunflowervolvimp3 · 5 years ago

Text

changes (best friend!harry)

Warnings: language, nsfw content, drugs (marijuana) and alcohol

Pairing: best friend!Harry x reader

Word Count: 17k (holy shit)

A/N: So this started as two requests I had in my inbox that I got way too into and then it became this. this may be the longest stand-alone fic I’ve ever written, and it, like watermelon sugar, is dedicated to touching!!!! I spent so long on this so as always. feedback is appreciated. and if you like it, please reblog it!!! reblogging is the best way to show fic writers your appreciation <3

{masterlist}

Unless she’s reminded otherwise, Y/N always thinks of herself as a teenager.

This, of course, isn’t true. She turned twenty-six a month ago, works as a media producer for an online clothing company, and lives alone in a one bedroom apartment in London. However, unless she physically has something in front of her to remind her of her real age and the passing of time, Y/N disregards this information.

Usually, the reminder is a bill in the mail, or a phone call to remind her that she needs to book an appointment with her doctor. Usually, the reminder is an ache in her back, her glasses prescription getting worse, or realizing that she has no idea what her teenage cousins are talking about when she sees them at Christmas. Usually, the reminder is enough to give her pause, but not enough to throw her for a loop.

This time, however, the reminder is her childhood best friend naked in her bathroom.

Y/N and Harry had been friends since they were in primary school, after Y/N had moved to London with her mother. Their new house just happened to be next to Harry’s, and Anne and Y/N’s mother had quickly hit it off. Anne had been quick to volunteer her son to be Y/N’s tour guide at school, and despite not being enthusiastic about each other in the beginning, the two began to grow closer by the end of Y/N’s first week there. Within a month, the two were inseparable, and that didn’t change as they entered their teen years, started secondary school, and Harry left London to become a member of the most famous boyband in the world. Just typical teen things.

However, despite their distance, Y/N and Harry had remained as close as ever. They constantly texted, called, and video chatted with each other, and Y/N even joined Harry on tour a few times (with permission from her mother). Although both of them had been worried when Harry left, their worries and fears never came to fruition. Just as they balanced each other in personality, they balanced each other in lifestyle—when Y/N needed a break from high school and university, Harry brought her to shows, award ceremonies, and parties, and when Harry felt like his fame was overwhelming, Y/N sent him reminders of home, hosted countless movie nights for him, and told him story after story of university life.

They were so perfectly matched that, when they were younger, many people—and tabloids—suspected that they were dating. Even their mothers had asked them, on occasion, if one of them had any interest in the other. However, their answers were always the same. Y/N and Harry were best friends, and nothing more. Sure, they were touchy, affectionate, called each other pet names, and had even kissed on a few occasions during truth or dare at parties, but none of it actually meant anything. Y/N had watched Harry grow from a cute kid to an awkward teen to a self-assured man, and her feelings for him had never changed, and an attraction to him had never developed.

Until now.

Harry’s facing away from her, his towel in his hand as he dries his chest. His entire body glistens with water from the shower. Y/N can’t stop herself from letting her eyes canvas over every inch of his smooth arms, toned back, down lower to his—

Her breath catches in her throat. Yeah. His ass is toned, too, she thinks to herself, and only has another moment to think that she shouldn’t be looking before Harry glances over his shoulder, alarmed by the small sound she had made.

“Y/N—” His eyes widen a bit, but he doesn’t make an effort to cover himself with his towel very quickly.

Her eyes automatically follow his movement for a moment before she realizes what she’s about to see. “Sorry!” Y/N turns around quickly, her face heated. “Sorry, I—the door was unlocked, I didn’t realize you were—”

“It’s fine.” Harry fixes his towel around his waist. “Don’t worry about—”

Y/N leaves the bathroom before he can finish his sentence, walking to her bedroom quickly and shutting the door tightly behind her.

Harry, it seems, is today’s reminder that she’s no longer a teenager, because his body is that of a man.

It’s not like you haven’t seen him shirtless before, she tells herself, walking to her dresser to pick out a change of clothes. Y/N’s seen him half naked countless times. The whole world has seen Harry half naked countless times. But she’s never seen him like that.

When did Harry grow up? Somehow, between movie nights and pool parties and going away to school, Y/N had failed to notice that her childhood best friend is no longer a child. Harry had grown into his features, developed muscles in his arms and chest, tattooed designs all over his skin, and had become an incredibly attractive adult without her noticing.

Y/N pulls her pajamas off quickly, stopping to glance at herself in her full length mirror. She, like Harry, is also no longer a child. She had grown into her features like he had, had gotten a few tattoos, made her share of mistakes, and became an adult the same way he did. Neither her nor Harry’s growth had happened overnight.

As she runs her hand between her chest, down her stomach, brushing her hip, Y/N can’t help but wonder: has Harry noticed that they’ve grown up? Does he still look at her and see the shy little girl, the developing teenager, or does he look at her and see a grown woman? Is she the only one who’s been late to the party?

Y/N feels a flutter in the pit of her stomach. Is it possible that, at some point, Harry looked at her and had the same realization that she had a moment ago? That not only had she grown into a woman, but that she had grown into an attractive woman?

The sound of the bathroom door opening distracts Y/N from her thoughts, and she hurries to finish getting dressed. Her shirt, she finds when she pulls it on, smells a bit like Harry’s cologne, as she had set it on the side of the bed that he slept on the night before. She likes it more than she should.

After she’s dressed, she debates just staying in her bedroom to avoid facing Harry again for a bit longer. However, she can hear him working her coffee maker in the kitchen, and knows she can’t hide in her bedroom like a child. She isn’t a child.

Neither is he, she thinks to herself as she touches her bedroom doorknob. Which is the problem.

Still, Y/N shakes herself from her thoughts and walks out to her kitchen.

Harry, now dressed in wide leg jeans and a plain white t-shirt, is leaning against her kitchen counter, a cup of coffee in his hand. His hair is still wet from his shower, but other than that, he looks normal. Completely normal.

And yet, Y/N can’t manage to meet his eyes.

“Good morning.” Harry’s voice is low, a bit of amusement in it as he notices her demeanor. “How did you sleep?”

“Fine.” Y/N hates how tight her voice is as she grabs a mug from the kitchen cabinet. “I slept fine. Did you?”

Harry nods, his eyes still tracing her every move as her own eyes avoid him. “I did. Woke up a bit early, though. Thought I’d shower before brunch.”

Right. Brunch. They’re having brunch that day with a few old friends, at a place just down the street from Y/N’s apartment, which is why Harry had stayed over the night before. Y/N was going to have to act normal around their other friends, which means she can’t avoid looking at him for much longer.

“I’m sorry.” She says as she pours a cup of coffee. “I am, I—I should’ve knocked. I forgot you slept over, and—”

“It’s fine, Y/N. I should’ve locked the door.” Harry says easily, the corner of his lips tugging up. “It’s not a big deal. Besides, it’s not like you haven’t seen me naked before.”

At that comment, Y/N pauses. “Except…I haven’t seen you naked before?”

Harry shakes his head adamantly. “No. You have. There’s no way we’ve been friends for almost twenty years, and you haven’t.”

“Harry, believe me. I’ve seen you in a lot of weird positions over the years, but I’ve never seen you completely nude.” Y/N feels her regular ease with him begin to return, just a little bit. “I would remember that.”

“Would you?” Harry cocks an eyebrow, his coffee cup half raised to his lips.

The bit of ease that returned disappears immediately. “I—” Y/N’s cheeks heat up again. “Shut up, you know what I meant.”

Harry tries to hide his laugh behind his coffee, but fails. “I’m just teasing you, love. It’s fine, promise. I don’t mind that you saw. I’m very comfortable in my body.”

Y/N rolls her eyes. “Too comfortable, I think.”

“Is there such a thing as being too comfortable in your body?” Harry asks in a teasing voice, crossing his arms.

“When your best friend walks in on you naked and you don’t bother to cover yourself?” Despite the blush on her cheeks, Y/N manages to laugh. “Yes. There is.”

“I don’t know…” Harry finishes his coffee and sets the mug in the kitchen sink. “It sounds like there’s issues with your comfort, not mine.”

Before Y/N can form a reply, Harry shoots her a smirk and walks out of the kitchen.

For the rest of the day, Y/N does her best not to think about that morning’s awkward encounter. Brunch with her friends is normal, and she just lets herself enjoy having Harry home, and catching up with everyone. The afternoon also passes in an unremarkable way, as does that night. Over the next few days, however, things begin to change.

Within two weeks, the atmosphere of the country has shifted. There’s a virus that’s highly contagious and can be fatal, Y/N’s work tells her to work from home, and soon the entire country is being told to stay home to avoid catching Coronavirus.

And then Harry texts her two days later, without any warning or leeway for her to disagree.

I’m on the last flight back to London. Pack a bag and bring some groceries to my place, so we can isolate together. You’ll go crazy alone in your flat.

Y/N tries to reply that it’s not necessary, but her message doesn’t go through. Harry’s already on the plane. So she does what he says, and packs a bag of clothes, her work bag, some alcohol, and her favourite snacks, and drives over to his house.

Letting herself in with her key, Y/N begins to bring the house back to life. She lights Harry’s candles and orders some dinner, as well as groceries for the next couple weeks. She makes sure she gets his favourite foods, and the weird snacks that only he likes. She calls her mum to tell her she’ll be with Harry, and Anne, to tell her the same thing. And then she waits.

When Harry finally walks through the front door, he looks more like the tired seventeen year old on his first tour than the grown man she had seen a few weeks ago. The bags under his eyes are evidence of his jetlag and stress, his jacket is rumpled from the plane, his hair just as messy, and he looks like he could collapse the second the door closes behind him.

“H.” Y/N walks towards him and gives him a tight hug. One hand goes to his back and the other to his hair, playing with it as she always does. “Are you alright?”

“Long flight.” Harry mutters in reply, eyes closed as he holds her tight. “Everyone’s going insane in the States. I’m lucky I got a flight back to London.”

“Why did you?” Y/N pulls back, brushing his messy hair from his eyes. “You could’ve stayed in LA.”

“Yeah, but…” Harry shrugs a bit. “I knew you’d be alone. And I wanted to be with you.”

Y/N can’t help the soft smile that creeps onto her face. “C’mon. I have dinner ready.”

Harry barely makes it through dinner with his eyes open, but still insists on watching a movie after. Y/N tries to tell him that he should just go to sleep, but he won’t hear it.

“We can watch it in my bed, like we used to when we were little.” Harry gives her his best puppy dog eyes. “Please?”

Y/N shoves his shoulder. “You’re twenty-six. Stop pouting to get what you want.”

“I’ll stop pouting when it stops working.”

Y/N laughs in spite of herself. “Fine, but shower first. You smell like a plane.”

Of course, as predicted, Harry starts to drift to sleep within the first half hour of the movie. He slips down in the bed more and more, until his head is in Y/N’s lap completely. Out of habit, Y/N begins to play with his damp curls, running her fingers through them at a steady pace as she watches the movie.

Harry’s breathing begins to even out as she does, and Y/N begins to pay more attention to him than the TV. When they spend the night with each other, Y/N always falls asleep first. It’s rare she gets to see him completely relaxed.

As much as she loves his green eyes, his eyelashes may be a close second. They’re so long and dark that they almost make Y/N jealous. And his cheeks…she brings one hand up to gently touch them. They’re stubbled from his long day of travel, but the skin underneath feels soft. Despite having lost his baby fat years ago, there’s still a layer of tenderness in his body.

Y/N is so distracted by him that she doesn’t realize that she’s stopped playing with his hair, not until Harry speaks up.

“Why’d you stop?” His voice is groggy with exhaustion, lower, with a thicker accent. His words slur together as well

“Hm?” Y/N hums in her throat in response. “I thought you were asleep.”

“Not really.” Harry’s eyes stay closed as he shifts his position a bit. “Will you play with my hair a bit longer? Feels nice.”

The movie credits roll in the background as Y/N does what he says. Harry sighs contently, relaxing back into her again.

Y/N turns the TV off, so the only light in the room comes from the moon through the open curtains. It shines over half of Harry’s face, catching the ends of his eyelashes. Somehow, the moonlight makes his cheeks and lips even more pink.

“You’re really pretty, y’know that?” Y/N says it absentmindedly, her fingers still combing through Harry’s curls.

“Thanks.” He has just enough energy to mumble a response. “’M, not as pretty as you, though.”

Y/N’s stomach flutters when he says it, so quiet that she’s not even certain she heard him correctly. “Liar.”

“’S true.” Harry’s reply is even less audible than before. “So pretty.”

If Harry was awake and more present in the conversation, Y/N might tease him. She might try to make him blush, or roll his eyes, or laugh. Maybe, just maybe, she’d even ask him to elaborate, just enough that she could figure out what the fluttering in her stomach means.

But Harry is hardly awake right now. And it wouldn’t be fair.

“Go to sleep, H,” is all Y/N says, shifting to lay down a bit more without pausing the movement of her fingers.

…

It takes Harry a few days to readjust to London time. While Y/N spends her weekdays working from the kitchen table, Harry naps and fiddles with his guitar and journal. While she can tell he’s working on something, Y/N can also tell that he’s not making much process.

A week after coming back from LA, Harry half stomps into the kitchen during the afternoon, frustration clear on his face as he opens the fridge and grabs an apple. He bites into it angrily and leans against the counter, the irritation still on his face.

Y/N glances at him from behind her laptop. “Everything alright?”

Harry gives half a shrug. “Trying to write.”

“And how’s that going?”

“Fucking sucks.” Harry takes another bite of the apple. “I thought I’d feel more inspired, being at home and not having deadlines, but I can’t get anything out. Not anything good, anyways.”

“I know the feeling.” Y/N sighs as she closes her laptop. “There’s been a huge surge in online orders, and my boss wants me to create more promo material, but it’s hard to focus on anything right now.”

Harry nods and glances out the window. “Doesn’t help that it’s a beautiful day, but we can’t go out.”

“We can go out. We just can’t leave the property.” Y/N replies. “You have a giant backyard. Why don’t you use it?”

“Yeah. Maybe I’ll go for a swim.” Harry takes another bite of his apple. “You want to come?”

Y/N laughs a bit. “Unlike you, H, I have a real nine to five job. I’m on the clock for another two hours.”

“After, then.” Harry tosses his apple core in the compost and gives her a grin. “I hope you packed that yellow bikini.”

Y/N crumples a piece of scrap paper in her hand and throws it at him. “Piss off.”

Y/N did, in fact, pack her yellow bikini. However, when she’s changing from her clothes into a swimsuit, she chooses her blue bikini instead, just to have a bit of agency. Every instinct in her is telling her to wear what Harry said to, and it’s a little concerning. She’s never cared about dressing for him before, and she isn’t prepared to start.

Despite the different colour, Harry still grins from the edge of the pool when he sees her walk out. “Look at you. Should’ve put you in the Watermelon Sugar music video.”

“Shut up.” Y/N sits on the edge of the pool, dangling her lets in the water. Harry rests his head on his arms, his cheeky grin still on his face as he looks up at her.

“I’m serious.” He says innocently. “It was a fun day. You really would’ve liked it.”

“Of course you thought it was fun; you had a bunch of beautiful girls fawning over you and feeding you fruit.” Y/N rolls her eyes from behind her sunglasses. “You’re such a narcissist.”

“All musicians are narcissists, love. At least, the best ones are.” Harry’s grin grows as he pushes away from the ledge. “Are you going to just sit there and look pretty, or are you actually going to swim?”

“I’m going to tan.” Y/N leans her head back, enjoying the feeling of the warm sun.

Harry shakes his head. “No, sorry. The pool is for swimming only.”

“Says who?”

“Says me.”

In hindsight, Y/N should’ve known what Harry was about to do. She’s been friends with him long enough that she knows how his brain works. However, Y/N is enjoying the sun so much that she lets her guard down for one moment, and that one moment is all Harry needs.

She feels his hands grip her legs, and before she can stop him, he pulls her into the pool. Her entire body submerges, and when she finally rises, gasping for air, the only thing she can hear is Harry’s snickering.

“You’re such an ass!” Y/N hits his shoulder hard, not caring about leaving a mark on him. “That’s not funny!”

“The pool is for swimming only. I told you.” Harry can’t stop laughing long enough to make it through his sentence clearly. “Them’s the rules.”

“Them’s the rules.” Y/N repeats in a mocking voice, hitting him one more time. “You’re the worst.”

“Maybe, but you’re stuck with me.” Harry runs a hand through his wet hair. “At least until quarantine is done.”

“I should’ve stayed alone in my apartment.” Y/N mutters, tossing her wet sunglasses on the pool ledge. “Would’ve been so much more peaceful.”

“And boring.” Harry points out. “And you wouldn’t get to take relaxing swims like this!”

“Right. Relaxing.” Y/N splashes him playfully. “Jerk.”

Harry just grins at you.

…

“Want one?”

Y/N glances at Harry as he packs loose marijuana into a wrapper, concentration clear on his face as he rolls it.

“You learn how to roll those in LA?” Y/N asks, taking a sip of her wine.

Harry chuckles lightly, his skin illuminated by the fire burning in front of them and the moon above them. “Yeah. I’m not very good, though. Usually I have somebody else to roll them for me.”

“So high maintenance.”

Another low laugh rolls out of Harry’s mouth. “Ha. High maintenance.”

Y/N rolls her eyes, but an endearing smile is on her face. “It’s still illegal in the U.K., you know.”

“I doubt the police are going to break social distancing rules to arrest me for it.” Harry’s tongue pokes out of his mouth as he tries his best to roll the joint tightly.

Y/N watches as Harry brings the wrapper to his mouth, licking it lightly. To her dismay, her attraction to Harry had yet to fade, and spending every moment of the day together wasn’t helping.

“I’m not an eighteen year old girl on your tour bus anymore, Harry.” Y/N raises her wine glass. “I drink red wine now. I’m sophisticated.”

Harry snorts, his eyes flickering to her before looking back down at the joint. “Sophisticated, right. Like you didn’t do body shots off the bartender at your birthday party this year.”

Y/N’s cheeks burn. “Birthdays don’t count.”

“Neither did tour buses, and neither does my backyard in the middle of a pandemic.” Harry seals the joint as best he can. “You may have a fancy job now, but you’re still my Y/N.”

His Y/N. That phrase ignites the now familiar flutter in her stomach and, over the last few days, her core. Something about Harry identifying her as his drives Y/N insane, even if it’s nothing new.

“And what exactly does your Y/N do?” She manages to say after a moment.

“She doesn’t take shit from anyone. She gets drunk fast and high faster. She’s always down for a laugh. And, although she won’t admit it, she has a tendency to make bad decisions that she tries to suppress, but can’t always manage to do so.” Harry sparks his lighter and sticks the joint between his lips, lighting it and puffing it quickly.

“Then you should know that your Y/N can’t have a joint of her own.” Y/N steals the joint from Harry’s lips, taking a few puffs of her own from it before handing it back.

The smoke curls in her lungs, forcing a few coughs from her.

“Alright?” Harry asks, concern in his eyes.

Y/N nods, her hand pressed to her chest like she can stop the burn. “Yeah. Just haven’t done that in a while.”

“You always cough so much. It would be cute if it wasn’t so bloody concerning.” Harry says casually, lifting the joint to his lips and inhaling.

Y/N watches as he exhales smoke slowly. She wonders if she looks as attractive as he does when she blows out smoke.

Harry grins at her with just the corner of his mouth, like there’s a secret tugging at the edge of his lips.

Y/N really doubts it.

“Here.” Harry places the joint between her lips. “Inhale slowly.”

Y/N does as he says, doing her best to keep from coughing until the joint and his hand is away from her face. Her eyes burn a bit, both from the smoke and the oncoming high that’s starting to twist through her body.

“That’s a good girl.” Harry praises her before leaning back, placing the joint back between his own lips. “You’ve gotten better at that. Thought you were going to pass out the first time we smoked, remember?”

“I remember I almost did.” Y/N giggles to herself as she settles down into the couch more. “I coughed so much that I thought I was going to die on that tour bus.”

“Niall was certain you had.” Harry laughs too, and Y/N known they’re both playing back the same memory. “Wasn’t quite sure how we were going to explain that one to Paul. Neither was I, honestly.”

“You don’t give me enough credit.” Despite the feeling coming over her, YN still takes another sip of her wine. “I was fine.”

Harry nods as he finishes the joint, setting the butt down into his ash tray. “Still…we had some fun nights on the bus when you were there.”

“That was a fun summer.” Y/N agrees, her eyes fixed on the fire before them. “Lots of good memories.”

As Y/N watches the fire, Harry watches her. He lets another moment or two pass before speaking again.

“When you were on tour with us that summer…” He rubs his lips absentmindedly. “You and Niall. Did you two ever…?”

“What? Fuck?” The weed and the alcohol take away the careful tone of Y/N’s regular speech, leaving honesty and bluntness behind.

Harry laughs once. “I was going to say date, but yeah. I guess so.”

“We didn’t date. We fooled around a few times.” Y/N shrugs, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “He was fun. But we both knew it wasn’t anything serious, just something to do while I was on tour with you.”

Harry nods a bit, reaching for his own drink and taking a sip. Y/N watches the movement with heavy lidded eyes. His arm muscles flex underneath his tattooed skin when he moves, and the way his fingers wrap around his glass is fascinating to her.

“I figured he would have told you.” Y/N pulls her sweater around her tighter. Now that the sun has set completely, a chill has appeared. “You guys always talked about girls together.”

“No, he didn’t tell me. And I didn’t ask.” Harry keeps his glass in his hand, looking down at it with an unreadable expression. “I thought you might tell me, but you didn’t, either.”

The substances in Y/N’s system are clouding her mind, but she does her best to focus on Harry’s words. As a way to ground herself, she pulls her sweater away from her body, hoping that the cold air will help.

“I’m sorry.” She says slowly, like it takes all her effort to get the words out. “I didn’t mean to…hurt your feelings.”

“You didn’t.”

“Oh.” Confusion fogs Y/N’s mind. “Then…why is it bothering you?”

“It’s not bothering me.” Harry denies, finishing off his drink. “I was just wondering why. You usually tell me everything. You always have.”

Y/N bites her lip. “I don’t tell you about every person I sleep with.”

Harry hums low in the back of his throat, but offers no other response.

After a few minutes, Y/N stands up. “I think I’m going to head to bed.”

Twisting his empty glass around in his hands, Harry nods. “Alright. I’ll be up in a little bit.”

“You know, you have a guest room.” Y/N pauses, fiddling with the bottom of her sweater. Her skin feels unsettled, and the fabric against it isn’t helping. “I should probably start using it. Social distancing, and all that.”

Harry looks up at her, a stubborn look reflecting in his eyes. “No. I sleep better with you beside me.”

When Harry finally comes up to bed an hour later, Y/N is still awake, eyes closed, with her back away from the door and head toward the wall. She doesn’t turn over when she hears the door creak open, and instead just listens to the rustling sounds of Harry changing, going to the bathroom, washing his hands, and returning to the bedroom.

Y/N feels his weight on the bed, but doesn’t hear him slide in next to her. Instead, she does her best to stay completely relaxed when she feels his fingers brush against her hairline, pushing back a few loose strands.

Staying completely relaxed, it turns out, is easier thought than done. The moment Harry touches her, Y/N feels the nerves in her face burst to life. It’s like electricity, like nothing she’s ever felt before from any previous touches from Harry. Behind her closed eyes, Y/N feels her head spinning, but she’s certain it must be the weed and the alcohol in her system.

Finally, the sheets are pulled back, and Harry gets under the covers. He pulls Y/N back against him, and Y/N can feel the hot skin of his chest pressed against her shoulders. Harry takes a moment to adjust before sighing, almost in content, and then he presses a gentle kiss to the back of her shoulder.

The tender action leaves Y/N speechless. The action itself isn’t new; they had always been very physically affectionate with each other. But there’s something about the moment that Y/N can’t quite place a finger on. Perhaps she would be able to if she was sober, or less tired, but with her brain in its current state, the words she needs are lost, and she’s certain she won’t remember the feeling in the morning.

Harry inhales deeply, his nose buried in her hair, and sighs again. Y/N can feel him relaxing back against her, but his arms stay wrapped around her tightly. It’s a comforting embrace, and makes it easy for Y/N’s mind to finally quiet and drift off.

…

“You’re still working?”

Y/N looks up from her laptop to see Harry standing above her, sweaty from his workout. His hair is tied up in a little ponytail on top of his head, and he has a towel wrapped around his shoulders that he uses to wipe sweat from his face. His body is literally glistening in the sunlight, and Y/N suddenly finds it very hard to focus on her work.

“I am.” She says finally, closing the lid of her laptop and stretching out on the beach chair. “Or I was. I’m done for today.”

“Good.” Harry sits down on the chair next to her. “I’m going to have a shower, but I was thinking we should try baking something later.”

Y/N raises an eyebrow. “Why?”

“Because I want cupcakes, and homemade are way better than store bought.” Harry says easily, stealing Y/N’s water and taking a gulp from it.

Y/N watches his throat move as he swallows the water, how his Adam’s apple bobs, how he licks his lips when he finally pulls the glass away from his mouth.

Y/N’s own mouth suddenly feels very dry.

“Alright, yeah.” Y/N nods weakly. “We can bake something later. It’ll be fun.”

…

“It’ll be fun.” Y/N shakes her head in disbelief. “God, I can’t believe I said that.”

“It was fun!” Harry argues, holding up a red velvet cupcake. “And we did it!”

“And we made a mess.” Y/N gestures to the kitchen around them, which looks like a warzone. Flour, powdered sugar, and cocoa powder cover every counter surface. There are broken eggshells on the counter, splatters of batter everywhere, and both Y/N and Harry have dyed red hands from food colouring.

“It could be worse.” Harry shrugs, clearly untroubled. “C’mon. Try a cupcake.”

Y/N reaches for one, but Harry simply lifts the one in his hand to her mouth. She locks eyes with him as she takes a bite, the icing smearing across her top lip.

Y/N chews slowly and swallows hard. “Yeah. They’re good.”

Harry extends a hand, and his finger runs along her lip, collecting the icing. He pops it into his mouth, sucking for a moment before humming in agreement. “Yeah. Sweet.”

The cupcakes, it turns out, pair well with watermelon cocktails, and soon Y/N and Harry are sitting on the couch, takeout and cupcakes in front of them and drinks in their hands as they giggle and talk. They’re intoxicated, but not just from the alcohol in the strong drinks that Harry makes.

“Honestly, working from home isn’t ideal, but it’s not that bad.” Y/N pops a bite of food into her mouth, chewing thoughtfully. “Definitely not the worst part of quarantine.”

“Yeah?” Harry leans back on the couch. “What’s the worst part?”

Y/N shrugs. “It sucks being away from people, cooped up inside.”

Harry nods, but his face looks wistful. “I miss sex.”

Y/N laughs, but she nods in agreement as well. “Fuck, I know. I miss sex so much.”

“It’s nice, you know? A good way to burn some energy…always sleep so well after…” Harry sighs, taking a sip of his drink between his phrases. “I feel like I’m back on a tour bus again, with no one around but my hand.”

A giggle escapes Y/N’s mouth. “How tragic.” She also takes a sip of her drink, and tries to stop herself from making a face. Harry really does make them strong. “I just miss touching. I haven’t been this touch starved since I was seventeen.”

Harry makes a scoffing noise in the back of his throat. “We touch.”

“That’s different.” Y/N finishes her drink. “That’s friendly touching. It’s not what I meant.”

“What did you mean, then?” Harry challenges her, a glint in his eyes that Y/N’s come to recognize as a sign of trouble.

She refuses to take the bait. “You know what I meant.”

“I don’t.” Harry says it innocently, and he reaches forward to take her glass from her. “How about I get us some refills while you think of how to say it?”

Y/N lets him take the glass (she loves his drinks, despite how strong they are), but shakes her head. “Stop being an ass. You know exactly what I meant.”

A low laugh rolls out of Harry as he walks to the built-in bar he has in the lounge. He begins to recreate the drinks, muddling this, adding a splash of that. If Harry wasn’t already a rock star, she’d suggest he become a mixologist.

“Maybe I do know what you meant.” Harry shakes the cocktail shaker with ease before straining the liquid out over their glasses, which he’s filled with fresh ice. “But I want to hear you say it.”

Y/N runs a hand through her hair. She feels warm from the alcohol, and the lit candles around them aren’t helping. The food and cupcakes sit on the table, all but forgotten in their new conversation. “Say what?”

Harry’s lips pull up in a smirk, but his eyes show something else. He walks back over and hands her the drink before taking a seat next to her again. “The kind of touching you miss.”

Their fingers touch as Y/N takes the glass from him, and suddenly the warmth of the room feels ten times hotter. “You want me to say it?”

Harry lifts his glass to his lips, but keeps his eyes on her. “I do.”

“I…” Y/N takes a sip of the drink (which is stronger than the one before) and then presses the cold glass to her cheek. “I miss touching. Intimate touching. And…being touched intimately.”

Harry inhales deeply, stretching out his shoulders before responding. “Yeah. I miss that too. Holding hands, touching someone’s stomach, chest, legs…having them play with my hair…”

“I play with your hair.” Y/N says defensively, a crease appearing between her eyebrows.

Harry laughs once. “Right, but like you said…that’s different.”

Y/N clears her throat. “Right.”

Harry takes a long sip from his drink. “’S still nice, though.” Harry adds after a moment, licking his lips. “I love when you play with my hair. You know that.”

Nodding softly, Y/N begins to trail a finger over the rim of her glass. Whenever she begins to get tipsy, she begins to fidget more, and feel freer in her actions. And when Y/N glances back at Harry, she can tell he recognizes the sign as well.

“What about you?” He asks, bringing her back from her thoughts. “What do you miss having people do?”

Y/N drinks again, pulling her knees to her chest as she leans against the couch’s armrest. “I miss…having my hair played with, too. That’s always nice. I miss having my fingers played with…neck kisses…I like when people, like, rub my arms or thighs, just absentmindedly…” She leans her head against her arm. “Your turn.”

“My turn?” Harry rubs his nose lightly, and Y/N can tell he’s feeling the alcohol, too. “What’s my turn?”

“Tell me what else you like.” Y/N smiles softly, a small laugh just barely bubbling out from her. “We’ve never actually talked about it, H. Isn’t that strange?”

Harry turns to face her more, pausing to think for a moment. “I suppose we’ve never been specific before, yeah.” He taps his thumb against his H ring. “I like being in control, usually. Telling them what to do, where to touch me…” His eyes get a faraway look in them. “But sometimes it’s nice to give up control. Have someone else…”

“Decide.” Y/N finishes his sentence for him when he trails off. “Yeah. I’m more like that, I think. I usually let someone else decide. But I like the in-between, too. Like…both exploring each other.”

“What do you mean?” Harry cocks his head to the side curiously.

Y/N shrugs loosely, her finger still tracing her glass. “’S hard to explain.”

Harry’s voice is low when he replies, almost like he’s somewhere else. “Try.”

“Well…” Y/N takes a drink before setting her glass down. “It’s like…do you remember your first time?”

Harry blinks, surprised at the question, but nods. “Yeah. I do.”

“And remember how nervous you were?”

“Yeah.”

“And like…” Y/N plays with her fingers as she ponders her next words. “You were nervous, yeah, but there was also this excitement in you. Kind of like…a breathlessness. And you looked at the other person and knew they…”

Harry closes his eyes for a moment. “Felt the same.”

“Yeah.” Y/N tucks her hair behind her ears. “And just, like, being comfortable with them, and knowing you could both explore, and ask questions, and you were both together…” Y/N feels heat rise to her cheeks as she trails off. “I don’t know. I feel like that’s rare, but I—it’s nice. I like it.”

“Yeah.” Harry rubs his thumb over his lip as he shifts his position on the couch. “It’s nice, yeah. Rare, usually. But nice.”

“I think it’s rare, because, like—” The alcohol makes it harder for Y/N to gather her thoughts, but also harder to sensor them. “I don’t know, I feel like when I was younger, and hadn’t had sex yet, I took more time with, like, finding the right person? Like I wanted it to be with someone who loved me for the first time, and someone I was comfortable with, and it was. And then after, the love part didn’t matter so much for me.” Y/N glances at Harry, who seems to be hanging on her every word. “Which, like, was fine. What mattered to me the most was that whoever I had sex with respected me. And they did, so that was…good. But it’s different.” Y/N rubs her arms. “I don’t know if that makes sense…”

“It does.” Harry assures her, placing a light hand on her knee. He begins to rub small circles. “Keep going.”

“I just think that, like, that in-between, breathless, exploring each other kind of thing…the comfort…that’s rare because it only really happens with someone you love.” Y/N murmurs. “At least, that’s how it is for me. And I haven’t really been in love much in my life.”

“I’ve been in love probably too much.” Harry admits, his hand still on Y/N’s knee. “Too much to be good for me.”

Y/N shakes her head adamantly. “No, H. That’s good. That’s…brave. You’re not afraid of how you feel. Most people are.”

“Maybe.” Harry finishes his drink again with one long gulp.

Y/N watches as he does, seeing a little drip of liquid slip from the corner of his mouth. She can’t stop herself from leaning forward and wiping it away with her thumb, feeling the stubble of Harry’s chin scratch against her.

Harry watches her with hooded eyes as she leans back to her previous position. His hand slips a bit higher, from her knee to her lower thigh, but she doesn’t say anything.

“Who have you been in love with?” He asks. His words are slurred a bit, and his accent seems thicker.

“My first boyfriend, Parker. You remember him.” Y/N sighs, closing her eyes as she herself remembers. “And…Christian, from university. We were together for two years. That’s it, I think.”

Despite the alcohol, Harry’s face still shows some surprise. “Really? No one else? No one since Christian?”

Y/N shrugs. “I’ve dated, yeah, and had relationships, but…I don’t know. I didn’t love any of them. I was…infatuated. But I never…it was intense, but like—intense like a spark. Nothing prolonged.”

Harry hums in response. “Thought you were going to say Niall for a moment. He was pretty torn up when you went back to school after that summer.”

Y/N’s face mimics Harry’s surprise from a moment ago. “Was he?”

“Yeah. Moped around a bit, spent time by himself, on his phone every two minutes…” Harry’s expression shows the difficulty it’s taking him to think back eight years while drunk. “I knew it was because you left. Thought you two had an…agreement, or something.”

“An agreement?” A giggle escapes Y/N. “This isn’t a Jane Austen book, Harry. We didn’t have an agreement.” Once she gets her laughter out, she sighs. “He was that upset?”

“Yeah.” Harry scratches the back of his neck. “So I thought…he must be in love with you. And you were…”

“No, I wasn’t.” Y/N says softly. “He was so upset that you thought he was in love with me?”

“Yeah.”

Y/N bites her lip. “Was he more upset than you?”

Harry takes a moment to reply, looking at her with a serious expression. His lips are so red, and his eyes are so green, and both of them are so drunk that neither of them can sense the meaning behind what they’re saying.

“No.” Harry finally responds. “He wasn’t.”

…

“Good morning.”

“Shhh.” Y/N covers her eyes with her arm. “Don’t yell in my ear.”

“I whispered.” Harry counters, but his voice is a bit quieter this time. “Do you have a headache?”

“I didn’t know something flavoured with watermelon could make me feel so shitty.” Y/N groans a bit, shifting on the bed without opening her eyes. “What did you do to me?”

When Harry laughs, it’s not audible, but Y/N can feel it through his chest pressed against her side.

“How are you completely fine right now?” She asks, rubbing her eyes.

“I’m used to it. I’ve always been way better with hangovers than you.” Harry presses a small kiss to her shoulder before getting up. “How does breakfast in bed sound?”

“Normally amazing, but I can’t eat right now.” Y/N mutters. “How about coffee in bed?”

“Sure.” Harry smiles a bit. “You look cute like this.”

“Shut up.”

Harry returns ten minutes later with a tray of coffee, toast, and eggs, of which he manages to coax Y/N to take a few bites. She doesn’t really want it, but she knows it’s easier to do as he says instead of arguing.

“How about we have a movie day today?” Harry suggests after breakfast. “In bed, since it seems like you won’t be moving anytime soon.”

“And who’s fault is that?” Y/N glares at him from the top of her coffee cup.

Harry raises his hands in defense. “Hey, I didn’t make you drink. You chose to.”

“I know, but it’s easier to blame you.”

Harry rolls his eyes. “Is that why you’ve been doing it for twenty years?”

“Exactly.”

Harry carefully lifts the empty tray to the ground before holding up the remote. “You can pick the movies.”

Y/N bites her lip. “If we watch Titanic, will you make fun of me when I cry?”

“Of course not. I’ll even cry with you out of solidarity.”

“Alright.” Y/N settles back into the blankets. “Put it on, then.”

It’s easy for them to be like this, Y/N thinks, as Harry pulls her into his arms when the movie starts. It’s always been so natural for them to be physical and affectionate with each other. They’ve never acted any other way.

Except this doesn’t feel like any other way.

Yes, Y/N has watched countless movies while cuddling in bed with Harry. But has he ever whispered in her ear like that before? Has he ever rubbed her sides so carefully before? Has he ever let his lips rest on the bare skin of her shoulder, almost at the base of her neck?

Y/N can’t recall. However, she’s certain that if he had, it hasn’t felt so electric.

“Look at them. Look at how Jack watches her.” Harry murmurs his words directly in Y/N’s ear as they watch Jack draw Rose. Y/N can feel his lips brushing against her, and the heat of his breath and tone of his voice makes her shiver.

“She’s very pretty.” Y/N nods, shifting in Harry’s arms. She likes how warm he feels.

“I suppose, but that’s not what I meant.” Harry traces shapes on her arm. “I meant look at how he looks at her. Do you think they have the kind of love you talked about last night?”

Y/N glances over her shoulder at him, surprised he remembers their conversation. “I think so. Do you?”

“Yeah.” Harry says in a low voice. He says no more, so Y/N turns back to face the television.

They continue to watch in silence, gripping each other a bit tighter as the Titanic begins to sink. As they watch a mother reading to her two young children in bed, Y/N begins to lose her composure, like always. Tears well in her eyes, and she lets out a quiet hitched breath, a single sniffle.

“It’s alright, love.” Harry’s hands move to her stomach, holding her tighter to comfort her. “Don’t cry.”

Y/N can hear the tears in his voice, just as they’re in her own. “Can’t help it. This part and the band and the old couple in bed—they always get me.”

“I know.” Harry rubs his thumb along your side.

Y/N reaches behind her without turning around, threading her fingers through Harry’s messy curls. She plays with them absentmindedly as she watches, and tries to ignore how right it feels to be close to him like this. She wonders if he notices it, too.

Harry presses a chaste kiss to her shoulder.

…

The day they hit the one month mark of quarantine, Harry sits across from Y/N at breakfast with a determined look on his face.

“I have a proposition for you.”

Y/N glances up at him, her attention barely shifting from her book. “A proposition?”

“Yeah.”

“What kind of proposition?” Y/N tilts her head to the side. What she first thought was just determination on Harry’s face, she realizes, is actually determination and mischief, and she knows it won’t end well.

“I haven’t had a tattoo in a while.” Harry steals a strawberry from Y/N’s plate. “And I have a machine here, so I was thinking you could give me one.”

Y/N stares at Harry incredulously as he pops the strawberry in his mouth. “Are you out of your mind?”

“Probably.”

“I’m a terrible artist, Harry. You know that.” Y/N shakes her head. “And even if I wasn’t, I have no idea how to tattoo someone!”

“You can watch a YouTube tutorial, or read a WikiHow.” Harry sighs loudly. “I’m so bored in isolation!”

“What do you even want tattooed?” Y/N eyes the intricate tattoos on his arms suspiciously. “I doubt I could do something like your ship.”

“Something simple.” He shrugs. “Probably lettering.”

“Probably?” Y/N says suspiciously.

“That’s why I want you to do it. I want it in your handwriting.”

Harry’s tone is easy, but it makes her breathing shallow.

“You do?”

“Yeah. I was thinking of something to remind me of this time, because of how weird it is.”

Despite her increased heartbeat, Y/N laughs. “What, do you want me to tattoo COVID-19 on you?”

“No. Be a little more creative than that.” Harry scoffs.

“Why do I have to be creative?”

“Because I want you to decide what I get.”

Y/N’s eyes widen. “You’re not serious.”

“I am! Why is that so hard to believe?” Harry asks. “I trust you. And you’re good with words.”

“No. Absolutely not.”

…

“Make sure my drink has two shots in it.” Y/N calls to Harry as she looks over the tattoo supplies on the living room table.

Harry laughs. “I’m not sure I want my tattoo artist to be drunk.”

“The only way I’ll even be your tattoo artist is if I’m drunk.” She counters. “I still think this is an awful idea.”

Harry hands Y/N a tall glass with a light pink liquid in it. “Drink this, and you’ll change your mind.”

Y/N takes the glass and takes a large gulp, not focusing on the taste of the mixers, but the liquid courage behind them.

Harry grins, lifting his own glass. “Cheers.”

“Shut up and sit down.” Y/N mutters. She ties her hair back before grabbing the disinfectant wipes. “Where do you want this?”

“My upper inner arm. I already shaved it for you.” Harry smirks as he points to the area, which is easily exposed in his loose tank top.

“And you’re sure I can write it with pen?” Y/N asks nervously as she disinfects the area.

“Mhmm.” Harry leans back comfortably in his chair. “What did you decide on?”

“It’s a secret.” Y/N uncaps the pen, getting closer to him.

“So I can’t know until after it’s on me permanently?”

“Is that a problem?” Y/N asks innocently. “I thought you trusted me?”

Harry chuckles. “I did say that, didn’t I?”

“Also that I’m good with words.” Y/N makes sure Harry’s head is turned away before she carefully writes the phrase she chose. Then she snaps on gloves and starts the machine like she watched in videos early that day.

“You’re fine, love.” Harry assures her, seeing the nervous look on her face. “It’s a small tattoo. It’ll only take a few minutes.”

“Quiet.” Y/N mutters. “I need to focus.”

True to Harry’s word, the small tattoo only takes a few minutes to finish. When it’s done, Y/N gives it one final wipe before setting the machine down and taking off her gloves.

“Alright.” She picks up her glass and drains it completely. “You can look.”

Harry peers at his arm, curiosity clear on his face. There, in Y/N’s loopy handwriting is the phrase “touch me.”

“It looks so fucking good, Y/N.” Harry grins at her. “You did amazing!”

“I didn’t fuck it up?” She asks, chewing on her lip anxiously. “Is it alright?”

“You did a lovely job.” Harry smiles. “Wrap it for me?”

Y/N does as he asks, carefully wrapping the fresh tattoo in plastic wrap and taping it to his arm. “I think I’ll accept my tip in the form of another drink.”

Harry snickers. “Coming right up.”

Two drinks later, they’re both back in the honest and loose headspace that they’ve grown familiar with. It’s not enough that they’re unaware of their actions, but both Y/N and Harry know that their lips are looser because of the liquor in their systems.

They’ve migrated to the bedroom to get comfier, but took a few items from the bar with them. It’s with these items that Harry tops up Y/N’s glass again as he speaks.

“So tell me…” He sets the cocktail shaker on his bedside table. “Why ‘touch me’?”

“You said you wanted something to remind you of isolation.” Y/N takes a long sip of her drink. “And that’s what we both miss the most, right? Being touched?”

Harry nods slowly, his rings clinking against his glass. “Yeah. I’m probably going to go straight to the bars after this is all done. Find someone there.”

He laughs lightly, showing that what he says it half a joke, but Y/N sighs wistfully and shakes her head in disagreement. “I won’t.”

“You won’t?” Harry is surprised, his laughter fading. “Why not?”

Her shrug almost causes her to spill her drink on the bed. “I don’t know.” Y/N sighs again. “I don’t really—I’m not a hookup fan. Not right now, at least. It’s not what I…want.”

“What do you want, then?” Harry finishes his drink, but sets the glass down instead of refilling it. “If not sex?”

“I want sex.” Y/N says defensively. “But I want—I don’t want it to be someone random. I want sex, but I want to be…intimate. Like, I want to know that person cares about me, and I care about them.”

Harry licks the last of his drink from his lips. “Like that breathless feeling?”

“No. It would be nice, but no. That takes time.” Y/N brushes her hair behind her ear. “Just…someone who cares. I don’t want a quick fuck, I just—”

“You want to be touched. Intimately touched.” Harry takes the empty glass from Y/N’s hand and sets it down on the table next to the bed.

Y/N nods gently, her limbs feeling loose. “Yeah. Intimately touched.”

“You know, I could…” Harry trails off, pursing his lips. “We could…do that.”

The alcohol makes Y/N slow to recognize the meaning of his words. “What?”

“I’ve noticed you…the way you look at me, it’s…different than it was.” Harry says carefully, his eyes gauging her reaction. “For the last few weeks. And I—I know that I’m…attracted to you, too.”

“We…” Y/N struggles to think of what to say as she finally registers what’s happening. “We’re friends.”

“I know, but that doesn’t mean I can’t see you as attractive.” Harry looks down at his hands. “Don’t you…? I mean…”

“I—yeah. I think you’re—” Y/N laughs a bit nervously. “You’re attractive, H, you know that. We’ve just never…discussed it.”

“I’m not saying we have to fuck, or—we don’t have to do anything.” Harry straightens his shoulders and looks you in the eye. “Just—when we touch, it’s mild. If you want to be touched intimately, we could…”

“Like, a hand job?” Y/N says slowly, her words blunt with confusion.

Harry goes a bit red, but he shakes his head quickly. “No, Christ, that’s not what I meant, I—just—can I show you?”

“Um,” Y/N swallows hard. “Sure.”

“Okay.” Harry nods slightly, taking carefully measured breaths. “If this feels weird, or anything seems wrong, just tell me to stop, alright?”

Y/N replies faintly. “Alright.”

Nodding again, Harry moves closer on the bed, sitting on his knees so he can get closer to Y/N, who sits cross-legged. His hands rest lightly on her bare thighs, and his rings are a cool contrast to his warm skin.

Harry begins to rub his hands up and down her thighs slowly. His movements are measured, and he watches Y/N’s reaction carefully for a sign of her disliking his actions. However, what he finds is a nervous but interested girl staring back at him.

“Like this. Like, what you like.” Harry says lowly. His hands move more to her inner thighs, but they don’t creep higher. “And…”

“And…?” Y/N asks, her heart rate increasing even more.

Harry moves one hand to the hem of Y/N’s tank top, pushing it up a bit so his hand can rest on her waist. He rubs over her warm skin, marvelling in how smooth and soft it is to his touch. His fingers graze the lace of her bra, but he goes no higher.

“How—how’s that?” Harry asks quietly.

“It’s, um, it’s good.” Y/N replies as she struggles to keep her voice normal. “Yeah. Good. But, um, can you…” Harry’s movements pause at her words, and Y/N feels her cheeks get even warmer. “Maybe touch my, uh, my neck. If you’d like.”

Harry nods, and the hand on her thigh moves to her neck. He traces his fingers across her shoulder and over her collarbone, delighting in feeling the curves of her body. Y/N’s breath hitches when his fingers travel up her neck, and Harry swears he can feel her pulse increase under his fingers.

Y/N’s not sure if it’s the fact that she’s touch starved from self isolating that makes Harry’s touches feel so good, or if it’s the fact that it’s Harry touching her, but she doesn’t dwell on it. Instead, she closes her eyes and tilts her head back, allowing him better access.

She feels Harry’s breath before she feels his lips, but she’s still surprised when she feels him begin to sponge light kisses across her neck.

“H…”

“Is this alright?” He asks the question right below her ear, and yet she can barely hear him because he’s so quiet.

“Yes.” Y/N breathes. “Yeah.”

“Good.” Harry returns to pressing light kisses to her skin, his hands still rubbing over her sides and hips.

For the first time since seeing Harry naked in her bathroom, Y/N can’t deny or explain away her attraction to him. She can’t convince herself that she doesn’t want him to touch her, because she does, and she can’t tell herself that she doesn’t need him, because she does. Every fibre of her being is telling her that she needs Harry, and she needs him now. Her heart is pounding, her skin is on fire, and her core feels like she’d going to explode if he doesn’t do something. And yet, Y/N can’t tell him to touch her more. She’s frozen, mind blank, and she can only register what Harry is doing at the moment as what she wants.

Harry continues to kiss her neck, never lingering too long in one spot, never sucking too hard. Every kiss is gentle and chaste, except the few rare ones that include the tip of his tongue running over her skin.

After what feels like an eternity, Harry pulls away from her neck, face flushed. Despite his hands still on her body, Y/N makes an involuntary sound in the back of her throat.

“Is that better?” He asks lowly, rubbing his thumb against your hip.

“I—kind of.” Y/N says softly. If anything, she thinks, it’s worse. She needs to satisfy the burn inside her, but she doesn’t know how.

“Good.” Harry replies, but he doesn’t take his hands off her.

Y/N’s own hands have been sitting at her sides as his moved over her body, but she raises one now, as hesitant as Harry was. She extends it towards his arm, but pauses with her fingers right over his skin.

“Is it okay if I…?”

The corner of Harry’s lips lifts up, just barely. “Yeah, love. Go ahead.”

Harry’s skin is warm beneath her touch. Y/N traces the outline of his mermaid tattoo carefully before moving onto others. She loves how his arm curves under her touch, how he stays still and lets her explore. She appreciates it, thinking that if Harry made any sudden movements, she’d force herself to pull away.

Soon, her fingers move from tracing his tattoos to tracing the lines of his muscles. She moves down his forearm to his hand, running her fingers over the veins that show through his tan skin, over his knuckles, down the tips of his calloused fingers and back.

Harry sucks in a breath, and Y/N’s trance flickers for a moment as her eyes move to his face to see what’s wrong.

“Sorry, just—surprised me.” Harry says, voice low yet sheepish. He nods down to his thigh, where Y/N realizes her own hand is resting.

“Oh—” She moves to pull her hand away, but Harry places his own on top.

“It’s fine.” He says quickly. “Keep going.”

Y/N bites her lip as she turns her attention back to his arm. Her fingers move slowly and carefully back up his forearm to his upper arm. She traces over his tattoos while she rubs her thumb gently against the muscle, and stops her fingers at the edge of his t-shirt sleeve. With a quick glance at Harry, she pushes the sleeve up, tucking it up on his shoulder so she can run her fingers over his ship tattoo, which is one of her favourites.

“Feels nice.” Harry murmurs, his eyes following her movements.

Y/N glances back at his face, taking in his appearance. His lips are red from the time he spent kissing her neck, and his cheeks are still flushed. His eyes are darker than usual, and she’s not certain if it’s the candlelight or something else causing it. There’s a light sheen of sweat on his forehead, with a few loose curls hanging down. Out of reflex, Y/N reaches up and pushes his hair back out of his eyes.

Before she can return her hand to his arm, Harry captures it in his own. Y/N watches as he brings it to his lips, inhaling as her wrist passes underneath his nose. Although she’s not sure why, there’s something about seeing how much smaller her hand is in Harry’s that delights her.

Harry presses a soft kiss to her wrist, following it up with another on her palm. Y/N’s eyelids flutter at the tender sensation.

“It’s my turn to touch you.” She says softly, her voice strained.

Harry hums in reply. “I know.” He kisses your wrist once more before looking at you. “I’ll help.”

Lifting his hand from his thigh (your hand, which was underneath, stays where it is), he pulls up his shirt just enough that he can sneak your hand underneath. He rests it on his lower chest, and even though his shirt is still partially covering him, Y/N knows she’s touching his butterfly tattoo.

“I like to be touched here.” Harry says in the same low voice.

“Okay.” Y/N bites her lip, her head swimming with alcohol and the smell of the candles and Harry’s cologne and Harry. “It…would be easier without your shirt.”

Without breaking eye contact, save for the moment fabric covers him, Harry pulls his shirt over his head and tosses it to the side. “Better?”

Y/N’s eyes drift down to his tanned stomach. His body is familiar and a stranger to her all at once. She knows his tattoos, scars, every mark on his skin from a distance, but seeing it like this—touching it like this—makes her feel like she’s never truly seen him before.

“Better.” She manages to say, her hand brushing across his ribs.

Y/N spends a while exploring the planes of his stomach, the contours of his body. When she gets to his v-lines, and runs her fingers over the ferns tattooed there, Harry shivers a bit, his hand gripping her knee tighter.

Y/N massages his thigh gently. “Alright?”

“Yeah.” Harry clears his throat. “I’m good.”

“Okay.” Y/N nods, but moves her hand further up again, over his chest and over his collar bones. She takes a moment to trace the lines of his neck, feel the beat if his pulse underneath her fingers, and then tangles her fingers in his hair. She uses the leverage to tilt his head back a bit, and presses her lips to the base of his neck.

Harry’s cologne smells better up close, and Y/N adores the heat of his skin on her sensitive lips. She presses small kisses over the curve of his neck, pausing over his jugular. Her tongue darts out and she carefully licks along it before ending the motion with a kiss.

“Christ…” Harry exhales slowly, the tips of his fingers digging into her knee slightly.

Y/N knows they’re crossing the threshold of just touching each other for the sake of touching. She can feel herself dripping in her panties, and when her eyes flicker down, she can see the outline of Harry’s half hard cock in his shorts. Together, they’ve reached the border of friends helping each other out, and she’s certain that she wants to cross it with him. However, she’s not sure if they should.

Pulling back enough to look Harry in the eyes, Y/N clears her throat. “H, we—what are we doing?”

Harry waits a moment to answer. “I…I don’t know. I have no fucking clue.”

“This isn’t friendly anymore.” Y/N’s voice drops to a whisper. “It’s not just—it’s intimate, yeah, but it’s more…” Her eyes move to the outline of his hardening cock once more before looking back up at his face. “It’s more.”

“Yeah. It’s more.” Harry moves his hand further up her thigh again, rubbing slow circles. “But I don’t want to stop.”

Y/N sucks in a breath. “You don’t?”

“It’s been so long since…” Harry trails off, his gaze drifting down to your lips before returning to your eyes. “And it’s you. I’ve always wondered if—we—”

“I’ve wondered, too.” Y/N admits, her voice filled with nerves. Are they really discussing this? “Especially since that day, in the bathroom—”

“I wondered if you looked then.” Harry’s voice drops lower (which Y/N didn’t think was possible). “I thought about it later that day. I—fuck, I wanted you to look.”

A small noise escapes the back of Y/N’s throat. “This—we’ve been drinking, and—it’s the alcohol, H. Neither of us is thinking straight.”

“This isn’t the alcohol talking. I’ve thought about—when we’re in the pool, when we cuddle, when we flirt, I—I can’t help it.” Harry closes his eyes for a brief moment, like he’s collecting himself. “I need you. And I think…I think you need me too.”

“I do. I need you.” Y/N touches his stubbled jaw with careful fingers. “But we’re friends. This is going to change that.”

“We don’t know that.” Harry leans into her touch. “You said before that you wanted someone you’re comfortable with, something intimate, something breathless. You and I are comfortable, and intimate, and—I don’t know. All I know for sure is that I want you.”

Y/N isn’t sure if he means he wants her in a purely physical way or something more, and while she knows she should clarify that, all she can focus on is his voice and the way it’s going straight to her core.

“I want you, too.” She says simply.

Harry brings his hand to Y/N’s hip. “Can I kiss you?”

Y/N nods. She’s not sure she’s capable of giving a verbal response.

Harry takes it upon himself to lean closer, his fingertips digging into Y/N’s skin in a way she adores. He pauses, hovering just above her lips for a moment, as if to give her time to pull away. Instead, Y/N just waits in anticipation, delighting in the feeling of his breath running over her skin.

When he kisses her, Y/N tastes alcohol, mint, and what she swears is her own heart in the back of her throat.

Any previous kisses she’s shared with Harry have been half kisses, given in teenage games of truth or dare and in a friend’s parent’s basement. Those kisses were safe, guarded, and an obligation. This kiss is the exact opposite.

Although it starts chaste, it quickly grows more passionate. Y/N can’t stop herself from tugging on Harry’s hair more than she imagines Harry can stop himself from rucking up the hem of her tank top. His fingers dip under the band of her lace bralette as she nips at his lip, tugging slightly, delighted when a strangled sound echoes from the back of his throat.

Within minutes, Y/N’s allowed Harry to pull her to straddle his lap, his hands grabbing at her hips with a neediness she’s never seen him exhibit before. Of course, she feels the same way, and she lets her hand run down his chest over and over, using her nails a little more each time. Although there’s no one around to see, no party to return to, nowhere to go, Y/N wants to leave a mark. She wants anyone who sees his chest to know that he belongs to her.

Harry breaks away from her, lips red, eyes frenzied, and breathing heavy. “Can I—?” His hands tug on the hem of her top, tugging in question.

Y/N lifts her arms in response, letting him pull it off and toss it to the side. Harry moves back in to kiss her again, but she keeps her arms up, giving him a long look.

“You’re not done.” She says simply.

He understands right away, and his fingers find the band of her bralette again. This time, however, he removes it slower, almost as if the removal is ritual itself, and his hands are less frantic when they return to your skin.

Harry looks at Y/Nu with wide eyes, and she understands the meaning in them: this is so much more than just touching, and so much more than two friends using each other for mutual pleasure. With every touch, they further cross a line, and neither of them can stop.

With this realization, Harry’s movements become more cautious. His hands come to rest on her sides, his thumbs just brushing the side of her breast.

“You’re fine.” Y/N assures him in a soothing voice. “Keep going.”

“Are you fine?” He counters, his voice an equal mix of concern and need.

“H.” Y/N takes his hands in her own and places them over her breasts. “Like that. Touch me like that.”

Harry sucks in a short breath as she manipulates his hands, showing him how to rub her and touch her. After a few moments, she lets her hands move to his neck, pulling him in for another kiss.

Y/N begins to grind against him, desperate for a bit of friction. Their kisses are soon accented with their moans as they each pull the other closer in lust and need.

Still, underneath the physical desires, there’s a current running between them. Y/N knows it’s been there for the last few weeks, humming quietly in the back of her mind, but being here, now, with Harry touching her, it’s come alive like an electric fence. She can’t turn it off, and she doesn’t want to. She doesn’t want to in the slightest.

Harry begins to kiss down her neck like before, but this time his kisses are anything but chaste. When he reaches her breast, he kisses around them before taking one of her nipples into his mouth.

“Oh fuck—” Y/N arches her back, fingers tangling in his hair to pull him closer. “Harry…”

He hums against her, and his spare hand rubs her back like he does when they get ready to sleep. Usually, the motion is calming, but right now, Y/N feels anything but calm.

Harry continues until he’s satisfied with his work, and then he kisses his way to her other breast, wrapping his lips against her other nipple. He spends just as much time on that one, letting his teeth graze it ever so slightly before soothing the action with his tongue.

When he pulls back, there’s a little line of spit connecting Harry’s mouth to her nipple, and Y/N whimpers at the sight.

“H…” She runs her finger through the line before gripping his chin with her thumb and forefinger. The need inside her builds, as does her fondness for the man in front of her. “God…”

Harry tweaks her hard nipple with his finger, gentle enough so as not to hurt her, but enough to make a gasp fall from her mouth. He offers no response in the form of words, but the hungry look in his eyes has only increased.

“Let me…” Y/N climbs off of his lap, gently pushing him to lay back on the bed. “Yeah?”

Harry runs a hand through his messy curls, nodding quickly. “You want that?”

“Yeah.” Y/N nods too, pressing a wet kiss to his swollen lips. “So bad. Yeah.”

Her hands move to the waistband of his shorts, and Harry lifts his hips off the bed. Y/N tugs down his boxers in the same movement, and tosses both articles of clothing to the side before looking back at him.

Harry’s cock is just as beautiful as she remembers it being the morning she accidentally walked in on him. Even more so, she thinks, because now he’s hard, and the head is the most appetizing shade of pink, with drops of precum pearling at the top. When Y/N wraps her hand around his girth, she adores the heat that she feels.

“So pretty…” She says the words almost to herself, and strokes him lightly to get used to the feeling of him in her hand. “I just want to…”

Y/N leans down and flicks her tongue over his tip, collecting the precum gathered there. In return, a strangled moan leaves Harry’s throat as his arm moves to cover his eyes for a moment.

Y/N presses a kiss to the head of his cock before she continues licking, reveling in the sounds Harry makes. She had no doubt, with a voice as angelic as his, that his moans and whines and whimpers would be just as beautiful.

When she wraps her lips around the head and sucks, she feels Harry’s hand move to her hair. She looks up at him without lifting off of his cock, staring him in the eye as she takes more and more of him into her mouth.

“Fuck—” Another moan leaves Harry’s lips, more strained than the last. “That’s it…” He tugs on her hair, but doesn’t push her down. Even when lost in pleasure, he’s careful with her.

Y/N loves him for it.

Pacing herself, she takes more and more of him into her mouth until her nose is pressed to the base of his stomach, brushing against his (neatly trimmed) pubic hair. She stays down for just a moment before pulling up completely to breathe, but keeps her hand on him, stroking him slowly.

“You look so good.” Harry mutters, running his hands over her hair in a soothing motion. “I imagined it, but didn’t think…so much better…”

Y/N moves to push her head back down, but Harry stops her, bringing her up for a kiss instead.

“I want to taste you, now.” He tells her, laying her down on the pillows. “Is that alright?”

Y/N nods desperately, feeling even more heat rush to her core and pool there. “Mhmm.”

Harry kisses his way down her body again, slipping his fingers into the waistband of her shorts. He leaves her panties on as he pulls the shorts down, and lets out a low groan at the sight of her pink Calvin Klein panties, and more specifically, the dark pink spot that’s apparent on them.

“You’re soaked…” He presses a kiss to her sensitive inner thigh before brushing a finger over the wet spot.

Y/N jumps a bit, making a sound in the back of her throat. “Harry!”

“Sorry.” He kisses her thigh again. “I’m sorry. Just relax, yeah? It’s just me. I got you.”

Harry continues to kiss along her inner thighs, moving closer and closer to the thin cloth covering her center. When he presses his first kiss to the fabric, Y/N grasps the sheets in her hands.

“God…” She whispers, fists clenched.

Harry reaches up and takes one of her hands, placing it in his hair wordlessly before kissing over her again, his tongue peaking out just a bit.

The torture continues for what feels like forever, with Harry teasing her over the soaked fabric of her panties. Finally, Y/N sighs in relief as she feels his hands grip the fabric, and she lifts her hips eagerly as he tugs the article of clothing down.

The first thing she feels is his hot breath hitting her core, which is enough to make her legs reflexively close with pleasure. Harry’s hand grips her leg, pushing them back open as he takes in the sight of her dripping cunt before him.

“Fuck…” He inhales deeply, committing her scent to memory. “Your pussy is so gorgeous.”

Y/N whimpers at his words and tugs on his curls. “Please, H…I need you.”

“Need me?” Harry asks in a husky voice, his finger touching her outer lips just barely.

“Yes!” Y/N whines, not caring how she sounds. “Never needed anything more…”

Harry runs his finger over her slit, collecting the wetness dripping from her. YN moans loudly at the contact, not fully relieved but grateful for the light touch.

“So fucking wet.” Harry’s voice sounds not completely his own. “Fuck, Y/N, how are you so wet?”

Y/N feels heat rush to her cheeks, and she mumbles her reply in what’s almost an embarrassed voice. “You know exactly how.”

“Don’t even know what to do first.” Harry ignores her reply, lost in his own world as he continues stroking her slit. “Just want…”

He presses into her without warning, and Y/N arches her back off the bed as Harry’s finger slips into her cunt. His cold rings touch the top of her entrance as Harry pauses inside her, his eyes heavy with lust.

“And so tight.” He moans, biting his lip hard enough to leave a mark. “Oh my God…”

He curves his finger inside her, wanting to feel every inch of her that he can. Y/N continues to whimper above him.

“More.” She begs him, pushing back against his finger. “I can take more, Harry, please.”

Harry easily slips enough finger in, repeating his motion as she pushes back on him. However, the pressure building inside Y/N disappears abruptly as his fingers do, and she’s just about to get angry at him when she feels his tongue replace his fingers.

“Fuck!” She exclaims loudly, her eyes closing as she throws her head back. “Harry—!”

Harry moves his tongue in and out of her, loving the taste of her juices in his mouth. He moves further up to her clit, licking and sucking over the sensitive bundle of nerves as Y/N writhes above him.

“Taste so good.” He growls from between her thighs. “Fuck, Y/N…you’re going to cum for me, yeah?” He asks as he reaches up and grips her hands in his, interlocking their fingers. “Tell me you’re going to cum for me.”

Another strangled moan leaves Y/N’s mouth as he speaks. “I-I’m so close, Harry. Keep going, please.”

“Tell me.” He demands, licking over her clit again. “Tell me you’re going to cum for me.”

Y/N grinds against his tongue as she grips his hands tighter. “I’m going—fuck—I’m going to cum for you, H. I’m going—”

Harry sucks hard on her clit, and Y/N throws her head back as an orgasm hits her harder than ever before. Her thighs clench shut, trapping Harry’s head between them, but he just continues to lap at the juices flowing from her cunt while making the most obscene sounds Y/N has ever heard.

Harry doesn’t pull back until Y/N unclenches her thighs, and before he does, he presses one last kiss to her clit, making her flinch.

Y/N is so exhausted she can barely open her eyes. Once she does, however, and sees Harry, she feels all the exhaustion fade.

Harry’s lips are, somehow, even more red than before, and his whole chin is slick with her wetness. He keeps licking his lips, like he can’t get enough of the taste, and Y/N feels like her whole body is on fire.

“Harry…” She whispers, squeezing his hand again. She doesn’t know what else to say.

Harry lifts himself over her body, which is still shaking from her orgasm, and kisses her gently. She can taste herself on his mouth, and she adores it.

“You taste so fucking good.” He murmurs, pressing his sweaty forehead against hers. “Like candy.”

Y/N swallows hard. “I haven’t—no one’s done that in a long time.”

“I’ll be glad to do it again.” Harry replies, brushing her hair back. “But right now…all I want to do is make love to you.” He looks at her with sincere eyes. “Will you let me?”

The tenderness of him asking almost brings tears to her eyes, and Y/N nods, her hands coming up to cup his rosy cheeks. “Yeah, H. I’m…” She bites her lip as she realizes the truth of her words. “I’m yours. Always.”

Harry inhales sharply before kissing her softly, his hands stroking her hair in a comforting fashion again. “How do you want to…?”

“I want you on top.” Y/N replies, touching his swallow tattoos. “I-I want to feel you. Feel your weight. Feel you close.”

With a nod, Harry positions himself over her, spreading her legs wide enough that his body can fit between. He holds himself up with one hand and uses the other to guide his cock to Y/N’s folds, just brushing the head over them. He’s teasing himself just as much as her.

“Harry…” Y/N leans her head back at the sensation. “Please, H…”

“I don’t—wait—” Harry pauses his movements, and Y/N can see on his face the strength and discipline it takes for him to do so. “I—a condom—”

“I’m clean, and I have an IUD.” Y/N assures him, running her hand along his shoulders. “Are you?”

Harry nods. “Yeah, I am, but—are you sure?”

As Y/N looks into his eyes, the love and concern and want written all over them, she knows she’s never been more sure of anything in her life. “I want to feel you, without anything in between. I—” She takes a deep breath and presses a kiss to his jaw. “Yeah. I’m sure.”

Harry presses a kiss to her forehead, and the tender action makes Y/N close her eyes as she revels in the feeling. A moment later, Harry moves down again and puts his forehead against hers as he pushes into her.

The moment he enters her, Y/N feels a fullness she’s never experienced before. Not only is Harry stretching her cunt in a way that feels euphoric, but she feels complete. He’s as close to her as he’s ever been, his breath is mingling with hers, his body weight is held over her carefully, and Y/N thinks she could die in the pleasure of this moment happily.

“Y/N…baby…” The pet name seems to fall easily from Harry’s lips as he bottoms out, holding himself still to adjust to the feeling. “Oh my God…”

Y/N digs her fingernails into Harry’s shoulders, pressing kisses to his lips between gasps for breath. “Move, H, please.”

Harry begins to thrust his hips, setting a slow but deep pace before gradually speeding up. While part of Y/N wishes he would thrust as fast as he can, a deeper part of her is grateful that Harry is taking his time with her. This feeling, now that she has it, is better than anything she’d ever felt before, and Y/N doesn’t want it to end anytime soon.

Harry kisses Y/N again as he moves inside her. Although they’re as close as they’ve ever been, each of them keeps pulling the other closer. As Harry thrusts deeper, Y/N pulls more of his weight down on her. As Y/N scratches her nails down his back, Harry kisses her jaw. Neither of them can process exactly what they’re doing, but neither of them can stop. Each touch is tender, each kiss is passionate, and each moment brings them closer together in so many more ways than just physical.

They don’t speak except for the occasional whisper from Y/N for Harry to move faster, or the occasional moan of Y/N’s name falling from Harry’s lips. The only constant sounds in the room are of the slickness between Y/N’s thighs as Harry moves between them, the sound of his skin meeting hers, both of them panting and moaning, and a few whispers of “please” that are barely audible. Despite the lack of speech, however, the two are in constant communication. Kissing, biting, scratching, and squeezing have become the vocabulary of their new language. When Harry looks into Y/N’s wet eyes, he knows that she feels something running through the very depths of her being. When Y/N feels Harry tuck his head between her neck and her shoulder as he whimpers, she knows that he trusts her to comfort him and hold him there.

Soon, Y/N feels the waves of pleasure begin to build, and she knows that when they finally break, they’ll pull her under. “H, I—fuck—I—” She can’t manage to form the sentence she needs to.

Harry, however, can tell exactly what she’s going to say. “Please.” He pants, adoring how she buries her head into his shoulder. “Please, love, cum for me…” He kisses over the shell of her ear as he thrusts deeper. “Need you.”

Y/N whimpers, biting down on Harry’s shoulder as her orgasm rolls over her. Harry feels her walls tighten around his cock, but he doesn’t slow down, and he works her through her climax until she whines in his ear.

“So good, H…” Y/N can barely find the strength to whisper the phrase.

Hearing her sound so fucked out, feeling her cunt squeezing him, and seeing the euphoria on her face is enough to bring Harry to the edge. He slows his thrusts, about to pull out, but Y/N presses on his back to keep him close.

Harry groans as a shiver rolls through his body. “I’m about to cum, Y/N—”

“Stay inside me.” She pleads, pressing the pads of her fingers between his shoulder blades. “I-I’m yours, Harry, I told you. Yours.”

Y/N looks up at him with such trusting and vulnerable eyes that Harry can’t make himself argue with her. He nods instead, his thrusts increasing in speed again until he feels himself reach the edge of pleasure.

As he freefalls into Y/N, his hips stutter, and he presses deep inside her while her name falls from his lips over and over again. He can’t think of anything else to say. He can’t think of anything else worth saying.

When Harry finally manages to pull himself together enough to pull out, Y/N instantly feels the emptiness inside her. She wishes he would stay, but knows that it’s not practical, and instead just relishes in the feeling of his cum dripping from her entrance. It’s like he’s claimed her as his, left a physical mark of himself, and Y/N doesn’t have the strength to stop herself from loving it.

They lay in silence for a few moments, trying to catch their breath and regain a sense of where they are. Both Harry and Y/N are sweaty, exhausted, and covered in each other in more ways than one. The wrap on Harry’s tattoo has slipped from his arm. Somewhere in their pleasure, Y/N has lost an earring. And yet, the only thing each of them cares about is looking at the other.

Out of instinct, Harry pulls Y/N’s shivering body into his, wrapping his arms around her tightly. He can’t imagine she’s cold, and Y/N can’t bring herself to tell him she’s shivering because of the feeling of being so close to him, but neither of them denies the other of the affectionate gesture.

Y/N loses track of how long they lay there until Harry breaks the silence.

“I—” His voice cracks, and he clears it quickly before trying again. “I’ll get you a cloth to—to clean you up.”

Y/N nods, and Harry gently untangles himself from her before going to the bathroom. Y/N can hear the running of water, and turns her head to see what he’s doing, but when she spots his naked silhouette, she closes her eyes. Despite what they just did, there’s a shyness in her still when she sees him completely stripped.

Her eyes stay closed, and she only detects his return from feeling his weight return to the bed. He places a gentle hand on her trembling knee, pulling her open ever so slightly.

“’M just cleaning you up.” Harry says in a quiet tone. “Is that okay?”

Y/N nods again. She’s not certain she has enough strength to say anything.

Harry wipes between her legs with a gentle touch, watching how she flinches at the slightest of pressure. “I’m sorry.” He says sincerely, kissing her knee tenderly before continuing. “You’re sensitive, I know. Almost done.”

Once he finishes wiping away the cum dripping out of her (his cum dripping out of her), Harry tosses the cloth onto his pile of clothes on the ground, deciding it can be dealt with later. His most pressing concern at the moment is Y/N.

He lays back down on his side so he can face her, and pushes a lock of hair away from her closed eyes.

“Y/N.” Harry murmurs, hand resting on her waist carefully. “Talk to me. Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” Her voice is rough when she answers, and Harry can hear the echo of her moans in her words. “I-I’m fine, H. Just…tired.”

“Do you…” Harry bites his lip. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Y/N gives a slight shake of her head. “Maybe—maybe tomorrow, yeah?” She does her best to open one eye, but quickly shuts it again when she sees how Harry is looking at her. “Can’t right now.”

“Okay.” Harry lays his arm over her side as he moves closer. “Tomorrow.”

Y/N presses her head into his shoulder and commits the scent of his skin to memory.

…

The first thing Y/N registers when she wakes up is the feeling of someone touching her hair.

She doesn’t need to open her eyes to know it’s Harry. Of course it’s Harry. It’s always been Harry. In every way.

Y/N sighs and readjusts her position in bed, moving a bit closer to Harry. She shivers once from the cold, still naked from last night’s activities, and that’s the only hint Harry needs before he pulls the sheet up around her more.

“Are you awake?” He asks softly, careful in case she’s still lost deep in sleep.

Y/N moves her head in a passable nodding motion, and her voice is thick with sleep when she answers. “Mhmm. Barely.”

A low chuckle escapes from Harry’s mouth, and the next thing Y/N feels are his warm lips against her cheek. “How are you feeling?”

“A little hungover. A little sore.” Y/N finally opens her eyes as she speaks, and almost wishes she hadn’t.

Harry’s hair is a mess from both sex and sleep, messy and wild and haphazardly pushed out of his eyes. His cheeks are flushed, and his neck and chest are covered in marks from both Y/N’s lips and fingers. She knows that if he turned over, his back would be the same, and it embarrasses her and delights her at the same time. He looks completely fucked and content, and more relaxed than she’s seen him in ages.

Y/N wonders if she looks the same. If she looks as pretty.

“Sorry.” Harry says, his tone a bit sheepish.

“It’s not your fault.” Y/N replies, shrugging a bit.

“Well…it is, actually. I made your drinks. And I…” He trails off, brushing his fingers down her bare hip to her thigh.

“Yeah.” Y/N feels her face get warm. “I guess it is your fault.”

Harry laughs lightly, but it fades away as he looks into her eyes. “We, uh…we should probably talk about what happened.”

Y/N purses her lips. “Yeah. We should.”

“So…first question, I guess.” Harry props his head up on his arm, but keeps running his fingers over Y/N’s hip gently. “Do you regret it?”

Y/N sits up a bit more in bed, clutching the sheet to her bare chest. “No. I don’t. Do you?”

“No.” Harry replies instantly. “I don’t regret it.”

“Okay.” Y/N is so aware of Harry’s eyes on her as she thinks of her question. “Did…did you enjoy it?”

A snort falls from Harry’s mouth, and he shakes his head incredulously. “Christ, Y/N, of course I enjoyed it. It felt—you felt like heaven.”

Y/N flushes at the comment. “I’ve never…I’ve always made my partners wear condoms. So that was a first for me.”

Harry’s fingers pause over her hip, but only for a moment. It looks as though he’s deciding whether or not he should comment on that, but changes his mind at the last moment. “Did you enjoy it?” He asks instead, echoing your question.

“I did.”

“You said you were mine.”

Y/N swallows hard. This conversation is less incriminating than making love to him last night, but it seems infinitely more powerful. Probably because they’re both sober, she thinks.

“That—” She clears her throat. “That’s not a question.”

Harry sighs, but there’s an endeared smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “You said you were mine. Did you mean that?”

Y/N can’t look him in the eyes, so she looks down instead. Harry’s hand lies between them, and she intertwines their fingers, playing with his rings as she carefully formulates her answer. “I’ve—I’ve always been yours, H. Ever since we were kids, I’ve belonged to you.” She runs a finger over his H ring. “Even when you were gone.”

Harry frowns a bit at the tone of her voice. “I’ve been yours too, Y/N. I belong to you just as much as you belong to me.”

“You’ve always been further out of reach.” Y/N pulls her hand from his, until their fingertips are just barely touching. “Always just…a little out of reach.”

Harry intertwines their fingers again. “I’m not out of reach. Not right now. And I’ve never—if you ever called me and said you needed me, I would’ve been on the first flight back home to you. I would’ve dropped everything for you, Y/N. I still would, and I always will.”

Tears prick Y/N’s eyes, and although she hurries to close them, one slips out. Harry catches it on his finger before it can run off her cheek, and when she looks at him again, there’s a concerned look on his face.

“C’mere.” Harry mumbles, pulling Y/N into a tight hug. He rubs her back like he always does, and the motion is so comforting that she almost forgets the vulnerable position they’re both in. “You’re my girl. You’re always going to be my girl.” He murmurs in her ear, voice low and soothing. “Always. Don’t you know that?”

Y/N nods, not trusting her voice at the moment.

“If this is too much for you…” Harry traces his fingers between her shoulder blades. Y/N thinks he’s tracing words, like they used to as children, but she can’t tell what words he may be tracing. “I understand. We can just—we can pretend it didn’t happen.”

“I—” Y/N shakes her head, looking up at Harry. “I don’t want to do that.”

“Then what do you want, Y/N?” Harry asks, his tone as pleading as it was last night. “All I’ve ever tried to do is give you what you want, and usually I’m pretty good at telling what that is, but right now, I’m lost. I don’t want things to go back to how they were, but I don’t—I can’t lose you, so just—if you just tell me what you want, I’ll do it. I’ll make it work. I promise that I won’t be mad, or hurt, or anything.”

Y/N sits up as best she can, her fingers combing through Harry’s messy curls on reflex, as she always does it when he gets upset. “I can’t pretend that I don’t want you, H. I do. I need you. I told you that last night.”

“But you’re crying.” Harry cups her wet cheek gently, rubbing his thumb along her cheekbone. “I hate that.”

Y/N leans into his touch. “It just feels…strange.” She says after a moment. “All of this. I spent so long trying to stop myself from thinking of you like this, and now that I am, I feel like—like it’s wrong.”

Harry tugs on his bottom lip with his teeth. “Does it feel wrong?”

His low voice makes her shiver. “No. It feels right. Really right.”

“I feel like…” Harry’s eyes flicker between Y/N’s own eyes and their intertwined hands. “I feel like we’re both dancing around saying it.”

Y/N sucks in a breath. “Saying what?”

“Saying…” Harry leans in and presses a soft kiss to her lips. “Saying that we’re in love with each other.”

Y/N feels breathless at the words coming from his mouth. “You’re in love with me?”

“Are you not in love with me?” He replies, moving so he’s leaning over her more. “We’ve said I love you so many times before.”

“That’s a different kind of love.” Y/N mumbles, touching the chain dangling from Harry’s neck.

“But we were both meaning something different when we were saying it. At least, I was.” Harry inhales deeply, like he’s centering himself. “I’ve known…for a while, but I’ve felt it for longer than I’ve known it. And I thought that you might…”

“I think I do.” Y/N whispers. “But saying it feels so—so permanent. Like we can’t go back to being friends if it blows up in our faces.”

Harry traces a finger down Y/N’s cheek, her neck, between her breasts, to her side, touching just below her ribs. “Maybe we can’t. But I don’t think we’ll want to, Y/N. I think we’re perfect for each other.”

Y/N’s heart pounds in her chest. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Harry nods. “This last month, it’s been like we’ve been…playing house, or something. I’ve loved it. I keep hearing from friends saying that they’re so sick of the person they’re living with, so tired of them, but I’ve never felt that way about you, and I don’t think I ever will. I’ll never get sick of you.”

Y/N laughs a bit. “That’s romantic.”

“Shut up.” Harry can’t help but smile slightly. “It is romantic.”

“Yeah. It is.” Y/N says softly, her hand rubbing over Harry’s tattooed arm. “You’re really in love with me?”

Harry nods. “I am.”

“Huh.” Y/N bites her lip. “So I guess we’ve been lying to our moms, haven’t we?”

Harry laughs loudly, collapsing on the bed next to Y/N. “Jesus, can you not mention our mums when we’re naked in bed?”

“I’m just saying! We’ve been saying for years that you’re not in love with me, and it’s all been a lie.”

“What about when they ask if you’re in love with me?” Harry’s tone is joking, but there’s a hint of nervousness in the back of his voice. “Has that been a lie, too?”

Y/N’s heart pounds as she nods. “Yeah. We’ll have to get them something really good for Mother’s Day this year to help make up for it.”

A grin spreads over Harry’s face, almost triumphant, as he leans down to kiss her. “Agreed.” He moves to cage himself over Y/N. “But I want to hear you say it.”

“Say what?”

“I want to hear you say that you’re in love with me.” Harry’s grin turns into a smirk.

Y/N flushes as she shakes her head. “You say it first.”

“I’ve already admitted it!”

“So have I!”

“Not as well as I have!”

“Oh, so it’s a competition now?” Y/N scoffs. “What a wonderful start to our relationship.”

“I’m just saying, Y/N, admitting it is the first step to—”

“Are you seriously going to say that to get me to say that I love you?”

“Just—”

“You’re so irritating—”

“I’m irritating? You—”

“You’re the worst!”

“And yet you’re in my bed with no clothes on!”

“Okay. Nope. Relationship over.” Y/N pushes Harry off of her and wraps the sheet around herself as she gets out of bed. “You blew it, Styles.”

“Y/N.” Laughter falls from Harry’s lips as he leans over the edge of the bed. “Love. Come back to bed.”

“I think a minute and thirty-seven seconds may be the record for the world’s shortest relationship.” Y/N searches her bag for some clean clothes.

“Come here!”

“Another world record for Harry Styles.” Y/N calls to him without turning around. “You must be so proud—”

Her words are cut off in a shriek as Harry picks her up, throwing her over his shoulder as he brings her back to his bed.

“Harry!” She yells, hitting his arm. “Put me down!”

Harry tosses her on the bed, gentle enough so as not to hurt her, and cages himself over her sheet-covered body. He’s still completely bare. “Take it back.”

Y/N rolls her eyes. “Fine. We’re still together. One less record for you.”

“Good. Now…” Harry brushes a finger over her lips. “Say you’re in love with me.”

Y/N’s laughter fades a bit as the nerves set back in. “I…”

“Please, Y/N?” Harry murmurs, leaning down to kiss her neck. “Please say it.”

“I’m—” Y/N sucks in a quick breath, and all of her protest leaves her body as she exhales. “I’m in love with you, Harry.”

She can feel Harry’s lips forming a grin against her neck. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Y/N tugs on his hair gently, just enough so she can pull his head back to look in his eyes. “Now you say it.”

“Y/N.” Harry says her name like it’s something precious. “I’m in love with you.”

A flush of pleasure crawls up Y/N’s spine at his words, but she does her best to keep her tone light-hearted. “So are you calling our moms, or am I?”

“I’ll do it.” Harry reaches for his phone on the bedside table. “And I’ll be sure to mention how it took us getting drunk and having sex to realize—”

“Harry!”

“Don’t worry, I’ll tell your mum we used a condom—”

“I’ll kill you, Styles, and I’ll make it look like an accident.” Y/N shoves his shoulder hard.

Harry grins at her. “Now that’s romantic.”

#feedback is appreciated and use a condom kids #harry styles oneshot #bestfriend!harry #harry styles x reader #harry styles x you #harry styles x y/n #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles imagine #harry styles fic #harry styles preference #one direction imagine #one direction preference #one direction fic #one direction fanfiction #one direction #best friend!harry sty;es #watermelon sugar #watermelon sugar music video #fine line album

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carlatsukinamistolemyhamsandwich · 2 years ago

Text

Fiction - Shin x Reader drabble

I know one popular imagine (or at least I’ve certainly seen it come up a lot) is some sort of reverse AU where your favourite character is the one that lives in the real world while you’re fictional and they’re left fangirling over you.

It’s something that doesn’t work quite so well with the diaboys, Shin in particular because I really don’t see him as the type to get fictional crushes, but I definitely see the appeal, and recently I felt inspired to have a go at writing it. Because leaving Shin as a first blood but trying to make him fall in love with a video game character would have genuinely broken my brain, this is set a modern AU I talked about in this ask (in other words it is a true reverse AU).

Possible trigger warnings only really include some vague mentions of disease + treatment. If anyone needs me to add any warnings then please let me know!

***

The first time Shin sees you it’s on the cover of a magazine—one of the one’s the nerdy guys who look like they could use less time on their parent’s couches tend to drool over—that he’s stacking on the racks at the convenience store, one of the many part-time jobs he’d had to pick up when the money dwindled along with his older brother’s health. There’s no reason why the cover should catch his attention—the title it’s advertising is called Diabolik Lovers of all thingsーand he wouldn’t have said you’re particularly his type, but for some reason, his gaze lingers on it as he works on shelving some of the other magazines.

Maybe it’s just that after spending so much time around his brother, he’s started to pick up something of an eye for art. Whatever, he has more shit to do before his shift ends and no matter how hard he’s working himself, he’s still far above becoming one of those weird otaku types. So he turns his back on you and gets back to work.

He watches the screen out of the corner of his eye for a bit, waiting for the perfect time to catch him out. It’s not at the right angle to let him read the text, but he can make you out well enough. There’s something about you that seems familiar but he’d never play these sorts of games himself so he writes it off as nothing more than some weird déjà vu. At least whoever was in charge of your character design had a halfway decent sense of style—your hair frames your face nicely, unlike the characters plastered all over the adverts on the trains that he’s forced to look at on the way to and from the café. Your figure... isn’t terrible per say and your outfit definitely flatters it.

The second time he sees you, it’s on the screen of a co-worker's portable games console—hidden under the counter during a particularly slow shift at the coffee shop. Shin has half a mind to bark at the guy—Tanaka or Tamura or something—to put it away, but it’s been a long week; a bad week, with Carla’s doctor’s bills wracking up even though none of the drugs they give him seem to do a damn thing. As it is, Shin himself feels like he’s about to go out of his mind with boredom so he might as well wind the guy up to get some sort of a kick.

The screen changes then, switching from a sprite of you pulling some sort of haughty expression to something that looks much more like embarrassment, your eyes no longer looking at the player and instead off to the side as you bite your lip.

Cute, Shin thinks, unbidden, before catching himself. The stress and exhaustion of the past week must be catching up to him more than he’d thought if he’s seriously eyeing up a bunch of pixels. Then his attention is snatched by the sound of the café door opening, a bunch of tourists bundling in to escape the faint autumn chill in the air, and he snaps at Takada(?) to put the damn game away and get back to work, your face shoved to the back of his mind and forgotten about.

It stays that way for the next couple of months as autumn turns into winter proper, the outside temperature going from slightly chilly to downright uncomfortable. It’s on a day when the weather is particularly bad that Shin finds himself stuck in the same café. He has the job of closing up for the night, and is about to be on his way when his phone buzzes with a message from his brother notifying him that apparently there's been some sort of major fault with the trainline and the service has been cancelled for the rest of the evening so he’ll have to find another way home.

Shin lets out a particularly foul curse as he tosses his coat and scarf onto a nearby chair and sunk down into one opposite. He doesn’t have the money for a cab—well, he does, but if he uses it then he can kiss that new pair of glasses goodbye, a pair he sorely needs given how scratched the lenses of his current ones have gotten despite his best efforts. The last bus is long gone and there's sure as hell no way he's going to try to walk home—not with the snow that's coming down in thick flakes and starting to pile up outside the door. In fact with what's quickly starting to look like a blizzard sweeping through the city, Shin isn’t sure he’d be able to get a cab even if he was prepared to fork out for one.

He shoots off a quick message to his manager explaining the situation and asking if he's alright to stay the night. By the time the reply comes through, the scene outside the window looks actively hostile and Shin’s already decided that he’s staying no matter how much trouble it gets him into. Fortunately that’s not something he has to worry about, as his manager not only gives him the clear to stay the night, but also to help himself to some food so he doesn’t starve.

He’s halfway through his second sandwich when he notices the battery on his phone is in the red. Crap, without it he’s stuck in here all night with fuck all to do. Abandoning the sandwich, he goes to search the employees' room to see if anyone’s left a phone charger he can borrow lying around. It’s as he’s hunting around the space that he spots it, Tadaka something or other’s game console. Huh, he must have forgotten it when he’d left earlier. Shin looks at it for a moment, it would be something to pass the time at least but there’s no case lying around so he’d be stuck with whatever the idiot was last playing.

Shaking his head, Shin resumes his search for a phone charger, borderline turning the whole room upside down, only to come up short. How can his colleagues have left behind everything from a college text book to spare—he hopes—underwear, but not a phone charger? Cursing his luck, he grabs the game console as he stomps back to the main space of the café, throwing himself into a seat and taking a vicious bite of his sandwich as he powers up the handheld.

He pauses when he reads the name of the highlighted game icon—the one that’s actually loaded in the console—Diabolik Lovers, why did that ring a bell? Whatever, he’s probably just seen some poster for it around town he thinks as he taps through the various company logos and the opening movie. It’s only when he gets to the title screen and your sprite shows up next to the title, your voice playing through the speakers as you say the name of the game, that he realises what game this is.

Now that he’s actually got a good look at the screen, Shin thinks he was right in his initial evaluation of you—you’re not really his type, but you’re not exactly bad to look at either. He chooses the new game option, leaning back in his chair and he selects to keep the default protagonists name and quickly reads through the prologue. God the premise for this game is even worse than he’d been expecting, what sort of weirdo wanted to play through a game where they were trapped in a mansion with a bunch of sadistic vampires?

Still, at least it might give him something to laugh at. He’s just thinking how much he already dislikes the stupid and meek protagonist when he gets to the route selection screen. There’s no real reason why he chooses you—if anyone asked he’d say it’s because the other love interests all seem likely to irritate him to death before he could even get past their prologues.

As it is, the game is even more corny than he'd imagined. There's no real plot to speak of, just a series of scenes where you find some reason or another to harass the feeble protagonist.

He's at the point where he's about to turn the damn game off and try to get some sleep when the audio changes slightly, so that it sounds as though your voice is coming more from one speaker than it is the other. For a moment he knocks the console against the surface of the table, thinking the stupid thing must be on the fritz. The audio still sounds janked and Shin frowns at it before an idea strikes him. He plugs his headphones in and tries playing the next voice line andーOh.

It sounds like you're speaking right in his ear, your voice is low as you deliver a threat to the protagonist about just what will happen if he disobeys you. In spite of himself, Shin feels a faint burn start to spread across his cheeks. It's really really stupid that he's being even the slightest bit affected by such a cheap gimmick but your voice is nice and it's definitely doing something for him whether he wants it to or not. He clicks through the next lines of dialogue, a shudder running through him when your voice drops to a whisper. Shin swears he will never ever admit to anyone the heat that pools in him when you call the protagonist a good boy for nodding along with your orders.

When you pull away and the audio goes back to normal, Shin sits there for a moment. There's no way he can just lie his head on the table and go to sleep now, not when he feels far more awake than he had before he'd picked up the gameーfar more than he has for a long while now in fact.

The snow has long stopped falling by the time the low battery icon starts to blink, the sky having lightened to a now a mid-tone gray against the otherwise white outdoors. Shin blearily squints at the time on the console and sees that the store is due to open in just a couple of hoursーhe's somehow spent nearly the entire night playing some dumb video game.

He finally turns handheld off, stretching out in his chair and cursing at himself for not noticing the time earlier. Taking off his glasses, he folds his arm to make a rudimentary pillow and rests his head on them. And when he finally sinks deep into the clutches of sleep, he dreams of you.

A couple of weeks pass. Shin doesn't buy the game or make any effort to play it again but he does think about it more than he'd likeーfor some reason he just can't quite shake the sound of your voice in his ears and it keeps him awake at night. There's no way he can straight up ask to borrow it, not with the hit it'd be to his already thoroughly dented pride, and he can't justify spending the money on it either. So he tries his best to put you out of his head and get on with his frustratingly tedious life.

That is, at least, until he walks past a second hand shop on the way back from the supermarket and spots a CD with you emblazoned on the cover on one of the racks outside. He quickly checks to make sure there's no one around before stepping closer, taking the CD in his hand and turning it over. Shin hadn't known there were drama CDs too一seriously how many freaks had to be into this stuff for there to be this much material for it?一and as he looks from the case in his hand to those still on the rack, he realises that it's not just one set of CDs either. There must be nearly two dozen volumes from the franchise at least, many from different series boasting increasingly stupid titles.

The CD he's holding is the only one featuring youーwhich means you're either one of the most popular characters or no one was even willing to buy your volumes first-handーand it's only two hundred yen. He shouldn't buy it, really, listening to this sort of stuff is beneath him.

Minutes later he exits the store with a small plastic bag and his wallet slightly lighter for it.

The CD ends up being about what Shin had expected, a solid hour of you degrading the witless protagonist from the games interspersed with the obscene noises of you drinking his blood. He listens to it just before he goes to sleep, and then again the next evening and once more while he's closing up the coffee shop.

A few weeks later, he spies another one of your CDs in the same second hand shop for four hundred yen. He buys that too.

Shin still doesn't buy any of the games, but as it turns out, he doesn't need to. Some losers with far too much time on their hands have translated nearly every single one of your routes into English, so he reads through those instead, the years spent at that private bordering school in England before his family had fallen apart finally coming into use.

That’s not all though, there are a whole bunch of stories about you on various blogging sites, clearly written by shut-ins who spend too much time hunched over their laptops to have any hope of being in a real relationship. That doesn’t stop him from reading them all though—the good, the bad, and the ones that are far more depraved than anything in the actual games. He learns to stop reading the latter in public after an incident in which he misses his train stop due to being preoccupied by trying to cover his crotch with his bag.

It takes a while for him to notice how deep he’s getting, that the new earring he’d bought the other week with a small amount of extra cash just happens to have a crystal in it the same colour as your eyes. That most nights he falls asleep to the sound of your voice being played through his shitty headphones, which he justifies to himself by the fact it distracts from the noise the upstairs neighbours usually inflict on him. That some of his limited free time has been spent arguing with idiots online, who clearly don’t know anything about you at all but like to pretend they do.

It’s only when he 's walking through the street, the summer sunlight warming his skin, and he catches sight of a poster plastered over a nearby building that it really hits him. The poster is big, full of all of the different love interests from the game franchise dressed in fancy outfits as part of some limited edition campaign thing. You’re there, front and centre—and fuck you’re beautiful.

Something in his chest aches as he looks as you—actually aches—and if he weren’t so preoccupied with the sight of you, he’d be more than a little disgusted with himself. As it is, Shin’s not prepared to admit how long he stands there, staring. And if he drops by the event to pick up the free postcard of you in your event outfit then that’s nobody’s business but his.

#my writing #what is this???#why did I write it?#and why did I feel sad as I wrote it?#also please note that Shin's POV obviously doesn't match mine when it comes to fanfic authors and translators lol #in fact did I write this just to have Shin drag me?#You know what maybe #anyway lol enjoy

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mandoalorian · 4 years ago

Note

What about Javier Pena being jealous?????? 🥺

Thank you for the request! I hope this is okay for you!!

Into You [Javier Pena x Female Reader] SMUT

Warnings: SMUT, inexperienced reader, angst in the start but fluff in the end ;) <3

Rating: 18+ only.

Word count: 4k

MASTERLIST | Submit your requests HERE

Javier Peña did not get jealous.

But he heard the way they talked about you. He saw the way they looked at you. Gawked, undressing you with their minds. The way their lips spewed dirt and filth about the things they'd do to you if they were graced with the chance of some ‘alone time’ with you. And he hated it.

Javier Peña was anything but a saint. He had his ways. The DEA had a renown of being more reserved than the CIA, which meant Javier had earned a name for himself due to his lothario reputation. Javier's colleagues were a lot older than him, settled down with families, children- and some even with grandchildren. Even his old partner, Steve Murphy, had a wife and a daughter. Javier had none of that. Except from you.

You were the new receptionist. Shy, fresh faced, and beaming with anticipation as you found your feet in your new job. Javier found it endearing, but he wondered how long your bubbliness would last. It wasn't all rainbows and butterflies- working for the DEA. You had an air of innocence to you, and he swore you had the kindest heart in the whole of Colombia. Javier knew from the moment he met you, that the men in his department were not deserving of you.

Javier didn't give a fuck about his reputation. But when the Colombian department extended to the CIA, Javier met a lot more men who were like himself. He saw them chat up women from his previous encounters in bars, and he saw them visit the same brothels as he did. That behaviour seemed to become normalized.

You were the only women in a department filled with horny, sex crazed men. Often, Javier would find himself watching you from his desk, only a pane of glass seperating you both. Almost always you were on the phone, doodling in a notebook as you talked to potential informants. Other times, your head was down and you were whisked away in your work. Occasionally though, he noticed CIA agents bust their move with you.

He never confronted you about it- it wasn't his place, but seeing the way they spoke to you filled a rage in his heart. Javier was lucky enough to blossom a friendship with you; one that you really valued. You didn't have many friends in Colombia, but knowing a man like Javier Peña had your back? That really brought you comfort.

Even better, you lived in the same apartment building as him. Same floor, just two doors apart. It meant that you were constantly over at his flat spending time with him. He taught you how to play poker and you enjoyed watching movies together and ordering take-out. Javier was a lot of fun.

Maybe, just maybe, you and Javier were spending too much time together. You were catching feelings for him, and shit- he was so sure he had already caught feelings for you.

Javier Peña does not catch feelings. He ran out on his and Lorraine's wedding because he was sure that he felt nothing for her. And she was his fiancée. Now, all of a sudden, he had a thing for the new DEA receptionist who sat outside his office. Only, it was more than just a thing. Javier Peña was in love. The sweet girl he had found to be so caring and compassionate, the angel who had eyes that must've been crafted by the Gods themselves and the softest lips he wished he could kiss.

You had sworn you had never been in love either, until of course, you met Javier. There was no way to explain it. You both just clicked like magnets. There was an electricity that exceeded just mere sexual tension. There was genuine feelings.

Javier Peña is impulsive and so, when his feelings for you dawned on him, he called up his favourite sex worker; Vanessa. Not only was she good at her job, Vanessa was a good person. She was good to Javi when she didn't need to be, and that was hard to find in 80s drug-torn Colombia.

When Javi had a bad day at work- Vanessa would be at his beck and call. Sex was a way he could release any negative emotions he had. A temporary fix.

That night, you had planned to confront Javier. He had confided in you previously that he had stopped sleeping with women. Deep down, it was because of his feelings for you; although he would never admit that to you. You wanted to tell Javier that you liked him… a lot. But, you stood behind his apartment door, bottle of wine in hand, and heard Javier fucking Vanessa.

You froze up as you overheard their mixed up moans and groans of pleasure, immediately feeling stupid. Why would you believe that you actually had a chance with Javier Peña? He clearly didn't feel the same way about you.

And so you went back to your apartment, climbed into bed and finished the bottle of wine on your own. You closed your eyes and masturbated over him, whining his name as pleasure filled your core.

And when Javier fucked Vanessa, he had her wear your pale pink lipgloss. He imagined her eyes match your specific shade and as he reached his climax, he wished it was with you. When he came, he screamed your name.

Of course, Vanessa didn't care. A job was a job to her.

After that night, you done your very best to brush away any feelings you once had for Javier. You tried really hard. You were beginning to believe it was a lost cause until CIA Agent Milo approached your desk about a month later.

Of course Javier noticed. He tried to take in the interaction between the two of you, judging from facial expressions as the glass pane in between you was practically soundproof. You were smiling, and you looked happy. Milo leaned against your desk, taking a pen and scrawling something on a sticky note. It was his number.

Jealousy was rife inside of Javi. Maybe Milo was about ten years younger than Javier, and maybe he read more fashion magazines. Although Javier considered himself stylish, you would often tease him for his 70s style wardrobe— an array of brightly coloured button up shirts, the same pair of dark blue denim jeans and pair of yellow tinted aviators.

Javier knew Milo was no good for you. He reminded Javi of a younger version of himself. Milo was a heartbreaker, and you didn't need that. You needed someone who could look after you. Take care of you in all the ways you needed.

Not only that, but Javier knew what the CIA department was like— especially Milo. He would have nothing but questionable intentions with you. Another one of his sexual encounters that meant nothing to him but everything to you.

It was late on a Saturday evening when you nervously knocked on Javier's door. Just about to light up a cigarette, he stood up and unlocked it. His eyes widened when he saw you, slightly surprised.

You were wearing a little black dress which clung around all your perfections, and ofcourse, your signature pink lip gloss.

"I haven't seen you in a while," he greeted as you slid past him and into the kitchen. "Want a drink?"

"No thank you." you replied, and Javier shut the front door and followed you into the kitchen.

"So what brings you here?" Javier asked, lighting his cigarette and taking a puff of smoke.

"I have a date with Milo in 45 minutes," you told Javier, awkwardly avoiding eye contact.

"Oh," Javier didn't really know how to respond.

"And, I missed you." you shrugged innocently, beckoning a small smile out of Javier. The blush that crept upon his cheeks didn't go unnoticed by you.

"So, uh, Milo, huh?" Javier questioned, taking another drag of his cigarette. He failed to realise why exactly you had come to see him- 45 minutes before your date.

"Um, yeah," you looked around his kitchen awkwardly, avoiding eye contact. "He's pretty great." you managed to force out. "He was employee of the month like, three months ago."

"Yeah a real sucker upper," Javi rolled his eyes and you gasped, nudging him playfully.

"He is not." You laughed but Javier really wasn't in the mood for whatever you were trying to do here.

"Why are you here?" he deadpanned, cutting your laugh short.

"I…" you frowned, unable to complete your sentence and earning an annoyed sigh from Javi. Maybe you were wrong to come to him.

"I don't think you should go out on a date with Milo." Javi informed you matter-of-factly; stubbing out his cigarette in the ash-tray that was conveniently placed on the kitchen counter.

"Excuse me?" you asked, your voice going uncontrollably high pitched. Javier casually placed the burnt out tab back in his mouth.

"I hear the things they say about you in the office, the sly little comments they make about you." Javier grunted, dismay written all over his face. The cigarette that was balanced in-between his perfect pink lips wobbled slightly with his building up anger. "They're no good for you. No good."

You narrowed your eyes. "No good? Javier, you don't get to be the judge of who is good for me and who isn't." You tried to stay composed but in the heat of the moment, your words came out as a snarl. Javier's dark eyes snapped up to meet yours as he tried to weigh up your expression.

"Shit, I didn't mean it like that." he raised his hands in defense and you folded your arms across your chest, awaiting an explanation for him. "It's just- we're friends, right? And I'm a guy and so, I understand what these other guys are like. And I care about you and-"

"What if Milo cares about me?" you croaked out. Judging from everything Javier had told you so far, you were beginning to wonder if he was right. You just didn't want to believe it. Your one shot of happiness. Your one chance.

"Milo doesn't care about you." Javier deadpanned.

"Ouch Javi." you shuffled your heels around uncomfortably. You were certain your cheeks were heating up from the shame and you probably looked like an absolute mess in front of Javier. You felt embarrassed for not realising sooner. And seemingly, Javier had caught on to those feelings too.

"You have nothing to feel ashamed about," Javier comforted you, awkwardly reaching out and placing a hand on your back. You shuffled closer to him and he finally pent up the courage to pull you into his chest.

His embrace was warm and you could smell the mixture of his cigarettes and aftershave in his white shirt. You wanted to cry. If you were alone, you would've cried, but you couldn't bring yourself to do so in front of Javier.

"I feel pathetic," you whimpered, fidgeting with his tie. "You know Javi, I'm not very good at this kind of stuff. That's why I came to see you in the first place. I know that- I mean I've heard things about you. You have the experience."

Javier stiffened up and you awkwardly pulled away from him, desperately trying to read his expression in case you said something wrong. "Experience?" he questioned, his dark eyebrows knotting together.

"You- you know," you murmured, closing your hands into a fist and looking down at your feet. "You're experienced and I'm… not."

"I don't understand." Javier replied and you huffed out your cheeks.

"Fuck Javi, are you actually going to make me say it? I'm a virgin."

Javier blinked a few times. The silence was deafening. You wanted the ground to open up and swallow you whole.

"I- I would've never have guessed."

"Yeah well…" Fuck, this was awkward.

"Y/N, can I tell you something?" Javier prompted.

"I guess?" you replied in bewilderment.

"When I see him talk to you- when I see anyone talk to you… I get jealous. So fucking jealous."

You swore your heart stopped. "Jealous?"

"I see the way they make you laugh and smile- and I curse myself because I wish that was me."

You raised a hand and pressed it into his chest. "Javi…" you didn't know what to say. "I- I came here for… advice. About… you know. Sex."

Javier looked you up and down and rolled his eyes, walking into his living room. When you followed him, he was already slouched into the sofa, nursing a bottle of cold beer.

"What do you need from me?" Javier sighed, feeling defeated that his attempt of admitting his true feelings had become completely lost on you.

"Show me." you whispered nervously, taking a few steps closer to him.

"I don't want to take advantage of you…" Javier trailed off but he was already wishing he could undress you.

"I want you to." you admitted, feeling butterflies erupt in your stomach.

Javier contemplated for a moment but really, there was no question about it. He had dreamt of fucking you since the moment he first laid his eyes on you. Javier leaned forward and put the bottle of beer on the coffee table.

"Take off your dress and come sit on my lap." Javier instructed and you nodded, sliding out of your dress and letting it pool around your ankles. You went to kick off your heels when Javi interrupted. "No, keep them on."

You nodded with a slight smile. It wasn't long until you found yourself standing completely naked in front of your best friend, and Javi had gotten rock hard from just watching you undress. All his fantasies were alive.

He beckoned you over and you sunk down onto his lap. "Rock your hips over me," Javi mumbled, pressing a light kiss into your ear.

You followed his command and immediately felt a wash of satisfaction as you started to dry hump him through his jeans.

"Javi," you moaned, your eyes rolling back as you grind harder over his bulge.

"That's it, good girl," he praised, fucking a stand of your hair behind your ear. His hand fell down to your chest, grabbing and squeezing at your breasts. "Take what you need."

A huff of air escaped your lips at his words and you buried your head into the crook of his neck. His skin was warm and you could smell the tobacco burnt into his body. But also, there was a sweetness to him, like honey. The scents did not get lost on you. He was your addiction.

You raised your hands to his head, lacing your fingers amongst his locks of dark brown hair. As you increased your speed, you tugged on his hair which earned a hearty groan from Javier's mouth. The noises he made only spurred on your arousal and you felt your cunt getting wetter by the second, contracting around nothing as you began to grow desperate for his cock.

Javier felt his boxer shorts dampen as his precum dripped through the thin material. His big hands roamed your bare back and he knew that pretty soon he'd want to take his pants off. You loved the sensation of rubbing your pussy over his denim jeans, the friction tickling you in just the right ways. You loved the way he would moan or tense up when you occasionally brushed over his erection.

"This feels better than I ever could've imagined." you admitted and your eyes were hazy, glazed with tears as you pushed towards your climax.

"Yeah? Fuck, first times usually aren't this good," Javier grunted as he felt you twitch on top of him, your legs beginning to shake around him. "Can you cum for me?"

"You- you want me to cum?" you blinked, a blush creeping upon your cheeks.

"Please," Javier groaned. "Need you to cum all over me. Make a mess of my jeans."

"Oh Javi," you whimpered, putting more focus on grinding over his hard, defined bulge. It rubbed between your folds and stimulated you in a way that your fingers could never.

"I love it when you say my name," Javier hummed, holding you steady as you rode out your high. You gasped and pressed your lips against his.

He swiped his tongue over your lower lip, begging for entry which you happily granted him. But the second you opened your mouth just slightly, he slid his tongue in and you gasped out another loud moan of his name causing his grip to tighten around you. You came undone all over him, just how he had always dreamt about, whimpering into his mouth. You stopped grinding but stayed still on his lap for a few moments, letting him hold you and kiss you.

His kiss eventually left your lips and he planted sloppy love bites down your neck and along your collarbones. His grip on your breast was soft yet firm and the roughness of his hands made you want to help, especially when he rubbed his thumb over your nipple, pinching it slightly just to see what reaction he could get out of you.

"Your tits are fucking perfect." Javier groaned, licking a stripe down the valley of your breasts. You watched him with eager and excited eyes as he played with you, feeling your cunt drip with your arousal once more.

"Javi," you groaned, tossing your head back.

"What is it?" he responded, a mouthful of your tit. You paused for a moment, letting him suck on your nipples. "What do you need, my love?"

"I need you," you mewled, your toes curling involuntarily when he pulled his mouth away from your nipples with a 'pop' sound. "Need your cock to fill me up."

"Yeah? Fuck you're so dirty… never had no cock before. And you want mine? Are you sure that's what you want, sweet girl?" Javier's mustache brushed against your neck and you giggled at the tickle it gave you.

"Mm yes Javi, wanted this for so long and so bad. Wanted you. I'd hear about all the girls that you fucked and I, I just wanted to be one. One of your little fuck toys." You groaned, pleasure pooling in your eyes.

"My love, you're more than that. You're so much more than that." Javier promised you, gently pushing you off his lap so he could unbuckle his belt and unzip his jeans. He stood up, pulling his jeans down, along with his boxer shorts, and you couldn't help but yelp when you saw the way his long thick cock sprung out against his stomach. The tip was red and already leaking for you.

"Oh Javi," you whispered, unable to take your eyes off his manhood. "You're so- you're so big."

"Come here," he curled his finger, gesturing for you to come back over and sit on his lap.

You straddled him again and gasped, feeling his cock press between your folds. You continued to rub over him, this time feeling more freeing as your wetness glided over his erection. "I'm nervous," you admitted. "I want this Javi. I really do, but I've never- done this before." you gulped and Javi planted a reassuring kiss to your lips.

"I'll go gentle sweetheart, I promise. And if it ever gets too much, you can just tell me. Your comfort is the most important to me." Javi whispered in your ear, sending chills down your spine. "Let me just…."

Javier lowered his hand to your clit and began to rub gently. He closed his eyes, your wetness soaking his fingers with just the smallest of touches. "Already so nice and wet for me," Javier smiled, bringing his fingers up to your lips and pushing them gently into your mouth. He watched you with his dark, lust blown eyes as you sucked your own arousal from his fingers. "How do you taste?"

"Good," you replied, blushing again and hopelessly fluttering your eyelashes which framed your eyes.

Javier lowered his hand again and you lifted yourself up slightly. He slid his middle finger in, deep, and you were surprised at how well you could take him. He left his finger inside of you for a second before rubbing his index finger against your hole. He looked at you, asking for approval, to which you gave him a nod and smile, and Javier pushed a second finger inside of you. This earned a moan from you, followed by a giggle as he slowly stretched you out by pumping his fingers in and out of you.

Feeling your walls contract around him, he removed his fingers and brought them up to his own mouth, this time tasting you for himself. "Perfect." he corrected you, humming in delight.

Javier reached over to the drawer inside the coffee table and pulled out a string of condoms. He teared open the packet of one and skillfully slid it down his length.

Javier adjusted himself slightly and you lifted off him just a few inches. He reached to his cock and held it upright, before signalling for you to sink down on him. He wanted to let you be in control. He wanted you to start doing it at your own, comforting pace.

The second you sunk down on him, you felt him twitch inside of you and your eyes widened at the unfamiliar feeling fullness. You sat down on him, nudging your nose against his and he kissed you again as you warmed his cock in your pussy.

"So tight," Javier growled, biting down on your lower lip. "How does it feel for you? Is it hurting?"

You shook your head 'no' and Javier offered you a warm smile. "Just- you're just so big."

"Take your time sweet girl." Javier murmured, kissing down your neck.

Slowly, you lifted yourself off him before sinking back down. And repeat. Until eventually you felt like you could build up a steady and comfortable rhythm— you realised you were riding him. Javier buried his head into your breasts as you bounced on his cock, your breathing hitching as you felt every one of his bumps and veins inside of you.

Javier was a mess underneath you, slurring out an abundance of incoherent curses in a wash of satisfaction as your cunt clenched around him. He knew he wouldn't last long.

You straightened up your posture and Javi shuffled backwards a little, leaning into the plush of the sofa cushions. His hips started to snap into yours as he began to meet your thrusts with loud moans. His large hands held you by your waist as he fucked you so perfectly. His cock was buried deep within you, and with every one of Javier's thrusts, he hit your sweet spot.

"I'm close," you gasped as Javier continued thrusting. You felt your heart rate pick up and your legs begin to shake as his balls slapped against your dripping core.

"Me too," Javier concluded, bumping his nose against yours and kissing you passionately. Breaking away to catch breath, he grabbed a fistful of your hair. "Cum with me. 3, 2, 1."

The second he said '1' you broke on top of him, and Javier's cock pulsed inside of you, his seed spilling into the condom. Your cunt clenched around him, milking him of all his arousal and you were left, a breathless mess, on Javier Peña's lap. His cock slipped out of you and you groaned at the lost feeling of fullness. Javier pinched the condom and took it off before throwing it into the nearby trash bin.

Javier's dark eyes blinked up at you a few times as you both took a few minutes to regain your breath. "How was it?" Javier asked eventually, exhaling shakily.

"Better than I ever could've imagined." you offered him a smile. He always found that your smile was contagious and he couldn't help but grin at you back.

"Listen- what I said to you before- the whole, "I'm into you" thing… if you're not ready, I completely understand." Javier told you.

You couldn't bring yourself to fathom words so you simply just pressed a kiss into his lips. "I'm into you too, Javier Peña." you whispered and felt Javier grin into the kiss, his hands twisting into your hair as he pulled you deeper into him.

Permanent taglist (let me know if you would like to be added!): @supernaturalgirl @phoenixhalliwell @ah-callie @luvzoria @stardust-galaxies @wickedfrsgrl @goth-topic

#Javier peña #javier pena x reader #javier pena smut #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal smut #javi peña #javi pena x reader #narcos #request

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spiltscribbles · 3 years ago

Note

Miss you and your marvelous writing!!!! Just a prompt if you’re up to it 😊 exes wolfstar staying friends but sirius gets into a new relationship and he brings his new boo to somewhere he took remus and remus gets sad 😭 but they get back together eventually

Notes: OMFG BABEY! this is so SO beyond precious of you! i adore you to bits! thank you for the sweetness and for this scrumptious angst🥺🥺 i really hope you like it😭😘😘💜

SEND ME A PROMPT | A Reblog means SO SO much! I ADORE YOU💜💜

“He can just be so… So” James pauses right then, takes off his cap with the hand that’s still clutching his baseball bat, and ruffles his hair with the other.

“Un-opinionated,” Remus offers half heartedly as they turn the block to the small coffee shop nearest school, both of them freshly showered after the required morning workouts for Tuesday and Thursdays. It’s the first semester in which Remus has actually joined in on the seven minute track, considering the fact that even despite their crazy contradictory schedules with all the sports and extra curriculars they each had, Sirius always made it a point to buy their ice coffees and drop it off to Remus, sometimes leaving them a quarter of an hour late for first period, or as just a quick drop and dash if one of them had an exam.

It was sweet, considerate. It was Sirius showing how much he cared because he’s never been one for words, even if he would frequently print off the little texts Remus would send him about how Sirius made him feel, and hang it up on the wall besides his bed, along with photos of them and Remus by himself and a few of their other friends too.

But yeah… None of that is really a thing anymore, not the coffees or the texts or the promises of being one another’s always. Not after calling it quits in early January because they knew by August they’d be working with thousands of miles between them and a three hour difference on top of that. It just wouldn’t have been feasible in the long run, and sure— Remus was the one to broach the topic and he knows that Sirius was hesitant about the logical side of it, but sometimes Remus wishes Sirius had fought harder, had argued louder, had wanted Remus more. But that’s a ridiculous expectation, and he had only admitted as much to Lily. And at the end of the day, it was the right choice, because it’s only early May now, and Remus can’t imagine how sick he’ll feel once catching his flight to Berkeley, and they’re steadfastly back in the best friends category of things. He can’t fathom how it would’ve been if they spent all these months and the ones after being together in all those intimate ways, knowing that they’ll be so far apart soon enough.

It was the right decision for the both of them and their friendship.

“Yeah, sure. Let’s go with that,” James says, bringing Remus out of his gloomy contemplations while opening the glass door to Three Broomsticks, sporting a thin smile that he always has on when he’s trying to be kind even when he’s irritated as all get out.

Remus snorts at him, elbow checking his side as he walks past. “Well he’s sharing that dorm with you and Sirius in New Haven, so I guess you’ve got that to look forwards to.”

James’s face pulls into a grimace and their typical barista nods their way, already receiving their orders through the app and sparing them having to wait in the queue. “Maybe Pete’ll grow his own personality in university, yeah?”

“Sure Prongsie,” Remus says, noncommittal as he checks his phone and lies against the windowpane, already exhausted by the morning. “And if he doesn’t, I’m sure Sirius is about to blow his lid any day now.”

“It’s going to be funny as fuck, and you won’t even be there to see the debris,” James counters, sounding pleasant enough even though Remus knows that he’s nearly as pissed off as Sirius is about the decision for him to go back to his home state for undergrad.

“You’ll send pictures though.”

“Of course Moony my old friend,” James jokes, tossing him a wink as they straighten once spotting their coffees being rung up. But as Remus takes a step forwards, he notices that a familiarly tan pair of hands are reaching for them, and when Remus looks up he feels like an idiot for not noticing him sooner. Because there Sirius is, dashing as ever in their school’s maroon blazer and tan pants, and his hair is windblown and shining as it falls midway of the nape of his neck. But Remus doesn’t really have the chance to appreciate just how damn good looking his ex-boyfriend is, rather, he’s more distracted by how Sirius doesn’t even notice him or James as he pivots around and hands over the second cup to a beaming Gideon Prewett. Their heads incline while they exchange a few words that are absolutely impossible to pick up in the crowded cafe before they bump their shoulders together and walk out the opposite door.

And it feels like nothing else watching that exchange— like their was a hammer and pick chipping away at his stupid, weeping heart.

“I think they’re just doing a project together,” James says lowly in Remus’s ear, clapping him on the back in reassurance, and Remus loves him, but he’s not in the mood for false platitudes, feels like there is a ugly, burning fire festering deep in his stomach and making Remus want to hurl all over the wooden floors.

“Yeah, I’m sure,” he replies instead, mild as he discretely picks up his phone again and opens up to the last conversation he had this morning.

R: need intel

L: Say more sexy things to me, lover

R: sirius and Gideon

R: what’s going on there

L: I’ll take a look, dw

Buoyed by Lily’s scary levels of detective skills, Remus returns his phone to his satchel and signals James to follow him to pick up their actual drinks. “C’mon, Flitwick hates it when we’re late.”

“Do you want the good news first, or the bad.” Lily asks Remus later that morning during their shared free period, dropping her bag on the tabletop that they typically commandeer towards the back of Hogwarts’s library, nearest the windows and tucked away by the shelves.

“Is there actually any good news? Or are you just saying that to make me feel better.” Remus asks, single brow cocked as he shuts his history book and tosses it to the side.

“Well your hair looks especially nice today,” she offers with a small smile, sitting besides him and ruffling his curls.

“Thanks, I suppose. But I’d rather just get to it. And don’t sigh at me like that! All long suffering and all.”

Rolling her eyes, Lily gathers her hair into a high pony before turning to Remus fully. “You’re my best friend, I love you more than just about anyone. You know that, right?” Lily asks him, stiff stance relaxing when he nods in turn. “Then understand that I’m saying this from a place of love, but you don’t get to be mad at him, okay. You’re the one who called it off Re, you’re the one who wanted you guys to go back to being friends to avoid that messiness in August. And you know I respect the decision, but also it wasn’t the only one to be had. I mean look at James and I—“

“You’re going to Columbia Lils,” Remus bristles, hates how defensive he’s getting all of a sudden. “That train ride is like two hours and some change at the very most. It’s not the same.”

“You guys could’ve made it work,” she insists, green eyes blazing in the dim light. “He’s crazy about you, and you’re in love with him— Like ass backwards in love. You can’t just cut that off like it’s nothing, damn it, Remus.”

He can feel his own ears reddening and Remus hates it, hates how today had started off so innocuous and now it’s an absolute shit show. Remus hates that Lily is always correct about everything, and hates how Sirius probably is regretting telling Remus he still fully intends to ask him out to prom, and hates how much he loves him— how whenever he looks at Sirius it’s just a deluge of wanting and adoring and regretting and needing to feel his lips against Sirius’s own again like a drug, how he’ll never forget how he tasted like coffee beans and cigarette smoke and the strawberries he ate every morning besides his breakfast. Remus hates it all and he can’t figure out how not to feel like suddenly everything is slipping out of his hands like sand drifting through his fingers.

“He’s probably not that crazy over me anymore considering he’s getting Gideon Prewett coffees now, so maybe it’s the right decision after all.” Is what Remus decides to tell Lily instead of that whirlwind of clashing feelings.

“Oh Christ,” Lily huffs, dropping her head back like she’s asking for strength from the heavens above. “Look, Dorcas tells me that they’ve only been out twice. And Marlene says that it’s nothing intense. Just a movie and then he went to go watch his nephew’s little league game.”

“Oh,” Remus intones, because, no. No he will not start crying like this is some fucking Nicholas Sparks novel, and he’s the wayward lead making all the worst decisions. He’s not going to cry damn it!

He is not a bird, and this is suppose to be happening, and none of this has any real consequence at the end of the day. He and Sirius broke up, and Sirius can go out with whoever he pleases— even if it’s good looking, ginger athletes.

Remus is fine.

“Remus,” Lily gently consoles, lacing her fingers into his own that’s resting on his lap, and squeezing for good measure. “Benjy told Mary, who told me during Calc that Gideon doesn’t expect anything. Sirius told him he’s not looking for anything long term.”

“That’s dumb,” Remus retorts, trying to hold everything in so that Lily doesn’t give him that concerned, doe eyed face of hers, like when he’s spent a week living off of protein bars and double shot espressos preparing for finals. “Gideon’s great, and there on the soccer team together, they would be perfect.”

“Remus, stop.”

“And he’s going to Dartmouth, so he’ll be super close for like weekend excursions and all of that.”

“Remus!”

“The more I think about it, Lils, the more it makes sense. They just fit.”

“Sure, those are all nice attributes,” Lily says, peering up at him disappointedly. “But he’s not you.”

Like a legion of angels singing in the distance, the bell begins to shrill for next period and Remus is spared from giving that statement any mind.

He spends the rest of the week acting as if he hadn’t even seen Sirius that morning whenever around him, and internally analyzing each and every exchange between them, and comparing to them to when he sees Sirius chatting with Gideon. And it’s not fun to say the least. It’s like a flashback to when he was trying to hide his crush on Sirius back in Freshman and most of sophomore year, but somehow worse. It’s worse because Remus had him, had Sirius in all the ways someone could ever want an other. He had Sirius’s languid morning kisses, and Sirius’s bark like laughter. Remus had Sirius being nervous the first time Lyall came for his typical Christmas visit, and Sirius had to try and impress him along with Remus’s mom as more than just the friend he hung around with at school. Remus had Sirius’s gruff voice when they were in bed and getting tangled into one another, and Sirius’s dopey looks in the middle of class when he’d be gazing over at Remus instead of the board. And if Remus is being honest, he knows he still has all those things, but it’s suddenly and searingly clear that some time— sooner rather than later— they’ll all leave, abruptly disappearing and shattering Remus’s world in their wake. Because eventually all of those different facets of Sirius’s won’t be Remus’s anymore— they’ll be Gideon’s or some other boy he meets in New Haven. And Remus can’t even be upset at it, he doesn’t have a claim to any of Sirius anymore, doesn’t get to call any part of him his.

And it’s probably the worst Remus has felt since that first night after their break up, because he’s eating every moment he has with Sirius like he’s famished and Sirius is the last meal he’ll ever know. He wants to memorize every part of him before he can’t have any of it. He wants to unravel every layer of Sirius, and kiss it for the final time, and it’s like saying goodbye a thousand times over, strangling his heart and splintering something desperate deep inside of him.

Like now.

It’s edging on midnight, and they drove up to the lake front near their suburb, with Sirius lying with his head on Remus’s lap and his long, muscled body lying against the tattered blanket beneath them. And his eyes are fluttered shut while the speaker they brought croons out the indie playlist they like most from Spotify.

And Remus can’t help but feel like this is one of their last nights like this, alone and quiet and together without any other specter of some other partner. So he watches him, watches the moonlight pacing over his nose and the high bones of his cheeks and across Sirius’s eyelids too. Remus watches his ink like lashes kissing his skin, and wants to touch the divot of his cupids bow like so many times before while his other hand cards through Sirius’s hair.

And Remus lets himself want Sirius and wonders if he’ll ever stop wanting, craving, loving him.

“I can hear you thinking Moons,” Sirius says, fluttering his eyes open and crunching up before Remus can even respond. “What’s going on?”

“Huh? What do you mean? I’m fine.” Remus all but sputters, folding his knees against his chest and wrapping his arms around them, feeling somehow vulnerable in blistering ways. “Nothing is going on.”

“Pff,” Sirius gives him a pointed look, settles down so that they’re side by side and tries to get Remus to look at him head on. “You’ve been strange all week, Moony.”

“That’s not—“

“And then tonight, you didn’t even tease your ma when she was telling us about that patient who puked all over her shoes.”

“Just tired is all.”

“But had enough energy to smoke half the joint I brought.” Sirius says with a snort, looking frustrated again when Remus didn’t even flinch a smile at the counter. “Remus, talk to me.”

“It’s fine Sirius,” Remus sighs, suddenly remembers how exhausting all their arguments were in the past. How Sirius tries getting him to speak everything in his mind, as if Remus could even put them into words.

“Okay, then tell me why you rejected my offer to go to that Frank Ocean concert. You’re obsessed with him.”

“’S in July,” Remus reminds him lightly, focusses on the way they can see the North star glimmering against the horizon instead.

“And, so?” Sirius asks, sounding more than a bit scathing. “You’re not leaving for another month after that, you trying to cut me off completely by the summer or something?”

“Don’t be an idiot.”

“Don’t be condescending.”

“Sirius, just leave well enough alone. Holy shit.”

“I can leave it alone if you can actually tell me what the fuck is going on with you,” Sirius snaps, standing up now, probably because he always likes using his height advantage on most people whenever he gets all pissy.

“You can be such a prick sometimes, you know that?” Remus snarls at him, following suit and dipping his head back just slightly so that they’re eye to eye. “Not everything is on your schedule, you know that.”

“My schedule!” Sirius’s brows jump to his hairline, and he breaks into that manic laughter that springs up only when he’s so angry he can’t put his thoughts together. “I’m trying to do as much shit with you as possible before you leave, because for some stupid fucking reason I’m going to miss you when your across the fucking country! But yeah, whatever. If you’re actually just sick of me and my presence or what the fuck else, you can just—“

“I would’ve assumed you wanted to go with Gideon,” Remus blurts out, simply unable to hold it back any more, unable to pretend like he’s not suffering a thousand fresh paper cuts every time he even glances Sirius’s way these days. He can’t do this, can’t pretend to just be friends when they were— when they are— so much more than that. “To the concert I mean. I just assumed—“

“No,” Sirius says, seething as he storms up to Remus— close enough that the tips of their noses brush up against each other.

“No? Excuse me?”

“No Remus you don’t get to do this!” Sirius repeats, voice going frayed at the edges as their glances level. “You don’t get to pretend as if I want anyone more than I want— than I’ve always wanted you. And you don’t get to float around for the rest of your life pretending as if this’ll ever change for me. As if you can’t hit me up in fifteen years when I’m married with kids, and ask to get back together, and think that I wouldn’t drop it all for you.”

Remus’s heart begins to thud, loud and painful against his ribcage, and his lungs feel like they might collapse the instant Remus let’s the tears swimming in his eyes sprinkle out. “Sirius, I ca—“

“I’ve been in love with you since before we were suppose to mean what that meant, damn it, Remus! And you’re the one who called it off!”

“It was the right decision.” Remus croaks out, plunging his hands into his hoodie’s pockets, doesn’t want Sirius to see the way they’re shaking.

“”For you. The right decision for you.” Sirius presses, his gray eyes dark underneath the stars. “And you know I’d do anything you wanted of me, but you don’t get to be mad at the ways I cope. And you sure as fuck don’t get to be jealous of fucking Gideon Prewett, as if he can hold a match to you.”

“Oh.” Is all Remus can gather to say, peering back down at his shoes and pressing together his lips, feels the most lost he ever has while around Sirius. “I love you too, you know that. You know I love you so much that it hurts sometimes— That was never the problem.”

Sirius makes a strangled sound deep in his throat, and the next second, Remus can’t feel the warmth of his body besides him because Sirius is darting over to the cusp of the lake and kicking at a rock. “Fuck, Remus. You can’t just say that, all right! You can’t because none of this is fair, or okay. And I fucking hate it and I hate this and—“

“Maybe we can try,” Remus says, quiet but unshaken. And he watches as Sirius slowly turns back around, face scrunched up in utter confusion, but eyes glittering with something like hope. “I love you Sirius, and you love me. And Lily’s right, fucking hell she’s so right. I can’t just turn it off, okay. I’ve tried and I’ve tried, but I can’t. I can’t be around you and not want every part of you. But I also can’t let myself stay away from you. So let’s try, and it’s probably a stupid difficult decision, and we’re going to be frustrated and we’re going to miss one another but I know there’s going to be no one I want more and I think you migh— Oof.”

Remus can’t continue rattling off any of the reasons why they should get back together, because Sirius is somehow magically popping up in front of him— his large hands cupping against Remus’s jawline and his thin lips crashing against him, and Remus can only wrap his arms around Sirius’s torso and give him back all he’s pushing forwards.

And it might’ve been a minute or an hour that past, but Sirius is pulling back with a face that looks lighter in ways Remus hasn’t seen on him since the breakup all those months ago. “I’d literally agree to anything if it means we can stay together, Moony. Absolutely anything.”

Remus feels the strain against the apples of his cheeks as he beams at him at the sound of the oath. “Yeah, me too Padfoot. Always and forever, it’s you.”

My Other Wolfstar FIC💜

#WOLFSTAR #REMUS LUPIN #SIRIUS BLACK #SIRIUSXREMUS #REMUSXSIRIUS #WOLFSTAR ANGST #WOLFSTAR FLUFF #THE HARRY POTTER SERIES #HARRY POTTER SERIES #MARAUDERS #SPILT INK #I AM A MESS #I HATE ME LMFAO

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ragingbookdragon · 3 years ago

Text

These Words You Should Always Remember: To You, My Heart I Surrender

Batsis x Ghost-Maker One-Shot

Word Count: 4.6 Warnings: Explicit Language, Violence, Angst

Author's Note: This wasn't supposed to be 4K words y'all. I swear. But y'all better love me for it. Enjoy! -Thorne

**********************************************************************

There were the occasional sounds of fists meeting faces and shins hitting sides echoing in her ears, but she paid them no mind, eyes trained on the screen before her. She was content to let her brother and oldest friend beat the ever-living shit out of each other if it meant they’d eventually put their feelings aside and make up. Of course, it was a long-shot pipe dream and one not so easily reached—she could hope though.

Over the sound of the continual fighting came footsteps, followed by, “Aunt (Y/N). How’s it hangin’?”

Glancing over her shoulder, she smiled at her second nephew. “Jason,” she greeted warmly, and he bent down beside her, letting her press a kiss to his temple. “What are you doing here so late? I thought you and Roy were going to Panama City tomorrow? Shouldn’t you be in bed?”

He shrugged. “Plane leaves in the morning. Figured I’d hang around here for the night to say a couple ‘see you laters’.” Jason’s eyes followed the screen. “Is that the human trafficking ring out of Saint Petersburg?”

“Yeah,” (Y/N) answered, turning to click at the mouse. “Some lawyers from the courts around here got caught in a hotel room with a few of the girls.”

Someone new appeared in her peripheral, two people actually, Tim and Dick. “Didn’t they arrest everybody in the hotel room?” Tim asked, propping his chin on her shoulder.

She reached up and scratched his scalp the way he liked. “They did. The girls were sent to a secure facility for treatment and the lawyers have unsurprisingly lawyered up. None of them are talking.” (Y/N) clicked on the screen, opening a tab that led to an interrogation room. “Gordon’s not having any luck. Whoever’s running this operation is obviously terrifying enough that none of these guys are cracking. Even with the threat of getting sent to prison for life.”

“Want some help?” Dick offered and she shook her head.

“Nah. We adults have it.” (Y/N) looked at them and smiled. “You guys go do what young people do. Hang out with your friends, drink, party, be young.”

“I feel like you’re saying that to the wrong trio,” Tim said. “None of us drink except Jason and even then, none of us party.”

She shook her head again, this time in shame. “God, you people need to live.”

Jason happened to glance over her head, and he frowned. “Speaking of needing to live…you might wanna stop Bruce and GM from killing one another.”

(Y/N) turned in the direction of her friend and brother and sighed. “Am I a terrible person for considering letting them punch each other unconscious?”

“Nope!” came unified response and she chuckled, rising from her seat.

“Thought so,” she said, walking over to where Bruce and Ghost-Maker were about to go at it again.

She stepped in between them, gracefully dodging a throw punch and a kicked-out leg, shoving both of them back in return. “Hey, enough.”

“Move.” Bruce commanded and she glared at him.

“I said, enough.” Her head turned to Ghost-Maker. “We all know this little sparring match has gone a bit farther than just training.”

“No one’s getting hurt, (Y/N).” Ghost-Maker said, and she narrowed her eyes.

“Maybe not right now, but someone will get hurt and we don’t need that.” She pointed to the opposite ends of the room. “Separate and cool off. Both of you.”

Seeing that she wasn’t going to budge, Bruce let out a puff of air and turned, striding into the showers, leaving her and the other man on the mats. (Y/N) sighed quietly, rubbing her temples, and griped, “I swear you both make it so difficult to be around.”

“Only because he lets his emotions get in the way.”

(Y/N) looked up at him, watching as he wiped the sweat from his face. She caught his hand. “You busted your knuckles.”

“I’ll be fine.” He started to pull away and she tightened her grip.

“Don’t even start with me, Ghost.” She tugged him to the med bay and shoved him towards a seat. “Sit.” He obeyed, though she could tell he was probably making a face at her, and she busied herself with finding the antiseptic and some wraps.

Turning back around, she perched herself on the desk and placed his hand in her lap, gently wiping the blood and dirt away from the wounds; then she set the rag aside and wrapped his knuckles with the fresh gauze, carefully, as if he were made of glass.

When she was finished, she couldn’t help but do the childish thing she’d come up with all those years ago during their training; (Y/N) softly rubbed her thumbs over his knuckles, blowing quietly, then she murmured, “There. All healed.”

A rare smile came over his lips, though she could tell it was more of a sneer than one. “You’re still doing that?”

(Y/N) huffed a laugh and shoved his hand off her legs. “Yes. How do you think I managed to heal all the wounds me and the family have gotten over the years?”

“Hmm, stitches and alcohol.”

“Smart-ass,” she grunted, rising to her feet. “You hungry?”

Ghost-Maker stood from his seat. “No. I have to get back to The Haunt.”

“Hot date waiting?” (Y/N) cracked, elbowing him in the side and he snorted.

“No. I need to read up on the information Icon’s run through since I’ve been gone.”

She crossed her arms over her chest, gazing at him. “You know I’m doing that right now with our scans, right?”

“Of course, I do. But you’re not Icon.”

(Y/N) rolled her eyes. “Great, I’ve been beaten by an AI.”

“An AI that I designed.” Ghost-Maker added, and she glared at him for a moment before chuckling.

“With fear, so I’ve heard.”

He shrugged. “I figured I would give him the one thing I lack.” He looked over at her. “Do you want to come with me?”

She wanted to, but she sighed heavily. “I can’t.” her eyes found the shower room door. “Someone needs to stay behind and talk to him.”

“I’m not surprised you’re staying.”

It was all he said before he disappeared from her sight and (Y/N) bit the inside of her cheek as something aching tugged deep in her chest. She hated how easy it was for her to understand when Ghost-Maker was disappointed in her decisions. How easy it was for him to impact her feelings. It’d been almost two decades since they actually held real conversations and every memory of the time they’d spent together, her, him, and her brother came back to her. Every moment of watching the two boys go head-to-head, and her torn between her family and the man she loved—it’d always been that way…and sometimes she wished she were like Ghost-Maker, unfeeling of love and empathy.

She shook herself from her stupor and walked into the locker room, leaning against the wall of the closed shower door; she could see his feet beneath the door. “Why do you always let yourself get so angry when it comes to Ghost?”

“You know why.” Bruce retorted. “You know how he is.”

“And I know how you are,” (Y/N) countered. “Yet you refuse to admit that on some level he’s got good points.”

He stuck his hand out from the opening of the door. “Towel.” She waited. “Please.”

Handing it over, she said, “You and I both know the longer we do this the darker it gets…the darker we get.”

“I’m not killing people, (Y/N).” Bruce griped as he stepped out of the shower, the towel around his waist. He’d busted his eyebrow and lip.

“I’m not saying you have to, Bruce. I wouldn’t expect you to. All I’m saying is you won’t admit that Ghost is right about things.”

“About what!” He shouted, turning on her. “That I should just start slitting throats up and down the street! That I should give up what we started as children! What (Y/N)!”

She merely stared at him amidst his yelling and then she calmly stated, “That you can’t save everyone.” He didn’t react, just looked at her as she explained, “You are so hellbent on the idea that everyone can have a moral redemption arc, but the truth is that not everyone has one nor does everyone deserve one.”

(Y/N) shook her head. “Sometimes I think Ghost was right. Trying to save everyone? Giving up every part of myself to make sure everyone lives? He was right. It eats until there’s nothing left inside you.”

“So what? You’re going to stop saving people?”

“Don’t be an idiot, Bruce.” She gave him a sharp look and said, “I’m going to stop saving the people who don’t deserve saving. And if that means I let someone bad die? I can live with that.” Walking off, she ignored him as he called out for her to stop, leaving him alone.

***

The little hovering tray floated into her peripheral and she blinked, turning to look at it. “Good evening, Miss Wayne. Refreshments?”

She smiled, plucking a champagne glass off along with a few grapes and cheese slices. “Thanks Icon.”

“You’re welcome.” The tray wandered off and she walked over to where he was sitting down, silently reading through the reports.

“Find anything interesting?” she asked, popping a grape in her mouth as she nudged his elbow off the armrest to perch on it herself. His arm unconsciously rested around her waist, fingers brushing the side of her pants.

“Leonidovich is having a party tonight.”

(Y/N) hummed, watching as he clicked through the pictures of the party’s setup. “Big place. Open. Good for plain clothed security to get around in.” she narrowed her gaze. “This is the ball room of the Winter Nebula Hotel. Who’s renting out the penthouse?”

Ghost-Maker smirked. “Our host for the party.”

She nodded. “Then that’s where the real party is going to be tonight.” Glancing at him, she asked. “Any big ballers on the VIP list?”

“Oh, a few internationally wanted arms and drug dealers.” He looked at the screen. “Leonidovich picked up a new shipment of girls earlier. He’s probably going to make a deal with the dealers tonight in exchange for them.”

(Y/N) nodded. “I guess it’s time to put our noses to the grind then.” She shimmied off the seat and started towards the closet. “Have any dresses back here?”

“You’re going inside?” he questioned, almost sounding surprised.

“Well, you can’t go it,” she retorted. “Your wily ways of fucking and flying means that people know your face.”

“Half of it.”

(Y/N) stuck her head out from the curtain, neck, and shoulders bare. “You’re not going to go in without your mask on. We both know that.” She pulled back in, grunting and shuffling around until she was finished.

Pulling open the curtain, she stepped out in a thigh length white heart-bodice dress, form fitting to her body and off the shoulders. (Y/N) slipped in the black metal teardrop earrings. “Part of me wants to ask why you have female clothing in your closet, but the other part wants to ask why on God’s green earth do you have to buy everything in white.”

Her face pinched. “It’s sterile. At least paint some gray in here somewhere, Jesus.” Ghost-Maker merely chuckled at her complaints and stepped behind her, gently placing something around her neck. “What are you—”

He let the black necklace fall to her chest and gently grabbed her chin, the other plucking a small device from the tray that Icon had next to them. Maneuvering her head to the side, he reached up and stuck it behind her ear, snug and out of sight. “Your hair should cover it,” he said.

“What is ‘it’?” (Y/N) asked.

“Listening device.” Ghost-Maker nodded to the screen, and she looked over, seeing a black box on the screen with a marker that was ticking. He raised his fingers to her ear and snapped; the blue marker etched with the sound, and she couldn’t help but feel impressed.

“Nicely designed, Ghost.” She remarked, glancing back at him. “Get my invitation?”

“It’s printing.” He met her eyes. “You need to be careful.”

(Y/N) knew he was being serious, but she couldn’t help but mess with him a bit. She smirked. “Why, Ghost, are you worried that I can’t handle a bunch of international criminals by myself? Me? That mighty Widow-Maker?”

“I’m not worried about you.” He said, and it hurt a lot more than she expected it too. “But I’d be down a sparring partner if you got yourself killed.”

She blinked at him. “I’m not sure what’s more upsetting—that you only think of me as a sparring partner or that you legitimately think I can’t do this by myself.” (Y/N) tipped her head. “Ghost, I’ve got this.” He opened his mouth to say something, but she turned away, walking to the door. “Where will you be tonight?”

He watched her back. “I’ll be doing what I do best. Surveying until you get into the penthouse.”

“You can’t bust in until I get enough on Leonidovich to have him arrested.”

“I’m not going to arrest him, (Y/N).” She turned, staring at him, but she said nothing, and he cocked a brow. “You’re not going to stop me?”

Her gaze fell to the tile floor, and she shrugged. “I don’t think I can, even if I tried to.” She let out a breath and turned. “Good luck tonight.”

***

To a novice, the party would’ve just been a normal high-class function, but to her knowing eyes, both from her own billionaire life and her vigilantism, this party was crawling with criminals. She’d caught at least seven drug deals go down in the past five minutes since she walked in, and at least nine men went off with escorts.

She inconspicuously grabbed a champagne chute from a waiter’s tray and sipped it lightly, scanning the room for Leonidovich. He was in the corner of the room, sitting next to a few women who (Y/N) recognized from the missing persons in Gotham.

His eyes flashed to hers and she gave him a flirty wink, disappearing to the bar, knowing he was going to take the bait. Sure enough, a hand touched the small of her back and she hummed as his lips brushed her ear. “I wasn’t expecting a goddess like you to come to this party tonight.”

She smiled and leaned back into his chest. “This goddess goes where she pleases.” Tipping her head slightly, she caught his eye. “And where her boss will find the best deals.”

“Deals, hmm?” he hummed. “What kind of deals are you expecting?”

(Y/N) smiled. “Oh, the ones where lots of money is involved…and merchandise.”

He gazed at her for a few moments then murmured in her ear, “The code word for entrance to the penthouse is ‘подземный мир’.”

“I’ll remember.” Leonidovich pulled from her with a smile and disappeared into the crowd. Something made her want to shiver from disgust, but she concealed it, watching and waiting for him to enter the elevator.

When he did, she waited another few minutes before walking over to it; the security stopped her and she cocked a brow, muttering, “подземный мир.”

The two guards looked at each other then stepped aside, letting her into the elevator. Another guard was inside, and she smiled politely as she stepped in, glancing at the little panel as it blinked.

It dinged, signaling their arrival and when the doors opened, she was greeted by an extravagant penthouse. To her surprise, there weren’t many people inside, just Leonidovich and his personal entourage.

“Ah, you’ve come,” he greeted, holding out a hand.

She took it, letting him place a kiss to her knuckles. “I told you, this goddess goes where she pleases and where she’s needed.” Looking around, she murmured, “My boss would prefer our business done alone. Is that possible?”

The guards seemed to turn even frostier but Leonidovich merely chuckled, nodding his head as he let her go and gestured to a side door. “The office is just through those doors. We can draw up a contract.” He turned to his thugs. “Wait here.”

(Y/N) nodded, following him as he led her into the office, noting how he locked the door, and he motioned to a chair in front of the desk. “Please, sit.”

Taking her seat, she crossed a leg over her knee. “You wouldn’t happen to have something to drink, would you?”

“What can I offer you?”

“Vodka.”

He chuckled. “Ah, a woman after my own heart.” He waltzed over to the bar and poured them both glasses, walking back to hand her hers. “Here you are.”

(Y/N) took it and clinked her glass to his. “ваше здоровье.”

They both downed their glasses and for effect, she held her façade. “You speak and drink like a true daughter of Russia.”

She smiled. “I’ve had more than a few drinks with many sons of Russia.” Glancing out the window, she added, “My boss is interested in your inventory. A few of them actually.”

Leonidovich hummed, turning back to wander over to the drink counter. “Tell me about your boss.”

“He’s a multi-billionaire out of Hong-Kong. Made his fortune by building cell towers and selling opium on the side.”

“Opium is a highly sought-after drug.”

“That it is,” (Y/N) agreed. “He’s been branching out into Kolkata, wanting to get into the spice trade.” She gazed into her empty glass, staring at her reflection. “But the men over there want something in return…more than money, if you catch my drift.”

“I do.” He said, matter of factly. “Perhaps I can offer them something better.”

“And what would that be?” almost there. She thought, but she never expected—

“You.”

(Y/N) turned her head just as he swung his arm as hard as he could, the vodka bottle in his grasp. She barely even had time for her eyes to widen when it collided with her temple, shattering into a thousand shards, cutting deep into her skin.

She fell out of her seat and hit the ground, dazed and in a massive amount of pain. Reaching up, she felt the blood pouring from her head and she sucked in a shuddering breath, trying to wipe away the fluid from her eyes so she could see.

Of course, he didn’t give her time because he was pressing his knee into her back, fingers yanking the listening device from behind her ear. Leonidovich glared at it and smashed it between his fingers. “I know who you are working for. I’ve seen this tech before.”

(Y/N) rolled onto her back, throwing out her elbow, which to give her credit, she did catch him in the jaw, but he was quick to respond, punching her across the face. Blood pooled in her mouth, and she spat at him, then his hands were winding around her throat, squeezing tightly. It reminded her of the training in the Amazons where she had to learn to uncoil anacondas from her body.

His grip became tighter and tighter just like the reptiles and she bared her teeth as she tried to suck in air, digging her nails into the flesh of his hands, his wrists, anything she could scratch at. He was heavy enough that she couldn’t flip him and with the dress tight around her thighs, she couldn’t cock her legs up to his shoulders or waist to get any distance between them.

She gasped when he put his knee in her stomach and that was the last bit of air she had to hold in. Her lungs started burning, begging her for air she felt the panic starting to rise in her as she thrashed beneath him, trying to throw him just an inch, but nothing was working.

Dark spots started to ebb out from the corner of her vision and like the phrase had come alive, she saw every moment of her life flash before her eyes. Every wrong decision, every right one. Every goodbye, every hello. Every person she’d ever lost and every one she’d ever saved. Her nephews’ and nieces’ faces darted across her vision followed by Bruce’s and then his.

She didn’t want to die now. Not since he’d come back to see them after so long. She wanted to stay. Wanted to tell him she loved him, even if she knew he would never be able to feel the same. She wanted to live.

Gunshots sounded from the outside, but they were like whispers as her eyelids started to droop shut, brain fogging from the lack of oxygen. Her hands started to go slack as the door was kicked in and as her arms went limp, something damp splattered across her face and the weight of Leonidovich’s body fell away.

(Y/N) sucked in a lungful of air and rolled, with what strength she’d received from the freedom, over onto her side, coughing violently. Her head was swimming with pain and her brain felt like someone had taken a mallet to an overripe melon.

Someone gripped her shoulder and she screeched, flailing on them when they grabbed her wrists. “(Y/N). It’s me.” They pulled her against them, folding her to their chest and placed a hand to the back of her head. “You’re safe.”

Sandalwood and metal oil wafted up her nose and she heard the familiar hum of his suit. “K?” she breathed, terrified to pull away and look at him.

His thumb caressed the back of her head. “It’s me, (Y/N).”

Something broke inside her and she buried her face in his cloak, sobs wracking her body as she clung to him. Words passed her lips, and she wasn’t sure what she was saying but it didn’t matter because all she could think about was how he’d saved her in the nick of time. The man she’d turned her back on at twenty to go home with her brother, had saved her again.

***

When she awoke, she sat up straight in the bed, vaguely unaware of how she’d gotten there in the first place. She started to move when she heard, “I wouldn’t get up if I were you.”

Stilling, she looked over, seeing Ghost-Maker with a book in his hands. Sun Tzu’s The Art of War, one of his favorites. When they used to train together when they were children, they used to lie under the stars, and he’d tell her all about how each chapter in the book had been devoted to a different art of warfare; she loved how passionate he would get when he talked about it.

“What happened?” she asked, fingers twitching against her side where it had started to ache.

“You were found out and almost strangled to death in penthouse suit.” He snapped the book shut. “When the bug went down, I moved in and took care of the criminals in the suite before killing Leonidovich and saving your life.”

(Y/N) frowned as he set the book down and leaned over, checking inside the bandage that was wrapped around her head. “Thank you.” Her eyes found his behind his mask. “What happened after?”

“You don’t remember?” he inquired curiously, and she tried to shake her head, but his grip was firm, keeping her in place.

“No. I remember you saving me but everything after that is a giant blur.” Suddenly she felt too transparent and pulled from his hands, turning her back to him as she threw her legs over the side of the bed. She rested a split second and stood, though his earlier warning rang in her ears as her knees buckled beneath her, head swimming.

He was there in an instant, arms wrapped around her waist as he caught her, lowering her back onto the bed. “I told you not to move.”

(Y/N) grunted at him and when he moved to pull away, she held on, resting her head on his shoulder. “Just…wait, K.” She whispered softly. “Please, just a moment.”

Ghost-Maker didn’t move though she felt the way he tensed at the first letter of his name. “You called me ‘K’ back there too.”

“I was relieved to see you.”

“And what you said afterwards?” She fell silent. “You don’t remember, do you?”

(Y/N)’s lips pulled downwards. “I have an idea of what I said. But I doubt you’ve been oblivious to it all these years.”

“Why do you love me?” he inquired, and from the tone of his voice he was either genuinely curious or completely baffled, she was hoping for the former and not the latter.

She turned her head, ignoring the prickling of pain as her temple brushed his shoulder, and pressed her forehead into his neck. “Because you saw who I was when no one else did.” Tears started swimming in her vision, and she reached up, curling her hand in his suit jacket. “I love you because you’re you, K. Because you’re my oldest friend and the one who’s always known me.”

Ghost-Maker closed his hand around the one in his suit and fell silent for a long while and (Y/N) stayed quiet too, simply letting the tears fall from her cheeks to the skin of his collarbone, her lips quivering against his skin.

“I can’t love you the way you love me.” He finally admitted.

(Y/N) blinked the tears away, whispering, “I know.” She started to pull away from him, reaching up to wipe her eyes. “I’m sorry, K.” It was hard to look at him, but she managed it, barely. “Just…give me some time and let me work through all,” she gestured around herself, her heart, and her head. “This.”

“You’re not angry at me.” He remarked and her brows furrowed.

“Of course not. Why would I be?”

“Because I don’t feel what you do. Love.”

(Y/N) couldn’t help but laugh despite the heartache. “K, I’m not going to get angry because you don’t feel love.” She reached up and placed a hand to his cheek, her thumb brushing against the fabric he kept covering his nose and eyes. “I know that in your own way you do care. Even if it’s not love.” Her hand shifted and she ran her thumb over his lips. “I can live with that.”

Ghost-Maker slid his hand up the side of her neck, pulling her to him; he pressed his lips to hers and she closed her eyes, letting herself be lost in the bliss of the moment, if only for a moment, then she pulled away and opened her eyes, gazing at him.

She offered him a sad smile and managed to find her feet again, rising from the bed, leaving him there. “I’ll see you sometime soon, K.” she said, walking to the door.

“Do you want me to call Bruce to pick you up?”

“No. I’ll walk for a bit.” (Y/N) got to the door and stopped, pausing to look back at him. “K?”

He glanced over, meeting her gaze. “Hmm?”

“Do you know what my biggest regret is?”

“I don’t.”

(Y/N) grimaced. “It was leaving you.” Even behind his mask, she knew the surprise was in his eyes; she knew him that well. “And if I could do it all over again…I’d stay with you instead of getting on the plane that night.”

Ghost-Maker looked shocked for a moment, then it gave way to a smile. A real smile. One she hadn’t seen in years from him. “I think I would liked that.”

“Goodnight K.”

“Goodnight (Y/N). Stay safe.”

250 notes · View notes

nevertheless-moving · 4 years ago

Text

Suicidal Misunderstanding X

Star Wars Time Travel AU #27

Part I - - - - - Part II - - - - - Part III - - - - - Part IV - - - - - Part V - - - - - Part VI - - - - - Part VII - - - - - Part VIII - - - - - Part IX

“I realize this is incredibly difficult,” the Nautolan Soul Healer said calmly. “But in order for us to help Obi-Wan, we need to determine the cause of his current disconnection with reality. Based on the drug panel, and convenient surveillance, we have, to the best of our ability, ruled out temporary psychosis brought on by a drug interaction.”

Cody stiffened further, not sure how to react to anything anymore. When a brother tried to end his own life, it was usually obvious why.

Sife Aerdo continued on. “There have, of course, been cases of Jedi Seers giveing into their fears of the future, or losing their sense of reality, but every case study involving such an extreme reaction was the result a gradual degradation over the course of many years. Nevertheless, it seems clear that Obi-Wan experienced a vision, and it may have impacted his breakdown to some extent. The more we know, the more successful any attempts to convince him of reality will be.”

Bant furrowed her brow in thought, trying to replay three decades of increasingly vague discussions of nightmares.

”Considering the high profile nature of his position, we cannot rule out some kind of psychological attack, perhaps even a darksider incursion.

Anakin leaned forward intently, the inside of his skull buzzing with white noise.

"All that being said, we must be prepared to treat Obi-Wan’s self harm as the culmination of a long and quiet mental health struggle. He would not be the first in the Order to disguise such a thing with durasteel self-discipline.”

At that, Bant and Mace took a moment to release their feelings to the force, while Anakin raised his shields defensively.

Master Aerdo finally hesitated, before continuing in the same smooth tone. “I would ordinarily prefer to structure this kind of conversation quite differently- allow Obi-Wan time to share his feelings first and invite you each separately to support him in the healing process. But he’s gone from fighting sedatives and force compulsions as though the fate of the galaxy depended on it, to a self-induced coma. All while barely lucid, yet still somehow maintaining Master Class mental shielding. We need to get a better understanding of his mental landscape if we’re going to even begin the process of treatment."

It is necessary to note that everyone in that room had led, in one way or another, a somewhat miserable life. This was the main reason none of them could claim that the next five hours were the worst they had ever experienced.

“But he’s always had terrible sleeping habits.” Anakin said hoarsely.

“Yes, but I think they got worse after Qui-Gon passed,” Bant argued, not sure what point she was making.

“When I pointed out he couldn’t be getting more than three hours a night he told me that he could manage on meditation” Cody offered irritably.

“That’s technically true,” Mace confirmed. “If the Master in question is well-balanced otherwise”

“So its like his eating habits, crushing responsibilities, and repeated exposure to violence, then? Completely fine for a Jedi, in less it’s not, in which case it’s a major red flag?”

“I think it would help to establish a timeline.“

Aerdo actually dredged up old mission reports, leading to the group reluctantly contacting Ashoka for her memories of Mortis.

At her Master’s insistence, she told them everything she remembered, hazy as it was, nervously elaborating on her own memories of falling. To her confusion, Master Windu all but brushed past that, assuring her that the important thing with stepping into darkness was the choice to the return to the light. Anakin bizarrely agreed with Windu. Out loud. Unnerved by the cooperation more than anything, she put her holographic foot down and demanded to know what was going on.

Anakin took the comm-link into a separate room to speak privately.

Upon return, he informed the group (with a visibly red and puffy face) that Kit would be escorting her back from Mount Cala cleanup early, daring anyone to disagree. Windu nodded and the conversation continued on.

Together they rewatched holo-footage of Obi-Wan laughing amongst Ghost company the night before last, and debated reports from psychometric investigators who had scoured the cantina as well as Obi-Wan’s personal quarters for traces of illicit substances. Between that and another drug panel, they were finally forced to conclude that despite the timing, the alcohol at most confused Obi-Wan’s perception of a vision, or possibly simply loosened his tongue.

Bant prodded Cody to repeat every word from the holocar ride to the temple, taking furious notes. Cody was unable to stop the heat that crawled up his face.

Just when the looming horror of Obi-Wan actually preparing to intentionally die started to break over Anakin, Windu interjected.

“You don’t see what I do,” the Harun Kal said grimly. “Something galaxy-sized shattered around Obi-Wan and he didn’t break from it. The closest comparison I have is Master Yaddle’s presence when she meditated on her confinement. He’s chosen to keep going, even when, quite frankly, death would be a release. We’re missing something fundamental.”

“He said there were ‘other dark forces at work.’ Even if the fight was objectively hopeless... there’s no way he would choose to die because of it!” Anakin agreed vehemently, shaking off morbid fears.

“But he did choose to die.” Cody said quietly. And the wind went out of Anakin’s sails.

“Lets go back.”

Anakin gritted his teeth as they picked apart everything ‘unusual’ Obi-Wan had said and done leading up to his visit with Bant.

“What exactly did he...”

“So Plo Koon was able to get a read through his shields?”

“Did he have anything to eat?”

“How did that compare to...”

“When he's mentioned things in the future...did it seem good or bad to you?” Bant asked.

“Bad.” Cody and Anakin said in unison. Remembering the trip to the temple Cody spoke again, “Definitely bad.”

“Right. When we were talking he sometimes used the wrong tenses for things, people. I confronted him on not knowing ‘when’ he was after Knight Skywalker left. He told me that he knew what was real, but he was “enjoying not fully living in the moment” he also said that he intended to “wake up”

“Enjoying? That’s the exact word he used?” Cody asked incredulous.

“He did seem...mostly happy yesterday. Giddy, at points.” Anakin said, slumping in on himself.

Bant looked at her notes once more before addressing the group.

“This isn’t vision psychosis in any manner I’ve heard of before...but I think I might have a theory. He used to have intense visions when we were kids; plenty of us did sometimes, but Obi-Wan would be unable to sleep after. What terrified him more than anything was the uncertainty that he might make the wrong choice- even when the vision was about something good, or neutral. His visions gradually stopped coming around puberty. We just had a conversation about this a few months ago- how relieved he was to only have to manage flashes of precognition. If he had a random, horrifying vision of a terrible future...suicide wouldn’t be his reaction. It’s too final.”

“Even if he blamed himself for what he saw coming?” Mace asked.

“Especially if he blamed himself.” Bant said.

“What’s your theory?” Aerdo prodded.

“What if...what if he was telling the truth when he said he could separate out what was real and what was not? What if there was no distortion or blurring between now and then? What if he was just wrong about which was which?”

“That...would be a very extreme and abnormal manifestation of force-induced psychosis. He has training in distinguishing reality from visions. The continued presence of his mental shielding means that the fabric of his mind can’t be so horrifically collapsed in on itself.”

“What if the vision was actually that realistic?” Bant said, pushing back against the soul healer. “So detailed and vivid that it effectively was a reality in itself, and everything else, all of us...”

“Were just memories” Anakin finished. “It would...actually explain pretty much everything. You said he wanted to wake up and when...when I found him.” He stopped, swallowing. “When I found him, he argued with me...what if he wasn’t trying to hurt himself? If you’re right...that would mean I found him trying to get back to reality.”

“It could explain his behavior in the halls...his desperation to wake...” Sife mused “But it runs counter to every other experience I’ve had with those managing prophetic visions. Master Windu, could that explain the shatterpoints you saw?”

“I’m not certain. It would have to have been extraordinarily real to create the echos of Shattering I witnessed. I don’t know if that depth of vision has occurred before, but then again, many things are possible in the force.”

“You really think he might have been...trying to wake up from dream? By killing himself?!” Cody asked incredulous.

“If that ends up being what happened I am going to give him such shit. That is the worst way to end a vision.” Anakin replied.

“Yes. It is.” Bant said pointedly. “That’s why it’s a last resort, after every other attempt to wake fails.”

They all sat in silence, processing various implications. Cody was unnerved by another terrifying insight into force powers, as well as the idea that the General might vividly remember Cody being inexplicably mind-controlled into trying to kill him. Anakin was trying to understand what this would mean for them, and the conversations he had thought they had had. Did...any of it count, if he thought he was offering it to a hallucination?

“Alright, this is a valuable working idea, but let’s make sure to examine everything with an open mind before we draw any more conclusions. Anakin, what happened after you left the healers office?”

Obi-Wan’s critique of the practicalities of visiting a soul healer could be and was interpreted multiple ways. The incongruity of peacekeepers in war sparked a rehash of earlier discussion. More apologies. Self identifying as ‘crazy’ inspired new debate, especially in the context of the new theory.

“When I saw him enter the fountain room I assumed he had had a brutal run-in with dark force user.” Windu explained. “Based on everything we’ve gone over, I don’t understand when...but some of the more insidious sith compulsions work by taking whatever small anger or hurt you feel and magnifying them until they consume you. If Obi-Wan was already experiencing self loathing...”

Cody sucked in a breath. “Then a Sith mind suggestion would bring him to commit suicide. It...sounds like something he might do, if he was partially in control. Take the blow rather than let himself be used as a weapon against anyone else, even his worst enemy.”

“Hells, it could have been an even vaguer compulsion, driving him to attack the person he hates the most,” Bant added darkly.

Anakin buried his head in his hands, trying to hold it together. He couldn’t afford to lose control or get angry. Hells, getting angry at Obi-Wan for ‘failing him’ when in pain could be the reason Obi-Wan was currently in the healing halls. The man said he loved him unconditionally, then practically had a breakdown over how much Anakin pushed that unconditional love to the breaking point, then killed himself. How was he supposed to-

“Anakin? Are you alright to continue?” someone said.

“Yes. No. There’s more I have to tell you...I don’t know if it will help but - it was hurting Obi-Wan...I...”

“Let’s just take it one step at a time. What happened after you left Mace?”

Apparently even Cody somehow knew more about Bruck Chun than Anakin. Master Windu and Eerin told different sides of the same sad story, which spiraled back into a conversation about Obi-Wan’s inadequacy issues, which somehow devolved into a long rant about Qui-Gon Jinn that Master Windu had apparently been holding back for years.

“My apologies.” He said afterwards, clearing his throat as the group stared, taken aback. “Old grievances. Go on Anakin, what did happened after you got to the ‘secret spot.’”

“He...was skirting around whatever was bothering him...I pushed him...told him I wanted to help...he said I couldn’t...because it was me...because of what I...”

Anakin stood up suddenly, feeling the walls of the room closing in.

“I’m sorry- I’m sorry I-”

He ran out.

He turned around almost immediately, pacing in the small corridor, knowing he couldn’t leave, simply needing a minute to catch his breath.

Master Windu followed him out after a moment, not saying anything, just standing there. Watching him.

“What!” Anakin finally snapped. “What do you have to say that I don’t know already!”

“Knight Skywalker-”

“Don’t call me that! I DON’T DESERVE-”

Anakin let out a frustrated snarl, punching a wall. The crumble of stone beneath this fist briefly made him feel better, but then he remembered Obi-Wan’s heartbroken expression in the light of an underworldly glow, and the tiny, choked sound he heard when the healers moved him and Anakin just...collapsed, falling to his knees.

Master Windu sank down gracefully beside him.

“Anakin. This isn’t about attachment issues, is it.”

“Not really, no. I mean, maybe you’ll blame attachment but it’s more about...”

“Anger.”

Anakin looked up at that, trying to regain the meditative calm he had felt for a glimmering moment yesterday, right in-between making peace in the cave and everything burning to ash.

“You know that I have had my own struggles with anger. It is how and why I came to develop Vaapad.”

“Yes, but you’ve Mastered your anger. And you’ve never...never given in to hate.”

A beat passed and Windu watched some of Skywalker’s familiar breaking points flicker into view.

“You’ve done something. Something you know the Jedi won’t forgive.”

“Obi-Wan forgave me.” Anakin said, whispering. “He said that even though I couldn’t fix what I did he loved me anyway and I just needed to...to honestly regret what I did and not do it again. I told him I’d get rid of my lightsaber and I meant it and...I thought he forgave me. I was ready to go to the Council with him, come clean about everything. And then I left him alone to get dinner and when I came back...he was holding my lightsaber. My lightsaber.”

Anakin buried his face in his hands, shuddering with creeping cold.

“I’m not going to critique your and Obi-Wan’s attachment to each other right now. I’m well aware that much of the order has turned to personal ties to maintain their stability given the ongoing horrors of war. I am, for many reasons, wary of the risks this brings us, yet it is also true that risks do not automatically mean failure. I myself have mastered my emotions in a different manner than conventional wisdom councils.”

Windu spoke carefully. For all that he and Anakin had similar relationships with the force, they rarely saw eye to eye on any given subject. At a certain point, Mace had accepted that the volatile young man was determined to find the worst possible interpretation for anything he said. And Mace was not the order’s most patient diplomat.

“As for your crime, whatever it is, l will tell you this: Unless you choose to renounce the code and leave our number, you will be treated as a Jedi Knight, subject to our protections, as well as our judgement. You will receive appropriate mental counseling. If you are judged to be a danger to those around you, your actions will be curtailed and monitored, possibly through temporary confinement. The Jedi do not believe in punitive measures for their own sake, but you may be required to provide restitution to those you harmed, perhaps indefinitely.

Silence hung perilously between them. Windu watched a tremor run through the unfathomable kaleidoscopic of shatterpoints that had orbited Skywalker since he was a boy. A small one broke inward, and an attached tangle of larger, darker ones fell away, crumbling to dust. The rest faded from view, invisible for the moment. A choice had been made, some decision that closed off at least one path to the darkside.

“There’s no one to make restitutions to.”

“...You’re going to have to elaborate on that.”

“Let’s go back inside- I don’t want to do this twice.”

They returned to the increasingly hated meeting room.

Anakin spoke in an outpouring of words about love and hate, about misplaced revenge and now uncertain forgiveness. When he finally finished, the room was deathly silent.

The three Jedi sat quietly while Cody pinched the bridge of his nose. “I guess this is why Jedi have the no attachment rule, huh? I admit I never really got it, but I suppose even if I-”

Bant abruptly lunged up, fumbling to bring her lightsaber to Anakin’s neck. Everyone jumped to their feet, except for Anakin, who stared at Bant with a wretched expression.

“MASTER EERIN! This is not-”

“Did you do it?” she asked, ignoring the Master of the Order.

“Bant!”

“It was my first thought after I saw him. We all rushed in expecting a fight, or a bomb, only to find you, insane, and him with a hole next to his heart. I didn’t want to believe it of course, but you’ve always had a violent streak that Obi-Wan, force help him, couldn’t quite soothe away. A fight gone wrong. Master Windu said it was suicide, and I believed him, and I’ve been trying to make sense of that ever since. But Mace found you after, didn’t he? After you felt guilty? Did you think he was going to turn on you?”

“Bant Eerin, you are dangerously-”

“No.” Anakin whispered.

“Obviously I might be why. But I didn’t- I couldn’t. I know I’m not good but I can’t even imagine- holding a saber against him like that. Kriff, do you not get how much I can’t handle losing people I love? I was insane when you saw me because I saw someone trying to kill Obi-Wan and I couldn’t even fight them.”

Bant held his gaze for several lingering seconds, deactivated her saber and dropping it with a clatter. They stared at each other, breathing heavily and not blinking. She returned to her seat, moving jerkily. “I apologize Knight Skywalker. That was uncalled for.”

“I wish I could say I wouldn’t have done the same thing in your shoes” he responded lowly. Bant made a tiny, unintelligible noise in reply.

Cody collapsed back into his chair, holstering his blaster. “Alright then...so after you finished sitting in the fountain room...what happened next?”

Everyone stared at him.

“What?”

“You’re handling Anakin’s confession somewhat dispassionately. We’re simply surprised.” Mace said slowly, returning to his seat at the same time as Master Aerdo fell into theirs.

Cody shifted uncomfortably. “The vod were trained in a wide range of enemy suppression tactics. While we’re extremely glad the Jedi have never asked us to employ them, I’m not...unfamiliar with this scale of deliberate slaughter. At least in the hypothetical, sir.”

“I see.” Aerdo said. “That is a valuable insight to have, thank you. Knight Skywalker-”

“Just...call me Anakin. Or Skywalker.”

“Anakin. When did this happen?”

“About two years ago, immediately before the First Battle of Geonosis.”

“And have you had any similar experiences with giving into the darkside since?” they asked placidly.

“I don’t think so but...we went to war the next day and....I don’t know if I’ve stopped fighting since it- since I did what I did.”

“Hmm. Anakin, would you mind stepping outside the room and waiting in the corridor for a moment please?”

He bit his tongue, tasting blood, and quietly walked out the door while the Masters decided his fate. He leaned back against a wall, desperately wanting to see Padme.

To his surprise, the door opened barely a few minutes later, and he was politely invited back in.

“Anakin.” Master Windu spoke. “Thank you for telling us this. It’s an important insight into Obi-Wan’s feelings right now, and I recognize that you could have kept it a secret. As Head of the Order, and with the advice of a Senior Soul Healer, I have made a decision. You will be assigned a personal soul healer, who you will start seeing tomorrow. Commander Cody pointed out that over nearly two years of continuous warfare, you have maintained some of the the lowest trooper casualty units of any division, by a significant margin if we evaluate based on mission risk level. Your civilian and enemy casualties will be reviewed, but even considering constant war, since your massacre of the Tuskens, you have clearly managed to at least... direct your violence away from the innocent. We do not consider you a threat to the inhabitants of the world. For the time being, I see no real benefit to limiting or tracking your behavior within the temple or on planet, but you are barred from leaving orbit. I have decided to delay a full reckoning before the council until such time that your former Master is well enough to provide his own opinion. Give me just cause, and I will have you confined to a force-suppressing cell. Do you understand?”

Anakin nodded, bowing in acknowledgment. All things considered, it was...honestly better than he expected.

“Now, as Cody” Windu paused. “My apologies, as the Commander was saying-”

“Cody’s fine, sir” Cody said, wrung out in a way different from anything Kamino had trained him for.

“...I think we can all consider ourselves on a first name basis at this point.” Bant said with a snort. She paused. “That includes you Anakin. I really don’t know how to handle what you did but kark it, I don’t want to hate you. For myself.”

Everyone nodded.

“As Cody was saying, what happened next?”

Peace. Comfort. Hunger. A warning in the force...

“I tried to pull the saber back but his finger was already on the igniter...”

“You probably saved his life. Even a second later-”

“I know, that’s almost the worst part.”

“-his neck”

“Why would he change weapons?”

“What if-”

“He said what to you and Healer Che?”

“That has to support the detailed vision idea, think about-”

“I’m sorry, Emperor?”

“I think we’re done.”

Anakin stared blankly at Sife. “But we didn’t figure anything out.”

“Not conclusively, but we’re unlikely to make any more progress, you’ve given me enough information to preform a meaningful meditative scan, or guide a conversation, should Obi-Wan wake, or navigate through his mind, should we decide to make a more decisive attempt at his shields.”

“Master Aerdo... I leave the final judgement up to you, but I strongly urge you to make a more decisive attempt. I am more convinced now than I was...” Mace glanced at the chronometer “five hours ago that this was motivated by a specific, external stimuli, likely dark. Do you disagree?”

“No.” they said with a sigh. “But I don’t want to underestimate how much underlying factors might have contributed to his response to stimuli, including underlying factors that none of you were aware of.”

The Nautolan Soul Healer stood up, tucking their hands into their sleeves to address the room with classical Jedi serenity. It was a little irritating.

“In any case, we all need to sleep, eat, and meditate. Master Eerin, you have the rest of the day off, I've cleared it with Master Che already. Master Windu, I leave the final judgement up to you, and I am aware that your duties as Master of the Order are unceasing, but I urge you to take some time to center yourself before returning to the council. Commander Cody, I would be more than willing to arrange soul healing for you or any of the Vod, please let me know. Anakin, you will receive a comm later today with further details on your future healing sessions.

They bowed low, then glided out the door.

Bant stood next, bowed individually to each soul, and sped walked out.

Commander Cody cleared his throat awkwardly, “Mace- what should I tell the troops? We’re supposed to have command briefings later tonight.”

“If anyone asks about General Kenobi, tell them its classified.” I’ll schedule a briefing on the subject. Now go find Captain Rex and take care of yourself, that’s an order.”

Cody saluted, first to the high General, then to Anakin.

Finally it was just Mace and Anakin.

“Is there anyone who you trust who I can call to stay with you.” Master Windu asked.

“I can manage on my own” Anakin replied, not willing to give the Master of the Order anything else he could use against him, even after everything.

Master Windu held back a sigh.

He continued once more, making a deliberate attempt to soften his tone. “Anakin- I know we’ve had our differences, but this is not a trick, nor a trap. You’ve suffered a series of great shocks in the last 24 hours and handled them with immense maturity. I myself am struggling to deal with the emotional fallout.”

Anakin looked up at that, surprised. He didn’t seem to be struggling, but maybe that was what made him a good Jedi Master...

“As I told you before, I am not going to begrudge you the comfort of attachment. I’m rather convinced it would do you more harm than good at this point. I don’t want you flying right now, and you don’t have to be alone. I hope we have come to a better understanding today, but I doubt my presence is suddenly a comfort, though please correct me if I’m wrong. Now is there someone I can call?”

Padme ended her call with Master Windu extremely discomfited. She had barely heard from Anakin since he ran out on her the night before last to take care of an apparently extremely drunk Obi-Wan. He had messaged her a few times that night, promising to make it up to her, but had been comm-silent since. She had been starting to get worried, and now the Master of the Order was asking her to pick him up from the temple. Fortunately, she had already cleared most of her meetings for the week well in advance (Courascant leave usually meant THEM time, not that she was jealous of Obi-Wan, of course).

The speeder ride back from the temple was silent. All Anakin would say was that he would explain everything once they were in ‘a secure location.’

The door to the apartment had scarcely closed behind them when Anakin fell into her arms, shaking.

“Anakin, talk to me love, what’s wrong?” She gently guided him to the couch, arranging him so she could hold him protectively.

“Obi-Wan tried to kill himself.”

She let out a harsh gasp, “No! He can’t have, he would never-”

“I got to him in time, but Padme... he was holding a lightsaber to his heart. It was...really close” He burrowed deeper into the folds of her dress, and she gripped him fiercely.

“Oh gods, is he-”

“He’s physically healing, but he’s still...not all there. I spent all of today locked in a room, trying to figure out if it was a Sith Attack, or an insane vision, or..or me”

“Anakin! What do you mean ‘me’ - Obi-Wan loves you, you-”

“I know.” Anakin interrupted her again, knowing he was being unfair; he was just too exhausted to be patient.

“He told me loved me. He...he...found out about what I did to the Tusken village, You should have seen his face, Padme, he was horrified, but he still told me he loved me, and he was willing to forgive me, even though he shouldn’t”

“Of course he forgave you,” Padme whispered. “You’re not a monster, Anakin, I know you would never do something like that again.”

"And then after we talked, I left him alone and he-” Anakin choked out into her dress.

Tears ran down her face, heart breaking. “That’s- that’s horrible. Anakin...it must have have been a attack, Obi-Wan wouldn’t do that.” she said urgently.

He pulled away, horrified. “I made you cry. I made Obi-Wan cry too. I’m sorry- Padme please, promise me you won’t-”

She grabbed the sides of his head.

Her nails bit into the soft skin behind his ears as she pulled him down so they were face-to-face, vowing, “Never. I swear by the force itself, I will never choose death over life.”

He let out a relieved sigh, eyes fluttering closed.

“Now you,” she demanded

“As long as I have anyone to live for, I swear by the force, I will never choose death over life.”

She pulled him the rest of the way in for a bruising kiss. He lifted her, and they desperately clung at one another as he carried her to bed. They continued like that, clinging and grasping, until exhaustion carried him to sleep. She pulled the covers over top them both and curled around him defensively as the day slowly faded away.

Part XI

#star wars #my au #suicidal misunderstanding au #prequel trilogy #potentially triggering #discussions of suicide #references to self-harm #star wars au #bonding? between #Mace Windu and Anakin Skywalker #? in my #hurt/comfort fic #? It’s more likely than you’d think #also I struggle with fix it stories that just never address the big tusken elephant in the room? of course i want everyone to #live happily ever but theres a certain scale of atrocity that i feel u gotta address 2 get there #ugh this chapter got reallly long and im just gonna post it ok? ok.#meh #a lot of this fic is just people mentally going What The Fuck at various registers with different inflections #Because that’s not an inappropriate response to time travel in general! and star wars canon in particular.#star wars au no 27

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angelicamerlinbarnes · 3 years ago

Text

Okay but like I feel like Diego is the kind of person to flirt with really bad pick-up lines and Klaus is just Not Having It

featuring: Diego being a flustered Mama's boy and Klaus being a disaster dumbass and the two of them being completely in love with each other anyway

DISCLAIMER: None of the pick-up lines are mine, but the responses and ensuing shenanigans are :)

(there's fifty of these so buckle up kids :) sorry not sorry <3)

seriously though some of these are really bad

#1: He A Snack

Diego: Baby, you belong in the vending machine because you’re a snack.

Klaus: Diego you know I’m claustrophobic.

Diego: Don’t you mean Klaus-trophobic??? *finger guns*

Klaus: *blinks*

Klaus: I want a divorce.

#2: I’m From Hell

Diego: Did it hurt when you fell from heaven?

Klaus: I’m a veteran addict and abuse victim who can see ghosts, Diego.

Klaus: Everything hurts.

#3: Animal Puns

Diego: *points to TV screen playing the Discovery Channel* Hey Klaus.

Diego: You’re my otter half.

Klaus: Diego those are meerkats.

#4: Stars

Diego: The stars are beautiful tonight.

Klaus: Yup.

Diego: You know who else is beautiful?

Klaus: Ben.

#5: Get Out Your Handcuffs Mister

Diego: You’re under arrest… for stealing my heart.

Klaus: Diego you got kicked out of the police academy like five years ago, just give up.

#6: Bad Boys

Diego: *leaning against the doorframe like a moron* So. I hear you like bad boys.

Klaus: Diego you cried because you accidentally stepped on a bee last week.

Diego: Well yeah but -

Klaus: You held a funeral for it. You made us all speak. You had Allison fly in from California. It was a fucking bee, Diego.

Diego: … I wear leather?

Klaus: So does every other kid who shops at Hot Topic. You’re not special.

#7: Prince Charming

Diego: Your knight in shining armor is here -

Klaus: One, that’s a turtleneck, not armor.

Klaus: Two, you’re covered in blood. That’s the opposite of shiny.

Klaus: Three, you smell like dead fish. Go take a shower.

#8: Chemistry

Diego: Did we have a class together? Because I could’ve sworn we had -

Klaus: Chemistry? Yup. Also English and math and foreign languages and history and like every other fucking thing because we grew up in the same sadistic boarding school, Diego.

#9: The Store Can’t Just Give Away Things For Free. That’s A Terrible Way To Run A Business.

Diego: I like your pants.

Klaus: Thanks. I got them out of a dumpster. And yes, you can have them 100% off.

Diego: *voice cracks* Really?

Klaus: No.

#10: Boyfriend Material

Diego: My jeans are made of -

Klaus: You’re wearing leather pants Diego.

Diego: Okay but -

Klaus: So they’re made of leather and they’re not fucking jeans.

#11: Digits

Diego: I lost my phone number. Can I have -

Klaus: None of us have phones, Diego.

Diego: I can… buy us some?

Klaus: Fine. I want my number to be 1-420-420-4201.

Diego: Baby no.

Klaus: *pulling out the puppy dog eyes* Pwetty pwease?

Diego: Fine, but mine’s gonna be 1-696-969-6969.

Klaus: I love you so much. Marry me. Have my babies.

#12: Love At First Sight

Diego: Do you believe in love at first sight or -

Klaus: If I did I’d have already fallen in love with a lot of hot ghosts.

Diego: - should I walk by again?

Klaus: You’ve been pacing for the past ten minutes, Gogo. I think if it was gonna happen it would’ve by now.

#13: You Have Fine Written All Over You

Diego: Are you a parking ticket? Cause -

Klaus: Diego I can’t drive.

#14: His Eyes Are Green Not Blue You Dipshit

Diego: Your eyes are an ocean, and I’m lost at sea.

Klaus: ... can’t you, like, hold your breath forever?

Diego: *blinks* Baby, I love you, but you’re ruining this with our childhood trauma.

Klaus: Well since you’ve refused therapy I just thought this was the next best option.

Diego: I take back what I said about loving you.

#15: Math Is Dumb And I Wish School Would Stop Teaching It

Diego: Are you a forty-five degree angle?

Klaus: Actually, because humans have non-linear body shapes, it’s impossible for their specific angles to be measured -

Diego: Are you high or have you been defiling Five’s books again?

Klaus: *blinks* Why can’t it be both?

Diego: *rethinking life decisions*

#16: Baby I’m All Yours

Diego: Do you have a name?

Klaus: Klaus.

Diego: Or can I call you mine?

Klaus: I mean I prefer “baby”, but sure.

Diego: *super wide eyes* Really?

Klaus: *melts into a puddle of glitter* Yeah, Gogo.

#17: (Not) Bookworms

Diego: Thank god I brought my library card. Cause I’m here to check you out.

Klaus: *through a mouthful of waffles* God isn’t real. We all die and rot beneath the earth to be eaten by maggots. There is no such thing as a higher power.

Klaus: *swallows waffles and takes a really loud slurp of an orange juice and chocolate milk combo*

Klaus: Oh, and the library’s closed for renovations til, like, Christmas so you’re outta luck, sorry.

Diego: I thought you met god? Little girl on a bicycle?

Klaus: Her? Nah, only Satan’s got that much sass. Plus, that wasn’t heaven.

Diego: And you know this how?

Klaus: *squishes Diego’s face with both hands* Think about it. Do you really think dear ol’ dad’s in heaven?

Diego: Can you let of my face please?

#18: Bad Move, Buddy

Diego: Are you a pre-historic fossil? Cause you’re my missing link.

Klaus:

Klaus: Did you just call me old?

Diego, backing out of the room slowly: What? No! No of course not! No, obviously no, absolutely not -

Klaus: *releases savage war cry*

Diego: *runs for his goddamn life*

#19: I Rate This 0/10

Diego: Are you from Tennessee? Cause you’re the only -

Klaus: I don’t know where I’m from. I’m an orphan.

Diego: Oh… I know, baby -

Klaus: And the piece of shit that adopted me lived in New York anyway. We’re in New York right now actually. Do you need a geography lesson? I think Pogo’s got a map -

Diego: Klaus.

#20: Oh Shit

Diego: If nothing lasts forever, will you be my nothing?

Klaus:

Klaus: *tears up* I’m nothing?

Diego: Oh no. No no no. No, baby, you’re not nothing, don’t cry, I’m so sorry, that’s not what I meant, baby - oh my god please don’t cry -

#21: You’ve Got Everything I’m Searching For

Diego: Is your name Google? Because -

Klaus: Diego. For the last time…

Klaus: My name is Kimberly Linda Aerealia Ulysses Saffron Hargreeves the Twenty-Fourth. I don’t know why I need to keep explaining this to you -

Diego, kissing him quiet: You’re my favorite person in the world, you know that?

#22: Don’t Make Bets You’ll Lose, Luther.

Diego: Luther bet me a hundred bucks I couldn’t talk to the prettiest person here. How do you wanna spend his money?

Klaus: Drugs.

Diego: Baby -

Klaus: *beams* Nah, I’m just kidding. Stuffed giraffes.

Diego: *grins* For Five?

Klaus: *nods* For Five.

Diego:

Klaus:

Diego: He’ll hate them.

Klaus: Exactly. Let’s go.

#23: Deja Vu

Diego: Have we met before?

Klaus: Yes. Obviously. Are you also high?

Diego: No -

Diego: Wait, you’re high?

Klaus:

Diego:

Klaus:

Diego:

Klaus: No?

#24: Such An Optimist

Diego: Are you a time traveller?

Klaus: No, that’s Five.

Diego: Cause I think you’re my future!

Klaus: *stares blankly*

Diego: No? Nothing? Nada?

Klaus: In the future we’re all dead dipshit.

Klaus: Because. Ya know.

Klaus: THERE’S A FUCKING APOCALYPSE COMING.

Diego:

Diego: Okay then.

#25: Please Go To The Hospital.

Diego: Are you my appendix? Cause my stomach’s fluttering and I think I should take you out.

Klaus:

Klaus: Did you drink water from the fish tank again?

Diego: *turning green* Luther dared me to okay???!!!!

#26: Suicidal Tendencies

Diego: Hey gorgeous -

Klaus: Let me guess. I should drop dead?

Diego: What?! No! Baby -

#27: Infinitely On The Naughty List (And Not The Good Kind Of Naughty List (If There Is One I’m Asexual I Don’t Know))

Diego: Are you Santa Klaus? Cause you make all my wishes come true.

Klaus:

Klaus: You have five seconds to run.

Diego: *already two streets away* Fucking shit -

#28: You Can’t Use That Every Time We Have An Argument, Tony.

Diego: Kiss me if I’m wrong, but dinosaurs still exist right?

Klaus: I mean, there’s one in the corner of our living room right now, so I guess?

Diego:

Diego: *squeaks* You - you can see dinosaur ghosts?

Klaus: I mean, there’s a chance that thing Ben’s petting is just a super deformed ostrich, but yeah, I think so.

Diego:

Diego: *tearing up* That’s so cool.

#29: A Whole New Kind Of Thirst Trap

Diego: I’m thirsty. But guess whose body is 75% water?

Diego: *smirks*

Klaus: *frowns*

Klaus: Hold on, I know this one…

Diego: Klaus -

Klaus: *snaps fingers* Oh, I know! Luther!

Diego: *horrified* What the fuck Klaus why the fuck would you say that -

#30: What A Tragedy

Diego: You must be a campfire. Because you’re super hot and I want s’more.

Klaus:

Klaus: Diego sweetheart, you’re allergic to marshmallows.

Diego: *tearing up* I know.

Klaus: You wanna hug, baby?

Diego: *crying* Yes please.

#31: That Can’t Be Allowed

Diego: Don’t tell me if you want me to take you out to dinner. Just smile for yes, or do a backflip/somersault/counter-spin gymnastics combination for no.

Klaus: *smirks*

Klaus: *does a triple flip and lands perfectly on the top of the bar counter*

Diego: *turns bright red* That was h-h-hot.

Klaus: *beams and jumps down into Diego’s arms bridal-style*

Klaus: *kisses his cheek* I know, baby.

#32: Merry Christmas

Diego: You’re the reason Santa started the Naughty List.

Klaus: *blinks*

Klaus: *pouts*

Klaus: No fair! He told me last week I was on the Nice List!

Diego: What? Klaus? What does that -

Diego: OH MY GOD KLAUS IS SANTA DEAD???!!!!

#33: I’ll Keep You Safe, Honey.

Diego: I lost my teddy bear. Will you sleep with me instead?

Klaus: *pulls out a stuffed tiger*

Klaus: He got lost in the kitchen. Don’t worry, I rescued him for you.

Diego: *takes soft tiger*

Diego: *voice cracks* Oh. Thanks.

Klaus: *kisses his forehead* You’re welcome, baby.

#34: Excuse Me?

Diego: The only thing your eyes haven’t told me is your name.

Klaus, internally: Shit. What if he finds out I stole like five of his knives and all of the cookies last week?

Klaus, externally: *blinks*

Klaus: Um… Stefonopolis?

#35: I Am Not Apologizing For This One

Diego: If you were a steak, you’d be well done.

Klaus: But I’m so unique…

Klaus: I talk to the dead, Diego.

Diego: Okay…?

Klaus: *smirks*

Klaus: So wouldn’t I be medium rare?

Ben: Ooooooooooooooooohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh

#36: Leonardo Da Vinci Was Arrested Multiple Times For Homosexual Activity.

Diego: Is this a museum? Cause you’re a work of art.

Klaus: *dancing to the soundtrack of High School Musical 3* Actually Five took me back to Italy once. Leonardo da Vinci and I had some fun.

Diego:

Diego: Oh my god. Seriously?

Diego: *looks up picture of Mona Lisa, now titled Mona Klausa*

Diego: How the fuck -

#37: Why Would You Say That Though

Diego: Am I sleepwalking? Cause I’ve only seen you in my dreams.

Klaus: *sitting on the counter and eating a donut in one bite* Are they dirty?

Luther: *chokes on a pickle*

Diego: Oh my god no -

Diego: Well sometimes -

Diego: I mean no of course not -

Luther: *praying to whoever’s up there to just kill him already*

#38: Be Safe Kids!

Diego: Can you hold this for me?

Klaus: Sweetie, you need to wash your hands.

#39: Apocalypse Averted!

Diego: If looks could kill, you’d be a weapon of mass destruction.

Klaus: *blinks*

Klaus: I thought that was Vanya.

Diego:

Diego, panicking: Holy shit Klaus you can’t just say things like that -

Vanya: *crying from laughter*

#40: Attractive

Diego: Do you swallow magnets? Because you’re -

Klaus: *shoves him up against the wall*

Klaus: How did you find out? Who told you? Was it Ben? I swear to god I’ll kill him -

Diego: *squeaks* What?

#41: First You’ve Gotta Propose Diego

Diego: Wouldn’t we look cute on a wedding cake together?

Klaus: Diego. Did you buy me a cake?

Diego:

Klaus:

Diego:

Klaus: I’m waiting.

Diego: Right sir yes sir right away sir -

#42: He May Not Be A Kitten But He Is As Soft As One

Diego: If I followed you home, would you keep me?

Klaus: I’m homeless, Diego.

Diego: What? You are? Oh no, baby - you can come stay with me?

Klaus: *looks up from Disney Princess coloring book and raises an eyebrow* Is your bed available?

Diego, blushing: Ye-yeah, b-ba-baby. Whe-whenever you-u w-want.

Klaus: *smiles*

Klaus: *takes Diego’s hand*

Klaus: Okay.

Diego: *dies a little bit inside (in a good way)*

#43: It’s Just You.

Diego: Is it hot in here or is it just you?

Klaus, blushing: I -

Five: DIEGO. THE HOUSE IS ON FIRE. NOW IS NOT THE TIME.

#44: ‘Scuse Me, Mate?

Diego: You know, penguins mate for life. Wanna be my penguin?

Klaus: Eh. I’ve always been more of an iguana man.

Diego:

Diego: What?

#45: You Look Like… Antonio Banderas With The Long Hair.

Diego: How’s the most beautiful person in the world doing today?

Klaus: *buried in a Vogue magazine* I don’t know I’m not Antonio Banderas.

#46: What The Fuck Klaus

Diego: Do you have a map? I keep getting lost in your eyes.

Klaus: *hands him a Candyland board* Here. I stole it from Pogo.

#47: You Dumbass

Diego: I hate my last name. Can I borrow yours?

Klaus:

Klaus: We have the same last name, Diego.

Diego: *blinks*

Diego: Fuck you’re right -

#48: Okay But Diego Would Make A Great Aladdin Though

Diego: I’m not a genie, but I can still make your dreams come true.

Klaus: *wrinkles his nose*

Klaus: You can get me a pink elephant with jaundice?

Diego: *blinks*

Diego: What the fuck Klaus -

#49: HELLO

Diego: Is that a knife or are you just happy to see me?

Klaus: I don’t just have random knives on me Diego, I’m not you.

Diego: So you are happy to see me?

Klaus: I mean you just interrupted a very riveting episode of Sesame Street, so… we’ll see.

#50: It’s Always Best To Start With The Truth.

Diego: I love you.

Klaus: *beams* That’s all you had to say, darling.

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emperor-palpaminty · 3 years ago

Text

Killing Time

Because nothing can kill a relationship like lies.

A modern AU where crosshair is a hitman and you're his loyal girlfriend who happens to be in the bodyguard business, but neither one of you know the other's careers

Warnings: swearing, mentions of death, making oit and allusions to smut, also this is in no way accurate to real life and it's just dramatic, please don't hurt me lol

children you have full permission to run away and not come here, in fact please run away

Very few things phased you. The only things that brought you to your precipice of agitation was burning pasta, your phone charger not working, and showing up to your shift only to realize someone had been killing all your clients.

Who said keeping people alive was easy? No one, that was who, and if anyone said it they were wrong or had no experience working with others whatsoever. Making sure others lived to see their next day was deadly business, for the people that were trying to live, at least.

“Charles!” You barked, feet hitting the floor of the bull pen. “What the hell happened?” You slammed your files on your desk, face warm, head just about collapsing with pressure. Your fingers pressed to your temples, hoping that they would grip it, hold it together. “Burke was alive when I left last night.”

“Doesn't matter now." Your coworker dropped his sandwich onto his desk. "Burke is fucking dead now. As dead as a doorknob." He swallowed his bite. "Luckily, you weren't on shift when it happened, so you aren't gonna catch any fire for it."

"Shit, Charles, a man is dead." You collapsed in your chair, a gentle "oomph" escaping your mouth. Your lips pressed together in agitation and you moaned to yourself. "This is the third one in two months. Sure, I'll get a couple cold bodies, but-"

"But this is a lot." Charles sunk into his own chair, grabbing for his sandwich again.

You stared at him, disbelief coating your gaze. "One is a lot, Charles," You snarled, grabbing at the folder on your desk. "Any leads?"

"Oh, yeah. But they're all at Burke's mansion." Charles tossed the crust of his lunch into the trash can. "I can drive ya."

"No, I'll take my car," You grumbled. You swiped the keys from your desk and stood, stalking back towards the elevator, anger eating away at you.

If one more of your clients- YOUR own clients- got killed, you would have to start pulling full shifts again.

___

Your shoes, practical, did little more than tap against the marble floor as you ducked under the Police tape. You skimmed the scene, frowning, eyes gracing past a particularly nasty chunk of gore on the wall. "Shot from above," You mumbled, glancing at the shattered window.

The mansion was huge. You'd been coming here for nearly a year now to keep an eye on Burke, and it still shocked you when you saw the absolute volume of the home. How much house would one man need, exactly?

In your years as a bodyguard you'd watched out for a lot of people- spoiled celebrities, prideful and arrogant politicians, and a particularly interesting Chef who had an unusual desire to cook everything with some kind of caffeine in it. That was probably your favorite client.

"Excuse me, miss," a voice broke the mumble in the next room, probably of detectives or cops sweeping the house for evidence. "You shouldn't-"

"I was Burke's bodyguard." You tugged your badge out or your pocket, allowing the interrupting police officer to take it and examine it. “You can verify with my assistant, Charles. Make sure you tell him he’s my assistant and not the other way around, though, he can be a dick.”

The cop hesitated, then gave a slight nod. “Well, we’re still cleaning up the scene.” His hands offered your badge back, and you slid it into your back pocket, satisfaction deflating. “You can come by later after it’s clean. Ballistics is running comparisons right now.” He paused and glanced at the shattered window. “Looks like the shot came from the garage. It’s the only side with no motion sensors or alarms.” The cop’s brows raised in interest. “Know why?”

“No.” You said, calmly, turning towards the front door. “I assume I can go there?” You heard no objection as you stepped outside, tugging your sunglasses back on over your eyes. The sun was unforgiving and you gave an involuntary hiss as the bright rays hit your eyes just right to temporarily give your vision black spots. You blinked strongly and hurried towards the garage.

In truth, Burke had alarms everywhere except the garage because he had so many people and cars coming and going. For any new technology the billionaire was releasing, the man had drugs and other forms of entertainment coming in and out, and it was all stuff that would probably bring him down. That nondisclosure form was still somewhere in the house in some obscure filing cabinet and you really, really, really didn’t feel like having a lawsuit lurking over your shoulders. Life was too good- well, everything outside of people you were being paid to keep alive was good.

Death really killed the whole “survival” business.

You clamored your way to the roof of the garage, noting the ladder was the same one that the gardener used around the several acres Burke owned. The police had to have put it here- the gardener only came in the mornings.

So who the hell climbed up here without a ladder? Most people didn’t want to put in the effort to scale this freehand or wedge between the wall of the garage and the fence to shimmy up. That someone had to be either very determined to kill Burke, for personal motive or financial motive.

You brushed off you pants and glanced around, looking down at the surface of the roof. Nothing- not even a bullet casing- had been left behind. You frowned and raked a hand through your hair, skimming your scalp as you examined the roof, walking to the edge closest to the window.

You stared in, at the shattered glass, pondering. Burke was heading to bed when he'd been shot, you assumed, so the assassian would have had to know his routine. Your mind ran through possibilities again, but you could come up with none that were motivated personally enough or fit enough to climb without much assistance. You trailed along the surface, frowning, unable to find anything, but paused at a smudge of black paint, small, on the corner of the roof.

____

You turned your car down the street, exhaling softly as you pulled into your driveway.

99. That was what the marks said. Very subtle, meant nothing, unless it was a birth year or graduating class. The cops had come back, irritated, snapped a couple of pictures, and told you off about your wild theories of a fiscally motivated assassian. Apparently, you watched too many scret agent movies, or something like that.

You opened the door of the car and climbed out, frustration making you slam it shut. You inhaled the scent of the yard- clean, fresh cut, and perhaps it could help soothe your anger before you went inside.

After fumbling on your Keychain, you unlocked the door and hurried in, locking it behind you. "Cross?"

A savory aroma wafted from the kitchen, and your mouth watered. Your toes found their way out of your shoes and you hurried to the kitchen, pausing briefly at the doorway.

Cross's lanky figure was leaning over the skillet, stirring something, pale hands moving in expertise across the stove top. "Darling, you're late." He drawled.

You sighed, fully entering the kitchen. "Yeah. Sorry." You leaned up and wrapped your arms around his waist, face pressing against his back. You sighed. The day felt a little less bad now- filled with him. "Work kept me."

"How was work?"

You grunted. "A killer. An absolute killer." The irony was not lost on you, but it was lost to your boyfriend. He thought you were an editor for some book publishing company, because cover was the most important thing. You were one of those people trying to stay alive, after all.

Lies hurt, but it was one of the necessary ones. A little lie.

"Yikes." His hands drew plates to himself. "Mine wasn't much better. Got a few new clients, a few new cases." He sighed. "The Baliff forgot to submit evidence."

You mumbled against his shirt. "Law school really paid off, huh?"

"I'll say." He turned around, adjusting your arms, slowly taking your chin and leaning down to peck you. You always melted at his kisses, knees weak and brain numb, and he seemed to know it every time. You hummed, running your hands up his chest, the irritation for the day pooling to your midsection as your fingers gripped his shirt, your lips pulling in on his.

Cross tugged away gently, and you whined, fingers stubbornly clasped. "Wow, really frustrated today."

"Yes," You mumbled.

His lips pressed towards one of their corners in a half smile, and he picked your head. "Go shower. Then we can eat and I'll take care of you."

You hummed, fingers reluctantly releasing him, and you hurried away to the bathroom. You paused at the dresser, rummaging through, grabbing an especially large t-shirt and hipster underwear. Comfort was more important at the moment.

You climbed into the shower, turning the water to as hot as you could and scrubbing yourself off, humming in pleasure as the day came off you and went down the drain. The floral scent of the soap remained, the purple bad working diligently to rid you of your grime and frustration. Lavender really is a natural relaxant. You sighed and leaned back briefly on the tile, feeling every muscle in you ease at the same time.

After toweling off and getting dressed, your padded to the kitchen where Cross was pouring a your favorite wine. You sighed happily, accepting the glass as he skimmed your fresh-showered body. "Thanks."

"Of course." Cross picked up his own glass, taking a sip, eyes still diligently stripping you on their own. You shivered slightly, setting down your glass and looking up at him. "Dinner's ready," He mumbled, leaning in, pressing a hand to the counter of either side of you, leaving your back to the counter. "But I would much rather start with dessert."

You drew in a breath as he pressed his lips to your neck, drawing out a sigh with his teeth. You wrapped your arms around his neck, humming in agreement, and he scooped you up. Your groaned as he drew your legs around his lips, shifting, the agitating heat pooling back between your legs. "That's a good idea." You mumbled, whimpering as he bucked his hips slightly. "I just showered, though."

"Then we can take another one," He hissed, lips covering yours. "You're so damn intoxicating."

You mumbled something against his lips, unable to get a coherent response out as he dropped you on the bed. You bounced briefly, giggling, and he yanked off his shirt and joined you, climbing over you and hovering. "Come here, sweetheart," His finger traced over your shirt between your breasts, running down to the hem. "Let's end the day on a good note."

You whimpered, neck straining as you leaned up for his kiss, and you felt Cross snarl against you, tugging your surrendered form up closer to him. Your body relaxed again, neck loosening and head back against the pillow as he tugged your own shirt up, eyes gleaming with a primal eagerness that made you swoon, ready to work out the agitation for the day you both had.

#crosshair x reader #bad batch crosshair x reader #bad batch au #hitman crosshair #bad batch reader insert #clone force 99 reader insert #crosshair #crosshair x you #minty writes

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thran-duils · 4 years ago

Text

Lost in Zero Gravity (P.19)

Title: Lost In Zero Gravity (Part Nineteen) Summary: Fem!Reader x Mob Boss!Tony Stark x Mob Boss!Steve Rogers. Reader is a call girl who runs high end parties. She catches the attention of Tony Stark who invites her back to his room with his friend. She might have performed too well because she becomes their new favorite play toy and they don’t like to share. Words: 3,883 Warnings (for the fic in entirety): Smut, prostitution, infidelity, angst, domestic violence, stalking, possessive behavior, drug use

Part Eighteen || Part Twenty || Masterpost (mobile) || Fanfic masterpost

Staring into the bathroom mirror, you wiped underneath your eyes at where your mascara had started to run. You were heartbroken and confused. What had you done wrong to make them want to give you away? You had been imagining then that Tony was becoming softer towards you and you had slowly started responding in like. It had been foolish of you to think you could find some sense of happiness living there, as if either of them actually cared. Tony had been acting weird as of late now that you thought about it more and Steve had stayed away. Like they had been planning to separate from you. And Tony fucking you last night… like it was the last hoorah before sending you off. And he could not be here to do it himself as Steve said. That made you more furious than anything else.

You should not be surprised; Johns lost their interest eventually. But you had let yourself be lulled into a false sense of security. You had told Tatiana yourself that they were just like all the others when you had been first whisked away to stay in the apartment. When had you let them wear down your wall?

“Stupid,” you whispered to yourself.

And now you found yourself stuck on a ship with another man who you had no idea what his real temperament was. You were starting all over again, stranded.

Your mind went to your apartment, all your things… Luna. You closed your eyes, trying not to think of everything that Steve had made you leave you behind this morning. It was too much, you needed to focus. Survive here and find out how that was going to be possible to do.

Since you had left your purse in Steve’s car – your ID and everything, fuck – you had left your makeup behind. You had essentially ruined your mascara, but your eyeliner still looked decent. You touched up your eyes with toilet paper before taking a few deep breaths.

A knock came at the door and you took a couple more moments to look at yourself before you tore yourself away from the counter.

<><><>

You were hunkered down in the speedboat, shaking still. It had stopped moving but you were not making any effort to move. Steve was talking to you, but you did not want to look at him, let alone focus on what he was saying. Your arm hurt where you had cut it and blood was running down your arm. Your opposite hand came to the blood, running your fingers over it before holding it out, staring down at it. It was deep red, wet.

Steve’s hands were at the necklace at your throat, and he unclasped it, taking it from you. “Here, Buck. Take that back to the office. It should be recorded. The evidence we need if anything comes up.”

“It was,” you heard Sam confirm.

Steve got up from beside you and moved around, coming to the other side where your injury was.

You felt a sharp sting and hissed, snapping out of your haze to jerk away from him. You took in his appearance; he was bloody, his hair disheveled. You had never seen him not looking pristine except for after the two of you had rolled around in the bed. He was wearing a dark suit, an actual stealth suit. You remembered you had seen him on the yacht, beating the shit out of some of the guys. He had been wearing it then.

Steve held tight and said, “Stay still, Y/N. I’m cleaning it!” Eyes moving down, you saw he was wiping at your cut with hydrogen peroxide. No wonder it was stinging. “I don’t think you need stitches which is a good thing. Did you get hurt anywhere else?”

Anywhere else? Of course you had! You wanted to scratch his face.

“You left me!” you said loudly, finally finding your voice. “You sold me!”

“Good to know that you can still talk. I thought we’d lost you there for a moment. But they’re dead, Perez included. Don’t worry about it,” Steve told you as he moved to grab gauze. He said firmly, “No one is coming for you. I wasn’t leaving you there permanently.”

He held it there before placing a large bandage wrap around your arm, securing it.

“Come on, we have to get out of here,” he told you, standing up.

The two other men, including the one who had flown you off the boat – Sam? You recognized him from the press – were standing up in the boat, keeping an eye out. Steve tapped you to move and you glowered up at him.

“You can rot for all I care!” you snarled at him.

Steve rolled his eyes before swooping down and picking you up in a fluid motion. He slung you over his shoulder and you shouted in protest, hitting his back as he climbed out of the speedboat.

“Take it down the coast and leave it where we agreed,” he ordered the other two.

“You got it,” Sam said in response as you continuously hit Steve’s back.

“Y/N, you’re going to make yourself bleed more,” Steve said sounding annoyed as he started walking up the dock. You stared back at where they were in the boat, pulling back away. You hit him again and he ordered roughly, “I said stop it! You’re going to injure your arm more!”

You heard the sound of his car alarm beeping and he opened the door before placing you down. He held you firmly in place and said threateningly, “You’re going to sit in the car and we are going to go back to the apartment. Is that clear?” Your lips curled and his fingers dug into your shoulders. “Y/N.”

The apartment. Like you wanted to go back there. But at least you could have privacy there and lock him out. You just needed to endure a car ride with him. You got into the car, throwing your seatbelt on angrily as Steve closed the door and came around the other side.

The first part of the ride was silent, you staring at the window, trying to will yourself not to cry as the shock wore off and the impending feeling of helplessness came over you about the whole thing. You had not had any control over any part of that situation, tossed back and forth like a rag doll and kept in the dark apparently if what Steve said was true about not meaning to leave you there for real.

Where was your purse? You thought suddenly.

You looked around before turning to look into the backseat, spotting it on the ground next to the briefcase he had taken. Steve noticed you looking at it and he finally spoke.

“Think about the money you got today. That put a huge dent in what you owe. Huge dent.”

Turning a hateful eye at him, you scowled. That is what he wanted you to think about? Money? And acting as if you had earned it knowingly?

“Stop talking to me,” you snapped, scooting further away from him, up against your door. You turned away from him as far as you could to put your back to him.

“That’s what would be the smart thing to do, Y/N,” Steve continued on. “Focus on that goal of yours to pay it off.”

Tears welled up and you told him, sniveling, “I don’t care about that! How… how could you think about that right now?” Steve started to speak but you unwound yourself, throwing your hands out. “No! You used me! You threw me to the wolves! I could’ve been hurt! Did you even stop to think about that?”

“You were helping out SHIELD,” Steve said as if that was supposed to mean anything.

“Then use a fucking SHIELD agent!” you exclaimed, your voice strangled.

“I couldn’t. There were none that would not rouse suspicion. You have been seen with me and Tony. They know you’re the real deal.”

“You could have at least, I don’t know, fucking told me!”

“It needed to seem authentic.”

You stared at him, aghast. You gasped, “Authentic? You needed my fear to be authentic?” Steve said nothing and your vision blurred with angry tears. “Well, I’m glad you got what you fucking needed! Good for you!”

Turning away from him again, you clenched your jaw so tightly you thought your teeth would crack. You just wanted to get away from him.

<><><>

Over his Bluetooth, Tony saw that Daryl was calling him and he immediately picked up. “Daryl?”

Daryl said, “She’s back. So just giving you a call like you asked.”

“Is Steve with her?” Tony asked him, switching lanes, needing to turn around and head back the opposite way on the highway.

“Yeah, they’re getting into the elevator,” Daryl answered before he added, “I don’t know what happened, but she looks terrible.”

Tony demanded, “How do you mean terrible?” Under his breath he hissed, “Move, you piece of shit!” at this car that was going far too slow for his liking.

“What?”

“Nothing, I’m talking to some fucking jerk off who doesn’t know how to drive. How do you mean she looks terrible?” The worst was coming to his mind, thinking of how she looked after that asshole ex of her had had his way with her.

“Definitely been crying. She’s got a bandage on her arm. She’s keeping her distance from Mr. Rogers. Should I follow them up?”

Shaking his head as he took a left off the highway to head back to the onramp going east, Tony said firmly, “No. I’m on my way. Let me know if he leaves.”

“Sir?” Daryl asked, confused.

“Let me know if Steve leaves,” Tony repeated. “And if he does, ask him where he’s going. If you can catch him.”

Daryl sounded concerned when he said, “Okay… you got it.”

“Great,” Tony said curtly before hanging up the call, and merging onto the highway, squeaking his way into the left lane, cutting someone off, who honked. He paid them no mind as he cut someone else off in the right lane, weaving his way through the slower drivers.

<><><>

Y/N had stormed down the hallway without words, only a choked sob leaving her throat. She went into the bedroom, slamming the door closed, and he heard the lock fall into place. Steve sighed heavily, stopping in the hall himself, debating about trying to get her to open the door. But, he had tried to talk to her in the car and she was not interested. Give her space, that is what his gut told him. At that though, he turned on his heel, walking back towards the front door.

Steve beckoned Terrence from down the hall and when he approached, Steve said, “Stay in here. She’s in the bedroom, doors locked. Make sure she doesn’t do anything reckless. And don’t take any drinks from her.”

“Learned my lesson last time. And what do you mean by reckless?”

“Anything past chugging down some shots if she comes out here,” Steve told him, adjusting his watch on his wrist. He shook his arm out and said, “Tony will be here soon, I’m sure. And then he can take over for you. I just don’t want her being left alone right now in the state she’s in. Make sure to check in on her every once in awhile until Tony gets here though. Knock on the door, make sure you get a verbal confirmation.”

“If she’s sleeping…?”

“I think she’s too rattled to sleep, Terrence. But doors are easily replaced if you feel the need to kick the handle in if she’s not responding.”

Terrence shrugged, “Alright.”

“Thanks,” Steve said before reaching for his keys and swiping them off the counter. “I’m counting on you.”

On his way out of the lobby, Daryl approached him. “Is everything okay?”

“It’ll be fine. Y/N just had a rough go and she just needs some space to come down,” Steve answered.

“You’re leaving her though? Where are you going?”

Steve eyed him and said, “Yeah… I’m leaving. Terrence has it handled. He’s keeping an eye on her.” He saw the look on Daryl’s face and Steve snorted. “I told him to not take any drinks. The man learned his lesson. Anyways, Y/N is pouting in her bedroom and I don’t think she’s going to come out for a while. So, he’s got it under control. I need to go back and finish the debriefing for the mission. Get yourself something to eat, you look jittery.”

With that, he left Daryl standing there.

<><><>

“He’s gone,” Daryl said, meeting Tony’s stride when Tony came into the lobby, practically speed walking.

Tony swore under his breath before asking, “Did you talk to him?”

Daryl nodded, “Yeah, for a moment. He said Y/N’s pouting in the bedroom, Terrence is in the apartment to keep an eye out. And he said something about having to go debrief the mission?” Tony stopped at the mention of that on a dime, stopping to face Daryl. Daryl looked back at him nervously at the murderous look on Tony’s face. “He didn’t say anything past that.”

Letting out an angry growl, Tony shook his head before exhaling sharply, “Thank you. That helps.”

Tony entered the apartment, finding Terrence sitting at the dining table, messing around on his phone. He looked up, hearing Tony enter, and said, “I checked on her a few minutes ago like Mr. Rogers asked me to continue doing. She’s still hysterical as all hell, but she responded.”

Furious, Tony shook his head, snarling, “What the hell did he do?” Terrence looked confused by the question and Tony purposely ignored it, not wanting to deal with all the bullshit going on between him and Steve at present.

Tony tried to open the bedroom door, but it was locked. For the umpteenth time today, he sighed angrily and said through the door, “Y/N. Open the door.”

“No!” she shouted out back at him.

He had been here before and this time Steve was not here to stop him from entering the bedroom. Although, this time he was going to have tact about it. He went back down the hall to the kitchen and grabbed a butterknife from the silverware. He was worried and he was not about to just leave her in there by herself. He unlocked the door with ease, much to Y/N’s fury.

“Stay out!” she snapped at him, sitting up, the blankets falling to her waist. She looked a sight, her makeup having left black underneath her eyes, trails running down her cheeks. Her eyes were puffy and red.

Tony ignored what she said, coming into the room, and closing the door behind him.

<><><>

Of course Tony knew how to pick a lock. That was preschool shit to him. And of course he was not listening to you; when did either of them ever? The sight of him infuriated you.

“I told you to leave me alone!” you snarled as he came over to the bed. He was approaching with caution. He sat on the edge of the bed and that was still way too close. “Tony, get out!”

Tony’s eyes fell to the bandage on your arm, and he started to reach for it. You were gone in the blink of an eye, startling him in the process. You did not want him touching any part of you.

“Don’t touch me!” you sneered at him, pulling away from him, wrapped up in the sheets. They prevented you from moving any further and you sat defensively, hands planted by your hips.

Tony held up his hands, keeping his distance. He sunk back down to sit more on the opposite side of the large bed. He was keeping his eyes trained on you, like he was afraid you were going to lunge either at him or away.

“What happened?” he asked evenly.

You let out a bark of a laugh. What was he playing at? “Are you serious right now? What do you think happened? You two and your stupid little plan! You left me! You let him take me because you… you’re a fucking coward!”

He looked at a loss. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Shut up!” you snapped back at him, furious he was trying to act oblivious and wash his hands of it. “I’m tired of playing games with you two! When are you going to let me go?” Tears welled up at that, all over again. You were tired of crying over men. Especially men who had no regard for your well being.

Tony ticked his jaw, studying your face. Your chest was heaving with your anger; you were sure you looked rabid, like a cornered animal. And that is how you felt, truly. He scooted an inch towards you, and you leaned back causing him to still his movement again, an angry sigh leaving his lips.

He fought to keep his voice calm and even as he said, “Y/N. I really, really have no idea what you are talking about. And I would like you to explain it to me. Where did Steve take you?”

You searched his face accusingly, trying to find the crack in his façade of innocence. But you were met with the worry in his eyes, despite his tranquil tone, and you realized that maybe he was being serious. He seemed to really not know what had transpired. Still, you kept a wall up, thinking perhaps he was putting up a good front; they had both ruined your trust at this point. You would tell him what happened, play his game, but you were going to be watching him like a hawk.

Wiping at your eyes, you spat, “The docks. He sold me!”

“Excuse me?” Tony asked, unable to hide the venom behind his voice.

“But he wasn’t really selling me, turns out. Spoiler alert.” You gave a humorless laugh, wiping at more tears that had started to spill over. “He came here and made me get dressed up and rushed me out the door. Saying he had to go to a meeting. When we got there, he was selling me to this guy and getting money for a shipment. He… he left me there! With all these men I didn’t know. And he said you knew and you both were tired of me, that I wasn’t new anymore.” You were watching Tony grow more and more furious, like he was bursting at the seams. And it only encouraged you to go on.

“The guy who bought me, Perez, I don’t know. He was trying to be accommodating but I hated him, I could already tell. He wasn’t kind, he was donning a mask. I know men well enough to pick up on that. I… fuck,” you said, tearfully. Tony was keeping his distance still, listening with rapt attention. You shook your head, “I was sitting next to him and he was touching me. And all of a sudden, there were just b-bullets flying. I got thrown to the ground and my arm caught on the corner of the table. It was loud and I didn’t know what was going on. Then S-Sam? I think that’s his name. The one with the wings. One of your Avengers.”

Recognition flashed across Tony’s face you saw at the name and description.

“He grabbed me and took off from the boat. I hate heights. I hate them. And he dropped me back on this boat that was just floating out in the water before leaving me there by myself. There was a lot of shit going on on the yacht that I could see from where I was.” You sighed shakily. “I don’t know. They came back eventually. Steve, Sam, and that metal armed guy. They were covered in blood. And it’s… I was back in the car…” You were starting to lose steam at all the explosion of emotion you had been emanating and reliving the chaos. “Steve told me… told me that I had made money to go towards my debt to you guys. And I should be happy about that. But he didn’t tell me anything! I thought… I thought he was leaving me there. And that I had done s-something wrong!”

You caught Tony’s eyes again. He was staring at you, flabbergasted, his lips parted in shock. His head shook ever so slightly, and you crumbled then, seeing the stricken look on his face at what you were telling him. Like it was all new to him and he was horrified. He had not betrayed you like Steve had said. Your bottom lip warbled, and you threw yourself across the bed at him and he caught you clumsily. Your fingers dug into his back and you broke down into sobs into his shoulder.

Tony’s arms came around you, his grip tight, one hand at the back of your head.

“I couldn’t figure out what I had done wrong!” you wailed, it muffled into his collar.

You stayed embraced, Tony’s hand at your back rubbing. He kissed the side of your head and said quietly, “You didn’t do anything wrong, love.” And that only made you cry more. “I’m sorry. I swear I didn’t know. I… I don’t know what he was thinking.”

He really had not known. Steve had lied to you about that too. He had snuck in and taken you away with Tony was not here. You could not help but to think about how it would have been different if he had been here. You probably would not have gone at all. Your fingers dug in again into Tony’s back.

When your cries began to subside as your energy began to wane, Tony started to pull away and you looked up at him worriedly, “Don’t leave!”

“I’m not going to. I’m just gonna go out to the kitchen. You… would you like to rest?” You sniffled, your brow stitched. “Tylenol PM, love. I think sleep will do you well. I promise I won’t leave while you sleep. But I think it’ll help. What do you think?” You whimpered quietly and he said reassuringly, “It’ll help.”

Forcing yourself to nod, you let him pull away. You grabbed your blankets, holding them tight as he walked out of the room, silence filling the space where he had been.

When he came back, he held out the pills and the glass of water to you. You took the pills from him and swallowed them readily. He was right, sleep would do you well. You just wanted to escape whatever you were feeling right now. The water went down too and you handed him back the cup. You watched him place it on the nightstand on the other side of the bed, anxiously waiting for him to come back.

Tony kicked his shoes off and pulled off his suit jacket, tossing it on the end of the bed.

You curled up next to him the moment he was there and focused on your breathing. You were trying to keep the anxiousness back at bay, just willing sleep to overcome and do it soon.

~~~

Forever tags: @coconutqueen21 @undecidedsworld

Fic tags: @icant-hangout-imdrumming @oceaniamaddness @multifandom-superlover @imsonick @holl2712 @here4thefanfics @agustdowney @fanofalltheficsx @buttercandy16

#tony stark x reader #steve rogers x reader #dark steve rogers #dark tony stark #dark marvel #mob tony stark #mob steve rogers #my shit

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sirensmojo · 4 years ago

Text

"KINDRED",3 - Tommy Shelby x Reader.

Summary: Tommy meets a librarian that he discovered to be the chief of an underground organisation. Needing man enough allies to dirty their hands in the battle against Oswald Mosley, he shakes hands with the devil. Feelings intertwine with business, a mix that leads to unalterable ends...

Warnings: Swearing, drugs, romance, drama & cheating.

Word Count: 5K

❰ Previous Chapter

*Shelby Brother Company Limited, Birmingham*

“Michael’s a pain in the ass.”

You and Tommy were seated one in front of the other in Tommy’s office, it was almost midnight.

You both stared at each other after your affirmation, the need to formulate words obsolete, when all of a sudden, a hiccup hit your throat.

“Wow.” Your brows raised, along with your free hand, patting over your chest.

Only the booze could bring them to talk, but they would forget everything the next morning, or that, they pretended so. Everything the other would say was rooted in the other’s heart, as a prize.

“I could maybe try something.” You calmly spoke, as if a flash of thunder lightning struck some idea into you.

You two had dirty hands and were capable of taking care of yourselves, but those past three, you got each other’s back.

Without knowing it, you were keeping a close eye on the business of the other just in case.

If the Peaky Blinder found something wrong concerning your business, he would take care of it, in the shadows of course.

No need to tell you he quite cared when he wasn't sure himself.

It was also working the other way, you had ears at each side of the continent, you what had happened to the Shelby politician without him telling you, and straightened back up every shaky thing.

“ ‘Bout what?” Tommy asked, pouring some more whiskey in the cup resting in your other hand.

‘The two partners trying to get rid of Mosley’ had become an excuse. The silence each brought to the other was addictive, and the days between each meeting only amplified that obsession.

“Speak sense to his wife. Given the situation, I think both the weak and tuff points of Michael’s scheme are her.”

Tommy frowned, thinking deeper about what you told. You weren’t entirely wrong, he doubted Michael would’ve betrayed him without the support of somebody.

“He was pushed to one side, a little push to the other one will make him think right.” Y/L/N got further.

An evening meeting was programmed weekly.

You started meeting at the library during the first week. Then, the Shelby Brother Company Limited’s office, catching the attention of another member of the Shelby family.

“You think it’ll be this easy?” The peaky blinder asked, sprinkling ash onto the ashtray that was on the table that separated you two.

“It’ll have to.” You responded.

Polly was the first one to confront Tommy directly about the presence of a very well dressed woman far too often in the offices.

“Her hair is nice.” She added, smoking on her cig looking intently at Tommy's gleaming eyes at the mention of the so-called “librarian”.

Because that was how he presented Y/N. A girl from an aristocratic family searching for exoticism and bought a library.

He and you were to work together solely due to his status at the House of Commons, none more none less.

But the Gray woman knew better, even if she refused to push the matter further.

“May God keep Arthur away from her, he’ll eat her for his lunch.” Pol’ tease before she shook her head at her own statement as Tommy coughed away this whole discussion.

(...)

Three knocks could be heard on the Gray’s room door in the Midland hotel.

The entrance opens, “Told you I’ll join you in a minute, Gin--” Michael’s voice stopped as soon as his wife abruptly pushed her shoulders to his to enter the room.

“What are you doing?” One of his hands was in his suit pocket, the other one grabbing the door handle.

She hassled to the phone, dialling a number without even glancing at the Gray.

“Gina?” Asked the man, looking intently at the movements of the woman, blinking slowly.

She refused to address him, waiting patiently until the person she was calling responded.

“What is going on? What do you mean our contacts were offered another deal?”

Michael went closer, and as he was sitting on the desk chair, leaning backwards on it, he started to understand what was going on.

“Anyway, we can still offer them to prosper durably, that man can’t say the same, right?”

She rolled her eyes at herself after remaining silent for some minutes, she was listening to the individual at the end of the line.

It was more than clear she was done with everything.

She wasn’t even slightly “happy” to be in the shit hole that was Birmingham as she, herself, qualified multiple times. The only reason she was here was that Michael didn’t want to properly betray his cousin.

He convinced her to come here and resonate with Tommy about a “normal succession”, but she knew damn well it wouldn’t work. Why would he give everything he spent so much time to gather under the pretext of succession?

Tommy wasn’t the type to give up things, for any reason.

And now that they were away from New York, their allies already started to forget about their promises…

Why did she even agree to let Tommy a chance?

“He didn’t fall for Michael’s plan. We will have to do it our way.” She seemed happy at least, to finally be able to handle the matter how she wanted to, which was the only good news about this call.

When the receptionist asked for her at the restaurant, she’d expected to be told all was ready there and that Michael would only have to give the order for the plan to begin. But no.

Gina hung up the phone before she lifted her eyes to her husband that was staring at her, patiently waiting.

“It was my uncle, some man going by the name of Haynes met with all of our contacts, offering them a greater alliance directly with the Chinese, without needing us as intermediaries.” She finally spoke.

The younger Gray looked away, clenching his jaw as a hand came over his face. He let out a long sigh, his body voicing his displeasure. But his wife’s hand came on his shoulder as she leaned on his back, and murmured near his ear:

“But. He says it’s looking like the perfect time to launch plan B, baby.” She grabbed his chin as she turned around to stand in front of him.

“He says it’ll show them we can also ‘bang’ if it’s needed. It’ll be like showing our hand, and in this case, this is the thing to do.”

One of her hands was on Michael’s thigh as the other was still holding his face so he was looking at her. It was a way to say “focus on me” without actually saying it.

As the man was diving into her brown eyes, it seemed she succeeded at keeping him from thinking too much. She gave answers before he could even formulate questions.

By his silence, Gina surmised Michael still wasn’t sure about the plan.

“We did it your way Michael, coming all the way up here to your cousin’s chaotic decisions. Things need to get in order, baby. And it seems like you’re the one that cares enough to do so.” The words left her mouth so lightly as she straightened up and turned her back to her husband.

“We need to go back to America as soon as possible. You promised our child will be born there.” She added, glancing at him above her shoulder.

(...)

Arthur and the boys had convinced Tommy to relax at the Garrison after a long day. Even though it was the last thing he wanted to do, he slammed the doors open to a packed place.

Ahead of them were approximately twenty women, all dolled up as if coming from the Eden club in London. Very short hair with the golden headband with feathers, embroidered pearls on their cotton dresses made it known they were from high society.

Some of them were dancing in the middle of the room, while others were singing on the counter zigzagging between glasses and bottles.

It was the first time Tommy had seen most of those people.

He was actively searching their faces trying to locate the reason for their presence when his eyes confirmed his thought. You were dancing, turning on yourself holding the hand of a taller woman.

You had on a black & red dress going down to your knees with a black and gold headband that flattened your hair, forcing your finger waves to frame your face. Your slow and haunting movements were wrinkling the fabrics, complementing your silhouette.

As you were spinning around, the fringes of your dress were flying in the air as well as your hair, adding to your alluring dance.

Your cheeks, certainly reddened by the alcohol and your half-opened eyes due to you boozing with the huge grin that illuminated your face, made Tommy’s eyes twinkle. As if it was a beautiful night sky full with stars he was looking at.

“Who’s that Tommy?” Arthur questioned entering right after the Shelbys head.

“Get in the room, I’ll bring the bottles.” Tom’s low voice ordered as he motioned to the little room near the counter.

Finn and Isaiah hassled to the room without wasting any more minutes, too appealed by the idea of getting drunk while Arthur leaned to his brother’s ear.

“Look at that butterfly Tommy, isn’t she lovely?” He asked after he caught the reason for Tommy's order.

The latter dismissed the discomfort with a rough cough, turning to his brother.

“What about you fetch the bottles, eh?” He simply put, and that was enough for Arthur to leave it there.

“Whiskey for the peaky boys!” He exclaimed as he patted Tommy’s shoulder. He managed his way behind the counter, after which, he took what he was searching for and disappeared behind the large doors of the little room he closed behind himself.

Tom stayed there, looking at you for some time trying to understand which one of the facades he had seen was the real you.

You were now sitting on your friend's lap, legs crossed, your lips were alternating between a long cigarette holder and a glass of what Tommy surmised to be whiskey knowing the character.

Giving up on searching for an answer, he turned his heels and joined his brothers as if nothing had happened.

(...)

Coming out of the car, you looked both ways before crossing the street and joining the large wooden door, a hand in your suit’s pocket, the other leading a cigarette to your lips.

You pushed in the door and were met by two pairs of eyes. A tall young white man, with a dark-skinned one, wearing berets.

Without second glancing at them, you confidently walked to the stairs at the end of the large room, making this place your own.

Your heels resonated on the cold hard ground, and as they did, each man in the building turned to you, staring in both awe and confusion.

Coming down the stairs, you passed by the three little training rings before you sat down at a little table in front of one of them. It was two men fighting, one who had a luxuriant moustache hiding his upper lips, freckles sprinkling his face.

He was screaming at the other one with a thick Birmingham accent, “Come ‘ere, boy.”

“Hit me! Hit me!” His tone was louder each time.

The poor man ahead of him didn’t dare to punch, which he certainly regretted after he received a strong right fist in the jaw.

Only a couple punches later the loud man succeeded at putting down the other that was wincing in pain.

“Yeaa” The moustache man exclaimed before being interrupted by one of the two boys you saw earlier.

“Arthur! There’s a--” He stopped dead at the sight of you, and you put your cig in between your lips as you got up, beginning to applause.

The sound resonated against the walls as no one was making any noise. You grabbed back the cigarette with your fingers and moved closer.

“Do you fight? I know great opponents,” you paused, feigning to think. “not so sure they will stand even for a round with you.” You clicked your tongue, tilting your head.

They both looked at you up and down for a whole minute before the named Arthur opened his mouth, even if still struggling to properly breathe, he smacked his lips as his hands went flattening his hair.

“Searching for exotism, love?” He grabbed the towel he was handed by a small chubby man with a hat. “Bet you liked what ya see.” Arthur decided to make it normal for a woman to come to sit and watch men fight.

“Indeed.” You let out, a curious gleam in your eyes.

He turned to the man on his side that leaned in his ear, murmuring something.

Arthur let out a deep “Hmm” before he got out of the ring.

He glanced at you and decided to keep up the talk.

“I don’t fight like this, it’s just for---”

“Fun?” You interrupted him, your eyes still fixed on his figure. His stare encountered yours before he put on a shirt. He grabbed the filled cup off the table.

“Curly, Tommy needs you in Charlie’s yard. Finn, you go with them.” He was pointing at the men and to the door up the stairs as if dismissing them.

So the man handed him things was going by “Curly” and the boy, Finn.

“What you doing here? It’s not some place for you.” He buttoned up his pants.

You scoffed at his affirmation, leading him to look up at you.

“I like some good fights, is that forbidden, Mr Shelby?” You came nearer, throwing the rest of your cig in his cup.

You were standing right in front of him, taking the bow tie hanging on the half wall of the ring and slowly led it to his neck. He took a step back, but you stepped forward, blocking him against the ring sides.

“You know Tommy?” Arthur felt the need to say something, the situation being extremely odd to him.

You gently put in place the bow and looked up to Arthur’s face, from his pale skin to his eyes. You stayed there a whole minute, analyzing his soul throughout the blue spring sky of his glassy eyes.

“I’d like to see you fight more. In real rings, Arthur. Why don’t you use the boxing place, it’s not far from here.” You turned your heels, walking back to the chair.

He looked at your figure, his eyes blankly fluttering for a moment. Needless to say, the minute you stared at him was displeasing, he was feeling as if he was robbed of something.

He ignored the warning and grabbed his boots, before he installed himself on the other chair around the little table, wanting to hear more about your offer.

“You fight good, but with some real training you could be something else.” You offered him a cigarette that he refused.

You were testing him from the very moment you put your feet in this cave, from checking how to open his mind was to his relation with poison such as cigarettes.

And now that you know everything you need to know, you could offer something.

“You’re some sort of agent?” He asked, intrigued.

You shook your head “Did you ever imagine women fighting? Just like you did, perhaps slightly better” You questioned, teasing him on the end.

His only response was to look at you in disbelief, and you bet he didn’t even understand what you told him.

“There is a world that exists, right here in Birmingham. Wanna go out and see?” You motioned your head toward the door, inviting him to agree with you.

It wasn’t that hard to convince the elder Shelby brother, he was always open to seeing more of life. Even if that meant to beat the shit outta people, get drunk, fuck the whole city or drowning in drugs.

The thing with Arthur was that he wasn’t careful enough, what told him it wasn’t a trap and that he will not get kidnapped or even killed if he followed you? Nothing. Nothing was ever sure with him, but leaving on the edges was something like his daily prayer, so of course he said yes.

Why in the hell would he say no? Tommy could do without him today.

(...)

Tommy had an unexpected visit from Churchill himself. It seemed like the latter had taken a liking to the head of the Shelbys.

“Do what you have to do, Mr Shelby.” Were Churchill’s words toward the reason for his visit, Mosley.

Indeed, he had thought out a concrete plan. And surprisingly, it was thanks to the books you sent him over the weeks, it was almost worth getting harassed by her over the primar book.

The plan was simple, Mosley will make a speech a week and a half from now, the 6th, in Bingley hall. Taking advantage of an anti-fascist demonstration during the rally, an old war comrade named Barney will shoot, and to be cleared of any suspicion, Thomas will be standing right next to Mosley at the time of his death, making sure he’ll take the head of the fascist union.

Today’s meeting was to explain details of the plan and what needed to be done before the d-day, but Tom didn’t see his brother during the entire day and when he’d asked the boys he was responded that Arthur stayed training some more.

It was hard at times, even for him to understand his older brother.

Not that he wanted to, but normally Arthur would never miss a meeting. The only times he didn’t show up were when he was overwhelmed with dark thoughts, and it wasn’t the right time for something like that to occur.

He decided to come to the pub, hoping to see his brother there, drunk, but not in a random cave trying to end his life.

Tom opened the Garrison’s doors, coughing at the amount of smoke coming in his face. He squinted his eyes, at first searching for a fire, but the more smoke entered his nostrils, the more he recognized the smell of apples and red fruits.

“Arthur, what the hell?” he called.

The place was crowded but Tommy’s eyes were focused on his brother, installed at the table near the windows.

He walked to the table and motioned to the windows. “Open one of these.” He ordered, but his brother didn’t see nor hear him. He was too occupied smoking on what seemed like a pipe with a long tube from where came the smoke.

“Oi!” Tommy yelled.

As everyone around the table turned to him, his eyes met with someone he would’ve never expected to be here.

Y/N was previously actively discussing with some girls when someone shouted into her ear.

You stared at Tommy for what seemed an eternity, he doing the same, both asking themselves what the other was doing here.

“Tommy!” His brother exclaimed, louder than he needed to. But this one was too occupied looking at you to even glance toward his brother, that well noticed the stare between you two.

Arthur managed to get up and pat his brother’s shoulder, welcoming him properly.

That’s when he turned to him, incredulous. His icy blue eyes were piercing his brothers, relentlessly.

“Welcome to the new Birmingham, brother!” Arthur seemed ecstatic. “Did you fucking know there were women fighting too, Tommy?”

“What the fuck are you talking about, Arthur.” His brother shook his head, still looking at him.

“Boxing, he saw women boxing for the first time.” You entered the conversation to Tommy's displeasure. He looked over you blankly.

“What the fuck is this?” He pointed to the thing Arthur was smoking from previously.

“It’s called a hookah. Or a shisha in percian.” You responded even though he decided to ignore you for who knows what reason.

“Come on, brother, it’s the good life, isn’t it?” Arthur asked, seeing the face of Tommy next to him.

He ultimately pointed back to the windows, “Open those.” Was all he said before turning back and leaving the pub.

“Sergent Major!” You authoritatively called, the heavy Garrison’s doors making a thud as they closed behind you.

The stars were twinkling dimly in the bright sky, cleared of any cloud. It added phlegm to the frenzied atmosphere between the two individuals.

He was already walking in the opposite direction but immediately stopped at the mention of his Small Heath Rifles’ rank.

Thomas turned back. “What did you say?”

You decide to ignore him and start walking to him.

Each of your steps snapped with the fortitude of an army. And the fineness with which you balance your weight from one foot to the other could bewilder the fiercest individuals, that, he knew.

Not a single ounce of hesitation nor apprehension in your movements.

But the most unsettling thing Tommy found about you was your facial expression. It wasn’t closed off or concentrated, quite the reverse, the spark settling behind your iris could light up any type of darkness and you were undoubtedly giving slices of life to each person you would smile to.

The addition of your features creating a delicate dimension where it was possible to believe the best things could happen.

At that moment, Tom wished he hadn’t seen you at that library. You were something he couldn’t overfly even if he dared to. But for some reasons he wasn’t able to move on, swayings seizing his entire being, physically as well as mentally.

There was just something about this, him and you.

“What the hell did you think, you that act like the most intelligent of all fucking Birmingham and beyond. My fucking brother doesn’t need none of that!” Tommy wasn’t screaming, but you could hear in his deep tone the anger rooted in his throat.

“He doesn’t need it or you don’t want him to have it, Thomas?” You calmly stated, which made him turn his back at you, passing a hand over his face.

You were pushing him to the edge and that made you laugh, which you didn’t even try to muffle.

He turned back to you, eyebrows raised.

“You wanted this.” He pointed you with his index.

He was accusing you of wittingly driving him crazy and you couldn’t even deny it.

You grabbed his finger with your own hand and pushed it down without releasing it.

“No, I counted on it.” You started, your lips curling into a smile that didn’t escape Tommy’s gaze.

“Life’s a succession of wars, Tom. But soldiers too need to relax.”

No one had ever put a finger on that nerve, but here he was, gazing longingly into your orbs, your words resonating within him.

You wasn’t only talking about Arthur and the fact he needed to be distracted to stay away from dark thoughts. You were also talking about him, that didn’t have to take care of everything as you were there now to handle some of it.

“I promise you I know what I’m doing.”

He leaned backwards, looking at you with an unreadable expression.

Why were you promising things now? The last time you two were that close, it was you that ran away, and now you were the one initiating things to drift from professional to personal.

You sighed and looked down. That’s when you realized both your hands were locked together.

You frowned, remaining silent. You were shocked, but not as much as you should. You weren’t totally stupid, the feelings settling in you were pretty clear once you stopped pushing them aside.

Soon enough he followed your stare, noticing the thing as well.

Both of you released at the same time, looking at everything but the other.

Tommy coughed, fighting the will to be the one saying something in this situation. But he didn’t want you to escape him again this time.

“I’m dealing with Arthur, you don’t have to put your nose in my affairs. It’s not part of the deal.”

You’d preferred he hadn’t spoken. You rolled your eyes at yourself before throwing him the “really?” look.

“You can’t even deal with Michael and you’re telling me you’re dealing with Arthur.” You scoffed, putting a hand on your lips to muffle the sound of your laugh.

His body relaxes at your gigglings.

“Who the fuck do you think you’re foolin’?” You couldn’t hold the laugh back any more.

He didn’t respond, nor act on what you just said. He just stares at you, filled with joy at the simple sight of you being vulnerable.

A smile drew at the corner of your lips when you stopped mocking him.

Your eyes fluttered of wellness, as he was just standing close, doing nothing else than breathing.

Tommy grabbed a cig and put it in between his lips, but you hassled to steal it and lock it between yours.

He glanced at you, raising his brows. He was done with you that was for sure. But not in a bad way. You were playing a game and you won the match.

He came lightening up your cig as watching you take a deep and slow puff on it.

You started to walk, going deeper into the street and he started to do the same.

(...)

Michael and Gina were coming back from the restaurant. It was the first time the husband took his wife out to eat in Birmingham as she, obviously, wasn’t a fan of the city.

They didn’t see the time’s flying and it was already ten when they reached the wide glass doors of the hotel.

As they entered it, they noticed it was almost pinched black inside, the only source of brightness emanating from little orangish lights hanging on the walls behind the counter.

Michael glanced left to right at the place, no one to be seen, or so he thought. It was only when Gina stepped foot in, that he glimpsed figures coming out of the dark spots.

They were moving fast, getting nearer the American woman before his husband could do anything to protect her.

“Gina!” Was all he said before she disappeared outside the front doors of the hotel along with the individuals.

(...)

Tommy stops the engine looking straight ahead.

You were looking outside the window, to your large mansion. You managed to glance at the man before opening the door. You were gauging his reaction, almost testing the water all while maintaining the silence.

As the tension couldn’t get higher, you stepped out. You began to move away from the car when you heard its door open, followed by the clearing of a throat you knew too well.

Tommy’s steps on the gravel came nearer and nearer. When you turned the keys in the lock they were right behind. You opened the heavy wooden entry and got in, letting the door open.

The man entered behind your and turned his back at you, closing the door. When he turned back at the entrance, Y/N had disappeared.

He stepped deeper in the house, and joined the living room, where he glimpsed at your figure, your air resting at your back, your fingers over a note on the table.

Tom got closer to you, grabbing your elbow with the tip of his fingers, looking at the paper you seemed focused on.

Done.

You quickly glanced around, as if making sure you were alone. You then turned to him, raising your palm to his cheek, a gentle touch that he didn’t expect, making his lids slowly fluttering.

You took a step forward, leaned towards him and fondled his nose with the end of your own before leading your fingers to his lips.

You closed your eyes, rooting yourself at this moment and forgetting about the library, high society, Mosley, Michael and everything that stood between you.

He was the one to initiate the kiss, the call for you being louder than any other things at the moment. One of his hands slid to the hollow of your back as the other was grabbed by hers.

Fingers intertwined together, breath mixed, lips pressed against one another, heartbeats speeding and a thousand seconds later, you pulled away, slowly raising your gaze to Tommy’s.

The weight this kiss meant dropped on Tom’s shoulder as he, without hesitation, came to taste again the sweet flavour of your lips. You gasped at the connection, the eagerness of the feeling inside your stomach being fed.

You were breathing loudly in his mouth, your hands now grabbing Tommy’s clothes shamelessly.

They both knew there was no turning back and that things got more complicated than they needed to be, but none of them pulled away nor hesitated for even a slight second.

Following Chapter ❱

#peaky blinder imagine #peaky blinder fanfic #tommy shelby #tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby x you #tommy shelby x y/n #peaky blinders fandom #peaky blinders fanfic #thomas shelby #thomas shelby x y/n #thomas shelby x reader

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xxsmokeyy · 4 years ago

Text

Levi x Drug Dealer! Reader (F) The Lunatic And Her Dog

genre: smut, canonverse — Levi’s early recruitment

summary: being a former thug, the new soldier is given a task to ingratiate himself, finding an old associate from his past along the way.

tw: vices (drugs, cigarettes), rough sex

wc: 12,039 holy fuck (smut is only latter half)

“Coderoin. A strong, sweet, and highly addictive drug that’s been circulating in Stohess District for about four years or so,” the Commander says, voice gruff as he explains the content of the unwrapped paper filled with azure tablets.

Coderoin. Levi thinks he’s heard of that thing not long before. He just can’t quite put his finger on it.

“The Military Police Brigade failed to capture the primary smuggler of this substance multiple times, and it’s only recently come to their notice that it’s gotten reformulated to a liquid solution,” he continues, pinching one of them in his fingers, rolling it back and forth to study its appearance.

Levi can only stand back in ennui, the lack of interest reverberating from his aura. What the fuck is he supposed to do with that information?

Erwin places the tablet back to the paper, propping his palms on the tabletop, and stares deep into Levi’s unamused eyes.

“You’ll have to hunt this drug dealer down.” The curt order comes. Levi cocks a brow in confusion, wondering why the blond would make him do such thing.

“That’s the MP’s job. I thought I joined here to kill those filthy titans, what are you going on about?” he quizzes in confusion.

Erwin sighs, lids shutting close before he massages his temples. “The higher-ups are still not exactly in favor of your recruitment in the army, and as much as you hate buttering people up, you’ll have to deal with this case to secure your postion,” he makes intelligible, getting into the details so to clarify things out.

The raven haired man before him listens intently with a permanent scowl on his face, arms crossed over each other. He’s most definitely not liking the idea of seeking those damn swines’ goodwill. Just when he decided to trust the guy.

“You’ll earn Darius Zackly’s approval once you catch the little felon,” Erwin speaks truthfully. Of course, the Supreme Commander who so hates him, of all people. “It’s just this once. Trust me, you’ll have no more problems with your stay if you solve this case,” he even adds to convince the man. Not that there’s any way around this matter. Levi has to do this to prevent further threats in his position and to clear his reputation as well, by hook or by crook.

“You basically want me to suck up their asses,” he concludes, not a question, more of a full decisive statement. The Commander grunts his affirmative response, still getting used of his soldier’s sharp tongue.

“Tch. To hell with that.”

—

The afternoon later, he’s walking on the stony pavements of Stohess District, left with no choice but to follow the Commander’s orders.

Ever since the death of his last friends, Farlan and Isabel, just a few weeks back, things have gotten ridiculously out of hand regarding his enlistment. It almost arrived to a point where he’s wanted in court for seniors to debate whether he can stay up top or should be sent back to the Underground, considering his heavy crimes.

Holding a poster in hand, he studies the illustration keenly. It says the words WANTED: Notorious Drug Lord in big, thick, and bold letters. In the sketched picture is a person wearing a hood. From what he’s told, the wanted criminal has been in the hide for years now, but never once left the district.

“That man never shows himself. That portrait is from a witness in a pub near a shanty town. Some say he often appears wearing a cloak.” That’s what a Military Police officer said to him when he asked for the dealer’s whereabouts.

A man? He squints a little to see the image better.

It’s a bit difficult to determine since it’s only a roughly sketched side profile with a hood worn, blocking the hair, but he’s sure as hell those are certainly not eyes of a man, looking ultimately feminine and provocative. He doesn’t know, but those eyes are somewhat achingly familiar. And those plump lips that held a suggestive smile? He’s fully convinced that it’s a woman.

“A woman? That’s in no way a fair lady. Women here in Stohess stay at home and polish their husbands’ boots.” That’s what the Military Police officer said as well when he told it’s a woman.

Fucking sexists. Not that he cares, though.

Levi stops by the said pub, pushing on the saloon doors before walking to a table of three men, boisterously laughing like crazy. It’s dark and warm inside, the trademark ambience of local bars eating up the whole place. “Any of you seen this guy?” he lazily asks, showing the piece of paper to their faces.

Their eyes dart on the illustration before all of them fall silent, throwing looks at each other, and Levi can swear he could hear the rusty gears in their pea sized brain turn.

When they keep quiet, he almost surmises they turned mute upon seeing him and is about to leave them alone, finding them completely useless. He just wants to finish this task, and quick.

“Heard ya were a nasty criminal in the Underground,” the guy on his left comments and drinks the beer at hand, briefly pausing, “ya can’t seriously be turnin’ y’er back on that kinda past,” he smugly continues.

Levi’s brows twitch in irritation. How is that relevant to what he asked?

“Just answer the damn question,” he orders assertively and slams the paper onto their tabletop. The guys exchange gazes once again like it’s some sort of stupid inside code.

“What makes ya think ya can fool us? We know you’ll arrest us off the bat if we answer, young’un,” the man continues, his company still speechless. What, is he the leader of their pack or something?

The way they stare him down with the most condescending eyes is ticking him off to ridiculous measures, he could’ve knocked them out cold one by one already if not for the fact that they obviously know something, and nobody else is in the pub other than them and the staff.

“I don’t give two shits about your work. I’m not asking for you, I’m looking for this guy right here,” he jabs a finger into the poster, causing every one of them to look at it once more.

“I ain’t convinced—”

Levi has had enough of their refusal and decides to pull out his knife, kick the very chair the garrulous man is sitting on to drop him on the ground, beer spilling everywhere, before using the dirty sole of his boot to shove the man’s cheeks against the wooden floor.

He kneels down on his right knee, his other foot still stepping on the man’s face, and points the tip of his freshly sharpened knife just a few centimeters from his eyeball, which earns him a whimper of surprise.

“Gonna stop yakking any minute now?” Levi asks. It’s a bit surprising to him that the bartender of the pub didn’t meddle the whole time for pressing on his customers, oddly similar to the lukewarm nature of his hometown.

The two men freeze in fear, afraid that if they do anything to counter the soldier’s menace, their good friend might suffer and go blind. How worthless.

After a couple more seconds, the old geezer eventually gives in and speaks. “That’s our dealer,” he admits, voice weak and shaky. Levi cocks a brow and listens, finally getting the information he‘s aiming for.

“Guy’s been selling drugs that originated from the Underground,” he adds.

“Coderoin?”

“Yeah. He never shows up to us buyers, only sends brokers to deliver.”

“That’s not a man,” Levi corrects again, slowly getting convinced it’s someone he knows from way back. The descriptions about the wanted dealer and the way she arranges things precisely match, not to mention the poster looking exactly like her.

“I told you I won’t end up in brothels, Levi. I created something, and it’s doing great,” she says with a proud smile painted on her colored lips.

“What is it?”

“Coderoin.”

But the soldier only sounds out of his tree in the listeners’ ears, and they immediately speak to nullify his scarcely credible conspiracy theory. “There’s no way. Women here in Stohess—”

Yeah, he gets it. If they don’t believe it then let it be. See, this is why they haven’t caught the culprit for the past years, because they’re looking for a damn male.

“Where was she last seen?” Levi asks, completely dismissing their words, but the guy tries to oppose the small detail once again. “That’s a man—“

“Where was she last seen?” he repeats, cutting off his hostage’s words while he flattens with his boot the man’s cheeks in such a way as to crush his skull, emphasizing what really is important here and what he’s actually asking for. Levi ignores how the poor guy yelps in pain, waiting for intel he can benefit from.

“I don’t know!” he truthfully says, face already deforming from the forceful contact, having difficulty breathing.

“She lives at the skid row,” the bartender chimes in as he wipes on a glass, turning Levi’s head his way. Someone who knows her real identity, huh?

“How do you know?” he keeps his foot down and quizzes, looking for the authenticity in his words. The runt might be fooling him for all he knows, a trap to lure him in.

“I live there,” he simply says. “I don’t have business with her so it won’t be bad if I rat out on her,” he shrugs and turns his back to return to working. The guys listen, puzzled about what they’re talking about.

The ravenhead thinks for a moment, then rising to this heels, kicking away the head he was previously pulverizing before heading out the bar to make off.

In the end, none of them was substantial but the barkeep. And in Levi’s humblest opinion, the guy whom he mostly talked to should drop his so-called friends who didn’t even have the guts to drag their pal out of his plight, being one who gets rid of ineffective people himself.

He looks up at the gloomy afternoon skies once he exits, the clouds moving as he thinks about a variety of stuffs from his past. Envisioning and etching into his brain the familiar silky locks, rose red lips, and a pair of sultry eyes, he then starts walking.

Now, to find you.

—

With the help of the villagers’ directions, he’s arrived at the said skid row by foot. It surprises Levi a lot, having not expected to see a number of resemblances between the Underground and the surface. The visible corruption is no different from down there, with certain rundown areas openly exposed, just a couple blocks away from extravagant neighborhoods. That just goes to show that people’s amoral natures don’t change wherever they go.

He scans his eyes around, studying the dark and uninviting alleyways, the narrow paths, and the compressed townhouses. It’s almost as if the sun refuses to shine here.

This place isn’t any less than a junkyard, he thinks, coming from someone who has just escaped from one.

He takes a step forward to head to the flat where you apparently reside, only to get stopped by a bunch of gangsters, another guy putting his hands on Levi’s shoulders. An animal touching him with filthy fingers, something he hates the most.

“Where do you think you’re going, kid?” the insect says as he looks down on the soldier’s short stature, showing not a droplet of respect. “What’s a scout soldier doing here? There ain’t no titans here, boy!” There’s nothing they love to ridicule more than suicidal people under the disguise of a uniform.

He immediately uses his clean hands that would unfortunately be dirtied as he removes the assaulter’s arm away from him, squeezing it with great force before twisting the whole limb around with full intentions to dislocate it.

The man screeching in pain, Levi gives him a good kick in the face, causing him to fall to the ground, unconscious. Of course, there’s three more left standing. Even if they’re rendered speechless and horrified, he still can’t let bothersome runts on the loose.

One of the delinquents attempts to swing a fist at him, a sorry excuse for a punch by the way, only to get hit right in the guts, disgusting spit flying everywhere. The other tries to slash a knife, which he only snatches away with nimble fingers before hitting a nerve on the neck to knock the guy out cold.

The last one, hairline already receding and looking grey, tries to hit him with a bat. It’s a pitiful sight to look at, really, how they all think they could give him a good beating when they approached him. He crouches down to dodge the weapon, dragging his dominant leg on the floor to kick sweep the old fart off of his toes, head falling against the solid concrete.

Dusting his hands to rid himself of the muck he gained from fighting them, Levi stands upright in vexation and observes as they either squirm or doze off on their own. A flock of vagrants that has got to learn how to keep their hands to themselves.

The thing is, he has had enough of drunkards trying to get on his way. He just wants to get his job done, bring you to those impotent MP’s and get this reputation Erwin kept saying to secure his position for a lifetime.

When finally sets foot on your alleged doorstep, he tries for three knocks, waiting for a response. As much as he wants to finish this task, he doesn’t want to barge in your suite, if possible, because he’d also hate it if it’s done to him. He tries again, focusing to catch with his ears any faint sound.

Minutes pass by and he turns the knob open to find out it’s unlocked the whole time, all his deliberations of keeping still and going down the drain.

It’s quiet and empty.

Levi freely enters, keeping an eye out for attackers, if there are. It’s small, but enough for one person.

He goes with the assumption that you live alone, and maybe don’t have any flings. He still remembers how you latch onto different guys back in the day to have them arrange deals for you. Yeah, you had a way with your words, especially towards men. The epitome of a social butterfly.

But maybe it’s not like that anymore, now that you’re in a city like this with rich people out and about.

How did you wind up here in the first place?

He keenly observes as he goes further in. To your credit, the place is relatively clean. No scattered trash, no messy clothing, and the furniture are well organized. Well, that’d be essential to make an innocent front and hide your junk evidence. But still, impressive.

Nothing really seems malicious at first glance. So far, no one’s coming out, and there are no drugs to be found.

He stumbles upon two more closed doors. He finds that one of them is a bathroom, and the other your bedroom. Aside from those, there’s nowhere else to go. He enters your personal space, looking for something peculiar.

Your bed is fixed, sheets folded nicely. You had a study desk, and a bookshelf. Based from the covers’ titles, they’re all about science. Tch. It’s a dead giveaway. No matter how much you tried to make an oh-so normal living space, those books would be a suspicious lead.

Now what? You’re nowhere to be seen.

Is she home?

He looks around the room looking for an ashtray or even a fire because somehow, it reeks of burning cigarettes, like it’s being consumed at the moment.

Something finally clicks inside of him. Of course, you’re a damn drug lord. An infamous one, at that. You’ll need someplace to hide once all hell breaks loose, and someplace to hide your stuff.

Levi uses his boot to lift the carpet he’s currently stepping on, and finds, just what he expects, a trapdoor. Clever, but not too much.

He then vigorously kicks the door open, which nearly bursts it off of its hinges, if not already. It swings down loosely, losing its assistive joints. He ignores the wooden ladder provided and instead jumps down, dropping on his knees.

“Now you gotta fix that,” says a soft and seductive voice that is definitely no stranger the young man.

Levi raises his gaze and finally finds you, sitting on a chair in the opposite end of a long presidential table, smoking a mint cigarette, and the stench reaches his nostrils. That’s where the ashy pong was coming from.

The secret chambers appear almost pit black from the lack of natural light if not for the candle sconces built on the walls all around, and the lone lantern situated on the table.

He scrutinizes you for a moment, meeting your luscious, glowing eyes. Your hair is styled just the way he remembers, luxuriant, untied, and flowing in sync with your movements. Your plump lips shaded red, fierce like how you want it. Your figure voluptuous by your feminine puff sleeved dress, black front laced corset over top hugging at your curves. For a dress so dainty, you ultimately still looked provocative.

Actually, he kind of understands how it’s unbelievable for such a lady to be a criminal of ill repute. Although nothing much has changed with you external-wise, your youthful attributes have only matured beautifully, and you’ve indeed grown up to be an enchanting woman.

“It’s me. You’ve found me,” you claim, feeling his strong stare burning into your skin. What, does he not recognize you now?

It’s totally the other way round. Every single one of your physical features under the warm candlelight’s reflection keeps rekindling memories inside his head, some just flat out inappropriate.

“So you are the goddamn drug dealer,” he states, not any less than a confirmation.

“Drug dealer is a bit brusque, don’t you think?” you comment with a smile. Anything but to be called a drug dealer. How cheap.

“I’ve been thinking about it, and I think I prefer to go with narco hustler, rolls off the tongue just right,” you suggest. It sounds plain dumb to Levi’s ears, you had zero taste. “Okay, maybe it doesn’t,” you take back upon seeing his seriously bored expression. He has always been one so hard to read, but now he just looks evidently repulsed.

Levi stays standing across of you, resting his arm on top of the other, and leans back against the ladder. Maintaining respective distance, he decides to linger for a bit, intrigued by what stories you must got.

“Rumor has it you’re one of them now. Guess it’s true,” you posite as you observe his physique, wearing a uniform jacket with the wings of “freedom”. Couldn’t he have joined the MP’s out of the three? Lame.

The young man watches back as you lift your wrist up and bring the stick to your delicate lips, inhaling a lungful before blowing the smoke upwards, and he could easily feel how you held yourself up with superiority. Nothing new with the headstrong woman that you are.

“What the fuck are you doing up here?” he inquires right away, genuinely curious of your sudden disappearance years ago. He knew full well you weren’t dead, but he never got his hands on news about you.

“Huh? What the fuck are you doing up here, too? You surely downgraded from being a crime boss to a pongo’s dog. Seriously?” you retort cheekily. Last time you checked, he was doing well with his gang, couldn’t he have stayed that way?

He massages the temples of his forehead with closed eyes. Your words are making him think back to his decisions, but not too deeply. He reluctantly contemplates if it’s alright telling you things, but chooses to do so. You had a spot in his life, too, no matter how small. And he’s going to arrest you anyway.

“Lot of complications. It was all supposed to be a job to kill the Section Commander then we’d get granted citizenship…” he trails off, unsure of whether to go on or stop there, “but things took a turn.”

“Hmm?” you hum, waiting for his continuation.

He stays silent and refuses to say a word.

“Alright then. Well what about… who was it? Farlan and Isabel?” you ask cluelessly, thinking if you got their names right.

He sighs. It was exactly what he was trying to avoid. “They’re in the Survey Corps now as well?” you quiz, partially interested. You already know the answer. Who would leave their beloved boss? You just know for sure it won’t be them.

“They’re gone,” he averts his gaze, expertly hiding his emotions away with thick pride.

Your eyes largen a little in realization. “Oh. Sorry.” He catches you put out your cigarette by prodding its cherry into the glass ashtray. There’s still about half left but you paid no extra mind, and it says a lot about your well heeled state.

Enough about him. “What exactly happened to you?” Levi questions, and you prop your elbows on the tabletop, interlacing your fingers together before resting your chin on them.

“Bought citizenship,” you start off, never taking your glance off him. He‘s hot all right, still a sight for sore eyes. Heavily improved, even. It has been five years, after all. You admit, he aged like the finest wine there is.

“A pain in the pockets, yes. But worth it.” You pucker your lips and furrow your brows together upon remembering your old situations.

“Underground folks were becoming cheapskates day by day! Can you believe it? They’re trying to buy two-fifty for, what, five bronze coins? My stuff are as expensive as your maneuvering gear, you know!” you complain, memories of being wrongly paid years ago flashing through your brain.

That’s life. At least you’re well off now. That’s what’s important.

He rakes his eyes around the room and finds stacks and stacks of packaged tablets, same ones as those Erwin showed him.

“Coderoin, huh?” he comments, testing the word on his tongue. Nothing special with the name, probably came from the scientific components. He doesn’t give a rat’s ass.

The warm temperature from the window restricted room urges him to remove his jacket, and so he eventually does. You try not to raise both your eyebrows in captivation as you see the outlines of his muscular torso tracing through his clothes, his veiny forearms exposed by his cuffed shirt.

“I haven’t released it yet, but I just finished formulating a liquified version to easily shoot it up the veins for a more elongated and ecstatic experience,” you proudly brag to divert your attention as well, and Levi cocks a brow in confusion. Haven’t released it yet?

“The MP’s already know there’s a new formula,” he informs, recalling what the Commander said when he was educating him about it earlier.

“What? Already?” you ask, gasping in surprise. It’s a given that word spreads around here fast, but you’re doing your best to work in confidentiality. Some big-mouthed brokers of yours must be babbling.

“Yeah.”

“See how famous I am?” You giggle, letting the issue slide.

“Everyone thinks you’re a man.”

“What?” you ask again, completely scandalized, eyes widening in repulsion. They cannot be serious. You never knew that! Not even your associates told you!

It’s a bit amusing to him how that almost looks like it matters to you the most. Do you even know why he’s here? You don’t seem to be questioning his out of nowhere presence.

“You’re a drug abuser. It’s natural for people to think that way,” he says, eyeing your reactions.

“That’s mean! I’m not an addict. In fact, I don’t even do those often,” you oppose a matter-of-factly. It’s not half a lie, you probably had one the past week, but aside from that, you never took it recently. This stuff is for the customers to abuse. You don’t really have an avid addiction to it.

Honestly speaking, being one for dirty felonies ending just a couple months back, he couldn’t care less what kind of profession you had, as long as people find their own way to live, he’d immediately—but only mentally—give kudos to them. It’s hard enough trying to survive in a corrupt system.

You lived all by yourself back then. You were a tough and independent one, he’d give you that. You helped him with particular deals. Important ones.

In actuality, it’s solely because of you that he got his hands on certain armaments like the ODMG. It was hard to obtain those, seeing as it’s a highly illegal trade and costs an arm and a leg. Though on the plus side, it made his stealings more convenient and less a pain in the ass.

But he wouldn’t say you’re good friends, nor are you on the same gang. Associates, he would say. At times, something even more than associates. Oh, it’s not anything close to romantic. Just something beneficial on both sides.

“I mean at least I’m not a squaddie now, playing soldier like you,” you add, playfully mocking him. Levi throws you a glare of the same energy. It’s not like he wanted this. He’s got no choice, it’s better than going back to that sunken town, alone at that matter.

“You don’t show up to people here,” he surmises from what he learned. As you rise to your feet and walk to the piles of boxes, you fail to notice how he gives your form a runover, from head to toe, his eyes involuntarily staying on some shapely areas.

“This is where I bring my brokers. I’m not going face-to-face with my dear buyers now. What if they sell out on me? Can’t trust people nowadays.” It’s true, because back there, everyone was a criminal in their own ways. You grab a small bag of the tablets and turn around to show him, dangling it mid-air.

“But I’m telling you, people here are as generous as lords. It’s basically easy money everyday,” you say and throw him the drawstring bag, which he catches with one hand in maximum proficiency, the action causing his arms to flex a little. Oh, those muscles. Suave.

“You’re living in a dumpster.”

“It’s called a sentimental value,” you dismiss.

Levi pours some out and takes a moment to observe the packed drugs on his palm, the blue color even and smooth. He’s never found himself drawn to this kind of thing, but he understands the usage. Something to escape from reality for a short period of time.

“I never expected you to turn on your past, of all people,” you mindlessly comment, causing him to look at you with furrowed brows. Though you never meant that the bad way and just wanted to speak your mind, your choice of words still strike a nerve from within him.

Why the fuck are people on the surface keep acting like angels as if they’re any better? At this point, he’d prefer his hometown people over some half assed drug addicts.

This should be enough for today. He carelessly chitchatted for long, almost forgetting his true purpose of being here. It’s too bad he has to ruin your oh-so perfect life. Well, there’s not much he can do about that as it’s how the cookie crumbles. Dragging people down to rise up the ranks is part of the norm in this wretched society, it’s just unfortunate he has to do it to you.

“Say, what if you join me? Leave the Corps and let’s team up. You can run the errands, and I stay here to formulate,” you continue to propose, fully unaware that you ticked him off just a second ago, bringing him back to earth.

“I can’t. Apparently, I’m a soldier now,” he straight up rejects and starts to walk up to you, handcuffs ready by his belt.

Taken aback by his deadpan refusal, you tilt your head in an attempt to understand. “Well then, if that’s what you want.”

“What I want is for you to come with me,” the soldier finally admits, showing the restraining shackles he has at hand.

Realization dawns upon you, and you feel a bit dense. Oh, right. He did welcome himself into your home, completely unannounced.

A dry and bitter chuckle leaves your throat continuously, dissolving into a long thread of laughter that echoes around the spacious room, resembling those of a mentally deranged woman. Levi’s forehead knots in a mix of puzzlement and irritation as he waits for you to calm down.

Your fit of entertainment starts to boil down, tears of satiric bliss filling your ducts. You wipe them off timidly, building up the manner of being a prim and proper lady. “Sorry… that was funnier than I expected,” you apologize, and he couldn’t quite understand what you want to come across with. He waits for your explanation.

“Buzz off, will you?” you ask of him once you finish composing yourself.

“What?” the man quizzes.

Your face turns dead serious as you fish a tiny pouch from your dress’ pockets, throwing it lazily to the table, contents spilling mid air due to the loosened tie. An abundance of golden coins shower all over the place and fall suspendedly to the ground.

“I’m telling you to fuck off. Now,” you don’t flash him even the smallest of smiles as you curtly give him the order.

You’re bribing him.

And fuck, did you drive him round the twist, he has never felt so insulted his whole life.

Is it because you’re doing well than him now despite the honorability of occupation? Is it because it’s coming from someone he knows from the past? Is it because of your tone so ludicrously condescending it’s making every single drop of blood in his body boil?

“Need more? Why don’t we negotiate upstairs with the amount that will send you away?” you carry on with casting aspersions on him.

What a jackass. After all you’ve done for him? There’s nothing you hate more than shameless traitors, and this guy in front of you doesn’t bat an eye about being one.

Meanwhile, you were rubbing to his face the looming difference between his stability and yours. And of course, it doesn’t matter whose reputation is better, because both of you were miscreants at one point in life. The only distinction is: you gladly kept on with that line of work, and he was forced with his.

Levi takes big strides to reach your form, dropping both the jacket and the drugs he was holding. He’s furious, but he refuses to show. All he wants now is for you to shut your filthy mouth.

He lunges at you and slams you against the wall, wrapping his fingers around your neck. An involuntary whimper slips past your lips, and it certainly feeds his ego to see you so helpless. “Shut your damn mouth,” he bellows, tone imposing the dangers you could get from rubbing him up the wrong way.

You’re not about to give him what he wants. He’s barking up the wrong tree here, treating you so indiferrently for what? For letting him in and being hospitable? For offering him a generous partnership? Can you believe this guy? He’d throw your acquaintance off the window for his own sake. Selfish crab.

“Hate to see your ally so successful?” you attempt to breathe out, one hand trying to unclasp his fingers, one hand aiming to claw your nails at his face. He slaps it away before you can make contact and increases pressure.

Your eyes well up from the suffocating pain as he robs you of air supply, choking you tightly and pressing roughly. Crap!

“That’s—all you got?” you struggle to challenge him, same time trying to pull the slightest amount of oxygen into your lungs you can catch on.

Your dare does absolutely nothing but piss him off. Wow, you’re a bitch to try and control. Levi has the means to tighten his grip. It doesn’t even matter to the MP’s if he brings you dead as long as he can hand over the evidence. But he won’t go that far, because that far would be killing you off.

Staying that way for a moment longer, he examines your facial expression, still brave and never surrendering. He then lets go of you, but only by throwing you to the hard ground. Your back hits the flooring and you squint your eyes in sharp ache, all the while desperately breathing for any available air.

“Rot in hell,” you curse at him in great detestation. Lying back, you gently caress your neck as if to heal the reddened skin from the harsh force he applied.

Levi sighs, collecting himself, and kneels down in level with your weakened body. Maybe he went too hard on you. He has got to keep his temper at bay.

“Sorry,” he genuinely says. It’s not everyday he says that word, but when he does, he accepts that he’s mistaken. A bit surprised, you peer at him with a bleary vision, finding a scowl on his face as he admits his wrongdoing.

You swear you were ready to laugh it all out and forgive him, if not for the fact that he’s currently grabbing the handcuffs, still determined to arrest you. How sincere of him. What exactly was he apologizing for again?

You wait for him to scoot over, discreetly regaining steady breath as you stay laying down. You’re not the best at countering someone combat wise, but growing up a female in the Underground has taught you a couple moves enough to stall you some time to escape.

As he finally crouches beside you, you jolt up to sit and sling two of your arms around his nape and under his armpit, pulling him towards you before throwing him beside with the strength you can manage to utilize.

When did you learn that move? It baffles Levi a little, but he won’t let you have your way. His weight isn’t something you could overlook, that you’re dragged along with and on top of him. The moment you try to quickly prop yourself up and make a run, he grabs your waist and rolls over to bring you back down, straddling on top of you.

“I’ll kill you!” you spit to his face, once again feeling betrayed. You never once thought he’d drive you into a corner do this to you.

“That’s cute of you,” he says in graceful sarcasm. You fight him back with a piercing glare, but he only looks back at you with those apathetic, steel grey eyes. Nothing has changed within them, they’re still cold and indecipherable. It matches his personality well.

Apathetic? He can’t be all that bad, he’s just human. He has needs, one way or another.

You stick a hand out to pull his dark locks, and for once, you actually succeed. He hisses in irritation. He should have expected you’d put up a fight, but he doesn’t get why he’s just straight up pissed. Talk about annoying.

He doesn’t expect it when you forcefully yank him in for a deep kiss, the sudden motion causing your lips to crash together, freezing him in place. It’s all just to take him by surprise and then you’d gab the chance to run away in haste. Cheap trick, but worth a shot. If this will work, that is.

Earlier than he can try to push you away, you kick your knee into his abdomen and hurl him aside with all your might, doing your best to head to the ladder leading up to the trapdoor. But Levi is quick on his feet and kicks your leg to make you lose balance. Tripping over yourself, you fall toward the table, your stomach plowing into its side frames. He will never let you escape.

You inwardly curse him for being such a headache. Before you know it, your left arm is rashly held behind your back and you shriek in pain, your cheek shoved down onto the tabletop. Shit. He got you there.

“Can’t you be any gentler?” you ask, voice soft and of forged innocence, which is patently just an attempt to con him. He ignores you and instead starts wearing one part of the handcuffs around your wrist from behind. You think of anything to get yourself out of this. Chuckling dryly, “Hey… I told you already. Let’s talk things out,” you woo, but to no avail. Levi twists your arm a bit, not too much, but enough to shut you up. He sure is enraged.

A lock clicks from one of the shackles and you feel the cold steel wrap your frail wrist. It’s happening, the most humiliating moment for a criminal. You’re all tapped out of ideas—

with your limited field of vision, you scan your eyes around what you can see, finding a trail of drugs scattered on the ground. It must be from when he launched at you and tried to strangle you to death. Although you still don’t know why he did that, you bury the thought to the back of your head to come up with a plan.

—except one.

A smile creeps up your lips, one that appears when you just figured out something clever. Alright, then. Let’s see what else is enraged.

Not giving him the chance to lock both your hands together, from your held up position, you perk your bum up a little to make a feel for his crotch. Your thick cheeks hit something poking and you giggle in festivity. It so turns out your hunch is right, his bulge is, indeed, straining from inside his pants.

“What the fuck are you doing?” he stops dead in his tracks and questions, more like an order for a valid answer.

With your bended over form being perfectly convenient, you wiggle your ass and stick it up against his obviously aching groin, teasing it even more. It’s a shame you’re both wearing clothes, your titillating movements ending up just mere friction.

“My, my. How long has it been like that?” you jest, voice about half an octave high and femininely suggestive. His brows knit in pique and flips you over to make you face him and to put a halt to your indecent measures. You click your tongue in mock, elbow propped against the table to look up at him.

“What a naughty soldier,” you whisper with a satisfied smirk, and reach a hand out to pull his cravat, yanking him down and in for another kiss. This time, it’s you who won’t let him escape, with nothing else but a nice trick for women to prevail over men.

It makes his hackles raise how you try to enter his mouth with your probing tongue like you’re the one in foremost control. As if he’ll let that happen.

He pushes your tongue back and bites your lower lip, earning him entrance along with a quiet mewl. He then travels your wet cavern with his own, forcefully exploring every inch to show you who’s in charge, like always. There and then, he instantly distinguishes the mint flavored nicotine evenly mixed in with your sweet saliva. It interests him how five years have already passed, and yet you consistently taste the same. Up until here, you never dropped the habit of smoking.

You try to fight back and earn your place, hooking both your heels into his hips to draw him closer. Even if it’s utterly inappropriate and misplaced, you quickly feel your pussy drip with excitement. Everything feels so nostalgic.

Amidst the kiss, his palm begins to roam around your body, from your neck to your chest. Levi finds the corset a hindrance, and he takes note to go back to it later, maybe rip it apart as well.

He resumes exploring your body, from your tummy, to your clothed womanhood. It starts to rile you up and turn you on as he slips his hand under your dress, not bothering to lift it up, just blindly cupping for your sex. When he finally feels your panties, you know for certain he smirked.

“You’re not so frigid yourself,” he comments upon the discovery that your growing wetness is soaking the fabric. He slides one finger against your slit, your undergarment still in between. He gently rubs on it as he sucks on your soft lips, earning him quiet moans in return. What a nasty tease.

When you both pull away for air, you open your eyes to look daringly straight into his grey ones, and while you exchange stares, you also let go of his cravat and grab his hand as if to guide them deeper and further in. He finds that you’re more than just eager when you put his hand inside, now in touch with your intimate skin. He gladly takes your offer and tears your panties away, his vigor making you laugh breathily.

Levi plunges two fingers in without delay, and you yield in defeat, letting him do as he likes. He has no intentions of lurking around the corner. You let your head hang back as he does you with his slick fingers, moaning to your will when he hits your good spots.

He lets his unreasonable hate and anger dissipate into nothingness, allowing himself to be indulgent in giving you pleasure. It’s been so long that this almost serves as your reunion. He doesn’t mind that. Just as long as he keeps in mind his sole purpose of breaking in to take him with you.

The ravenhead watches you spread your legs wider, visibly aching for more as you surrender to him and give him full control over your body. He moves his dexterous fingers in and out, the rhythm exquisite like how you prefer it. It’s like he still memorized you the same. Your responsive hums are tempting and fervid, your bodily movements a subtle indication of a longing. He increases his speed, looking for an angle to rub you up good, and he knows he hit it right when you shudder a little, back falling to the table and grip losing.

He lets on with working his hand, your juices coating his fingertips as he jabs them in deep repeatedly. It’s a flattering sight to see you so lost and vulnerable singlehandedly by his mere touch, and he would be lying if he says it doesn’t turn him on.

Your sweet, melodious moans resonate inside the whole of the chambers, music to Levi’s ears. Your mouth partly hanging open, eyes in but a permanent daze as you struggle to crack them open. The way he has you going crazy is beautiful. You’re beautiful. Not half-bad-looking for a woman about to approach her thirties.

Out of nowhere, a mood ruining thought crosses his mind. He recalls you saying this place is where you bring your brokers. And since your neighbors haven’t found out your true identity and racket yet, having a clump of men visit your apartment could entirely be misleading.

It’s only natural that they think you’re some kind of courtesan selling your body. Knowing you, you don’t give a flying fuck if people think that, but with him, it doesn’t sit right. Who knows? Maybe you actually humor the same men every once in a while. Just look at what you’re doing now.

A grim expression materializes on his face. No, he’s not jealous. But in all honesty, he wants what’s his to stay his.

You couldn’t think of anything as he harshly thrusts his fingers into you, your body’s consciousness focusing only on the uprising pleasure, but when you’re this close to coming, all of a sudden, he pulls them out at once, grabs your hands and finally locks both your wrists together with the handcuffs before pinning them on top of your head.

Cruelly left hanging, a wave of disappointment rushes over your veins. “You’ve got to be fucking joking me,” you whine, genuinely annoyed as you’re already fully installed and waiting for your explosion. Did he do that on purpose? Yes. But to your surprise, he doesn’t do anything to lift you up or bring you with him to jail.

Brows furrowed and eyes dark, Levi unties your corset’s lacing in a rapaciously eager manner, harshly pulling down the garter of your neckline to let your boobs bounce free. Your eyes widen a little when he pulls your skirt up to gain thorough access of your fruity folds. You didn’t expect him to continue on, with you restrained, even.

“Just like the good old days, huh?” you tease, voice awash with prurience. Although this reminds you of those days, this is surely going to be a new experience. While handcuffed? You love it, and just thinking about him pounding you out as you’re unable to lay your hands on him makes your neck hairs straighten in great arousal. You’re totally into this!

He’s suddenly reminded of years ago when you’d come over to catch up with the latest trades, or simply just bring with you your babbling of the day. Oftentimes, the visit ends up in the bedroom, the couch, the kitchen.

You were both young, both helping fill each other’s primitive needs and desires, not the thinnest string left attached. You handled the whole thing casually, the whole thing being just lustful sex every once in a while. Fuck buddies. That’s what they call it.

Memories of your heated body rubbing up against his, lips messy on one another’s skin, hands everywhere, nude and naked—sometimes still completely clothed, fucking you against the wall, fucking you on the counter, and finally, you kneeling on the floor as you eat him up hungrily. All of those, just five years ago.

He’s only proven you haven’t changed despite the time difference when you kick your kitten heels away like you disregard its price, stretch your right leg out to reach his crotch, your foot making a feel for his huge bulge.

He looks down to his pants, your toes stroking his covered length invitingly as if to provoke it. “You’re one fucking dirty bitch,” he points out upon your indecorous actions, meeting your catlike eyes illuminating nothing but indiscriminate salacity.

“We’re not all that different, see?” you tell, never tearing your gaze off him as you continue moving your foot up and down. He’s straining so bad, almost making you giggle. Come on, Levi. You’re just as aching as me. We could use a quickie.

He sternly grabs your ankle to stop your lewd ways and keeps quiet until you speak. Does he really think he can stop you from acting so dirty? You then bring your chained wrists to your chest, gently massaging your exposed breasts with what space you can manage, giving him a little show you know he can’t resist.

“I mean, just look at you, wearing a cheesy cravat like it’s gonna make you look dignified,” you poke fun at him and laugh, flashing him a grin before seductively licking your lips. He clicks his tongue in annoyance, but is still unable to take his eyes off of your body as you continue to play with your very own mounds.

“Shut up,” he orders, stripping the authority in his tone. Oh… you know him perfectly well. It’ll only take one last trigger for him to fire away and spring into action.

“You shut up and just fuck me,” you demand candidly, the smile in your face disappearing in the blink of an eye.

You like to think he’s one hell of a dog as he listens to your whim, undoes his trousers, only dropping them so far because of his difficult, complicated, and inhibiting harnesses. What a costume. He glares at you when you raise a sly brow at him, cocky expression conveying the words: still wanna be a soldier?

Levi just wants you to shut up for real, and he victoriously does that by pulling your body closer to the end of the table, then practically ramming his huge dick inside you, his massiveness able to cover your whole depth when he mercilessly buries it in. A long and sonorous moan leaves your throat in the utmost pleasure. Shit, he’s so big! Your tight walls are forced to adjust, desperately stretching to adapt to his size.

“Oh, fuck!” you exclaim, throwing your head back to release your emotions, eyes clenching shut in nauseating pain. Overwhelming! Can a man in his age still grow? You didn’t expect this in any way. It sure hurts like a bitch, but that’s just one of the reasons why you love it.

The cadet starts moving in a pace that tells you he won’t be beating around the bush, quick and rough. The only thing you’re worrying about is the soreness that you’ll get once this is finished, because right now—you’ve said it two times—you love it.

His anger seeping as he forces his dick in and out of your fuckhole, Levi finds it an entertaining cabaret as he watches you, your makeshift play consisting of you opening your mouth wide to moan in fervor, whipping your head side to side, eyelids falling while he quickly drives you to the brink of insanity. One bewitching whore, he thinks.

He bucks his hips even faster and spreads your legs wider apart to let you have what you want, violent and aggressive. Like an obedient lady’s man, Levi spoils your carnality by licking his middle and forefinger to rub your engorged clit, his spit helping him circle the most sensitive spot in ease.

You arch your back up in surprise, your nerves receptive in alerting you of the littlest motions. He’s so good. So good that your brain is going blank, unknowing of what to do. When you squirm under him, try to shoot up and search something to hold on for dear life, only to fall back against the table, your manacled hands suddenly add up to the gratifying thrill stirred with powerlessness. It makes Levi smirk for a fleeting second.

Not so free now, are you?

Simultaneously, Levi deepens his thrusts and starts to rubbing your clit directly to intensify the sensation, back and forth, up and down. With fervent eyes, he feasts on your body as it loses control, tits bouncing from his relentless humps, pussy unendingly leaking. Out of reflex, you try to wriggle away, but to no avail. You’re losing your mind by his marvelous stimulation, and you remember just how he feels like before.

The humidity is starting to take over your bodies, and you both feel hotter. The dark room, the rattling of the lantern on the table, sweat beginning to break through your skins, his stifled grunts, your loud wails, both your heads full of lustful desire. Who knew an apprehension would end up like this? Purely lewd. Seems normal to you, though.

The telltale signs of your upcoming orgasm appear. Your walls envelop around him tightly, your moans longer and hitching, your breaths shaky as you catch it and whatnot. The immense pleasure that keeps gradually stacking up inside your veins finally snaps free, and you come with unruly convulsions. Eyeballs rolling to the back of your skull, your cunt contracting around him, he doesn’t stop, and fuck is it overbearing.

His dick reaching the end of you, his merciless thrusts unwavering when you’re obviously trembling uncontrollably, he’s a damn ruthless lad. The amount of spasms you receive is livid, you so wanted to applaud yourself for choosing the perfect guy. Exceptional taste.

Your high eventually tones down and you’re back to awareness. The demon stops moving soon as well, deciding maybe you’ve had enough.

You gasp for breath after losing your grip from the mind boggling experience. It’s been so long since you’ve had amazing sex, and when you say so long, you mean excruciatingly long years. You study him as he looks back at you. Still so dominant, isn’t he? Refusing to get off the same time you do.

Alright. You’ve had enough mindless nooky. Now it’s time to break free from his clutches. From your lied down position, you then proceed to distract him with some ramblings.

“You better not be fucking your comrades like this,” you quip, collecting yourself.

“I’m not like you,” Levi answers and pulls out, thinking about how much men you’ve entertained your whole life. You cock a brow upon hearing his smart assed reply and mock him again, a giggle escaping your mouth, “Gonna keep acting so clean?” He should know not to continue wanting to look like a saint. He’s not any different than you, for shit’s sake.

“You have a screwed up background, Levi. You can’t seriously be thinking your superiors will be in favor of you just because you lick their boots,” you honestly advise. Disgusting. One moment he’s leading his people, then being ordered around the next.

It’s this again. You shamming like you’re so immaculate. He’d prefer it if you get off your high horse.

“I’m giving you a chance, just quit and—“

“If you keep running your damn mouth, I’m going to make use of it,” he cuts you off before you can continue offering him a deal. It’s not that you genuinely believe he’ll go with it, you just want to stall him because you’re only playing by ear. One wrong move and he’ll stop you dead in your tracks.

His words pique your interest. Does he mean that in the sense that you think it is? “Oh yeah? And how?” you push his buttons to give it a shot.

Levi shows you what he means through grabbing you by the nape to yank you up, then dropping you to the floor, pretty face nearly shoved to the concrete. It hurts a tad, your knees hitting the ground roughly, but your eyes almost immediately dart on the bunch of azure tablets scattered everywhere, three of them within your reach. Perfect!

Quickly, you snatch them with both your hands in one fell swoop, and Levi miraculously misses out on your sneaky motions. You hiss a little in pain and close your palms together tightly when he pulls a fistful of your hair to hoist your head up. Forced to make eye contact with him from below, you momentarily meet his gaze brimming of disrespect before he dicks your mouth down with his length.

He pushes your head to his groin and pounds, so deep and so rash that you literally feel him hit the back of your throat. Tears pool from your ducts as you’re forced to take him inside your mouth. But he doesn’t get it wrong, because he knows you like it, of course.

With full intentions to reach his own end and cum on your pretty tongue, he shoves his erection into your warm cavern and tightens his hold on your now messy locks. He eyes you with resounding authority as you’re down on your knees with fettered hands on your lap, dress still on but tits bare and pouching outward from your neckline, looking up at him with glistening eyes like a good, well-behaved girl. It madly turns him on seeing you like that, what a view.

His fierce stale eyes prod you to bravely blink the tears away and independently move to your own will, proceeding to suck him with stupendous obedience. Fine then, you’ll go along with him. Nothing wrong about taking your time.

Levi throws his head back a little from your sudden motion, bobbing your head back and forth in harmony with his pumps, but quickly returns his gaze to you. You gladly eat his whole size without hesitation and keep your body still, nipples fully peaked in eagerness.

You’re always so damn good, just as he remembers. Never going without a challenge, the same lecherous emotions brewing within your orbs, listening to what you’re told. His grunts start to become audible.

“Look at you, sucking like a little slut,” he groans, slowly becoming unable to process things by your turn on serving him gratification. You give him a hum in response, the muffled sound creating a vibration as you continually hollow your mouth wide open against his thickness, sending chills up and down his spine. He inwardly curses, fuck.

Levi untangles his fingers from your strands, rests them on top of your head instead, and stops giving guidance, allowing you to perform well. You know just what to do and how to please him anyway.

You pull away, a loud and satisfying pop ringing inside the enclosed space upon losing connection. Panting, you inhale the air you could to prep yourself, temperate breath ghosting over his dampened skin. Time to take matter into your own devices. You glimpse at your interlaced fingers, clinking of metals reaching your ears. You can work this without using your hands. Let’s give him a show.

Pausing, you adore his intimidating thickness, the glowing pearls of precum impressively still there on its tip. You playfully swathe it with the edge of your tongue and look straight at him with a childlike gaze, the salty taste staining your buds. The sensitive area causes him shudder and shut his eyes closed inadvertently. And it’s rewarding to see him so affected, because this play is more about you controlling his pleasure, less about him being invulnerable. You feel your pussy trickle with desire.

Without any beating around the bush, you angle your neck a little to the right before gingerly taking him inside your mouth once again, closing in inch by inch. When you dauntlessly push forward until you’re on the verge of gagging, his size filled your throat the way you like it. Then, you go back to pumping in and out in a regular pace, sucking the tip harshly every once in a while.

Levi could feel himself approaching, his guttural groans set free and detectable. Fuck, you wanted to stroke him with your hands to add up to his growing euphoria, but you can’t.

This time round Levi is only able to peer at you from his drooping lids, following your every movements, and he finds winsome the way your cheeks lose its original shape due to his cock being inside, your lips lush and full around his shaft, tongue dancing in a way that mirrors the lantern’s fire. Moving in a very devious pace, you run a lick on the underside of his hot, veiny penis, lapping him up like a thirsty bitch. God, you are coy, and it’s taking him every last ounce of his resolve for his body not to react something close to pitiful submission.

It takes him one last blow for him to finally explode, a powerful rush spreading all throughout the ends of his limbs, his balls clenching as he shoots his cum deep inside your chops, to which you willingly gulp down, a satisfied ahh leaving your lungs like your quench for his seed has been solved.

The soldier mindlessly pats your head, and you give him a quiet purr before rising to your feet. We’re not finished yet.

As if your lips are magnetized into his own, you lean in and let them crash together. He answers back just the same, indicating he’s still up for some more. But you shouldn’t put your guard down, you might not know it if he knocks you out all of a sudden.

“You’re still the same nasty whore I know,” he vehemently growls in between the lip locking, intense flame starting to devour his system. “Shut up,” you talkback. You ache to touch him but these irksome shackles are on the way. You choose not to mind it anymore since it’s only a matter of minutes before you leave.

You push him back down to the chair and he sits down in force. “Pull my skirt up,” you order on a whim, and he does as he’s told, holding your skirt for you. You help yourself into the same chair and truss your knees beside his thighs, settling for a convenient position until you’re straddling his front, wrists on the chest’s top rail, then sitting on his fully stiff and awaiting cock. As you spread your laps apart to aim and sink down, you swear you almost went insane.

A lengthy, strenuous hum slips out your lips upon letting your tight cunt engulf his big dick. “Fuck,” you mutter, whipping your head back in zeal. You should try not to lose your mind or else.

Your stretched out neck grants him the opportunity to nibble at the delicate skin, sucking intensely to create a mark of ownership, the tangy flavor due to the thin film of sweat covering your skin. It stings a little when he nips, but almost tickling at the same time. You mewl and let Levi finish his job and lower your forehead to meet his glance.

It doesn’t take you long before returning to crashing into him, his distinct taste amusingly addictive to you. The kisses sloppy and unorganized, you begin to roll your hips up and down, and he thrusts upward to meet you like an animal in heat. “Shit, you’re so fucking tight,” he breathes out low.

You pull away to gasp for wind, chest stuttering and ragged from your unfaltering humps. “I know,” you brag and pause. The near to none distance between you two allows you to study his facial features and point out what changed by the years.

Hmm, not a lot really. He still looks twenty-four with his superbly chiseled jaw, slightly parted inviting lips, narrow nose, and the slim lining of his brows. Flawless and without fault, except for the darkening bags under his silver pools, which you dig by the way. He is, in fact, the godly embodiment of sexy, you bet women in his rank swoon for him only to be pushed aside. Lucky of you, you have a one of a kind charisma that drags this real life devil to his feet.

You look into each other’s face for a couple briefing moments, both of you discovering similar pairs of fiery eyes filled with lust in an overflowing amount. Meanwhile, his gaze dawdles on your red lips, color smudged by his doing, and he likes it. The longer he stares up at you, the more he’s convinced you’re nothing but a licentious woman hiding under your little renaissance dresses. Just thinking about it makes him want to fuck you so bad.

Levi refuses to stay still and dives into your breasts, causing your back to arch, unexpectedly hitting the perfect spot. He isn’t content and squeezes your butt, then letting his hands sit just at the top of your ass’ globes. “Levi—ah!” Shit! You desperately hold back your uprising orgasm. You have to stay in tact.

With that in mind and while he suckles on your twin mounds, you grab the chance to wring your clasped hands to your mouth, letting three of your dear coderoin melt and simmer under your tongue. This will have to do.

It’s thrilling, you’re about to drug a person who’s currently eating your boobs out hungrily in an alternating manner. What an odd situation. You wish you could continue fucking, but let’s not forget that Levi is very objective, and he’ll still eventually do his task no matter how much fun you spent with him. Before he can do that, you’ll just beat him to it.

You wait for the sweet, pungent tang to unravel, and when he lifts his chin to kiss you, the drugs are already diluted by your spittle. You skillfully transfer it into his mouth in a sparse method so he won’t notice right away.

Completely unaware, Levi gets to sparring with your tongue in a battle of ascendancy, his hands groping everywhere, and you don’t stop riding him gracefully like you didn’t do anything malicious at all.

With every grind being slick, an endless seduction, you continue enjoying yourself for the last lingering junctures. The constant sheathing into your impossibly close-fitting fuckhole extracts husky groans from his throat, ending up subdued against your mouth. He bites on your lower lip, earning himself a delightful whimper.

Two minutes pass by, something snaps, the brisk effectiveness all thanks to you. He doesn’t know why kissing you feels so dizzying, and… intoxicating. He slowly stops moving his lips and pulls away, cracking both his eyes open, only to be greeted by a cunning look. Then and there, overwhelming peak hits him like a freight train.

He feels less aware, a heavy weight being pressed against his body, colors around him becoming vibrant and he bets his whole life he could feel his own blood stream moving from inside his veins, synchronized with his heartbeats. His peripheral vision seems artificially sluggish yet accelerating.

Your lips quirk upward, discovering the befuddled expression plastered on his handsome face. You notice how his muscles strain in distress, but he can’t move even a single inch, indicating your success.

Levi’s brows furrow in cluelessness, eyes later widening upon realizing what kind of dirty stunt you pulled on him from up your sleeve.

You fix your posture upright before removing your body from his, heaving out a sigh of relief. Standing up, you look at him. Frozen and unable to do a single thing to restrain you. Down and obedient like a mere, small pet. At long last! He’s out of your hair.

“You’re too high to walk straight right now, aren’t you?” you jest, voice laced with the most graceful condescension. Of course, you know perfectly well first times can be extremely stupefying, especially with the dosage you just used for a rookie like him. Instead of it being euphoric, it’s entirely going to be the opposite. Nothing close to good.

“What the fuck did you just do?” poor Levi seethes in anger, but even his tone sounds tenfold more groggy compared to when he first arrived.

“Gave you a heavenly experience?” you giggle and repeatedly pull your wrists away from each other in an effortless attempt to break them apart, the hindrance of a shackle limiting your movements. Bothersome.

What part of weariness and intense jet lag is the heavenly experience? In a trice, Levi blames himself for being careless and taking you for granted. He should’ve done better than forget you’re from the same garbage dump he’s from. You’re one fucking crazy bitch.

Helpless, he watches you walk to the part of the table where you left the cigarette pack, shaking it all out just to get one and clip it between your lips. Some roll off to the ground, but you pay it no heed. His blood is boiling hard and tries to stand. You let him squirm around, confident that he can’t do anything, and struggle on your own to fish your lighter from your dress’ pockets.

You take your precious time lighting your stick, butane triggering the fresh burn of tobacco. You don’t mind that you look ridiculous with both hands on your face, or that your hair is a mess, or that your breasts are popped out. As you suck for smoke and briefly fill your lungs to then blow it upwards, you think, it’s just you and a spiked guy in here anyway.

Letting the nicotine rush take over your senses, you sit on the edge of the table and examine the dark haired soldier. What gives, he’s more impotent than you now. It’s ever so rare to see Levi so open to attack. “Mint goes well with coderoin, you know?” you inform just to piss him off.

“I’ll fucking kill you.” Though you can hear his fury, the threat only sounds so void, the usual venom lacking from his pitch.

He sits back as you pull in smoke into your chest, exhale it out, menthol aroma reaching his nose. You chuckle heartily that among every tip and corner of his body feels like burning from rage.

Time is ticking and slipping away from Levi’s grasp. He stays silent, the pounding of his heart loud enough to ring in his ears. He can’t accept he got deceived. Did you plan this from the very start? When? The moment he told you his intentions? The second he asked about your life here? Or maybe when he kicked the trapdoor open? That can’t be. Five years, and you’re quicker on your feet than you once were.

“That’s cute of you,” you copy what he said when you barked the same phrase. You admit, earlier was a close call, but thanks to your sharp mind and the past you shared, you won him over. Barely.

As always, men are most vulnerable when driven by libido. What fools.

With one last hit of the cigarette, achieving the lightheaded state you’re aiming for, you drop it to the floor, not bothering to extinguish it. Burn this house down, for all you care. You’ll have to move places from now, knowing he might start tailing behind you for vengeance.

Now, you can’t stay longer. The drugs won’t last on him from such a method. It’s not the right way to take it—through kissing.

It was a good time, but unfortunately, you have to part ways with him. The guy wants to arrest you, and that’s the last thing you want to happen. You’d rather settle in and have five kids with an old geezer than spend the rest of your life in a prison. You’re not dense, you know how heavy your crimes are, having circulated in both the Underground and the surface for plenty years. Impressive of you, right? Makes it all the more fun to carry on.

That’s why they should just dream of catching you, because you’ll never let that happen.

You walk toward his immobilized body, movements slinky as you bend over to reach his face and deliciously run your tongue over his lips, tasting the seemingly nectar. As much as he wants to just grab you by the hair and kick your annoying face, he’s only able to lift his arms up a few inches before falling back down again.

It doesn’t escape your field of vision, reminding you to leave immediately. “Sweet, isn’t it?” you ask once you pull away, a sly smile on your lips.

“Why don’t we call it a truce, shall we?” you lastly negotiate. His lips are firmly pressed into a thin line and refuses to say anything. Steel grey eyes look back at you in annoyance. You tilt your head in curiosity. You know he has a lot going in his brain. This might be the last time you see each other, will he choose to keep those in?

Well, he does want you out of his sight right now before he regains his strength and kill you on the spot. He clicks his tongue in impatience.

“Just fucking leave, you lunatic,” he spits. You sure will.

“Gladly. Until next time, Levi,” you drawl and blow him a kiss goodbye, then strutting away in triumph, smile never leaving your face even if you’ve fully turned your back on him.

When you finally disappear, he lets out an exasperated sigh, contemplating his defeat. Nape resting on the chair’s rail, he looks up to the dark ceiling. A droplet of sweat slides from his forehead, which he manages to wipe away in no time, resilience overcoming the delirium.

Actually pondering about it, you’re a real witty one. Of course he was still going to take you with him eventually, he just hasn’t planned it ahead. Seriously though, a sneaky tactic. He massages his nose bridge, shaking his head.

What a crazy brat.

In the end, he decides to just pass on the work to Erwin about getting on the good side of the monarch and politicians, knowing full well he was in for some major explaining—maybe leave out the obscene details.

506 notes · View notes

no-droids · 5 years ago

Text

The Sun on Both Sides

Summary: Cassian Andor is your very close companion. He says best friend, you say pain in your ass—neither one of you are entirely wrong. But then one night you smoke some unfamiliar spice with him, and everything you once thought you knew goes sideways.

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Cassian Andor/fem!Reader

Word Count: 11.2K

Warnings: SMUT, sex pollen (therefore DUB-CON by default), recreational drug use, best friends to lovers, mutual pining, dirty talk, oral sex (both male and female receiving), penetrative sex, me just making so much shit up honestly

A/N: All phrases in Festan are taken from other Star Wars conlangs. I don’t even know if that’s the name of the language people from Fest speak tbh. Probably not. None of this is real. Anyways this is Cassian as a young rebel pilot long before the events of Rogue One. This oneshot will likely be deemed obsolete by Cassian’s new Disney+ show but whoooooooops~

—knock knock knock knock knock—

You know that knock. It’s too quick, too rapid and annoying to be anyone else.

“I’m sleeping,” you huff with your mouth full, sitting on top of your mattress in a hoodie and sweatpants, legs crossed.

“I have gifts,” Cassian’s muffled voice asserts from the other side of the door.

“I don’t care,” you return, swallowing and shoveling more slop together with your tiny little biodegradable spork. “S’the middle of the night.”

—knock knock knock knock knock—

“Stop it.”

“Knock knock,” he beckons vocally, as if you didn’t hear it the first ten times. “Come, open the door. Please—I will get into trouble.”

It’s exhausting being Cassian’s friend. Truly exhausting. It doesn’t matter what Maker-forsaken time it is, as soon as he comes back to base from patrols, he’s at your door. You don’t know why he chose you as his sole victim to personally inflict this torture upon, but regardless of reason, he’s called you his close friend ever since you first offered to help the lanky, dark-haired six year old with his Basic and his best friend ever since your junior year of flight training. Apparently with the promotion came the lingering, severe misfortune of his present company, almost always.

“Can I put in for a transfer?” He also technically outranks you.

“Open the door and we will talk,” Cassian bargains. Bantha shit, you and him both know it. He’ll rip the papers in half before you can even finish filling them out.

You let out a dramatic groan just loud enough for him to hear, dragging yourself off the bed and padding over to the door. “If I accept your gift, will you leave?”

“Maybe.” No.

“If I accept your gift and trade it for the rest of this, uh,” you look at the MRE packet in your hands, “rice and shredded tauntaun meat in glockaw sauce, will you leave?”

“Maybe.” No.

“Good call, not as great as it sounds. What if I—”

He says your name impatiently, accented and sharp. You roll your eyes as his knuckles rap on the door once more. “Quickly, quickly—before someone sees.”

“It’s the residential quarters and it’s two in the fucking morning, Cass, nobody’s going t—”

He cuts you off once more. “Open the door and I will submit for your transfer work, yes?”

You throw your spork prong-down into the beige pouch in your hands and pop your hip, narrowing your eyebrows at the thick slab of metal separating the two of you skeptically. “No, you won’t.”

“No, I will not,” the voice behind it concedes immediately. “But for you, I will pretend.”

As soon as you the door slides open and disappears up into the ceiling with a quiet shhhft sound, his dark silhouette quickly slips past you and sneaks into your room, immediately bouncing his bony little butt down on top of your sizable but thin box-spring mattress without a word. You press the button to close the door behind him with a long, drawn out sigh, turning around and resting your back against the wall panel.

Cassian meets your tired, expectant gaze head-on and wide awake, perched on your bed and huddled around something hidden in his thick jacket. “First. You cannot tell anyone. Understand?”

You raise an eyebrow at him, unimpressed. “Are we children, Cass?”

“Secondly.” He blinks up at you. Maker, his eyes are so… wide. Dark and warm and bright, framed with thick, long lashes. “If you do not want it, just say. Okay?”

Your expression suddenly narrows. This is new. It’s… still bantha shit, but it’s… new. New bantha shit.

“Because the word ‘no’ holds so much meaning for you,” you tilt your head to gesture at the door to your right, “clearly.”

“Come. Sit here,” he ignores you, patting the space next to him as if that isn’t your own fucking bed he’s inviting you to join him on. “We will look together.”

“I will literally murder you,” you tell him genuinely, though you push off the wall to move toward him all the same. “If that’s not a cute little mini-lothcat in your arms you got me for my birthday, Andor, I will literally murder you.”

“Today is your birthday?” He glances up at you in surprise just as you’re lowering yourself down onto the mattress next to him.

“Two weeks ago, but you were off-base.” You dig around inside the pouch for your handy little spork, not looking at him. “Quit avoiding the subject, my death threat still stands. Where’s my cat, asshole? Who do I have to tolerate in my bed this late at night to push that kind of paperwor—oof—”

The second you catch the hard little end piece of it between your fingers is the second he reaches around you and pulls you into a tight, one-armed hug. You fumble with the packet of food as you’re abruptly jerked forward, trying not to let it get squished it between you.

Stars, he smells good. His parka smells just like him, the fur lining its hood so warm and fluffy and soft as it tickles your nose. It’s still slightly damp from the wet sleet outside, but it smells so good. The smallest undercurrent of clove and spice hidden beneath the sharp, clean scent of fresh snow.

“Happy Year-Over, caraya,” Cassian says next to your ear, quiet and fond. “I know it is late, but I have your gift now.”

“‘Caraya’ better be Festan for ‘here’s your cute little lothcat, birthday girl’,” you warn him, moving to rest your chin on top of his padded shoulder and trying not to sound as breathless or affected by his sweet talking as you feel. He’s never called you that before. Caraya. What does it mean?

It’s… it’s bantha shit, you remind yourself, trying not to close your eyes or lean into his half-embrace. It’s all bantha shit.

“No,” Cassian acknowledges with a small head tilt, pulling his shoulder back but still keeping his long arm wrapped tight around you. “No. Not a… a cat, but…” He slowly opens his other hand between the two of you, finally showing you.

You blink down at the thing in his palm, cradled carefully in thick gloves from the sub-zero temperatures outside. It’s. No, he’s right, it’s not a cat. It’s a… a stick. Reddish-pink, ground up plant matter wrapped in a semi-transparent binding. Rolled up in a nice, even cylinder, a filter secured around one of its ends.

Spice. Hand-rolled. Expensive. Probably swiped off a supply raid, whether by Cassian himself or another rebel fighter he bought it off of. Ludicrous he got his hands on it, much less brought it on base. Here, to your fucking quarters.

“I was wrong,” you eventually say, taking the joint from his open palm and holding it up to examine its strange color in the dim light. “You don’t think we’re children. You think we’re teenagers.”

“I think we are adults,” he corrects, swiping the MRE from your other hand, “with a reason to celebrate.” He releases you and takes his arm back, sitting on your bed and digging two fingers around in your half-finished packet for your spork.

“You’re a bold pilot, Cass,” you tell him, studying the spice. You’ve never seen any strain even similar to this before. “It was one thing to do this during flight training, but now? What happens if we have a piss test tomorrow? Or, well—today, actually?”

“Different kind from before.” He doesn’t sound bothered by the thought, though his mouth is currently full of tauntaun and rice in glockaw sauce. “Only five hours high, not detectable after. Piss tests are expensive, the rebellion has no money.”

“X-wings are expensive, too,” you counter, turning to look at him. “You crash one of ‘em ‘cause you smoked this shit and your ass will be dead before you can even survive.”

“You hurt me.” He uses the utensil to dig around the bottom corners of the packet for more slop, not looking hurt in the least. “Also—you were right. This one is… horrible.”

“Not to mention I have a oh-nine-hundred call.” You both watch each other with matching looks of distaste as he continues to eat your food, clearly neither one of you enjoying it. “You’re giving me barely two hours to come down before I got orange jumpsuits crawling all over me.”

“You did not hear?” Cassian swallows. “Reassigned Dreis during debriefing. I will be leading red squadron tomorrow. Or, today.”

You blink at him. “You’re kidding.”

“No,” he shakes his head exactly once, throwing the spork into the empty packet and flattening it. “No, I would not do that to you.”

“Course not,” you agree diplomatically. “You’d just barge into my room at two in the morning, eat my food, offer me drugs, and then tell me I’ll be taking orders from you tomorrow.”

”Today,” he corrects. “But I could not get our call changed, and for that I am sorry.” He lifts an eyebrow at you, quirking the side of his mouth up and pushing the empty MRE pouch into your hands to throw away. “But only for that. Happy birthday?”

“We’re going to lose this war,” you tell him honestly, sliding off your mattress with a sigh to trash it. “We’re all going to die horribly, and painfully. The Rebellion is fucking doomed. You and I will be but a mere footnote in the Empire’s endless reign of terror, you realize. A footnote. Our names at the very, very bottom of the page, in tiny little six point font, and it’ll link to a one sentence obituary for the both of us. Died horribly and in pain. Did you bring a lighter?”

“Here,” Cassian shifts to one buttcheek and pulls an arc lighter from his back pocket, offering it to you when you come back. “Okay? You will start it then? Birthday girl.”

“You said five hours for one person, right? So that’s two and a half each if we split it,” you reason with a shrug, putting the filter to your lips and talking through the side of your mouth. “Two o’clock right now, nine-hundred call. At least four hours to come down, and thirty minutes to shower if we’re both lucky.”

“We will be fine.” He waves your careful calculations away with his hand as you flick the lighter. “Because we are lucky feetnotes, yes?”

***

You’re not fine.

It’s fucking boiling in here. Maker, you’re on fucking Hoth; why the fuck are you boiling? It’s never even been warm in your quarters before, much less this hot. You feel like you’re sweating buckets through your hoodie, your hair sticking to your neck in thin little curls.

And… and Cassian.

He’s sitting so unbelievably straight on the bed across from you, parka and gloves long abandoned on the floor. His dark eyes flick over to you occasionally, though it looks like he’s trying really hard not to move a single muscle other than that. His hands are clamped tightly between his thighs and he just… holds there. A compact, rigid statue perched upright on the mattress, looking far too still and tense to fit the comfort of his surroundings.

“Are you okay?” You ask him, blinking at how hoarse your voice comes out sounding. Holy fuck, your mouth feels like a desert.

Cassian stares at you, and for some reason, his large, expressive eyes seem even wider now. They’re glassy and a bit red, but also so big and lovely and framed with long, dark lashes.

“This is not.” His accent sounds thicker, words coming out deeper in his throat. It settles down inside you just right and you feel a spark of heat at the base of your spine. He blinks twice. “This is not how it usually feels.”

“Should we stop?” You look down at the half-finished joint in your hand, tilting your head thoughtfully as you consider the drug pulsing through your veins. “It’s… it’s different, but I think it feels good.”

“Yes—I…” He closes his eyes. “Th-that is the problem, I think.”

He shifts a bit on the mattress and bites down on his bottom lip, and you must look so fucking dumb as you stare at him with your jaw slack, watching his lithe body stretch and handle the spice. He’s fucking gorgeous. Stars, you always thought he was gorgeous, but this is something else. He flutters his eyes open to look at you through his lashes, and—

—oh. Oh. You see now. You see what he meant. Warmth pools deep down in your tummy as he looks at you with impossibly dark eyes, slowly drags his glassy gaze down your body. Fuck, you’re getting turned on. You go red and blink softly at him while he stares at you, trying to control your breathing.

“You need to—” your voice jumps, trying to remember the right cadence. How do you speak to him normally? “You can… take—take my pillow, if you want. Lay down. You’re too tall, your eyes are too big. Look like a… like a Kaminoan. Heal any—heal any clones recently?”

Bad joke. Maker, he’s so beautiful. Rich, dark features taking you in, blinking slowly at you and clearly not hearing a single word you said.

You shift your weight and throw him the cushion you’re partially sitting on without waiting for an answer. You both need to calm the fuck down. Hopefully the pillow will help. Even if it’s squished and warm from your butt. “It’s warm ‘cause I was sitting on it, m’sorry. Fuck, it’s warm in here. Do you think it’s warm in here?”

It’s like he still doesn’t hear you. Cassian just takes your flattened pillow in his lap and looks at it for way too long, slowly rubs the fabric on the corner between his fingers and examines it, like if he tries hard enough he’ll be able to see through it.

“Cass,” you eventually call his name in reminder. “Lay down, put that under your head—”

“Do you feel turned on?” He asks quite suddenly, whipping his head to the side to look at you. You almost drop the spice.

“No,” you say immediately, acting on impulse alone and trying to rearrange your face into something… something negative. Something just generally negative, because you can’t even think of a negative emotion specific enough with the way your heart is pounding at the thought of something like this actually happening right now. Holy fuck, you’re sweating. What the fuck is in this shit? “No, of course not.”

“Of course not,” he nods, turning back to look at your pillow. “Me too. Not.” He shakes his head. “Neither. Either?”

“Lay down,” you tell him once more, desperately needing something else to do now, something to distract yourself from the way your lower muscles are starting to cramp up with heat and arousal. “I’ll get us some water. We need water.”

You’re off the bed and setting the smoldering spice on the small metal counter without another word, grabbing two empty cups and beginning to fill them up in the tiny little sink with your back to him.

Stars, he was right. It’s not supposed to feel like this. It feels… it feels like everything is burning inside you, but such a good burn. Like your mind is being seduced by your own body right now instead of the other way around, and the paradoxical sensation is manifesting itself in an unprecedentedly strong urge to jump your best friend’s bones. The urge has always been there, granted, but it’s never been this shameless before. Never arced and pulsed so brilliantly in your veins before, never been steadily fed by such a tempting outside source. Not the drugs—but him. The tangible fuck-me vibes Cassian is radiating towards you right now, staring at your back with those big, gorgeous brown eyes of his, silent and unmoving behind you as he watches you from your bed. He’s never done anything to encourage your desire for him like this before. He’s never wanted anything more than just platonic companionship and playful banter in the midst of war zones from you, and yet you can feel the heat burning from him too, feel it start to intensify your own high.

It’s bantha shit, you have to realize. This whole Maker-forsaken situation—it’s forced; none of it’s real. Cassian is your best friend, and he’s only looking at you like this because spice is chemically altering his hormones right now. You can feel it doing the same to you, just steadily stirring deep in your floor muscles and amplifying your baser desires, but you need to snap yourself the fuck out of it and be the levelheaded one here. Despite the arousal burning hot in your tummy, at least you know your thoughts are still fundamentally sound—in contrast, you have no fucking clue what’s going on in that hard head of his right now. At least one of you needs to buck up, handle your drugs, and be the adult before things get out of hand. If it falls to you, then so be it.

You focus on your breathing and do as much as you can to mentally will the tingling sensation down deep. Taking a second to put a comfortable expression on, you finally turn around and start walking back to him.

When you raise your head and make eye contact with Cassian again though, the look in his eyes almost immediately threatens to undo everything you just decided. Fuck, he looks like he just had an internal pep talk of his own, but in the entirely wrong direction you went. He’s a bit more relaxed now, same as you, but his gaze is now searing hot on your body, tangible enough to stop you dead in your tracks in front of him. It burns through you, and you literally feel the sweat drip down your back as a shiver rolls down your spine.

No. Hold strong. Maker, irresponsibility has always been appealing but never so fucking seductive as this is, has it? Taking such a gorgeous fucking form. You take a few more steps forward, quickly trying to gather composure.

“Should we stop?” You ask him once more and stars, you were aiming for calmer and gentler and with more lung support—not this breathless scrape of a sound that feels like sandpaper in your throat. He hasn’t said a fucking word and your resolve is already wavering. You try not to make eye contact as you carefully hand him one of the cups. “We’re only twenty minutes in, barely halfway through it. We can stop and coast, it’s not a big deal.”

Cassian takes the water from your outstretched hand, letting the tips of his fingers brush lightly across yours in the process. Your heart skips in your chest. “Do you want to stop?”

You absolutely should fucking stop. Just standing here and handing him water without ripping your clothes off is a challenge; you’ve still got half a joint left and you’re not even sure you’ve reached the come-up yet. What if this is just the beginning? What if this is just laying the foundation? What happens when you actually peak on this shit?

“It’s not a big deal,” you repeat instead, keeping your answer as ambiguous as possible and taking a sip of the blessedly cold liquid. At least the water is responding correctly to the frigid environment on this horrible fucking planet. You feel ready to burn up. “Just wanna make sure you’re cool.”

Cassian flicks his eyes over to the joint still cherried and smoking on the metal counter behind you. “We can keep going.”

Your breathing picks up slightly. Does he know what he’s really asking right now? He has to have figured out what that spice does by now, right? But no, he’s so steadfast in the way he looks at you, blinking up at you confidently. Fuck, you should stop. You should stop.

You should… compromise?

“If we keep going, no more of this,” you tell him, gesturing to the way he still hasn’t moved or drank any of the water in his cup. “You need to. Chill out, alright. Act normal.”

Fuck, you’re normally so blunt and outspoken with him, so why is it that everything happening here is so fucking unsaid? Everything is transpiring right below the surface, a conversation taking place within another conversation. You’re telling him to cut the heart eyes, lay back on the bed and spend some rare quality time with his best friend. Regardless of the weird side effects, this spice is still giving you an incredibly strong body high. If he could just stop looking at you like that so you can stop rhythmically clenching and pulsing between your legs, you’d probably be incredibly relaxed right now.

“I will lay down,” he finally agrees, breaking eye contact with you and grabbing the pillow from his lap so he can throw it down next to him. “Go, get the rest of it.”

“Drink.” You stay rooted to your spot.

He gulps down the entire cup of water right in front of you, and something about how sassy and exaggerated it is makes you unwind just a bit and head back for the spice.

This is better, you think. Butting heads with your strong personalities is better than whatever mind games you two were playing before, more familiar and grounding. Cassian sets down his empty cup on the floor as you pick up the joint, and then you sit on the edge of the mattress across from him when you come back.

“So how were patrols?” You ask him, taking another hit of it and studying the strange color it burns as you hold the smoke in your lungs, almost a light pink.

“Not bad,” he says, scooting back to lay lengthwise across the back of the bed. His long legs stick off the end but he looks way more comfortable now, settling back into the pillow and watching you with a calmer, more easy-going look in his eyes.

“Where’d you get sent this time?” You have to lean forward quite a bit to hand him the spice.

“The Lothal Sector,” Cassian responds casually, taking it from you.

“Oh, fuck off,” you snap, already unamused before he’s even started to mess with you. “I will shoot down red leader tomorrow, Cass, don’t you dare fucking test m—”

“A local was trying to sell kittens to the pilots,” he goes on, completely ignoring you and relaxing back down into the mattress with the joint between his fingers. “They were very cute. But then I tell him no, because I did not know of anyone who could care for one.”

“That’s not fucking funny.” Cassian smiles slowly at you as you glare back at him very, very sternly. “This is a no lothcat joking zone, I’m sensitive about this.”

He keeps smiling even as he takes his hit, gentle and fond and lovely on his face, but his eyes eventually go softer and a bit melancholy on the exhale.

“I am sorry I missed your birthday, caraya,” he says to you truthfully, something sincere and tender in the way he looks at you. “But I will get you something better than a cat.”

“What does that mean?” You lean forward and grab the spice from him when he holds it out for you.

“No idea,” he admits during the careful exchange. “Maybe something with less claws and teeth, I think.”

“No,” you shake your head, settling back on your butt once more. “Caraya. What does that mean?”

Cassian quickly opens his mouth to reply, but then pauses and takes a second. As if he’s debating on what exactly he wants to tell you. You inhale from the spice held between your fingers and wait patiently for him. Probably something to do with birthdays, right? Since he only started calling you that after you told him he missed yours.

You end up waiting for his answer so long, you actually feel like you should take another hit. But when Cassian does eventually speak, it’s incredibly calculated and slow, like he’s actively trying to find the correct words to translate its exact meaning into Basic.

“Fest is part of a binary star system,” he finally tells you, breaking the silence. “It is… it is what my people call the times when… when one of the stars sets while the other is rising on the opposite horizon.”

You pause with the joint halfway to your mouth, staring dumbly at him.

“It is rare. I have seen it only twice. Each time, for less than a minute. It is very rare for them to match up perfectly, but when they do.” His eyes go a bit softer, losing himself in his memories instead of concentrating so much on the words. “The sky shines with every color. Reds, yellows, and pinks to the west; blues, indigos, and violets to the east. It is… it is also… something we call the ones close to us,” he continues, blinking his gaze slowly back to you. “Caraya na cotâ vi zas iz’búsdari. To care and be cared for is to feel the sun on both sides.”

You… you just keep staring at him. Blank, unmoving, not really even breathing. Your chest suddenly feels incredibly tight. He looks back at you and stars, he looks so fucking gorgeous; long lashes dusting over his cheekbones at this angle, one hand resting lazily over his abdomen as he relaxes on your bed.

“It sounds…” You sound winded. “Lovely.”

“Yes,” Cassian returns softly, tilting his head on your pillow and blinking at you. “It is.”

You don’t know why the fuck you thought this would be okay, honestly. This whole thing was such a horrendous fucking idea right from the start. You’re surprised you haven’t set the both of you on fire by dropping the lit spice between your fingers. You were a fucking idiot to think you could resist him. You were overconfident, underestimating him the way you did. It’s like… like he’s approaching this in surges, almost. Lulling you into a false sense of security for a bit, and then carefully pushes forward, toeing the line between best friend and person he wants to fuck and seeing how much you’ll let him get away with.

You’re… you’re a weak, spineless little thing.

“Is it—is it your turn?” You eventually ask him, looking down at the joint in your hands. It’s barely above a whisper and it’s vaguely squeaky and it’s probably one of the dumbest fucking things you’ve ever asked in your life. Of course it’s his turn, who the fuck else’s turn would it be?

Cassian would normally rip into you for being such an idiot, but he doesn’t. He just blinks softly at you, pupils dilated and glassy as they take you in.

“Would you like to…” He sounds equally breathless now, swallowing thickly before he speaks again. “You can… come closer, if you want. Here. With me.” He pats his belly. “No more reaching.”

What is… what is happening right now? Is Cassian Andor actually, like—for real making a move on you? His best friend? The one he’s never looked twice at?

“You want me to…?” Your cunt clenches. Stars, you’re so wet already. You can feel it, dampening your underwear as his eyes flutter slightly at the rasp in your voice.

“Come,” he pats his stomach once more. “Lay down with me.”

You slowly begin to shuffle over to him on shaky knees, trying to move normally as he watches you. He stretches out across the back of the bed, giving you a perfect spot along his open torso to relax into. Your heart pounds as you carefully hand the spice to him before settling yourself on your back with your head on his tummy, making a little perpendicular t-shape with him on the mattress, vision slightly blurry but pulsing at the same time.

Maker, he smells so fucking good. He smells like fresh snow and something warm at the same time, so lean and long above you. You’re almost panting now, burning up in your thick layers as you try to get comfortable.

“Maker, it’s so fucking hot in here,” you whisper, using your sleeve to wipe the sweat gathering at your temples. “Fuck.”

“Take off your shirt,” Cassian suggests quietly, and your mouth instantly goes bone dry, your chest forgetting to rise again after it collapses with a quick whoosh of breath. “You have something on underneath, yes?” He adds quickly before you can completely ignite in flames. “Take off the top one.”

You… you have a thin undershirt on, but nothing underneath that. It’s nearing three in the morning, of course you don’t have a bra on right now. And the undershirt is white, and you’re sweating buckets, which means—

“It… it might show some…” You have no clue how to phrase this, but Cassian quickly responds.

“It is just me,” he reassures, carefully reaching his arm around your head to hold the joint up to your lips for you. You inhale the drug deeply, watching the pink light illuminate the tips of his fingers. “We are best friends, and this is your room. You should relax.”

Maker, this is… this is dangerous. He’s dangerous. He’s smart, choosing to go at it from this angle. He’s not toeing the line anymore, he’s just… blurring it until it doesn’t exist anymore. Or better yet, just walking over it and pretending it doesn’t exist at all. Pretending nothing at all is happening between you right now. Trying to see whether you’ll be more willing to give in if he comes at you from the side like this, not necessarily catching you off guard but refusing to outright confront you about it either.

Apparently precedent rules. You’re a weak, spineless little thing, especially when presented with such a compelling out. He’s… he’s totally right. You are best friends, this is your room, and you should relax. Nothing sexual about it at all, right? Furthermore, relaxing trumps overheating any fucking day of the week, so… so that’s why you tell yourself it’s okay to sit up and immediately reach behind your head, grabbing the hoodie and beginning to pull the thick fabric off.

Only, it’s damp and clings to your thin undershirt, dragging both of them up the length of your back as it goes. You stop when the lower hem pulls up just below your breasts, trying to reach back behind your head even further and separate the two materials but struggling with the angle.

“Cass,” you eventually prompt, trying not to flush. Not like he’d be able to tell, though; you’ve been unbearably warm and fidgety this entire time, your embarrassment conceals itself without your assistance. “You wanna help me? Or you just wanna keep watching?”

“Do not ask me such stupid questions,” he tells you plainly, unmoving. “What did I say? We are best friends. Of course I am not going to help you. You are…” he trails off when you lift your shoulders upright just a bit to see if the angle will work better that way. It does, but the fabric drags further up your ribcage from the shift, “…You are nice to watch.”

Your heart pounds, and you’re even clumsier knowing he’s staring at your exposed tummy right now. Maker, this should not be as difficult as it is. You swing your arms back around behind you, arching outwards and trying to separate them from the bottom this time, but gravity doesn’t appear to work in your favor.

Maybe you can do like, some sort of weird, half-and-half thing to get them apart? Maybe? Where you hold the undershirt from the bottom with one hand and pull the hoodie from the top with the other?

Yes, okay—that could possibly work. Cassian inhales more spice as he lazes behind you, getting a front row seat to watch this subsequent genius unfold.

You get into your monkey-like position, beginning to pry the two materials apart from behind like you planned. But then—oh, your undershirt still sticks to your hoodie at the front, pulling up a few inches with it and flashing the lower curve of your breasts to the room before you immediately halt and switch tactics, reaching back down and trying to pull them apart from the front withou—

A large, warm palm comes up to settle on your bare spine, right in the middle of your shoulder blades.

You freeze. But Cassian doesn’t say anything, doesn’t do anything more than that. He just holds his hand there, steady and solid against your upper back.

Neither one of you move. It’s like… it’s like you’re both trying so hard to get a read on each other that your reactions are equally stunted. Is he doing this to bring you to a still so he can help you? Is he simply as blazed as you are right now and not thinking about things before he does them? Is he—

But then Cassian starts slowly dragging his hand down your spine, carefully riding the gentle curve of it downwards as your breathing subtly picks up. Your arms are halfway caught in the fabric, not able to stop him unless you untangle them and reach behind you. So you just hold there statuesquely as his palm inches down the sweat-slick muscles of your lower back, thumb just barely brushing the hemline of your sweatpants.

Fuck, you feel like you’re about to vibrate out of your skin. Heat pools deep in your tummy, spidering outwards and sending pulsing shocks down your legs when he keeps his hand there for just a second.

Until… until he traces all the way back up and carefully hooks a finger around your undershirt.

Your heart pounds as Cassian gradually pulls it over the top of your head with your hoodie, guiding you to bring both of them around your arms. He pushes against your shoulder wordlessly, urging you to lie back down with your head on his stomach once more, the fabric stretched tight over your upper-body and the entire length of your spine now fully exposed as it touches the mattress.

“C-Cassian,” you breathe, fluttering your eyes up at the ceiling.

“Yes, caraya?” He murmurs, and you completely forget what you’re going to say when he continues to pull the hoodie and undershirt down over your arms, exposing your naked breasts to the open air.

Your cunt pulses between your legs and you hear him throw the thick bulk of fabric carelessly on the floor. “I—I-I don’t—”

“You will stay like this?” Cassian tells you softly, brushing your damp hair back from your shoulder so that your bare chest is completely unobstructed as it faces the ceiling. Your nipples are hard, a thin sheen of sweat covering your entire body, and you can feel his gaze drag down your naked skin, even if he doesn’t actually touch you. No, he just takes another slow drag from the spice in his hand and tilts his head back to rest on your pillow, relaxing into the mattress with a gentle shuffle of his shoulder blades. “If you are too warm, you will stay like this, okay? Be comfortable.”

Is it possible to die from arousal? Your clit is fucking pounding; everything from the waist down is unbearably tight and cramped. Stars, you feel like you’ll cum if you even move wrong right now. He told you to be comfortable, but you’re not—you’re boiling from the sensation, topless on your bed, trying not to close your eyes or squeeze your legs together. It’s too fucking casual and unacknowledged, how he’s going about this. You feel like you’re going to explode.

Cassian gently taps your bare shoulder to get your attention and shifts his head slightly to look down at you. You bite your bottom lip and flutter your gaze sideways to meet his after a second, hoping you don’t look as flushed and tight with burning arousal as you feel. Deep brown eyes look back at you, hazy and dilated. He takes a second to slowly drag his gaze down the length of your half-naked body once more, now that he knows you’re watching him. Your breath comes audibly now, quicker and shallower than it should be after laying flat on a bed for this long.

“Here,” Cassian prompts, holding the smoldering joint out for you to take. His voice sounds raspier now, but still so… casual. Like he’s out here talking about the weather with a mildly sore throat, not because your tits are out while you stare at each other and neither one of you is saying a damn thing about it. It’s like he’s determined to hold onto the splitting tension, drag it out between you as long as he can. “Want more?”

You know what he’s really asking, and it cramps your lower muscles up even harder. He’s asking if you want more of this spice that’s currently getting you naked in front of him. More of this madness, twisting up your insides with need and jumbling your thoughts. More of him treating you like this, like there’s not a damn thing out of place in the universe right now, like you’re still just best friends so that’s why it’s okay you’re both doing this together.

Stars, do you want more? Do you want him to keep winding you up like this? More of this torture, this agonizing foreplay, wondering when he’ll finally give in and touch you? Pretending like this is still completely platonic, like what’s happening here isn’t wildly unprecedented, insanely inappropriate, and so fucking hot?

You can feel your eyebrows pull up in the middle as you look at him, almost pleading with him to… something. To stop, maybe? Stop altogether, or just stop… fuck, stop ignoring the way your cunt feels clamped around itself tighter than a vice between your legs? Stop neglecting your burning desire for him, even when it’s right in front of his face. Stop refusing to acknowledge the way you’re just letting him look at you right now, how you haven’t once stopped playing along with this fever dream just in case you aren’t imagining it? Fuck, but Cassian just looks back at you, his expression completely blank except for the smallest little glimmer in his eyes. A silent, heated glint as he just barely quirks an eyebrow at you.

So you make the decision all at once. You carefully reach over for the spice with your far hand, feeling your breasts shift towards him slightly with the slow movement. Cassian doesn’t even feel like he’s breathing as you gently take it from him. He just stares down at your naked chest and swallows thickly, eyelids dipping slightly as he moves to meet you halfway.

You let your nipple brush up against his knuckles just slightly with the exchange.

When you face back towards the ceiling again and readjust your shoulders flat on the bed, he lets out a slow, shaky breath under your head as it rests on his tummy. The tension rockets up to eleven, weighing heavy and unspoken and ready to snap.

But then like that, the moment passes—it’s just another invisible spark igniting between the two of you, just another thing buried beneath the silence and yet ringing so unbelievably loud because of it. You’re both emitting and absorbing the same buzzing energy, amplifying it back to one another in a slow, endless feedback loop of rising pressure.

The spice comes up to your lips, and Cassian’s fingertips carefully trail along your other arm as it rests by your side.

“This is better, no?” He asks you quietly, the rough tips of his fingers just barely gliding across your skin in small, mindless patterns. They dance down your skin like feathers, tracing a small arch over the ridge of your elbow so lightly you almost feel like you might be imagining it. Your eyes flutter when he gradually skims down the length of your forearm and brushes his thumb in a smooth circle around the bone in your wrist. “Or you are still too warm?”

You bite your bottom lip when one of his fingers carefully stretches all the way up to your hip, running along the hem of your sweatpants.

“Yeah, m’still a little—” you gasp, trying not to stutter when Cassian starts to draw up the length of your waistline, pausing right when his fingers reach your drawstrings. “Little w-warm,” you finish hoarsely, painfully aware of how fucking wet you are, how your nipples are peaked and glistening with sweat as they move with your soft, shallow breathing.

He slowly dips one finger below the elastic wrapping across your hips, dragging it back and forth under the damp waistband.

“This fabric is heavy,” Cassian remarks, just the slightest husk in his voice. “You… you will take this off, too?”

“I-I don’t—” You’re about to say have anything on underneath except you immediately go quiet, because he’s suddenly slithering his entire hand down into your sweatpants and brushing his knuckles along the gentle slope of you.

He pauses once more when his longest finger reaches the very top of your slit.

But then he just holds it there for a second, tracing small arches back and forth along gentle give of it, the slight dip that separates your soft curls from your soaking heat. You tighten up and wait in breathless anticipation for it, before the tip of Cassian’s finger finally comes to a rest over the soft split of flesh.

And then he’s suddenly pushing in, and down—

—fuckfuckfuckfuck—don’tcumdon’tcum—don’t—

You make a soft, vulnerable sound in bliss as he slowly slides his finger through the hot, slick cleft of your pussy.

“You are warm down here, too,” Cassian murmurs quietly. Your eyes roll back when he drags the entire length of it up against your clit, letting you feel each individual ridge and joint and crevice across the swollen bit of flesh. “Is it the spice?” He asks, sinking his finger back down into you once more. “Or are you always this wet between your legs?”

Neither. Both, maybe? Mostly it’s just him. Cassian, whispering softly to you through the hazy darkness, lazily dipping his fingers into your cunt and letting it drench and engulf his skin in its heat.

“Tell me,” he prompts when you don’t say a word. His finger pulls up and begins tracing slow, gentle circles around your clit.

“No,” you breathe haggardly, arching your hips up just slightly as he touches you. “N-No, this is…”

“This is different,” Cassian confirms when you don’t finish your sentence. He keeps circling your clit, and it’s like he’s just casually, carelessly stirring a pot that’s about to boil over and set everything on fucking fire. You pulse threateningly under the tip of his finger, swollen and tight and just trying your best to control your breathing. “So it is the spice. Why you are this hot, this… this soaking.”

“It’s…” Don’t you say it. Don’t you fucking say it. Don’t you turn this into something it isn’t. “Yeah. It’s—it’s the sp-spice.”

His finger follows the hard curve of you down to where you give, where you’re leaking wetness and heat from the source, before he’s suddenly shifting his wrist and pushing the entire thing into you down to his knuckle.

Now you do arch your hips, spreading your legs and helping him go deeper even as Cassian hums, stretching his finger and feeling you clench hot and tight around him. He says something softly, something in a language you don’t understand.

And then he’s pulling out and rubbing circles around your clit again, the tip of his finger steady and firm as he steadily drags the pleasure out of you.

“We need to finish it soon,” he eventually reminds you, and it takes a remarkable delay for you to realize he’s talking about the lingering quarter of the joint still clenched tightly between your fingers. “Take your hit. We have a nine-hundred call, remember.”

Fuck, you bring the spice up to your lips with a shaky hand, trying to remember whether you should inhale or exhale first. Cassian’s finger just keeps circling your clit, winding you up tighter and tighter. His motions are so repetitive and predictable, but they’re somehow still lighting you on fire from the inside, slowing you down spectacularly as you try to take a steady breath in through the filter.

“Stars, you are so wet,” he remarks after a moment. “Are you going to cum soon? You feel like you are so close already.”

You are close. Everything is swollen and slippery and tight, and hearing him say it out loud like that makes the pleasure rocket up even tighter inside you. You don’t even feel him reach around with his other hand and take the spice from you. You just lose yourself in the mindless sensation of Cassian’s finger on your clit, rolling your eyes back and reaching your hands down to fisting the sheets at your sides as he touches you.

“Does this feel good, caraya?” He whispers quietly to you, inhaling deeply from the spice. “You are usually so… mouthy with me. Is this helping? Do I need to rub your clit like this more often?”

“Fuck—Cassian, I’m gonna cum,” you tell the ceiling raggedly, chest beginning to arch up and hips bearing down.

“Do it,” he murmurs, reaching his thumb through your slick lips to pinch and roll the pulsing bud between his fingers. “Right here. All you can.”

And then wild, painful bliss stabs through you, launching you headfirst into a blinding orgasm. A desperate sound tears from your throat as you cum hard all over your best friend’s hand, agonizing pleasure shredding mindless rapture through your veins. It rings white noise through your ears and rips you apart from the inside out, arcing lightning down your spine more bright and explosive than ever before. Fuck, it’s unprecedentedly powerful. You’re drenched but your clit is hard and pulsing and swollen, and he’s able to keep it between his fingers the entire time your hips writhe desperately on the mattress.

Cassian inhales from the spice once more and massages your clit through the torturous, blazing hot aftershocks. He drags the pleasure out of you until you’re a trembling mess, exhausted from the spasms wreaking havoc on your body.

But then… but then you’re still so hot. It’s like your limbs have no energy left but your cunt is still pulsing and wanting more from him. You feel your wetness coating his hand, your inner thighs, probably soaking through your sweatpants, but fuck, you want him to keep touching you like this—you want him to keep doing this.

It’s the spice, something tells you in the very back of your mind. It almost made you black out with a wild orgasm and now it’s quickly preparing your overheated body for another one. Your feet come up to brace against the mattress and your eyes close, jaw going slack as you grind feverishly against Cassian’s hand.

“Again?” He whispers to you, fingers continuing to pinch and roll your clit and then—and then another debilitating wave of euphoria is suddenly slamming through you, pulling your chest up and flooding his hand with another series of wet, powerful contractions. Cassian rasps something in his native tongue and rides you through the second one just as steady as the first, your pussy spasming uncontrollably as he slowly wrings the pleasure from you.

Fuck, it feels so good. You’re worked up and trembling and trying not to whimper for him, desperately wanting him to keep his hand right here forever, buried right between your legs like this. But you also—you also want Cassian to feel it too, feel the way the unrestrained hedonism practically burns you alive when you cum.

So you carefully turn over on your side and shuffle forwards a bit, resting your head on his lower stomach, right in front of the mouthwatering bulge in his trousers. His fingers can’t fully reach your cunt from this angle, but Cassian is resilient. He just drags his hand over your hip and slithers his fingers into your pussy from behind while you start unbuckling his pants with shaky fingers.

He’s unbelievably hard and throbbing and leaking when you pull his cock out of his underwear, the pulsing urgency of his erection not lining up with the way he’s still relaxing on your mattress, still hasn’t moved under you. So you just hold his length up to your lips and open them, slowly sliding your tongue around the tip of him three times before taking his curved head into the hot cavern of your mouth.

Cassian takes a deep, shaky breath as you suck softly on the head of his cock, fluttering your tongue along a bead of precum he leaks from the slit. He drags his fingers through your drenched pussy lips from behind as you carefully move your head down his tummy, opening your jaw wider and letting him fill your mouth deeper.

“Fuck,” he breathes, and you hum softly and lift your back palate slightly, sliding your tongue drift down his shaft and taking him a bit deeper still. He shudders under you and pushes the tip of his finger up against your clit.

And then you shudder because Cassian completely bypasses your hood at this angle, bumping into the swollen bit of flesh without any resistance or protection and just… holding it there. Barely moving an inch while you begin to slowly bob up and down just slightly around his cock, just keeping his fingertip right up against your clit and sparking heat down through your legs.

You move your hand down to cup his balls and start to roll your hips against his fingers. Cassian’s breathing stutters as you lazily suck his cock, rubbing a tight little circle on your clit in silent encouragement.

“We should—” his voice is hoarse now, now that you’ve got his dick in your mouth and you’re gently swirling your tongue around it, almost as unhurried and casual about the act as he was bringing you to your first orgasm. “We should do this. More.”

You slowly pull off him, kissing the tip of his cock and mouthing at the way he’s steadily releasing thick drops of precum for you. Cassian’s finger rolls firmly against your clit in response.

“You just want your dick sucked every time you come back to base,” you counter breathlessly, brushing your lips against him while talking with his cockhead resting on the edge of your tongue.

His hand shifts, and then he’s suddenly pushing two thick fingers deep inside you. You moan around his tip and prop one leg up on the mattress so he can fill you easier, going back to sucking and swiping your tongue over his frenulum.

“I would not mind it,” he admits with a shaky exhale. “You are. Very g-good. Fuck. And wa—” he gasps, feeling you clench tight around his fingers, “—warm. Fuck, every… everywhere.”

Fuck, it feels so good like this. Laying here, topless and being penetrated two different ways by Cassian, feeling him throb in your mouth while you rest your head on his tummy, feeling him stretch your cunt walls with his fingers while you hold your legs open for him.

You pull off him to drag your slick tongue over your palm, coating your fingers in saliva. Cassian groans when you wrap your hand around the thick base of him, and then he lifts his hips slightly as you start to slowly jerk him off into you mouth.

“Fuck—caraya, if you keep doing that, I will—” he whispers after a moment, curling his fingers inside you in warning. You just tighten your grip and add just the slightest twist to your wrist and “Wait—wait—” Cassian grunts, starting to pull his fingers out of you—

You pull off him just enough to murmur the words against his throbbing head. “You’ll want more than one, okay. Trust me. Cum like this, okay? Cum just like this, right in my mouth.”

You wrap your lips around his cock once more and keep jerking him off slow and tight into the heat of your mouth, and Cassian’s abdominal muscles go incredibly tense under your head. And then you squeeeeze your lower muscles around his fingers, and all the tension suddenly snaps.

His cock goes rock hard on your tongue and starts pulsing steadily as he groans out your name like it hurts, fingers stuffed deep in your cunt. You swallow around him and moan, clenching rhymically around his fingers and letting him slowly empty himself into your mouth. Fuck, he takes forever with it, shuddering and gasping and pumping cum down your throat, his orgasm clearly as powerful as yours was. The spice drags it out, makes you both lose yourself in the raw heaven of release for far longer than normal.

The spice also prevents him from softening when Cassian finally stops spurting hot cum in your mouth. You suspected as much—which is why you keep sucking his cock even as he stops throbbing, you keep him in your hot mouth even when he’s laying trembling and exhausted under you. And he still stays rock solid on your tongue, swollen and needing more.

Cassian’s voice sounds shredded when he finally speaks. “I—I am going to crash my x-wing tomorrow,” he tells you hoarsely, fingers finally slipping out of your channel with a vulgar, slick sound. “You were right.”

You pull off him and kiss the tip of his cock one final time, making sure you’ve cleaned up the mess completely. “Today.”

“Fuck. Today,” he acknowledges tightly, adjusting his hips when you lift your head off his stomach. “Fuck. In a few hours. You will make me crash, just thinking about this.”

“Why is it,” you turn around and blink at him, “that after literal decades of my friendship, you only acknowledge my perpetual rightness after I make you cum for the first time?”

Cassian just smiles softly at you, and his fingers are drenched as they rest lazily against your thigh. “Caraya. Two suns. Twice the illumination, no?”

You bite your lip and try not to smile back at him, wanting to blush and roll your eyes in equal parts. Stars, why is he so… so lovely? Speaking to you so sweetly, looking back up at you from your pillow like you’re every single color in his sky. Your heart seizes in your chest, staring at him with the same kind of fondness and admiration his beautiful eyes are shining with. Fuck, you want… you want to…

“Can we… can we have sex now?” You whisper. Not really shy, but… but it almost sounds shy in its quiet, breathless hope.

“You do not want me to taste you?” Cassian immediately asks, reaching out with one hand to offer you what’s left of the spice while the other stays firmly wedged between your legs. “I want to. I have…”

You bite down on your bottom lip and take the nearly finished joint from him, feeling his fingers curl against your pussy lips at the same time and knowing you’re going to regret letting him finish his sentence. He swallows thickly.

“I have thought about it,” Cassian eventually tells you, carefully admitting the words like he never expected he’d ever say them aloud and is completely unprepared. “Sometimes. Sometimes when… when I am about to sleep. I think of… of you. What you taste like. Right here.” He barely slips the tip of his finger back between your folds, fluttering his eyelashes at the way you’re still dripping in his hand. “I bet you are so sweet. Will you let me find out?”

Except. Except you’re suddenly blanking.

He’s… he’s thought about you before? Like this? Fuck, he isn’t just… just saying that, right? Just telling you what you want to hear? Because fuck, it’s almost too good to be true; like everything out of his mouth since you first put his cock in yours has somehow sounded even better than the last. You feel like you’re dreaming, and it. It makes you almost frantic with need, overcome with the desire to solidify your connection with him before it can be ripped away like it always is.

You don’t respond to him. You just quickly wiggle out of your sweatpants and get on top of him, swinging one of your legs around Cassian’s hips. The spice is held in one hand while the other reaches down and aligns his cock right up against your opening.

Cassian grabs your thighs tightly and takes a long, shuddery breath under you. Fuck, he really is a dream, isn’t he? Long and lithe and beautiful, still throbbing and pulsing and ready for you after you already swallowed his first load. You straighten your back and slowly sit down on his cock, letting the thick, hard length of it break you open slowly.

His hands trace up to your hips and then slide along the gentle curves of your sides, measuring the size of your ribcage before eventually grasping both of your tits in his palms. You breathe through the pleasure and the stretch, letting Cassian pinch and roll your nipples between his fingers as you gradually slide down him and come to a rest flush against his pelvis.

Fuck he feels spectacular. You can feel him pulsing inside of you, fitting and stretching the contours of your slick cunt perfectly. You shiver and clench around him, finishing off the last hit of spice as you roll your hips slightly to adjust to the tight fit of his cock.

You twist your shoulders to carefully toss the smoldering roach into the sink when it’s done, really taking your time with aiming it to make sure you don’t miss. The second it lands in the metal basin is the second Cassian grinds his hips up into yours while giving both of your nipples a gentle tug, and a jolt of pleasure rocks its way down your spine.

“Im-impatient,” you whisper, trying to scold him but it comes out sounding all wrong, far more needy and breathy than you wanted.

“I wanted my tongue in your pussy,” he whispers back in reminder, squeezing your tits as you start to circle and grind against him, letting you both enjoy the sensation of each other without any solid aim at the moment. “You could not wait.”

“Later,” you gasp, tipping your head back and just—fuck, just enjoying his cock. Enjoying how it feels, pressing up deliciously tight against something inside you that just absolutely loves the pressure. You scoot yourself back just a bit, just so he is really shoved up hard against that spot as you grind and roll your body. It ignites sparks deep in your floor muscles, makes you clamp tighter around him as you slowly ride your best friend’s cock.

And stars, Cassian just watches you. He drags his hands over your naked body as it swells and rocks back over his hips like waves in the ocean. He’s still completely clothed, and while something inside you wants you to get him as naked as your are, rub your exposed skin against his and make sure he never forgets how you feel against him, most of you is just fucking burning at the eroticism of being so bare and tall above him while he looks at you.

“Later,” he eventually repeats after you, definitively confirming what you said. Cassian’s voice is somehow soft and rough at the same time, quiet but tight and hoarse in his throat. “I will taste you later.”

You jerk a nod in agreement, starting to gain just a little bit of a rhythm on top of him. Your eyes flutter closed as you lean your weight back slightly and begin to pull up when your hips twist in towards him, and then sinking back down on his cock when your hips circle back around again.

“Fuck,” you hear Cassian grit as you keep doing that, relaxing your lower muscles as he’s thrusted into you and then clamping down on his length as it’s slowly dragged out. “Fuck, you are—a-amazing, caraya. You are. You are—fuck—”

A sinful heat starts simmering deep inside you as Cassian cuts himself off with a gasp and squeezes his eyes shut, starts rocking his pelvis up in time with your slow, sensual rotations. Both of his hands clamp down hard over your hips as they continue to undulate in slow circles around his cock.

“Maker,” you whisper, trying to focus on your rhythm instead of the terrifying, building sensation inside of you. Fuck, you can literally feel the threat of your orgasm start to carefully wind itself around the base of your spine, simmering and sparking with dark pleasure as it gradually spreads its electric claws outwards. It’s huge. You can already feel it gathering together inside you, culminating into something monstrous and fierce.

Cassian says your name, and you suddenly blink your eyes open at the unexpected urgency and tightness in his voice. Your vision takes a second to focus on his gorgeous face, and when you immediately see the same exact storm of swirling desperation in his eyes, your jaw goes slack as you speed up, trying to chase him as Cassian all but hurtles towards the blinding explosion nearing its detonation.

“Fuck, I—” he gasps, and then he’s suddenly going rigid under you and cumming deep in your slick heat with a desperate sound, shuddering and gasping for you as his thumbs dig into your thighs. Fuck, you grind harder, trying to find and focus on your favorite angle now as Cassian whimpers through the bliss and writhes under you, throbbing and pumping in steady, helpless jolts.

You whimper, too—fuck, you’re almost there, you’re gasping and trying to surrender to the swelling sensation, but it’s so intense and overwhelming and you’re close to tears because you’re fighting it just as much as you’re seeking it out, and—

And then the breath is suddenly knocked out of you when Cassian reaches up to grab you and flip the both of you over, your back coming down hard against the mattress. He kneels between your legs, hooks both of your calves over his shoulders, props his arms next to your head, and then he starts thrusting.

You sob brokenly, slapping an open palm against his chest. Fuck, his cock is still so hard and it shreds up achingly deep against that blinding spot so perfectly, you can’t focus on anything anymore. The dark, evasive build immediately twists up sharp and impending as Cassian fucks you steady and deep, and you start to muffle your cries and gasps into the back of your hand.

But then, oh—words are coming, too. Oh Maker, you can feel the urge to say them rise up along with the ferocious stirrings of your orgasm, clawing its way out of your throat before you can do anything to stop it.

“Fuck—” you tear your hand away to sob brokenly, not being able to stop yourself as the tsunami begins to peak, “oh, fuck—I love you. Oh, fuck, I—I love you, Cassian—I love you, I—IloveyouIloveyouIloveyou—”

His cock splinters up against sheer euphoria inside you as you cum with a desperate wail of his name, pussy clamping down hard as it erupts into searing hot ecstasy around him.

—and then suddenly Cassian is lurching against you and bringing his lips down to yours, licking into your mouth and cumming deep inside you once more. Maker, you nearly scream at the sensation, your tight cunt milking the throbbing length of him with endlessly wet, hot contractions as he grinds you both through the aching bliss. He kisses you like he’s wanted to do it for years, bites your bottom lip as you whimper and spasm wildly around him.

Fuck, you can hear the mess you’re both making. It’s obscene, filling the room with the slick sound of your desperate coupling. Cassian eventually pulls his mouth away to look down at where he’s rocking into your drenched cunt, the evidence of his own pleasure slicking up hard lines of his erection.

Your eyes roll back when he doesn’t stop thrusting.

***

You lose track of everything.

Time, direction, responsibility—nothing matters, because Cassian goes on like that. For hours, taking you apart every single way you can imagine. You fuck the effects of the spice out of your body until nothing exists but him—Cassian’s cock stretching you, his tongue gliding along your skin, his whispered words of broken praise murmured against your neck.

Strangely, your body feels absolutely amazing when you finally manage to gain the slightest bit of awareness of your obligations again. You feel like you’re floating above everything, almost dreamlike in how unbelievably satisfied you feel.

You slowly blink up at the ceiling, and then suddenly remember the nine-hundred call you have to make. You’re both naked, sprawled out on top of your mattress, and Cassian—

“Cass—” you rasp, pulling on the thick waves of hair tangled between your fingers and feeling his hot tongue slip out of your pussy. It’s still slightly dark in your room, but that could just be the horrendous weather blocking the sun. “What—what time is it? Did we miss—?”

“Almost eight,” Cassian rumbles low against your thigh. “We still have some time before we need to get up.”

You lurch into startled awareness, getting go of him to prop yourself you on your elbows. “But that’s—no, we have to shower, and—”

“A ten minute walk to the hangar from here, yes?” Cassian reasons, pressing a lazy kiss to your thigh and not sounding bothered in the slightest. “Twenty minutes to shower together, ten minutes to get dressed. We have at least ten more minutes before we need to think about getting up.”

You shudder and blink down at him, naked and relaxed as he mouths over your skin. Maker, how can everything change and yet still be so familiar at the same time?

“I think I might crash my x-wing today,” you finally breathe out, dropping your shoulders back down to the mattress once again.

“No,” he returns, turning his head to kiss your other thigh. “You will not. Because I checked my holopad earlier, and they sent the coordinates for red squadron’s patrols.”

You narrow your eyebrows at the ceiling. What does that have to do with anyth—?

And then you suddenly go shock-still under him, trying not to let the blind, overwhelming hope surge up inside you.

“Bring extra credits, caraya,” Cassian murmurs, lowering his head back down between your legs. “We are going to Lothal.”

#Cassian Andor x reader #Cassian Andor x you #Cassian Andor #Smut #fanfic #no-droids

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