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ptergwen · 3 years

Text

through the lens

w/c: 2.3k

warnings: swearing and mentions of blood (all fluff tho!)

summary: yours and peter’s date night doesn’t go as planned, thanks to his “little” accident and mj’s photography project

a/n: it’s been a minute but i’m back! for now lol i promise i’ll be way more active when exam season is over <3 this was based off the lovely pic above taken by the even lovelier zendaya and i hope you enjoy these… let’s call it random workings of my mind

“hang on, can you come closer?” mj instructs you, you promptly stepping towards her. “is this good?” “great,” she affirms and squints behind the camera. “smile really big on the count of three, okay? one, two, three!” doing as she says, you give mj your cheesiest grin with your eyes squeezed shut and all. she snickers while snapping the moment on her polaroid.

mj asked you to be her subject for a photography project. you’re happy to do it, although it’s super last minute. like, barging-into-your-room-and-begging-you-for-help last minute. she was supposed to turn this in days ago. lucky for mj, her teacher was feeling generous and gave her an extension.

you have to work fast because of mj’s deadline and your plans with peter. he’s coming over for a movie marathon and cuddles right about now. well, he’s actually running a tad bit late. that’s typical peter for you.

“just a couple more, and then you’re free,” mj informs you while shaking out the polaroid. “this is honestly pretty fun, you know.” you glance at the photo she’s holding with an eyebrow quirked in surprise. she captures you well. “what made you choose me?” “no one else was free on a saturday,” she snorts and tosses the picture in a pile with the rest.

your mouth falls agape. “i’m not free! peter’s gonna be here in…” you check the time on your phone, much to your dismay. “he’s a few minutes late, but still. i have things to do, too.” a smirk sets on mj’s face as she gets ready for the next photograph. “relax, y/n/n. i was kidding. i’m sure spider-dweeb will be here sooner than you know it.” sighing lightheartedly, you take a seat on your bed.

“don’t call him that,” you shake your head. mj throws her own head back to the ceiling. “ugh, but that was a good one,” she insists, you only humming. “it’s better than penis parker, at least.” “nah, i like the alliteration,” you laugh out and earn a giggle from mj. “you’re lucky parker doesn’t have super hearing, or does he?” winking, you hit a pose for mj. you’re looking at her over your shoulder with smolder eyes.

“ask him yourself, after you get this shot.”

the two of you continue messing around with her polaroid until the film is almost gone, and peter has yet to arrive. you’re starting to worry. you aren’t sure where he could be.

he doesn’t patrol on weekends unless it’s an emergency, and he would’ve told you if there was one already. he’s never this late without sending a text, either. it’s almost an hour past when date night should’ve started. on the other occasions peter has gone off the grid, they didn’t end well.

“i’m freaking out, em. do you think he’s in some kind of trouble?” you ask mj, pacing around your bedroom. she offers a sympathetic shrug. “maybe he just ate some bad yogurt. remember last time?” being the dummy he is, peter once scarfed down an entire tub of vanilla yogurt before he realized it was expired. no one heard from him for days. he didn’t show up to school or answer any calls.

may ended up inviting you over and explaining he’d gotten a stomach bug, which you then tended to him for the rest of. the story was so amusing, and so peter.

“may doesn’t buy him dairy anymore. why do you think he always raids your freezer?” you bring your fingers up to rub your temples. “the kid can empty ice cream cartons in one bite,” she agrees, silently cringing. her curiosity piques at the fact. “is that also a power?” “who cares?” you nearly shout, your fingers curling into fists. “what i wanna know is if peter is fucking okay.”

on cue, there’s a knock at your apartment door. you and mj exchange looks of urgency, both rushing out of your room to answer.

mj follows you through the hall and stands by your side while you fumble with the lock. when your door pulls open, ned has his hand raised to knock again. “ned? what are you doing here?” you don’t give him the chance to speak. “have you heard from peter? he was supposed to be here a while ago, but he never showed.” rather than answering in words, ned takes a step aside.

the sight you’re met with makes you gasp. peter peeks out from behind him, cuts and bruises littering his flushed face. he gives you a lopsided smile.

“you have your answer,” mj murmurs to you and eyes ned curiously. he lets out a nervous chuckle. “here he is.” you push past ned and practically jump into peter’s arms, your hug bone-crushing. “peter, oh my god! are you okay?” wincing, peter hugs you back by your waist. his chin rests carefully on your head.

“hey… i’m alright, baby. still pretty sore, though,” he sucks his lower lip between his teeth. you take the hint to loosen your grip on him. “i was worried something bad might’ve happened to you. i… i guess i was right.” your tone softens, you threading a hand in his curls. they’re completely disheveled from whatever went down with him.

ned heads inside to catch up with mj, the two of them letting you have a moment alone.

“someone’s got a spidey sense of their own, huh?” peter tries to lighten the mood by joking. it doesn’t work, a frown still evident on your face as you try to untangle his once soft locks. “baby, everything’s fine. i just… had a little accident is all. no big deal,” he reassures you and moves in to peck your lips. you’re so shocked that you dodge the kiss.

“little? your whole face is black and blue, pete!” you tug on the white collar of his button up, peter letting out a shaky breath. your other hand comes to rest on his cheek, touch gentle. “how’d you get like this?” he licks across his lips shyly and sets his hands on your hips. “see, on the way over there were these bad guys who-“

“no there weren’t,” ned cuts in, scoffing at the beginning of his friend’s story. peter shoots him a warning look over your head. “yes there were, ned. you weren’t even there!” he catches mj glaring at him before he continues. “don’t listen to him. anyway, i had to fight them because…” when he trails off, you stroke your thumb across his cheek, avoiding any wounds in the way. raising both eyebrows, mj speaks up.

“because why? go on, parker. i’m intrigued,” she encourages him. everyone can tell peter is lying except you. the question really is, what’s he lying about? he gulps down his spit, pulling your body against his for comfort. “take your time, peter. we can wait,” you say only for him to hear. his love filled eyes meet yours, and he nods. ned huffs at the dramatics unfolding before him.

“dude, you’re making this way worse than it actually is. just tell her!” he demands, mj cocking her head to the side. peter’s gaze flits between the two of them. “tell me what?” you wonder softly and tilt his chin, willing him to look at you again. “i… i…” peter’s shoulders slump, his voice lowering in defeat. “there weren’t any bad guys.”

“of course there weren’t,” ned confirms. “no shit,” mj adds. exhaling, you wait for your boyfriend to further elaborate. “what really happened, then? be honest, pete.” peter lets go of you so he can come into your apartment properly, you shutting the door behind him. he scratches the back of his neck as he fills you in. “ok. um, me and ned were hanging out.”

ned is attempting to stifle a laugh for some reason, which mj elbows him for. you take one of peter’s hands. “yeah?” “we were at my place, and… you know those really slippery steps on the sixth floor?” peter pauses for someone to answer, playing with your fingers. “the ones flash almost wiped out on once?” mj questions in amusement. he lets a quiet chuckle out. “good times. yeah, those.”

his gaze averts to the ground, you listening on. “so, i was walking ned out on my way over. we were talking about spidey stuff-“ “as per usual,” mj mumbles to herself. ned raises his hands in defense. “—and i told ned i could always stick my landings. he didn’t believe me.” you playfully roll your eyes, seeing where this is going. “so… i, uh, decided to show him,” peter finishes off.

“i did a, um, backflip. tripped and fell down the flight of stairs,” he finally admits to you, putting his other hand on top of your intertwined ones. “clearly, i was wrong.” his bloody face is now red from humiliation. “you didn’t trip, dude. you freaking summersaulted!” ned corrects him and bursts into laughter he’s been holding back. “idiots, both of you,” mj simply remarks.

“that’s it? why didn’t you just say that?” you almost laugh yourself. groaning, peter rests his forehead against yours. “because it’s embarrassing! i wanted you to think i’m a tough guy or whatever.” placing both hands on his cheeks this time, you nuzzle your nose against his. “you don’t have to be a tough guy to impress me, babes. you’re kind, smart, funny. makes up for you being such a klutz.”

peter cracks a grin, easily capturing your lips in the kiss he didn’t get to before. it doesn’t last long because mj gags and ned whistles at you. you’re both giggling when you pull apart, peter kissing the tip of your nose for good measure.

“you really mean that?” he checks, tucking back a strand of hair from your face. “of course. i have a thing for himbos,” you tease and poke at his bare chest. his eyes widen. “how about i get you some ice and you find our first movie?” you’re already off to the kitchen, beaming at peter. “date night’s still on?” he happily plops down on your couch, mj showing ned her pictures from earlier.

“as soon as those two get out of here,” you call loudly enough so ned and mj hear you. “yeah, yeah. we’re leaving,” mj deadpans, shoving the photos back into her portfolio. peter glances over at it curiously. “what’s that for?” “photography project,” she says and gets an idea. “i have some film left. y/n took up most of it… you losers want the rest?”

while mj coerces her way to a higher grade, you put some popcorn in the microwave for your movie marathon.

“well, i could use a new lockscreen. i’m in!” ned quickly concedes. him and mj both give peter hopeful looks. “i’m not!” he protests, squishing one of your pillows against his chest. “with my face looking like… this? forget about it.” mj walks over to him and places her portfolio on the coffee table. “what? those gashes are gnarly… in a good way, i mean,” she promises.

“painful, too,” peter murmurs. “y/n, hurry up with that ice!” mj demands, grabbing the polaroid camera from its string around her neck. you wave her off. “what i’m saying is, they’ll look sick in my portfolio.” mj forces a smile, ned looking at her weirdly. “uh, what’s the theme of your project again?” “freestyle, baby,” mj casually replies.

peter comes up with a condition that could persuade him. “if you say please, i might consider it,” he concludes, mj perking up. “please be in my project. pretty please?” she instantly requests, ned pursing his lips from behind her. peter rubs his chin. “y/n, what do you think? should i?” you pipe in from the kitchen. “yeah, so she’ll leave my house.”

“you heard the lady. i’ll do it,” peter gives in. all but squealing, mj gestures for ned to sit. “this’ll only take a few minutes. you guys are really saving my ass.” ned gets comfortable next to peter on the couch, who wants to see how far mj will really go. “aw, we are? i believe that calls for a…” ned catches on. “it comes after please…” mj picks up her camera with gritted teeth. “thank you, morons. say cheese!”

that’s the only warning peter and ned get before they’re blinded with the flash. ned does a toothy grin as he leans into peter’s side. peter musters up the best smile he can, hair a mess and cuts burning pink on his face. satisfied, mj snatches the photograph as it pops out.

“pleasure doing business with you two,” she states, you joining the three of them in the living room. you set the popcorn on the table and give peter his ice pack. he presses it to his cheek, kissing the back of your hand. “send me that!” ned reminds mj, helping himself to your bowl of popcorn. she salutes him.

“there’s my star. what do you say, y/n? wanna take one more really quick?” mj suggests, already holding up her polaroid. you take the other cushion next to peter, your head on his shoulder. “can peter be in it with me? since he’s in the modeling mood tonight.” he wraps an arm tightly around you. “let’s do it, sweetness.”

eagerly jumping in front of you two, mj crouches down to get a better angle. “on the count of three. one, two, three!” the camera clicks, and you surprise peter by laying a smooch on one of his cheeks. he’s holding the ice against his other, genuinely smiling for this picture. ned coos at you, mj showing off her work when it dries.

“how adorable,” she says sarcastically but means it. peter nods at her in appreciation, his lips brushing the side of your head. “what can i say, you’re a pro,” you compliment mj. “come on, em!” ned cheers through a mouthful of popcorn.

tonight was an unexpected and exciting mess, even if your date night did get crashed.

#peter parker #peter parker fluff #peter parker imagine #peter parker x reader #peter parker x y/n #peter parker x you #peter parker smut #peter parker fic #peter parker fanfiction #tom holland #tom holland fluff #tom holland imagine #tom holland x y/n #tom holland x you #tom holland x reader #tom holland smut #tom holland fic #tom holland fanfiction

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marauderundercover · 3 years

Text

Taking Chances Ch. 19: Lack of Communication (Wayne Gala)

AO3

The shrill ringing of her phone tugs Marinette from her sewing machine. Glancing at the caller ID, she grins widely.

“Hey Uncle Jagged.” She says, pushing her chair away from her desk. It’d been a couple weeks since she last heard from the man as his tour had really picked up at the end. It was practically back to back concerts, so that didn’t leave a lot of time for phone calls or face times.

“Little Rocker! Glad I caught you. I have an event next week and I was hoping I could drop by the bakery so you could fix a tear in one of my suits.” He says. Marinette winces. That’s what she was supposed to do. Tell Uncle Jagged about...well, everything.

“Yeah, about that…” She trails off, wishing she’d thought to tell him about the whole ‘adopted’ thing the last time she’d seen him in person. “I’m actually not in Paris right now. I’m in Gotham spending the summer with my birth father.” She says, deciding to just rip the bandaid off. There’s silence for a minute. Then two. She looks down at the phone, frowning. Did he hang up?

“You’re in Gotham?” He finally says.

“Yup.” She says, sighing. “I’m really sorry I won’t be able to fix your suit.”

“What, no, this is great! See the event is in Gotham! It’s just a bunch of rich people and- hold on. Penny!” He yells. She catches bits and pieces of their conversation, Penny agreeing wholeheartedly with whatever it is Jagged has suddenly decided. “I have a rocking idea.” He adds.

“Okay? I’m listening.” She says, glancing at the new dress she’d started that was pinned on her dress form. She was having trouble with the shape and was quickly getting frustrated with her struggles.

“You could come with! As MDC, of course. You could wear one of your designs and get known in Gotham. The event is supposed to be highly publicized. Penny thinks it’d be a good way to get known in the US. So, whatdya say?” Jagged asks, and Marinette can just tell that he’s grinning widely, can hear it in his voice. She thinks for a minute, glancing at the dress form with a new sense of determination.

“I’ll have to double check with my dad.” She says, trying to think if they had any plans for next week.

“Of course! Let me know soon, okay? Penny says she wants to start publicizing MDC’s appearance if you’re gonna come.” Jagged says. Marinette agrees before hanging up, thinking. Would her dad let her go alone? Or would he insist on coming with? She knew Gotham was dangerous, it’s why she hadn’t gone anywhere by herself despite being a hero herself. She didn’t want to risk her Miraculous falling into the wrong hands, even if the person didn’t realize what they had. Making up her mind, she sets off to find her dad and ask about the event. She still wasn’t quite sure what it was, just that there would be plenty of big names and plenty of journalists- the perfect opportunity to build up a clientele outside of France. Checking his study first, she’s unsurprised to see he’s not there. Knowing chances were good that he was in the cave, she pulls a domino mask out of her purse. Her dad had asked her a couple days ago to wear one in the cave just in case they had unexpected visitors. Kinda like how her and Chat Noir had shown up unexpectedly that one time. Complete accident. Changing the time on the clock, she presses the button that opens the entrance, sliding in and walking through the passage. Glancing into the cave, she grins when she sees her dad, in costume, sitting at the computer.

“Hey B!” She says, knowing not to call him Dad while he was in the cowl. Something about it making him seem less intimidating, or something.

“Ladybird.” He nods. She frowns, glancing at the computer screen and wincing when she sees Superman on screen.

“Sorry, I didn’t know you were busy.” She apologizes, waving awkwardly at the man on the screen. He quirks an eyebrow.

“Hello. Ladybird, was it?” He asks and she nods.

“Er, yeah. Ladybird. Nice to meet you.” She says, rocking back and forth on her heels, eyes darting around the cave. Maybe she should just leave and ask later.

“Is everything alright?” Her dad asks, obviously confused at her presence in the cave. Not that she wasn’t allowed, she just didn’t spend a lot of time there.

“I was just wondering if I could go to an event next week with my Uncle.” She says, trying to stay vague. He’s silent for a moment before nodding.

“We can discuss details later, but that should be fine.” He says. Marinette grins, bouncing up and down in excitement.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” She cheers, resisting the urge to hug him. “Bye Mr. Superman!” She adds, waving before running back through the passage to work on her dress some more. This was going to be amazing!

---

Penny had picked Marinette up early the morning of the Gala. She still wasn’t sure what it was for, but that didn’t bother her. She was just excited that she had finally finished her newest dress in time for the Gala. Penny had insisted on her coming over early so that she could help Marinette do her hair and makeup, which she was thankful for. Selina apparently had something to do tonight and couldn’t help her, and she would’ve definitely been her first choice. Smiling down at her dress, Marinette looks at Penny with a grin.

“Could you take a picture for me without my face covering so I can show my parents later?” She asks. Penny nods, smiling back.

“That dress is amazing, Marinette. Truly one of your best designs.” She says. Marinette blushes at the compliment before smiling at the camera. She thanks Penny and takes her phone back, sending the picture to her Maman and Papa as well as her dad and Selina. She was extremely proud of the dress and wanted them to see her in it before she added her ‘disguise’ to protect her identity.

“Hey, Aunt Penny?” Marinette says, looking up at the woman. Penny hums, putting on lipstick. “What is the event for? All Jagged said was that it’s a Gala.” She says, Penny huffs.

“Of course that man didn’t give you any other information. Honestly, sometimes- you agreed without knowing what the event was?” She says, eyebrows raised. Marinette shrugs.

“Uncle Jagged said that it’d be fun. I trust him.” She says. Penny sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose.

“Remind me to read any contracts before you sign them, okay sweetie?” She says. Marinette nods and Penny smiles. “Good. Anyway, it’s a Wayne Gala. The family hosts several every year to help raise money for the Wayne foundation.” Penny says and Marinette freezes. Wayne Gala? As in, her father? Her family? Were they really having a Gala tonight without telling her? Or inviting her? Were they….were they embarrassed by her?

“Like, Bruce Wayne?” Marinette manages to ask, trying hard to ignore the way her heart breaks when Penny nods. That was why Selina couldn’t help her. She had to get ready for the Gala. And if she had to guess, the rest of her family was also going. What would they have done with her if she hadn’t had plans? Would they have told her then? Or would they have acted like nothing was happening. Where even was the Gala? Oh my god. It was at the Manor, wasn’t it. The thought strikes her and she winces, giving Penny a small, tense smile.

“Are you okay?” She asks, obviously concerned. Marinette nods sharply.

“Yes, one last question. Where is it?” She asks. Penny frowns, obviously not believing that Marinette was okay, but luckily not pushing it.

“Wayne Manor. The Galas are the only time the manor is opened to other celebrities. The family is usually very private.” Penny says. Marinette huffs out a puff of air, working hard to ignore the hurt in her chest. The feeling that she wasn’t enough. That they didn’t need her. Suddenly, she wasn’t excited anymore. She really wished she would have asked Jagged for more details last week, because now she was stuck going. And it was going to suck.

---

Feeling confident in her design and disguise, Marinette walks through the wall of journalists with Penny and Jagged at her sides. She was working hard to push down the intrusive thoughts that were threatening to take over. Instead, she tried to focus on the questions being called out by the journalists.

“Jagged! Jagged Stone, is this really MDC?” One of them asks. Jagged immediately stopping and shooting the reporter a wide smile.

“Of course it is! She designed all three of these outfits.” He says, gesturing between the trio. “Isn’t she rocking!”

“MDC, why did you pick the Wayne gala to make your first public appearance?” Another journalist asks. Marinette turns to Penny, trusting her to answer the question. They’d agreed before leaving the car that it was best if Marinette didn’t speak directly to any journalists. It would make it easier for them to place her age and where she’s from, given her accent.

“She was in the area and Mr. Stone insisted his favorite designer needed a chance to flaunt her skills in America.” Penny says, flashing the journalist a wide smile before gently pushing Marinette along down the line of journalists. Marinette nods to the man who’d asked the question before following Jagged and Penny closely, her stomach churning as they walk up the front steps of the manor. Of the place she’d been living since summer started. Where apparently they didn’t care to tell her about one of the biggest family events of the year. No big deal. She thought they were accepting her, that they were all getting closer. But maybe not. Her dad not telling her didn’t hurt nearly as much as her brothers not telling her. That felt like a knife in her chest. Trying hard to move gracefully instead of tensely, she follows Jagged into the manor and into the ballroom. Her jaw clenches as she spots her family across the room.

“Mr. Stone, I’m Clark Kent. Nice to meet you.” A man with a notebook and camera says, walking over and extending a hand. Marinette narrows her eyes. She thought the journalists were supposed to stay outside. And this man looked oddly familiar….

“Rocking meeting you man! You a journalist?” He asks, his calculating look hidden by a wide grin. Mr. Kent chuckles.

“Yes, sorry for being so forward. Mr. Wayne and I are friends, so he lets my wife and I have an exclusive pass to come inside the Galas.” He says, glancing at Marinette over his glasses. She watches as his eyes widen slightly before he schools his features back into a neutral expression.

“That’s pretty rock n roll of him!” Jagged says, clapping Mr. Kent on the shoulder.

“It is. Pardon me, but are you MDC?” He asks, turning to look at Marinette once again. She glances at Penny, shaking her head to let her know that she’ll speak for herself for this one. As upset as she was with her dad, he obviously trusted this man. So she would as well.

“I am. Pleasure to meet you, Monsieur Kent.” She says, extending her hand. He smiles, shaking her hand.

“And you, ma’am. I must say, I was not expecting to see you here. I was under the impression that in person events weren’t your forte.” He says, clearly fishing for something. She knew how journalists worked, she’d seen Alya at work enough times to understand that the man in front of her was looking for a story. One she wouldn’t be giving, no matter how much her father trusted the man.

“I like to occasionally surprise people.” She says, waving her hand in a noncommittal way. “Keep them on their toes.”

“I can respect that. Well, I’ll let you all get back to your evening. Nice to meet you all.” He says. She nods back at him, not missing the way he immediately darts off to her dad. She watches as the two start talking, a surprised look on her dad’s face before he turns and sees her. She knows he recognizes the dress. Knows that he knows as well who is underneath the veil. She turns, deciding to ignore him. He didn’t want her here, fine. She’d make sure she stayed out of his way.

---

Clark Kent was confused. He’d known that Bruce must have another kid, adopted in some way. He didn’t just work with random vigilantes, especially not in his city. So knowing that Gotham had a new vigilante named Ladybird, he put two and two together. Didn’t take the world’s greatest detective. But what was confusing was the fact that no new faces showed up with the Waynes as they walked into the ballroom for the Gala. Making a note to ask him about it later, Clark makes his way around the room, talking to familiar faces and names, writing things down that would help the story he was being forced to write on the Gala. These events were not his favorite to cover, hardly anything ever happened. Until he heard the commotion outside, other journalists calling out to MDC. He blinks in surprise. MDC had never made a public appearance before. This was an odd one to choose. Preparing himself to confront the designer, he’s surprised as she walks in behind Jagged Stone. He’s even more surprised when he realizes she had to be a teenager. He chats with the girl and Jagged, glancing down at her over the top of his glasses, shock immediately flooding him. The girl had injuries. Hundreds of them. Bones fused back together haphazardly. Quickly excusing himself, he rushes over to Bruce.

“Do you know who MDC is? Because that girl is definitely younger than Tim. And she has hundreds of injuries, Bruce. Hundreds.” He says quietly, watching as Bruce turns and glances at the girl, his eyes widening slightly.

“Shit.” He mutters.

“What?” Clark asks, trying to figure out if he should also be concerned. Bruce smiles, but it's tense.

“That is my daughter.” He says. Clark blinks.

“That’s the new one? Why didn’t she show up with the rest of the family?” He asks.

“I knew she had plans for tonight, so I didn’t tell her about the Gala. I was going to warn her about it, if she didn’t have plans. So she knew to stay in her room.” Bruce explains. Clark frowns.

“You were going to keep her locked up?” He asks incredulously. Not even the least social Wayne was kept locked away for the Galas.

“Of course not. It’s just- she hasn’t said she wants to be announced yet. She hasn’t even said anything about being MDC because she hates the spotlight. I couldn’t just throw her to the sharks. I’m just trying to do what’s best for her.” Bruce says, standing up straighter. Clark sighs.

“Did you actually talk to her about it? Or did you just assume?” He asks, Bruce huffs.

“I think I know my daughter a little more than you do, Kent.” He says.

“Really? Because from here it sounds like she’s about two breaths away from a panic attack. And Penny Rolling keeps reassuring her that they don’t have to stay long. Oh- and now she’s apologizing for not telling her it was a Wayne Gala until today, but she’s also clearly confused as to why it’s upsetting her. And now-”

“Okay, I get it.” Bruce snaps, cutting him off. Clark raises an eyebrow.

“I’m not sure what happened, but you should fix this.” He says with a pointed look before walking away. God knows the Bats all need a push in the right direction every now and again.

---

Jason frowns as he looks around the room for Marinette. He knew that she hadn’t come with the family, B hadn’t explained that one. But he had heard that MDC was there. And he wanted to talk to her, make sure she was doing okay. These things were annoying as hell and he knew he wouldn’t get through it if he didn’t have his brothers (even if they were little shits). He finally spots her near a wall, clearly trying to disappear. He grins widely, walking over and grinning at her.

“Well, MDC, fancy seeing you here.” He teases with a wink. He watches her for some kind of reaction, frowning when he doesn’t get one. “Pix?” He says, softer this time as he looks at his baby sister.

“Oh, that’s right, I wasn’t supposed to be here, was I? Well, sorry to disappoint.” She snaps bitterly. Jason flinches back, surprised at her tone.

“What’re you talking about?” He asks, eyebrows furrowed. Why did she sound so hurt? Why did she think they didn’t want her there?

“Clearly I’m not as much of the family as I thought I was.” She hisses under her breath. He starts to deny that, but she cuts him off with a humorless laugh. “Bruce didn’t even tell me that there was a Gala. None of you did either. A Wayne family Gala and I wasn’t told. I should’ve known better.” She says, turning to walk away. He grabs her wrist gently, stopping her.

“I promise you, we want you here. Dick, Damian, Tim, me- we all want you here. I can’t speak for B, I’ll definitely be having words with the son of a bitch later, but we want you here.” He says, frowning as he listens to her sniffle under her veil. “Pixie, we thought you knew. He told us you weren’t ready to come to this. I swear to you, we would have told you if we knew. I swear.” He adds. His heart breaks as he hears a hiccupped sob break free from her. He wants nothing more than to wrap his baby sister in a hug, but he knows he can’t. Media’d have a field day.

“Really?” She asks in a small voice. Jason nods.

“Hell yeah Pix. Tell ya what, I’m gonna go get the others and then we’re all gonna sneak out. Take one of the old man’s cars and get some garbage fast food. Who needs this lameass party anyway.” He says, hoping she’ll agree. He’ll let himself be mad at Bruce later. And boy was he gonna be mad. The old man had really fucked up this time. It was one thing to ask Mari to not go to the Gala, or to think she wasn’t ready for it. It was a completely other thing to not even give her the chance to decide, or tell her at all. Cause now she was hurt and thinking everyone hated her. Well, he wasn’t gonna let that happen. Not on his watch.

“Lemme just go tell Jagged and Penny real quick.” She agrees, scurrying off. The second she walks away Jason lets his smile drop into a scowl. That son of a bitch. Storming over to his brothers, he tugs them over to the wall. Better not to let B get word of where they’re going.

“What is the meaning of this?” Damian asks with a scowl.

“Pixie’s gonna tell her Aunt and Uncle that she’s leaving and then we’re stealing one of B’s cars to go to McDonalds.” He says simply. Tim frowns.

“And we’re doing this because?” He prompts.

“Because B apparently didn’t tell the kid about the Gala. And she assumed we knew, and that we all hate her.” Jason explains with a frown.

“Father said she didn’t want to attend.” Damian says, and Jason huffs.

“Yeah, well apparently he lied. She had no clue that the event she was going to as MDC was a Wayne Gala.” He says.

“I’ll go get the car and pull it up front.” Dick says, a determined look on his face. Sometimes his ‘we’re a family and we stick together’ shit annoyed the hell outta Jason, but he was thankful for it today.

“I’m gonna go grab Selina’s coat for her to put on. I saw her dress, and if any MDC fan sees her leaving with us it’s gonna start a media circus.” Tim says, walking away to the coat room. Jason sighs, watching Marinette from across the room. A cleared throat beside him tugs his attention back to his youngest brother.

“What?” He asks, pushing his frustration down. He’d go shoot something later, but right now he was determined to not take his frustration at Bruce out on his siblings.

“Why would Father intentionally keep her from the Gala? She is far more adept at social interaction than I am.” Damian says with a frown. Jason sighs, shrugging.

“No clue. But I’m not about to let her push herself away from the rest of us just because B fucked up.” He says, watching as she walks over to the wall, almost disappearing in the shadows. He nods towards her, making sure Damian follows. The second Tim has Selina’s coat, their small group is off, sneaking out one of the side doors and walking past the journalists, sprinting to Dick and the waiting car. They all jump in and she tears the veil off her face, making Jason wince slightly at her red, puffy eyes. Dick slams on the gas, eliciting a curse from Jason and a squeal of surprise from Marinette.

“So! We broke out of that stuffy party. Where are we headed?” Dick asks, glancing in the rearview mirror to make eye contact with Jason. Jason grins.

“We go get a shit ton of junk food from McDonalds and eat it in the car. Give it the old, fast food smell that B loves oh so much.” He says. Marinette snorts, and Jason grins at her. He’d give B hell later, but for now, he was going to enjoy spending time with his siblings.

---

Bruce frowns as he glances around the Gala, not seeing his daughter. Or any of his other children. He made a mental note to talk to them later. Perhaps keeping the Gala from Marinette wasn’t his best decision.

Tag list: @maribat-bdbwm @vixen-uchiha @stainedglassm @liquid-luck-00 @jayjayspixiepop @jjmjjktth @mizzy-pop @trippingovermyfeet @queenz-z @thepaceperson @iloontjeboontje @waiting247 @laurcad123 @toodaloo-kangaroo @ritacrow-blog @deathssilentapproach-blog @kittenmywaythrulife @nerd-nowandforever @tazanna-blythe @jaybird-and-co @jumpingjoy82

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mrs-hollandstan · 3 years

Text

Make Me Love You || Frat Boy!Tom [epilogue]

Warnings: sexual comments, pregnancy and children, marriage and weddings, just cuteness, mentions of IVF, mentions of parental issues, language, mentions of marital issues, mentions of fuckboy!Tommo

Word Count: 7,996

Author's Note: Thank you, thank you, thank you, for those that have stuck with me through all of this. It's been a journey and I'm so grateful for those that stayed for the whole thing. This series has been such an important part of my life and writing and I don't know how I'll function without it, but I'm grateful to have finished it and gotten it out there for others to enjoy. 💖

Series Masterlist || Add yourself to one of my taglists

Welcome to Our Forever

Thomas & Y/F/N

August 5, 2023

White roses and eucalyptus line the wooden board announcing your wedding to the man of your dreams. Maybe not the best decision to have a summer wedding, but Harrison and Ivey had only wed some three months before, and you refused to take away her shine. As it was, when she sat beside you in her auburn colored dress to have her hair and makeup done, she was glowing, reminiscing on her big day with a brand new wedding band to go with her engagement/wedding ring, and a new ID showcasing the Ivey Eleanor Osterfield namesake.

It wasn't necessarily the first time you four girls had been together since graduation, but the time that you spent together had dwindled since going out into the real world. Phoebe was making bank as an emergency room nurse at UW Emergency just off campus and she and Keaton had started living together in University District. Cole had moved Scarlett into his apartment once Keaton had moved out and she's been working as a financial analyst the past two years. He'd mentioned proposing to her, but hadn't officially done so yet. Ivey and Harrison were living in an apartment not far from you and Tom, Harrison working at the Seattle Art Museum, and not too far from him, Ivey was working as an editor in downtown Seattle. Still, after two years, the four of you were meeting up for date night often, you and Ivey mostly discussing wedding plans and crazy stories from your day, while the boys talked sports and alcohol.

Since graduation, you and Tom had adopted a little gray pitbull from a local shelter, similar to Tessa, whom you named Rosir. With the help of your dad and the first few paychecks from your therapy office, you were able to purchase a car, a Subaru Crosstrek, which you and Tom used for weekend getaways and vacations. He'd even taken the time to revisit the same house he and the group stayed in in Oregon two springs ago with you.

"You remember how you told me you wanted something like Ivey and Harrison that night shit went to hell?" He had asked you as you lay in bed one night, bare chests pressed together and Rosie laying just off to your side on the floor, squeaking her toy. You had hummed and nodded, leaning on his chest,

"I regret that."

"Don't say that. I just hope that it's been better than what they have. I've tried to make you happy." You smiled up at him and nodded,

"I've never been happier than I am now." You had reassured him. He'd smiled and leaned in to kiss you. You'd discussed the shitshow that was the last two years of your relationship and how now, you couldn't see being with anyone else and you were convinced that your kids wouldn't have what you did, with a fractured family. Most of Tom's wounds had healed and he was focused on you, his career path, and your future. You were putting everything that had happened in the past behind you for the better now, focusing on your wedding, your marriage, the future.

"You nervous?" Phoebe asks as an artist drags a brush with eyeshadow across her lids. You shrug as you're drawn from your haze,

"Less nervous about marrying him than I am about graduation." You admit. She smiles,

"I'm in love with you two. He's fucking lucky to have you." She murmurs, closing her eyes again. Ivey sighs,

"I think you've beaten me out at being the most gorgeous on your wedding day."

"No, don't say that. You were absolutely stunning."

"Yeah, but are you seeing yourself? Tom is going to lose his shit." She explains. You smile, staring at yourself in the mirror as your makeup artist brushes blush along your cheeks. You giggle,

"Okay, fine, I do look hot." You murmur. The three of you laugh along before Scarlett sighs and moves into the room,

"Your dad and Cole are fighting again." You roll your eyes,

"I almost just wish they hadn't tried to reconcile." You tell her. She smiles,

"I mean... at least they're trying for you and all of our future kids." She reasons. You sigh,

"Yeah, I guess." She sits behind the three of you, waiting until you're all finished before she helps you slide into the a-line dress you'd chosen, the girls gasping,

"Oh Y/N, you look gorgeous." Ivey says. Phoebe and Scarlett agree and when Nikki enters the room, she gasps and covers her mouth, tears springing into her eyes,

"Oh Y/N darling..." She mumbles. You smile, taking her hands when she approaches,

"Do you think he'll like it?" You ask her about her son. She nods, sniffling softly,

"Oh I think you could wear a burlap bag and he'd think you were exquisite, but this..." She nods, "he'll absolutely love you in this." She assures. You smile,

"Great. You look amazing yourself." You tell her, looking her over in her maroon colored mother-in-law dress,

"Well thank you sweetheart." She murmurs, a dusting of red coating her cheeks. She clears her throat,

"I uhm, I have something for you." She says. It's only then that you notice the worn black box in her hands. You follow her to the small couch, sitting just beside her before she opens the box and reveals an old pearl necklace, "My grandmother got this as a gift and it's been passed down through our family. My mother wore it on her wedding day, I wore it on my wedding day. If you'd like... I want you to have it, wear it today and any day in the future as my first daughter-in-law." She tells you. You stare at it, mouth agape,

"Oh gosh... Nikki... are you sure?" She nods immediately,

"Of course. They're to be passed down. Hopefully you get a daughter to do the same to and the tradition can continue in our family." She tells you. You dab at your eyes with a tissue,

"Thank you so much. It's beautiful." You tell her, moving forward to hug her. She hugs you back, kissing your cheek softly. She helps you latch it around your neck and by then, the girls are completely ready,

"It's time Y/N/N." Ivey tells you with a cock of her head. You take a deep breath,

"Gosh... really?" She shoots you a sympathetic smile and nods,

"Fortunately." She tells you. You allow Nikki to fasten your veil into your hair and hand you your bouquet, the girls each collecting theirs before you stand before the full length mirror, staring at yourself. You take a deep breath,

"The next time I step foot into this room, I will be Mrs. Tom Holland." You murmur more to yourself more than anyone. You watch Ivey smile in the mirror before you turn to them and nod,

"Okay, I think I'm ready." You tell them. They each nod before leading you from the room, walking the short distance to where the boys are waiting at the end of the hall. Tom had more groomsmen than you had bridesmaids, but you didn't really care. Three of his seven groomsmen were walking alone, his brothers leading the pack down the aisle together. You honestly thought it was cute. Cole maneuvered his way over to you to kiss your cheek as your father appeared,

"You look beautiful." He tells you. You smile, glancing up at your dad,

"Thanks Cole."

"You know mom would be more than proud of you." He reminds you. You nod, indicating to the veil,

"And she's with me." When your dad had offered up the diamond encrusted lacy material your mother had bought for her own special day, you sobbed and agreed without a second thought. It was such a simple yet meaningful gesture, especially coming from your dad and you haven't thought twice about it since. Cole's eyes are glistening as he nods and Scarlett slips her hand in his bicep.

Sam, Harry, and Paddy are the first down the aisle together, Tom's smile wide when he sees them. Ivey and Harrison are the first couple down the aisle with her as your matron of honor. Scarlett and Cole are next with her being your maid of honor, but you told Phoebe she was also your maid of honor. You weren't letting her feel left out in this situation. Gil was last down the aisle, helping your flower girl and ring bearer, both younger cousins of yours, down to their respective sides. You take a deep breath as you watch Tom stand at the head of the aisle, nervously swaying side to side, hands clasped in front of him. Your father flexes his bicep to imitate a squeeze,

"Don't pass out on me. At least let me get you to him." He jokes. You smile,

"Course not. But... this is the last time your little girl will be a Y/L/N." You tell him. He hums, glancing down at you when you look up,

"You'll always be a Y/L/N, but I'm okay with you being a Holland. Tom is a good man." He reminds you. You smile and nod,

"I agree." You murmur before "Canon In D" starts, giving you your cue. You take another deep breath before your father starts the walk, and all of your guests stand. Your dad reaches out and pats your hand as you walk out into the sunlight, your videographer (thank you dad) crouching beside your fiancè to capture his reaction which is quite honestly, the sweetest, most heart touching thing you've ever seen. He reaches up to brush his tears away, pivoting from foot to foot quicker as he takes a deep breath and blinks away the flood of tears that threaten to spill. You smile up at him, walking steadily with your father until you're standing just before him. He takes a deep breath as your minister asks who gives you away. Your father replies and hands you to Tom who helps you onto the small pedestal across from him. He sniffles softly, staring down at you with so much love in his eyes.

The ceremony progresses quickly and before you know it, you're announced as Mrs. Tom Holland. Tom smiles wide before he's wrapping an arm around your waist, the other curled up your back as he dips you, sealing your deal with a final kiss. You hold him to you, staring up into his eyes when he stands you straight before he pivots on his feet, smile as wide as it can get as you're announced as husband and wife. He gives your hand a squeeze and waves it in the air as your guests cheer and clap.

You scurry off, holding onto Tom as he kisses you over and over again and continuously tells you how beautiful you look while your wedding party makes their way back down the aisle, your bridesmaids and his groomsmen all crowding around you with congratulations thrown your way. You flaunt the ring, and before the guests pour from your venue and towards the large brick building for the reception, Tom's family and your dad and Heidi follow your wedding party to the designated picture area.

The pictures, you can tell, are going to be absolutely gorgeous. Harry and Nikki were both more than happy to be the wedding photographers, and absolutely denied being paid for the work. But you'd seen sneak peeks of some of the shots they'd snapped of your wedding party and you were in love. You'd finally sobbed, and Tom had let you when Nikki flashed you a photo of yours and Tom's foreheads pressed together, his hand brushing along your cheek, wedding band shown off blatantly. It hadn't hit you, how serious getting married was and now it was.

You'd been the last to depart the area where your professional photos were taken, Nikki and Harry leaving you for a private moment to yourselves, the first in nearly two days since the boys stole him and the girls had stolen you. You'd stood in silence for a moment, admiring the scenery of the woods around you before he'd untucked a hand from his pocket and reached out for yours. You'd threaded your fingers together,

"Has this been the wedding of your dreams so far?" He asks softly. You smile, nodding,

"Since I was a little girl I dreamed of marrying a prince. Now I have him, and this," You gesture around you, "This is more than I could ever ask for. It's been beautiful so far and merging our families has been a dream." You tell him, taking a step closer to him. His smile widens,

"Good." He murmurs. Standing on your toes, you lean in and kiss him. He hums,

"Can't believe I married the girl of my dreams." He murmurs. You giggle,

"It is all very surreal. All of the times we talked about marriage and kids and now we're here, doing it."

"Hell yeah, I don't fuck around." He jokes. You roll your eyes,

"But... now that we have a moment... what do you think of the dress? Your mom said I could wear a bag and you'd still think I look stunning."

"Oh definitely, but... yes... this is absolutely gorgeous. You look stunning darling. More so than ever." He tells you, holding you at arms length to look you over. You twirl for him, the bodice of your dress flourishing around you and Tom smiles,

"So beautiful." Dragging you back in, he leans in to kiss you, arms bound around your waist, your hands rested on his shoulders, smoothing down them. He hums,

"We should sneak off and have married sex now." You giggle, tipping your head back which draws him in to trailing kisses down your throat,

"Yeah, I'd like to see you try and do a quickie in this dress. You'll get lost in it." You tell him. He chuckles,

"I believe you. You've got a lot of tulle goin on here." Nodding, your rest your hands atop his shoulders, staring up at him,

"You've made me so happy the past four years... I can't wait to spend the rest of my life with you." You tell him. He smiles,

"The feeling is so fucking mutual." He tells you, hands curled around your back. He presses his forehead to yours and sighs,

"I promise to make you happy every day of my life. You mean the world to me." He tells you. You sway him softly, holding his waist,

"I promise to do the same."

"And after tonight, we'll go to Fiji and have a good time, just the two of us, and then we'll come back and try for a baby." He starts. You giggle again,

"You have our whole lives planned out then huh?" You ask. He nods,

"Definitely. Won't be long now before we're house hunting and moving a sweet little babe in." He murmurs in your ear. You sigh,

"Is it bad that I kinda wanna stay in the apartment for a little while after having a baby?" You ask. His eyebrows furrow and he shakes his head,

"No, not really. We... did talk about turning that spare into a nursery for her. We could go through with it."

"And we're still stuck on them being a her huh? You do know I'll kill you if we have a boy first and you even think about being disappointed." You tell him. He hums, eyebrows knitting together again,

"No, of course not, I would never. Any baby that comes from you is loved by me darling. You don't have to worry about it." He confirms. You nod, letting the silence permeate between you for a moment before you sigh,

"We should probably be heading back. No one can do anything without us." You tell him. He chews the inside of his lip for a moment before sighing himself and nodding,

"Yeah... let's go get a beer." Smiling, you hold your hand out for his again, lacing your fingers with his. He smiles as the prongs of your ring scrape against the pad of his finger and you give a tug of his hand to lead him up the trodden path towards your reception. Once on the concrete, leading up to the building, Tom squeezes your hand, glancing at the sign announcing you as husband and wife,

"I cannot believe I am Mrs. Thomas Stanley Holland." You say. He chuckles again,

"Sounds so fucking amazing." He tells you. You smile,

"It does. I get to change my nameplate at work. Mrs. Y/N Holland. So exciting." He smiles before you round a corner and your wedding party is there, beers in hand and cheering directed your way. Tom waves his hand, cheeks flushing red and chuckles leaving his lips,

"Stop, stop-"

"You're a married man now Tommo!" Haz starts,

"Yeah, what happened to the forever bachelor thing? Who are you and what have you done with our Tom?" Gil jokes. Tom rolls his eyes,

"A beautiful girl crashed the party and roped my ass in." He admits. You smile and accept a beer from Cole, another handed to Tom,

"Well congrats. You two make a beautiful couple. And... now you're my brother." He tells Tom, dragging him in for a hug. You smile, watching your husband and brother hug before Cole turns to you,

"And you look beautiful Y/N/N. Mom is so so so fucking proud of you. I just know it." He tells you again. He leans in and kisses your cheek. Ivey pops up from inside the venue,

"Alright guys. We're headed inside. Back into formation." You smile, looping your arm through Tom's. You'd chosen to have your DJ announce your wedding party, the group dancing in and once you make your way inside, it leads into your first dance. The other Holland boys lead, both sides of the families laughing at their antics. Ivey and Harrison follow, then Scarlett and Cole, and Keaton and Phoebe, finishing with Gil. Tom squeezes your hand in his arm as the DJ speaks again,

"And now, ladies and gentlemen, the moment you've all been waiting for, I present to you, Mr. and Mrs. Tom Holland!" He cheers, the roaring from your guests loud as Tom escorts you in the door, twirling you and showing you off to your family. Your cheeks hurt from the smile you carry and Tom let's out an airy laugh as you hand your bouquet off to Ivey and he wraps you in his arms, holding your body close as the first notes of your first dance song play through the speakers, all eyes on you. But none of it matters. All that matters are the chocolate colored eyes you know every inch of. The ones you've come to love and the ones you get to stare into for the rest of your life. He's yours, and you're his, and this is what forever feels like.

---

You giggle and cling to Tom as he carries you across the threshold of your suite. He gently sets you on the bed, watching you lay out beneath him,

"So stunning." He murmurs. You roll your eyes and sit up a little to pull your veil off,

"I see the cheesiness hasn't dissipated."

"Well no. It'll only get worse from here. Instead of taking it as my girlfriend or fiancèe, you're taking it as my wife. Now you for sure aren't going anywhere. It's so much worse." He tells you. You giggle, kicking your heels off. He sighs, raking a hand through his hair,

"Is it bad if I say I'm glad that part is over?" He asks with a cock of his head. You shake your own head,

"No... it's stressful. Especially for me when there was so much for me to trip over." You tell him. He hums,

"You did great. You looked amazing all night and you were such the little party host."

"I'm the bride, I have to be." He sits on the bed beside you, clearing his throat,

"Yeah, I guess." Sighing, you roll so your body is pressed into his side. He leans back on the bed on his elbow, loosening his tie,

"It was a pretty good night. You did good on the planning love." He chides. You smile,

"Thanks babe. I put my heart, soul, and money into this perfect day." He nods, raising his eyebrows,

"That's for damn sure." He murmurs. You giggle,

"I couldn't imagine any other wedding being more perfect than ours. It was really fucking beautiful."

"To be fair, your dad paid for a lot and my parents contributed too." He reasons with a shrug, staring up at the ceiling when he moves to lay back on the bed fully. You smile, leaning in on his chest. He sighs,

"I loved every minute of it."

"That's all that matters. You only get one wedding and it should be perfect."

"It was. I love you." He smiles and leans up to kiss you,

"Love you too darling." You sit in silence for a moment before you sit up and take his hand,

"Unzip me, I have a surprise for you." You tell him. He hums, sliding the zipper down your back and moving to lean on his elbows again as he watches you slip from the wedding dress, revealing a beautiful set of ivory colored lingerie, an intricate piece that draws Tom's eyebrows up again,

"Well that's one hell of a surprise."

"I had every intention of wearing blue but this is a wedding night set and I couldn't pass it up."

"Yeah, no, you'll have all kinds of opportunities to test out different lingerie. Heaven forbid you pass up this opportunity for wedding night lingerie." He murmurs. You smile, stepping from the puddle of tulle, lace, and satin at your feet and leaning in on his knees,

"So I assume you like it." You coo. He snorts,

"When have I ever not liked lingerie on this sweet little body?" He asks. You giggle,

"Never."

"Exactly." Moving his hands onto your hips, he drags you into his lap, your lips covering his. He hums into the kiss, moving his hands up your back. Your fingers move down to unbutton his shirt. You smooth over his stomach, his hands traveling down to hold onto your hips,

"Shall we try and figure out what's so different about married sex?" You ask him. He smiles, pulling back to look into your eyes,

"I think that'd be quite great actually." He murmurs. You smile down at him,

"Just think... you don't have to worry about getting me pregnant now because we're already married." He chuckles, watching you reach behind you and unclip your bra, tossing it aside. He licks his lips,

"I'd love to know what these'll look like when you end up pregnant." He murmurs, moving to massage your breasts into his hands. You tip your head back, holding his shoulders. You slide your hands beneath his button up brushing it from his shoulders. He sighs,

"So perfect."

"So yours." You murmur. He chuckles,

"You're damn right." You giggle before he's leaning back, pulling you with him. You lean on the bed over his shoulders, leaning in to kiss him,

"I love you husband." He smiles wide,

"I love you, wife. More than you'll ever know." You lean back in to kiss his throat, his hands skirting down to your hips until the cold metal of his wedding ring is pressing into your lower back.

The next night, after landing in Fiji and checking into your bungalow, Tom slides down into the sand beside you. He sighs, squinting in the setting sun and holding a beer out to you. You take it, thanking him softly and sipping from it. He does the same as you look him over. He looks calm for the first time in months. His hair is flat and he's wearing a tee and a pair of cotton shorts, no shoes on. You smile when he looks at you and his eyebrows furrow,

"What?" He asks through a laugh. You shake your head,

"Nothing, I just love you. You look good right now." You move to lay your head over his shoulder. He takes a deep breath, laying his head over yours and reaching out to squeeze your knee,

"Happy first night of forever." He mumbles. You squeeze his body against yours,

"So far, so good." You tell him. He hums,

"Can't go wrong with me." Giggling, you sip from your beer again, leaning your arm on his knee,

"I will admit, seeing "Mr. and Mrs. Holland" on the door was a really surreal thing for me." You tell him. He smiles, moving his hand up into the light to look at the ring on his finger,

"I've always been called Mr. Holland in a professional sense but... hearing Mrs. Holland and knowing that it's in reference to my wife and that you're finally, fully mine is like... insane." He admits in return. You nod,

"I agree." You murmur. Nudging the neckline of his top down, you brush a finger across the hickey you'd left the night before. He smiles,

"The markings of a spoiled little wife."

"I really don't think I'll ever be over the whole wife thing. Like... hearing you say it blows my mind. I definitely thought I'd be your girlfriend for the rest of my life and you'd never be ready to marry me."

"I was ready to marry you the second you came back from New York after Spring Break."

"Liar."

"I did. I never wanted to let you go again. I had fucked up and never wanted to risk losing you again." He explains. You smile, looping your arms under his and leaning your head on his shoulder,

"That's truly adorable. You've still had your moments but... I have no doubt that all the growth you've done since that whole mess has helped you. Really." He nods,

"I feel a lot better, that's for sure." He tells you, sighing. You hum,

"I'm glad. You know... we both have to be in a good mindset to have a baby."

"Speaking of, you are okay with having a baby like... soonish right?" He asks. You shrug,

"Yeah, sure, why not?"

"I just obviously wanna make sure you're comfortable and we're on the same page." He tells you as you move to lounge between his legs. You scoff,

"Bitch I just married you. There isn't a thing you could do to make me uncomfortable. We're one now." He chuckles, laying his hands over your stomach,

"But you would tell me if something is out of your comfort zone right?" He asks. You nod, eyebrows knitting together,

"Course."

"Good." Leaning your head back against his chest, you sigh, closing your eyes. He presses his lips to your temple and leaves them there, breathing you in. The setting sun provides a nice warmth,

"I say we just never go back to America. We just run away and become permanent travelers." Tom chuckles,

"And abandon my very expensive diploma, I think that's a dumb idea love." He tells you. You hum,

"You could very well get a big break in Europe without the degree." You reason. He hums,

"That'd be great to take you back to my home."

"Well since we'll be traveling, you very well could give me a better tour of your little hometown." You confirm. He nods,

"That sounds really good." A silence settles over you, the sound of the waves crashing being the only noise around. He reaches up and rubs over your shoulders,

"I'm glad we're here."

"Me too." You tell him quickly. He smiles,

"I'm really glad you agreed to marry me." He says. You giggle,

"Me too." His smile widens. He leans in and kisses you softly when you rise to your knees and turn to face him,

"I think we should revisit the newlywed sex." He implies with a raise of his eyebrow. You hum,

"Me too. Definitely." He chuckles softly before he's standing and taking your hands, leading you back through the sand to your bungalow, pushing you on the bed softly once he slides the door closed.

---

*Seven Years Later*

"Mia darling, please don't do that." Tom calls to your oldest child, hoisting Harper, your current youngest into his lap with her holding his fingers and climbing his chair. He focuses on the two year old, her hair falling down her back and her legs tangled up in her dress. He rubs her back once she snuggles into him, kissing her forehead.

Not long after your wedding, you were pregnant with Mia. The second Tom found out she was a girl, he couldn't drop the smile, convinced that the talk of having a girl first all throughout college was just divine intervention. Seeing your husband as a father that first time was unlike anything else. He couldn't put his baby girl down. You were his girl, and he followed you around like a lost puppy, but the second you gave birth to little Mia Faye, he was hooked. And the process continued with your first son three years later, Wyatt James was held in Mia's lap, who was always in Tom's lap. And then again with his second baby girl, Harper Monroe. And now here you are, pregnant with your final baby, another sweet boy who Tom talks to daily, first thing in the morning before he wakes your three older kiddos to bring to bed and see you and at night, right before you go to bed, wishing your little wiggly bean goodnight. He already has a name, Oliver Ethan, and you're excited to have a complete family, four kids to grow up together and travel with, something you and Tom have loved doing since being out of college.

Cole sighs as he sits beside Keaton who holds his and Phoebe's daughter, Emma's tiny purse, glancing up at his ex-roommate,

"'S the matter? Being the father of the birthday boy is tiring?" He teases. Cole rolls his eyes,

"Not only that, but when his papa decides it's time to spoil him and he wonders why mommy and daddy don't do the same, it can get interesting." Cole explains. You smile, rubbing the baby bump over your dress. Tom watches you,

"I'm just glad that he has a papa. You and dad have gotten along pretty well since he's moved out here." You tell him, reaching up to stroke through Tom's hair to soothe you both. Cole crosses his arms watching his daughter, Daisy, follow Scarlett around, Logan and Ashton, Ivey and Harrison's older boys by her side like they always are when the group is together,

"I guess so, yeah, it's been... weird. He avoids bringing up mom which makes it awkward but... he's a good enough grandfather. The kids like him and if Scarlett needs help and I'm not available, he's been there." He explains. You nod, leaning into Tom's side. Harper twirls your hair around her finger sleepily, Tom leaning in to kiss her pudgy cheek,

"Regardless, you guys are talking and actually acting like father and son. Now we have like an actual family again." He nods,

"Yeah..." Keaton yawns,

"And what about you Ke? Now that dad's back here and starting that branch of his company here and you're working for him again, how's it been?" He glances up as Phoebe slides into the chair beside him,

"Yeah, it's good. Back to better payment, being the assistant. It's pretty nice."

"And no such luck with the baby making?" You ask. He smiles, looking to Phoebe,

"We're getting there. It's been a hard process but... IVF has been going pretty well."

"I'm trying to calm the fuck down." Phoebe starts, dragging her fingers through her hair, "I know that going through all of this, the IVF'll fail and then I'll get pregnant naturally." She says with a roll of her eyes. Keaton smiles,

"The embryo we transfer next month is a girl. Our little Sophia so... hopefully. Fingers crossed." He says. You smile and nod,

"All our fingers are crossed." You tell them. Keaton smiles, glancing up as Wyatt runs up to you,

"Mommy..."

"Yes my love?" You ask of him as he leans in on your legs,

"Can I go with Mason to his room to see his toys?" He asks you. You brush his hair from his eyes,

"Did you ask Auntie Scarlett or Uncle Cole if you could?" You ask him. He glances around,

"Mason asked auntie."

"If she tells him yes, you can go with him but- hey, Wyatt... but if you go in his room, you need to be careful and don't do anything bad okay? Pick up after yourself like we tell you to do at home." You tell him. He nods before running off to find his cousin. Tom is smiling when you look to him again,

"What?" You ask. He shakes his head,

"You're just a really great mum is all." He mumbles, helping Harper slide from his lap again, "Where are you headed love?" He asks, but she ignores him and runs off towards the jumper. You giggle at the pout on his lips, glancing up when Ivey sighs behind you. Her and Harrison slide in between you and Keaton and Phoebe, the little green blanket she left with half an hour ago to quiet the crying cradled in her arms again,

"He okay?" You ask. She nods and rolls her eyes,

"He's had a little bit of colic so... he's just cranky but... he's fed and asleep. He should be good for a little while now. Logan and Ashton been good?"

"Yup, only pulled Daisy's pigtails once." You joke. She huffs,

"I believe you. Ashton, if you don't tend to him in time, pulls your hair to get up on your chair or whatever he wants. I swear... sometimes if Harrison doesn't collect them while I'm feeding or something, he's sleeping on the couch." Harrison snorts,

"Yeah, we've had to take up stock in ice cream to keep the boys away from mum." He murmurs. You giggle, watching Ivey roll her eyes before she reaches an arm out and rubs over your belly,

"How's this little one? You're about in your eighth month huh?" She poses. You nod, pressing a hand to the base of your belly,

"Yeah... he's doing good. He was super rambunctious last night. We were up all night last night watching him swim and kick. He's gonna be our biggest baby I think." You tell her. You carry a huge smile and taking a glance at Tom, you see he does too. He's so proud of this family you've created. He loves you and all three, almost four kids you have,

"And Rosie is back to being her protective little self with new little man?" Harrison asks. You nod,

"Soooooo much. She's normally with the kids but if I sit down, she's right in my lap, head laid over the bump." You tell him. He smiles,

"She's been pretty great eh?"

"Oh and her and Tessa get along so damn well when my parents bring Tess down." Tom pitches in. You smile,

"They've both been great. We were blessed in a lot of ways."

"That is so good. She's been such a great girl for you."

"She really has, and Y/N never had animals growing up so she's been a great little companion for Y/N's first time." Tom explains. Ivey nods, glancing up at you,

"And she's grown up with the kids technically." You pose. Ivey smiles,

"That Christmas card... so damn cute. You guys with the matching kids and Rose. I can't believe how tall Wyatt is getting. I bet he'll be taller than Tom before we know it." She winks as Tom rolls his eyes,

"Ha ha. Very funny." She smiles,

"You know I'm kidding. He's so cute though. All those freckles. He looks just like you Tommy."

"Well he's lucky then." Your husband murmurs, smiling when you swat at him. He leans over and kisses your cheek,

"He's hooked on his mumma though. Doesn't ask me for shit. Goes straight to her."

"Well you've got two baby girls that go to you. So... I'll keep him." You defend. Tom chuckles

"Who is that? Is that Auntie Y/N/N?" You glance up just in time to see a tan little boy move into your line of sight, giggling. You smile up at him,

"My little Hunter!" Gil chuckles as you take his little boy, laying him in your lap to tickle him. Tom laughs along as the little boy squeals and Gil leans in to kiss your cheek and then Ivey's,

"Bout time you showed."

"Mmm, Minah kept changing his outfit." He mumbles. You hug Hunter into you, smiling as Tom ruffles his hair,

"Why didn't she come?" Harrison asks. Gil rolls his eyes,

"Uhm, her mom's in town. But... I don't think she would've come anyways." He tells him. Ivey cocks her head sympathetically,

"Still having problems?"

"Yes, and she wants another baby like that'll magically save our relationship." He remarks. You smile up at him,

"Well I dunno about you but I think this little one is great." You tease, tickling Hunter again. Gil's smile returns when Hunter giggles,

"He's the only thing that keeps me sane." He tells you. Tom nods,

"That's how it works." Reaching out again, Tom brushes long strands of hair from Hunter's eyes,

"I think Wyatt and Mason went to Mason's room. You wanna go see?" You ask him. He nods, squirming from your arms and running off. Scarlett catches him in the doorway, standing on her toes and pressing a hand to his head. She smiles before walking to the table you all sit at,

"Are we having fun? I see there's only one kiddo here right now. Hi sweet boy."

"He's not so sweet right now." Ivey mumbles as Scarlett leans over her shoulder and coos into the blanket in her lap. Surprisingly, the little one smiles a toothless smile up at his aunt, the smile growing wider when she reaches down and pokes his nose,

"Not feelin good baby?" Ivey shakes her head,

"Colic still."

"The gripe water didn't work?" Scarlett asks,

"Very briefly." Ivey confirms. Scarlett clicks her tongue,

"Damn. Poor thing." Ivey nods, rocking the bundle. When both girls look up, they find you smiling at them. Ivey giggles,

"What?" You shake your head, blinking tears away,

"Nothing... just wondering how we got here. What happened to the girls I was introduced to eleven or so years ago? We were so young and carefree and look at us now. We're all moms. We're all wives and killing it all." Tom hums, reaching out to brush the stray tear that falls away. Ivey clicks her tongue, blinking rapidly,

"Oh babes. You pregnant and me coming down from postpartum doesn't help this shit." She moves in, laying her head over your shoulder. Scarlett whines before she's brushing Tom aside and wrapping her arms around you and Ivey. Phoebe's heeled boots click as she rushes in to join the group hug, Owen, in Ivey's arms cooing up at her too. She smiles,

"I know I was quite the party girl but... these little ones are the best things we could ever do. Ten... almost eleven, twelve when I get a clear head, these are our greatest accomplishments." She tells the three of you. You nod, pressing her hand over your belly,

"Definitely." Your baby boy kicks out against her hand in agreement, making the four of you giggle. Tom smiles too, watching you and the girls hug before you part and you take his hand, squeezing and pressing it to your belly. He hums as he rubs the bump,

"He's gonna be a rambunctious little thing. Reckon we'll be exhausted after chasing just him around." He says, scooting closer to you. You smile, reaching up to drape your arm over the back of his chair, trailing up his back,

"Well you're the one that had the years of experience of chasing girls around so I think you're suited for the job daddy." His smile widens,

"Please never mention that in front of the kids. I don't need my little girls knowing and my little boys thinking it's okay that their dad was a womanizer in this very gender equalizing, accepting time." He murmurs. Leaning into him, you kiss his cheek,

"I promise not to."

"Thank you." Scarlett, who had previously walked away, starts back towards you, wide smile on her face,

"I have another tiny slice of cake. I know you and baby boy want it Y/N." You gasp, holding your hands out,

"Oh my God yes, you're a lifesaver!" You squeal. Tom watches, chuckling softly as you snatch the thin slice of chocolate cake with vanilla buttercream frosting from your sister-in-law. You offer some to him, but he shakes his head. He glances up at the bouncy house, clearing his throat after a moment,

"Uh oh. The sugar monster's coming. You made a grave mistake accepting cake behind her back like that." You glance up, watching Harper trot towards you, climbing back into her father's lap. He holds her steady moving his legs closer to you to allow her to chomp the piece of cake from your fork. He tucks hair behind her ear,

"That's good huh lovey? You are never getting to bed tonight little one." You giggle, watching a sparkle flash through Harper's vibrant brown eyes,

"But with her daddy's puppy dog eyes, no one can resist her." You reason. He nods and leans in to kiss her cheek,

"Well that's for sure." He murmurs. Once you've finished the cake, Tom holds Harper close, the little one allowing her daddy to love on her. He glances at you and raises an eyebrow and you know exactly what he's asking. The second she saw the cookies upon entrance, it's all she was stuck on for a while. She's such a daddy's girl because he spoils her and you just know he's asking if he can give her a cookie because she's been so good with no tantrums. You chew the inside of your lip,

"Just one."

"That's all I'm asking for anyways." He confirms. You nod,

"Fine then. Nothing more though." He nods, pulling her from his shoulder,

"Harp, I have a surprise for you, you wanna know what it is?" He asks her. She nods, standing on his thighs, holding onto his hands. He smiles, "You want a cookie? I know you wanted one earlier." Her eyes light up and she nods, bouncing on his legs gently. He chuckles,

"Alright sweet girl, let's get you one then, yeah?" She nods again, clinging to him as he stands and your heart flutters. To believe that the same man that fought you on a relationship and constantly pushed you away, is now holding your two year old daughter to his hip at a kid's birthday party is beyond imagination, and it is the most beautiful thing ever.

---

You smile as Tom grabs your wrist, pulling you flush to his body,

"I know you're exhausted love, and I'll go get you some ice cream after the kids are in bed but... I missed seeing you with all of our friends. You looked stunning all glowing and pregnant out there." He tells you, pressing a hand to your belly. You smile, reaching up to stroke his cheek,

"You're the sweetest." His smile widens before he leans down to kiss you,

"I've spent a long ass time loving you and it's not going anywhere anytime soon. Especially when you're pregnant with my baby. You and those three... almost four in there, I'd kill for." He reminds you. You sigh,

"I really lucked out in the husband department then huh?" You ask. He chuckles softly,

"Guess so, yeah." Popping open the passenger side door, Tom waits until you climb inside to close you in. He climbs in beside you quickly, turning the car on before Mia speaks up,

"Daddy?"

"Yes love?" He asks, turning in his seat to face her,

"Can we listen to Frozen?"

"No," Wyatt speaks up, "put on Cars."

"How about we meet in the middle and settle for some Brother Bear or... Lion King?" Tom poses, settling the argument your kids'll inevitably have. And it works. Tom finds the soundtrack for Brother Bear in his phone, quickly shuffling it and stuffing the device in the cup holder. His Spotify has slowly become Disney movie playlists since he's become a dad and he loves every second of it. Harper swings her feet, staring out her window as she hums along to a song, Tom watching her in the rear view mirror with a smile plastered on his lips. You reach up and stroke over the back of his neck, leaning over to kiss his cheek,

"You are so perfect Tom Holland." You tell him. He draws his eyes off the road for just a moment to look at you,

"Well that makes two of us Y/N Holland." He says, taking your hand in his and kissing your knuckles. Squeezing his fingers in yours, you sigh and twist in your seat to look at your babies.

Wyatt resembles his daddy the most. He has the same signature curls and eyes and you can already see he's starting to inherit the same nose Sam has and those Holland freckles have emerged. He's definitely a little mama's boy and with the way the girls favor Tom, you hope Oliver will follow in his big brother's footsteps. Mia has Tom's eyes too, but her features resemble you a little bit more. She has your hair type and color, and your nose and eye shape. Tom loves that about her. Harper has more of your features as well, but she's a near perfect combination of the both of you, a gorgeous little girl that Tom coddles the most because she'll let him. He's been in love with all of your babies since the day they were conceived, the most amazing father and husband, getting up at ungodly hours to let you sleep in and him take care of the kids. He's always been an early riser because of golf and now, being a dad, he has the skill to master it like he was never sure he'd be able to. His true calling in life, the cure for his anxiety, has been you and his babies.

Dragging his hand back up to your lips, you kiss it,

"I love you so much Tom Holland." You whisper. He smiles, taking his eyes off the road for just a second to look at you,

"And I love you. More than you'll ever know." He replies, dragging your hand up to kiss it. Tears spring into your eyes again as you stare into his eyes and recognize that boy you met nearly eleven years ago, the one that only wanted to be with you sexually and wanted to avoid you emotionally. You recognize the boy that tore apart your relationship again and again, but always chose to get better for you. And now he's the most perfect husband and father. And that's all that matters to you.

Yes, you were nervous moving to Seattle, starting new, but your friends, Tom, they've made it easier to live. They've changed your life for the better. They’ve given you immense amounts of love and Tom, himself, has given you a love like no other that created four beautiful babies. And you wouldn't change a thing. Moving from Beverly Hills to Seattle, has proved worth it.

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procrastinatingsapphictrash · 3 years

Text

Enough for me

Series masterlist

Word count: 1796

Genre: Fluff

Pairing: Natasha x gn!reader

Warnings: None (lmk if I need to add any)

Summary: You decide to tell Natasha how serious you are about your relationship and things don’t go exactly as you hoped but it’s still good.

A/n: Thank you to the multiple people who wanted another part in the mini flustered series that I’ve totally made up as I went along. Also I want to clarify that although this could be read as a part four to flustered it honestly isn’t super related so you can definitely read it seperately and it wouldn’t matter to the plot bc there is no plot besides soft nat. Also I don’t know if this one is any good because I didn’t edit as usual but hopefully you all enjoy!

You admire your work as you gaze out over the table you had just finished setting up. It had taken some work dragging a table all the way up to the roof and then having to make multiple trips to bring up all the plates, glasses, cutlery and food, not to mention the other things like candles you had set up. The effort was totally worth it in your opinion though because anything for Natasha was worth it.

You’ve spent a lot of time together since your first date and have gone on a couple more but so far all of your dates have been pretty casual and nobody on the team knows about you so you want to do something special to prove that you’re serious about her. Although looking up at the sky you realize you probably should have chosen another night and you cross your fingers that it doesn’t start to rain until after you’re done.

Your cell phone ringing interrupts you. “Tasha?” You answer it, looking at the caller id as you pick it up.

“Hi Y/n.” She responds. “So why am I supposed to call you?”

“What do you mean?” You ask, confused.

“You told me to call you at seven so I’m calling.” She says and you slap your hand up to your face because you can’t believe you forget that part of your plan.

“Right sorry, I forgot.” You tell her. “Anyways I need you to put on something nice and come up to the roof.”

“Mysterious, I like it.” She says which makes you smile. “I’ll be up there in five minutes.”

“Okay, see you then!” You respond before hanging up and panicking. You didn’t expect her to be so quick and five minutes really isn’t a lot of time. You still have approximately one hundred candles to light and you’re not sure that you can get it done on time.

You run around, trying to be careful and not burn yourself, and start to light all the candles that were all over the ground surrounding the table and the pathway to the door. Just as you’re finishing lighting the last one and standing up the door to the roof opens and Natasha steps out. She’s gorgeous as always but you especially love this dress on her. It’s black like most things she wears and is tight fitting at the top but slowly gets looser until it flows around her legs. You love it because you can tell she’s dressing to look beautiful and not sexy which she only ever does if she’s letting her guard down (so not very often). You are well aware that your jaw is open and you’re blatantly staring but luckily she’s busy looking around at your setup so you have time to collect yourself.

“Do you like it?” You ask her.

“It’s beautiful.” She breaths in response.

“Not as beautiful as you.” You reply and it’s so cheesy that you nearly regret saying that but there’s a light blush on her face and she’s smiling so you smile back and take a seat at the table, gesturing for her to sit with you.

“So what’s on the menu?” She asks lightly as she sits, still smiling.

“Just some paninis and lentil soup, hopefully it’s still warm.” You tell her.

“Well I’m sure it will be good either way.” She responds before taking a bite and moaning in delight. “It is amazing, thank you.”

“It’s my pleasure.” You say. “Now how about you tell me about your day?”

You listen attentively as she complains about paperwork and schedules and as she practically glows as she tells you about a new move she had used to take down Steve in training today. You love listening to her, it makes you happy that she likes talking about mediocre things with you and there’s a level of domesticity to it that makes your heart feel full. You just want to know everything about her, no matter how boring people deem it to be because it’s important to her and therefore it matters a lot to you.

You talk to her for hours comfortably as she continues to share but also asks you questions. There is never a lull in the conversation and you could listen to her voice forever. Eventually though, long after you both finish eating, the conversation dwindles to a comfortable silence. At least for her. You’re inwardly freaking out because you want to tell her exactly how much she means to you and although you think she’ll react well it’s not a guarantee.

“What are you thinking about?” She asks, always observant.

You gulp nervously but answer truthfully. “I’m thinking about how I am more serious about you than I’ve ever been about anyone before, even if it’s only been a few weeks.”

“I’m more serious about you than anyone too.” She replies. “But I think you already knew that.”

“I hoped so.” You tell her, continuing on your path since so far she is reacting well. “I was-I was thinking that maybe we could tell the others about us now, or at least stop hiding it and wait until they find out.”

“But I thought you were fine with it just being for us for now?” She asks, a frown tugging at your lips. Your heart sinks at her expression-you never meant to push boundaries that she wasn’t comfortable with yet.

“And I’m still fine with that.” You reassure her quickly. “I just thought it might be nice to tell the others but it’s totally cool if you aren’t okay with it.”

She stands up and starts to pace a little. “I don’t know what I want.”

“Hey, hey.” You stand up too and grab her gently by the arm so she stops and faces you. “It’s okay, we don’t have to do it, I just thought it would be nice so everyone knows how much I love you.”

Instead of calming her down your words only seem to make her more anxious. “You what? You-you love me?” She stutters out.

“Shit I am so sorry Natasha I promised not to rush you.” You immediately apologize, hoping that you didn’t mess things up to badly.

She picks her way through the candles carefully and sits down on the edge of the roof, her feet dangling over. You follow, sitting beside her, making sure you don’t accidentally do anything to further surprise her. She sits quietly, obviously deep in thought and you think as well. You know, or at least you hope, that Natasha won’t break up with you already because of this. You just wanted to give her a special night and the first part of it went great but you just had to push too far. You had promised that she would dictate the terms of the relationship when you had first asked her out but of course you weren’t able to follow through. You just wish that you could hear her thoughts so you could try to fix your mistakes. She stays silent and only speaks up after a few more agonizing minutes.

“I’m sorry-” She starts and you interrupt.

“It’s okay if you’re breaking up with me.” You say and she watches you with a strange look on her face.

“You just told me you love me-I’m not breaking up with you.” She tells you and you sigh in relief. “But I can’t say it back, not yet anyways.”

“That’s completely okay.” You reassure her, slightly disappointed but understanding and just happy she wasn’t breaking up with you.

“I want to but I can’t.” She explains, her face visibly upset, seeing a hint of your disappointment. “It just doesn’t work, I can’t say it, I’m sorry. But if you want to we can tell the team about us.” She turns away when she’s done, biting her lip, afraid of your reaction.

“Tasha. Tasha.” You say, waiting until she turns back to face you to continue. “We won’t do it unless you’re ready and it’s okay that you aren’t. I’m not going to take back my words, I do love you and being able to tell you that and be here with you is enough for me, you don’t need to do anything.”

She pauses a moment and you can’t read her expression so you start to get nervous. Maybe you should have taken back the ‘I love you’ part of your mini speech. Before you can overthink too much she throws herself at your side, wrapping her arms around your shoulders and resting her in the crook of your neck.

“Thank you.” She mumbles against your skin. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be, I’m happy with this because having you is enough for me because I love you.” You tell her, awkwardly un-wedging your arm from between your side and her body and wrapping it around her, rubbing her back in mindless patterns.

She shivers slightly, not from the cold. “Can you say that again?”

“What, I love you?” You ask, confused.

“Yeah.” She says, almost shyly, nodding her head against your neck.

“I love you.” You tell her, kissing the side of her head at an awkward angle. “I love you. I love you so much Tasha.”

You repeat it over and over for a few minutes, feeling as though your heart is going to burst. You no longer care that she can’t say it back because she has her reasons but she wants you to say it and she’s cuddling with you and you never want to let her go because this moment is so perfect.

Unfortunately the weather has other plans and just as your words start to die out the sky open, a few small drops then a complete downpour. The soft glow that once covered the roof from the candles disappears as they go out, releasing smoke. You know you have to clean things up but you figure it can wait until morning, once things are drier, so you take Natasha’s hand and pull her up. She starts to run towards the door, helping you so you don’t step on the candles, giggling the whole way. Technically things hadn’t gone to plan, her not wanting to tell the team or say she loved you and it raining at the end, but those things don’t seem to matter when you see her bright smile, her hair plastered to her face but somehow looking as beautiful as ever. And it matters even less when she pulls you inside and immediately presses you to the door, kissing you hard. You’re more than happy to fulfill her request when she pulls away, asking for you to say it again. Anything to keep her happy and make her feel loved.

---

<<<previous chapter // next chapter>>>

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let-me-write-shit · 4 years

Note

You writing is soo cool, you're amazing! I don't know if you are taking requests, but what about a famous Y/N and meets professor Harry and he is like "I don't want to teach you, you are famous" and she is like "you are going to teach me and fall in love with me😏" and well, idk the idea just came to my mind and I thought of you to write it hahaha. Love your writing, keep doing it 'cause you are great!

Word Count: 9,443 LONG AS SHIIIIT

WARNING: FILTHY SMUT!!!!!!!! (I put ******** before and after the smut so you can skip if you’d like

A/N: Thank you SOO much to @mylittleangel9403 for this request and I’m SOOOO sorry it took so long. Turned out a lot longer than I anticipated. Not sure if you wanted this to be smutty, but I just couldn’t help myself. Also, shoutout to @gwenlovesharrystyles for the help on this imagine! Much appreciated!!Enjoy!

Requests are OPEN! If you have a request for a blurb, oneshot, imagine, whatever, Send me a message HERE!!!

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Professor Styles

“Ma’am, respectfully, I’m not sure this is a good idea,” Harry leaned forward in his chair, fingertips pressed together, aware of the large presence that sat beside him, his voice almost a whisper. “We’re already several classes deep, and as you know, my class is very difficult. She’ll be at a disadvantage going in, not to mention the students already in my class. The distraction isn’t fair for them.”

“Professor Styles, I don’t need to tell you how much this means to our University. I understand your concern, and I have every faith in you to help miss Y/L/N catch up to speed and keep your students in-check.”

He could feel the eyes of the famous singer on him as she uncrossed her legs and sat straighter in her chair. In his peripheral, he could see her burly manager, who stood in the back against a wall, take a step closer behind them like a bodyguard waiting to pounce. But for some reason, Harry had the distinct impression that Y/N could do without protection. He thought she was tough enough.

“Sir,” Y/N spoke softly and respectfully. Harry turned, seeing a reflection of yellow in her eyes as the sun shone through the window onto them, and he couldn’t help but think she was putting on an act for the Dean. “I know that the circumstances are...unusual. But, I promise I will do everything in my power to not cause any distraction in your class. I’ll sit in the back if that helps. Whatever it takes.”

The young professor took a deep breath, taking in her words. He looked around the room in thought, feeling everyone’s attention on him all the while. Some of the rumors about her seemed to ring true. Y/N had this energy about her that made it difficult to focus or think straight. She hardly took her eyes off of him throughout this entire meeting.

Harry sighed in defeat and nodded, “Alright. I trust she’ll be given the syllabus and information on everything she’ll need for my class?” he asked the Dean.

But before the Dean could respond, Y/N chirped, “I’ve already gotten it and I’m prepared to start next week.”

“Well, that’s settled, then,” the Dean grinned, victoriously, “Welcome to our school, Miss Y/L/N. Unless you have any more questions, you are free to go.”

Y/N stood up with a smile, followed by the Dean and professor. She stuck out a hand and shook them, saying, “Thank you so much. I look forward to starting on Tuesday.”

Her burly manager opened the door for her and she began to make her way out. And as Harry collected his things to leave, the Dean quipped, “Oh, Professor Styles. Before you head to your next class, I’d like to speak to you for a moment.”

Harry watched as Y/N closed the door behind her, almost certain he saw a wink, before setting his things back down and taking a seat once more. He listened as the Dean encouraged him to do all that he can to ensure Y/N had a good experience here, explaining how big of a deal this was and how Y/N taking his class might encourage more students to enroll.

Harry listened, respectfully, but wanted nothing more than to roll his eyes. It annoyed him that he was expected to baby Y/N and bend to her will solely because she was a rich and famous singer, and he refused to play a part in that. If she wanted success in his class, she would need to earn it just like the rest of his students.

When they finished their conversation, he was already running late for his next class. Again, he collected his things and made his way out of the office. As he speed-walked through the administration, he was surprised to see Y/N still there, sat on a chair beside her burly manager, talking. When she noticed him, she instantly jumped to her feet and raced up to him.

“Hey,” she said, simply, keeping his pace as they continued out of the administration building and into the main campus.

“I’m running late to my next class, Miss Y/L/N. Did you have a question, or can this wait?”

Her voice was so flippant that it bordered arrogance, “Just wanted to thank you again for letting me join your class this late into the semester.”

“It’s not me you should thank. I don’t agree with it and I won’t baby you. You’ve got a lot of catching up to do. I suggest you start reading your books so you’re not lost in my next class. Your classmates have worked hard to get to where they are and I’d hate for you to be the reason for a halt in their progress.”

“I think you’ll find that not to be the case.”

She was so smug that it caught him off guard. The looming of her large manager two paces behind him as they hustled down the walkway was even more noticeable now, along with the many whispers and stares as they continued. He looked at her out of the corner of his eye, perplexed.

He debated whether to ask, not sure if he wanted to know the answer. Not wanting to show any sign of weakness or that he’d entertain her malarky. But his curiosity got the better of him.

“Miss Y/L/N, why are you taking my class?”

“Why not?” she smirked in response.

He sighed, annoyed that he was even going along with this, “We both know you don’t need to go to school, especially for Advanced Musical Theory. Why are you only taking my class?”

Her voice was softer and more sincere this time as she spoke, “I’ve always been interested in Music Theory and wanted to take it before my career kicked off. And I heard you were one of the best teachers in your field.”

For a split second, in that moment of sincerity, he thought he might have just seen her, the real her, behind all the fame and money and act. But her innocence faltered as she quickly shuffled in front of him, making Harry fumble to a stop.

Her eyes were more seductive now as she hushed, “Besides, I heard about how hot you were and I needed to see it for myself. And I’m not disappointed,” she looked at him through her eyelashes.

Harry could feel the warmth rise to his cheeks, extremely aware of her manager’s presence behind him and the few students nearby, staring. He was sure his face was bright red right now as Y/N’s smirk only seemed to grow.

Harry was aware of his reputation around campus for being the ‘hot teacher’. He wasn’t a stranger to the gossip or the occasional student trying to make a pass at him. And, honestly, his ego enjoyed it. But he’d never crossed that line with a student before and she would be no exception.

He did his best to compose himself and continued past her, Y/N following behind, “I’ll ignore that and just give you fair warning,” he started, “My class is hard and you will not be given special treatment just because you’re famous. I promised the dean I’d get you caught up, and I will. Your class is every Tuesday, and you can meet me in my office after each lesson for an hour for the next few weeks until we get you up-to-date on what you’ve missed. I will not play into your games.”

“Yes, Sir,” she pouted, teasingly, and again, jumped in front of him, holding a hand out and smiling, “Looking forward to next Tuesday.”

Harry looked at her suspiciously, pausing for a moment before ultimately giving in and taking her hand in his. But before he could respond, she pulled herself closer to him. So close that she was practically whispering in his ear.

“But just to warn you, not only will I ace your class, but by the end of the semester, I’ll make you call in love with me.”

Her breath was so hot and her words were so unexpected that he stood there, stunned, while she pulled away, winked, and walked back towards her bodyguard, heading back from where they just came from. She waved to a few students that recognized her, and she looked back once to blow a discreet kiss before she rounded a corner and was out of sight.

Harry watched after her, stunned at her assertiveness while people were watching. But he shook it off and continued to his class, mentally preparing himself to break the news to his students.

The anxiety in the week leading up to the start of Y/N’s first official day in Professor Styles’ class was becoming more frequently accompanied by the Dean’s constant checking in on him to make sure everything was ready, more students visiting or showing up to class, and even more excited whispers. Harry, on the other hand, did his best to push it aside, not getting what all the fuss was about.

He had done his best to prepare his students for their newly joined classmate, even sending out mass reminder emails to those in his class to please be courteous and warning them to avoid distraction. But when he pulled up to the school that day, he noticed more students than normal just hanging around, scanning all over campus like they were scouting for something.

Harry quickly realized that they were waiting to catch a glimpse at the famous singer and he snorted, rolling his eyes. Kids were so predictable. He slipped his lanyard with his ID around his neck, grabbed hold of his coffee and briefcase, and got out of his car, heading towards his classroom.

The Professor smiled and nodded at the students that greeted him in the hallway, proud that he knew each of them by name, continuing to his class. He knew his students would already be there, by now. Harry was usually always a few minutes late and he assumed that it gave his students more than enough time to ogle their new addition to the class.

But, when Harry rounded the corner and saw Y/N leaning up against the wall, arms crossed and alone, his nerves increased.

“Harry,” Y/N beamed when she spotted him, practically skipping over to him.

Harry raised his eyebrows, clearing his throat, “It’s Professor Styles,” he warned, earning a sarcastic nod while he continued, “Why are you not in class?”

“I thought we could go in together since I’m new.”

“I’m your professor, not your babysitter. Go on in next time,” he said as they approached the door. Before turning the knob, he paused and faced her, “While you’re here, I’ll explain to you what I explained to them on the first day. I’m a pretty easy-going teacher because I know how hard this class can be. You can eat in my class, you can have your phones out, you can come in wearing pajamas, I don’t care. However, the biggest rule in my class is that you treat people with kindness. We do not judge in this class. We don’t interrupt people or talk over others, we don’t make others feel inferior. My class is a safe space for people to be their authentic selves and we respect that. Can you do that?”

Y/N’s stance softened and she grinned, nodding, “Yes. I can do that.”

“Good,” Harry nodded, “I’d like you to take a seat towards the back of the class for today if you don’t mind. I’d rather they pay attention to me than the back of your head.”

“Whatever you say, Professor,” Y/N exaggerated his title, her lips twitching up in a lopsided smile.

He looked down at her for a moment, narrowing his eyes, trying to size her up, before he gave in and turned the knob to his class. The buzz from his students loudly chattering amongst each other instantly stopped when he walked in, closely followed by the singer. Harry vaguely noticed that not only was every single one of his students present, but they all looked slightly more put-together than normal. He snorted under his breath, dropping his briefcase on his desk, taking a sip from his coffee cup, and placing that down, as well.

“Morning!” He called out, earning a chorus of greetings in return. He gestured towards Y/N who was making her way up the steps towards the back of the class, “I’m sure you all know who this is. We are incredibly lucky to welcome Y/N in joining us this year.”

Y/N stopped climbing the steps to smile brightly and wave obscurely at everyone, “Hi!”

Harry nodded towards her to keep moving. She rolled her eyes, playfully, and continued while he explained, “I know we’re all excited to have her here, but I want to remind everyone that while we’re in the room, we’re all students, and that includes Y/N. Let’s all focus on what we’re here for, so we don’t get lost when mid-terms get here, yeah?”

After another muttering of agreeance, Harry noticed Y/N getting settled in the back and he nodded, starting the lecture, “Okay, what I’d like to do is a one-minute warm-up on today’s exploration on duple and triple meter. So, I need everyone to stand up.”

The rustling of chairs echoed and screeched as students got to their feet. Soon, they were marching along to Lucy In The Sky With Diamonds by The Beatles, everyone laughing and feet stomping on the ground. He felt proud, seeing all the smiling, attentive faces in his direction and happy that throughout the lesson, nearly everyone had seemed to grasp everything that he was saying.

But, each time he glanced up in Y/N’s direction, he noticed that not only had she not even so much as picked up a pencil or opened her laptop, she had not looked away from him even once. He made a mental note to reprimand her after class and continued on.

When the lesson came to an end, Harry thanked the class for their cooperation and the students began to pack up their belongings. He watched as Y/N was met by a group of kids who were considered to be more ‘popular’ around campus. He saw her friendly smiles, but could barely hear her over the noise.

Once Harry managed to gather his things and toss his now-empty coffee cup in the trash, he approached the group, earning a pleasant round of hello’s by the students. One of the girls, Jesse, made sure to bat her eyelashes a little more and lean closer than necessary as she spoke.

“Great lesson today, Professor Styles. I did have a few questions about musical texture and was wondering if we could meet privately so I could get some more clarity on that?” she asked, twisting a lock of hair around her fingers.

Harry was used to Jesse’s incessant attempts at flirting with him and getting him alone, but he never took the bait, “I’m sorry, Jesse, I have no free office hours available, right now. But please shoot me an email with all of your questions and I’ll gladly help you out.” He heard sniggering from her friends as her face shifted into disappointment and he turned to Y/N, “Miss Y/L/N, when you’re done here, please meet me in my office so I can get you caught up.”

“Yes, Professor, I’ll be right there.”

He waited twenty minutes before he finally heard a knock on the door. He had half a mind to ignore it and let her stand out there, annoyed that he was wasting time trying to help an entitled celebrity who clearly had no interest in his class. What was the point? But, he thought back to the Dean, and reluctantly made his way to the door.

“Your students seem to really like you,” she confidently walked in, taking a seat on top of his desk and tossing her bag on one of the chairs, crossing her legs. “Especially that girl, what’s her name? Jesse?”

Harry blinked and slightly shook her head back before closing the door and rounding the desk she sat on towards his chair, not bothering to give the statement a response. But that didn’t stop her from continuing, “She’s like, in love with you. Well, maybe not in love. But you definitely make her horny.”

“Y/N!” You shoot back at the brassiness.

“She’s hot, I’ll give her that. But she’s definitely got that ‘daddy money’ vibe to her. She and her friends invited me to a party next weekend. And that kid, Mark, gave me his number. He’s pretty hot, too. Looks like some kind of jock.”

Harry nodded, shuffling his papers, “He’s here on a full-ride soccer scholarship.”

“Damn, I’m good,” Y/N leaned back, pressing her palms flat against the top of his desk, impressed with herself.

Harry looked up at her, an eyebrow raised. He wished he could say that her confidence astounded him, but honestly, he wasn’t that surprised. He could hazard a guess that her success was probably all handed to her. She joked about another student being given ‘daddy’s money’, but if he had to guess, she was probably the same.

He set the stack of papers down beside where she sat on his desk and looked up at her with a sigh, “Miss Y/L/N, my desk is not a chair. Please have a seat.”

She slithered down off the desk and plopped in a chair opposite him, scooting it closer and crossing her arms on the top, waiting for him to speak.

He relaxed his shoulders and continued, “You didn’t participate much in class today.”

“Well, you told me not to be a distraction.”

“Yes, but you’re still a part of the class. I expect more participation from you in the next class. And that includes note-taking. You won’t pass my class from memory. For now, I need to get you caught up.

Harry spent the next hour trying to get her caught up on the very first day of his class, which she interrupted every ten minutes, or so, going off-topic or asking very personal questions like ‘do you have a girlfriend?’ or ‘how many students have you been with?’ None of which he answered. When there were about ten minutes left in their time together, Y/N interrupted for the eighth time that hour and Harry groaned, unsure that she had retained any of the information he had provided her so far.

“What made you want to do this? Teach Musical Theory?”

He looked up at her and paused for a moment and she stared at him, her head cocked to the side. She looked genuinely interested, and it wasn’t often that he got asked these questions. He decided he’d entertain her, just this once.

Harry slid the paperwork away from him and sat back in his seat, “I’ve just always been interested in music since I was a kid.”

“Yeah, so have I. That’s why I became a musician. There are so many jobs in the musical field, why music theory?”

“Well, I am a musician. Not as big as you, obviously, but I have a small band and we play gigs around town. But the more I deep dove into music and the history behind it, the more I got into musical theory. It was a hobby and a passion before it was a career. And I guess I just wanted to show people how fun and interesting it could be.”

Y/N nodded, seeming content with his answer before saying, “Well, for what it’s worth, I think you’re a good teacher.”

“You’ve only been in one class,” he chuckled, sitting up again and straightening out his papers once more.

She giggled, “Yes, but it doesn’t take long to know when a teacher is good or not. I see the way you interact with your students and hear the way they talk about you. Everyone seems to love you. It’s part of the reason why I chose to come here.”

“My reputation precedes me?” He raised an eyebrow.

“Something like that,” she grinned, before softly speaking, “You know, we’re not all that different, you and I. I’ve been passionate about music for as long as I remember,” she laughed and said, “I remember when I was seven years old my mom took me to the library and I must have read at least six books, cover to cover, about Chopin. I knew everything about him and even named my pet rabbit after him. Everyone thought I was crazy.”

“Classical music?” Harry questioned, surprised.

She nodded, sitting up, “I’ve played piano since I was two.”

Harry pursed his lips, nodding his head, “Never judge a book by its cover.”

They stared at each other for a moment, silence filling the room. She looked more innocuous now; harmless as she sat with one leg crossed over the other. By this small conversation she had, she could see bits of himself in her eyes and it made him bring his guard down. For a moment, he was fascinated.

But her expression changed, more curious, as she asked, “So, how many lucky girls get the chance to have this one-on-one time with hottie Professor Styles?”

Harry sighed, rubbing his temples, “You exhaust me.”

“Or guys, I’m not judging,” she shrugged, “Though that would totally suck for Jesse. She’s really crushing.”

“I’ve never dated a student and I never will,” he said blandly.

“Never say never,” she smirked, “Why not?”

“Because they’re kids and it’s inappropriate.”

“Kids?” she snorted, “You’re barely four years older than most of your students. And everyone is of legal age.”

“I am not having this conversation with you,” he said, packing his things, “Our time is up. I’ve got to get going. I’ll see you in class next week.”

She grinned, gathering her things together and following him towards the door. As he reached for the door handle, she quickly put a hand on top of his, stopping him from turning it and making him look down at her as she said, “Don’t forget, Professor. Never say never.”

He watched as she opened the door and slipped out, turning her head once to wink back at him before she rounded a corner.

Harry found himself nervous and somehow anxious for the following week to arrive. It was the first time for years he had gotten there before any of his students. Every time the door opened and a student arrived, surprised by his early presence, he noticed he would jump and whip his head in the direction of the door. He tried to tell himself that he was just jittery or had too much coffee this morning, but he knew that wasn’t the reason.

When Y/N walked through the door, he felt his heart start to race.

“Good morning, Professor,” she smirked at him as she made her way up the steps towards the back of the class.

He nodded but didn’t respond. He felt stupid for not knowing what to say. There were so many options; hi, hello, how are you? Nothing. Harry watched out of the corner of her eye as she made a dramatic show of pulling out a notebook and a pen, sitting back in her chair and propping her legs up on the desk, making her short skirt slip up her thigh even more, waiting while she tapped her pen on the paper while the other arm was crossed over her stomach and her thumb grazed against her mouth.

He shook his head, pretending to search his briefcase for something as more students started to arrive, annoyed at himself for letting her get to him. In his four years of teaching, this had never been a problem before. How was she doing it?

Y/N waved as the group of kids she was seen talking to at the end of the last class squeezed in and they all excitedly waved back, making their way back to the seats in the row in front of her, spinning in their seats to talk. He wondered what they were talking about each time he saw her laugh or look down at him and hold eye contact.

The lecture started smoothly. He had them do another goofy exercise to get them ready for the class and was able to keep everyone’s attention as he explained notes and scales. Harry noticed the singer scribbling down in her notebook and was relieved to see she was taking notes this time. But what shocked him, even more, was her participation. The Professor, although known to make teaching and learning fun, was also known to ask a lot of hard questions throughout the class. Most, of which, the students rarely knew the answers to. That’s why he was surprised to see Y/N’s hand raised after nearly every question he asked, and even more taken back when her answers were right. Every single time.

Students began to become amused, automatically looking in between the two when a question would arise, and giggling at the incredulous expression on his face when she had, yet again, gotten the answer right. If he didn’t know any better, he would bet that by next week the class would turn it into some kind of a drinking game. He could have sworn he saw Y/N giggle under her breath and even blow a kiss.

After class, once again, Y/N was grouped on the steps by the rows of desks with Jesse, Mark, and their other friends. Y/N would twirl her hair and smile towards Mark and seemed to have him wrapped around her finger, but Harry also noticed how she’d look over Mark’s shoulder at him and bite her lip. She knew he’d be watching, and he hated himself for it.

Quickly, he packed his things and left the room, heading to his office to wait for her there, wondering what they were talking about. He closed the office door behind him, tossed his briefcase on the floor beside the paper shredder, and decided against turning the lights on. He blamed it on a splitting migraine, but it was really because there were too many intrusive thoughts running through his mind that he was doing everything he could to ease it, including pacing the room.

The attempts, however futile, were short lived. Minutes later there was a soft knock on the door and Y/N emerged, closing the door behind her, strutting right past him, and plopping on top of his desk again.

“How was that for participation, Harry?” she asked, propping a foot on the arm of his chair which made her skirt shimmy up her thigh just enough that if he were to look, he was sure he’d be able to see what she was wearing underneath.

He took a gulp and fought hard not to look down, lightly pushing her leg off of the arm of his chair so that both of her legs now hung down, taking a seat and crossing his arms, “It’s Professor Styles, and you did very well in class today, Miss Y/L/N.”

“Told you that I’d be a good student,” but her smile turned devilish as she spread her legs apart further and bent down closer to him, “But I can be bad if you’d like.”

“Please get off my desk and take a seat, Y/N. We’ve still got a lot of catching up to do.”

“Whatever you say, Professor,” she exaggerated, slowly slipping off of his desk and rounding to the other side.

Again, Harry tried his best to catch her up on lessons she missed, but it hardly seemed to get anywhere with Y/N’s constant interruption of inconsequential questions and arbitrary thoughts that seemed to almost pour out of her mouth without thought. He couldn’t help but chuckle under his breath a few times. She wasn’t boring, he’ll give her that much.

The more she fought against his attempts at teaching her, the more he realized that they weren’t going to get anywhere unless he gave her a little of what she wanted. So when she asked, “Do you have a girlfriend?” he sighed and ran his finger through his hair, giving in.

“No, I don’t. And why do you insist on coming to these meetings if you aren’t going to pay attention?”

“I am paying attention. You were talking about themes and motives of the piano and violin in Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony,” she said, confidently, crossing her arms, “I just think that it would be easier to come to class and learn if I knew my teacher a little better.”

He rolled his eyes at this attempt, but a smile crept on his face anyway, “What do you want to know?”

She smiled, sitting up, eagerly, “Well, it’s good to know you’re single. When was the last time you were in a relationship?”

He sighed, uncertain why he was even taking part in this conversation, “A little over a year.”

“And you haven’t tried again since?”

He shrugged, “I’ve been busy.”

“Or you were heartbroken.”

The response stung a little. She was right. And that annoyed him even more. How did she do this? Get under his skin so easily? Instead of answering that, he retorted with, “Well, what about you? You’re obviously single, otherwise, you wouldn’t be flirting so much with your professor or the soccer star.”

Her smirk stretched wider, “Oh, are we jealous of Mike?”

He scoffed, grabbing the few pieces of paper off of his desk and attempting to organize it in the side filing cabinet, “No, I’m not jealous of a student.”

“Mhmm. Well, for your information we were just talking about the party they’re having this weekend.”

He tried his best to look confused, although he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about that party since she mentioned it last week, “Is that so?”

“Yeah, it’s on Saturday. Not sure if I’m going yet. I’m sure my manager and PR would have my head if I was caught getting sloppy at a college party. Not good for the image,” she whispered, rolling her eyes.

He shrugged, “College parties aren’t all that great, anyway.”

“I’m sure,” she said sarcastically, “Anyway, I have a concert the night before, so I’m usually exhausted by the next day. You should come.”

“To your concert?” he asked.

She raised an eyebrow, skeptically, “Unless you don’t like my music?”

Harry shrugged, “I haven’t really heard much of it,” he lied, “but my sister’s a big fan.”

“Well, I’ll put you down for a plus-one. As long as it’s just your sister.”

Harry felt a lump beginning to form in his throat and he shook his head, “I already have plans for Friday. But thanks, anyway.”

She shook her head, nonchalantly, “Well, offer still stands if your plans fall through.”

He tried his best to reroute the conversation back on topic and was thankful that she seemed to finally go along with it. But as it neared the end of the hour, he felt her eyes on his face more and more. He looked up in the middle of his sentence and froze when he saw her eyes on his. She seemed entranced and almost out of it. And something seemed to pull him into the same trance as her.

It was the first good look at her that he had gotten since their first meeting. Her skin looked soft and her eyes sparkled when the sun’s rays shone on them at just the right angle. He hadn’t noticed until now that the bridge of her nose was slightly elongated and somehow endearing. And her lips. Those lips.

Y/N shook her head and stood up. It was the first time that she seemed to be caught off guard, and that stroked his ego a bit. He glanced down at his watch and noticed that they had run overtime and he gasped. She seemed to realize, too. Hurriedly, they both began to collect their things, but in the frenzy, she accidentally flicked her pen off the desk and it ricocheted on his side, landing on the floor near his briefcase.

“Oh!” he heard her mutter, rounding the desk where they both hastily attempted to grab it.

Harry was the first to grab it and as they both stood up, they were face to face with each other, inches away. They froze, again, unable to move. He saw something in her eyes that he hadn’t seen before; nervousness. Y/N was always such a confident force, and to see her any less than that admittedly made him gratified, like he had obtained a victory. But he, himself, was losing the battle. She was breaking him down one wink at a time, and he had never felt so weak in his life.

He could feel the strain of his desire pulling him closer towards her, the gloss on her lips looked enticing. If no one stopped him soon, he wasn’t sure if he could hold off much longer. He saw her eyes begin to flutter shut as the gap between them closed. Her sweet, minty breath swirled in front of his lips, he could almost taste it. And then a loud knock on the door echoed around his office.

Y/N flew against the wall while Harry awkwardly knocked his elbow against the back filing cabinet just as Jesse haughtily belted into the room. Her wide smile slowly screwed up into trepidation at the awkward tension that filled the room as the professor and singer avoided eye contact with each other.

“Jesse!” Harry quickly spoke, “What can I help you with?”

“I’m sorry, I thought you’d be finished. I just had a few questions about the essay, but I can just email you.”

“No, no, it’s fine, come in. Y/N was just on her way out.”

“Okay, cool,” Jesse smiled, stepping in further and placing her things on the chair opposite his desk.

Harry watched as the two girls exchanged friendly smiles, but he could see the slight embarrassment behind Y/N’s as she made her way towards the door.

“Don’t forget about this weekend!” Jesse called out after her, “I’ve never seen Mark so excited for a party before.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Y/N faked a laugh, sharing one last concerned look with Harry before closing the door behind her on the way out.

All week he found himself analyzing all of the occurrences that led up to him and Y/N almost kissing. He debated his sentiments, trying to logic every feeling of vulnerability and affection away with a simple explanation. It was becoming increasingly more difficult to pay attention to his work, constantly stumbling over his words of forgetting what he was talking about. When his class ended early on Friday afternoon and he sat in silence in his apartment, he stared at the blank television screen, contemplating whether or not he should take up her offer to attend her concert.

He paced the floor, opened and closed the fridge, tried to scroll through his social media apps, or read a book, anything to keep her mind off of her. He picked his phone up and stared at the home screen for a few minutes, constantly unlocking it when it got dark. With a final sigh, he opened it once more and dialed a number, putting it up to her ear.

“Hello, ya nimrod. What’s going on?” He heard his sister’s voice ring through the other end.

“How do you feel about going to a Y/N Y/L/N concert tonight?”

“You serious? Tonight? Bloody hell, yeah, I’ll go!”

“I’ll pick you up in two hours.”

Time only seemed to drag for Harry, left with nothing but his thoughts. It was enough time to go back and forth on whether or not he was making the right decision. Ultimately, he decided to go. He had already invited Gemma and he would feel guilty for bailing after getting her hopes up.

The sun was beginning to set and Gemma was singing loudly to Y/N’s lyrics in the passenger seat beside him. His palms were sweaty, gripped tight against the steering wheel. As the song ended, Gemma turned the volume down and turned to her younger brother.

“How did you get Y/N Y/L/N tickets, anyway? I didn’t know you listened to her like that.”

“I don’t, really. I mean, I’ve heard a few songs. But she’s my student and invited us to come.”

“She’s your student?” Gemma laughed, amused, “Cut the shit, Harry. How? Did you win them on the radio or something?”

“I’m serious. She’s taking my class.”

“What?” Gemma gasped, “And you didn’t tell me?”

“I didn’t think to.”

“You didn’t think to tell me that one of my favorite singers is a student of yours?” Gemma clarified. Eyebrows furrowed, she sat back and huffed, “Some brother you are.”

“Hey, now! I’m bringing you to her concert, aren’t I?”

The walk up to the ticket booth was one of the most humiliating things he had ever experienced as he uncomfortably explained who he was and that he was invited by the singer, herself. It took two people and a member of her staff to vouch for him before he and his sister were escorted through the venue and entered the pain event area through a private entrance that led them towards a VIP barricade towards the front of the stage. Thousands of screaming fans surrounded them, and Gemma looked around, shocked at the scene.

“This is insane!” Gemma shouted in his ear, bouncing on the balls of her toes.

Harry had to admit, it was pretty cool to see all of these people here for Y/N. He felt a sort of pride for her that he wasn’t quite expecting. And it didn’t take long for the lights to dim and the music to start.

He heard her before he saw her, and he felt his heart start to race again. He tried to play it off by the screams and the thumping bass, but when she finally came into view, he felt like he had been bolted to the floor, unable to move or talk or even smile. He was just stunned. Seeing her on stage was surreal. He knew of her, first, but it was hard for him to dissociate ‘student’ Y/N from ‘famous’ Y/N.

When they caught eyes and she realized he had come, a smile stretched across her face behind the microphone. He couldn’t help but mirror her, his shoulders relaxing as he managed a gentle wave. She walked closer to them on the stage, singing down at them, and he could hear his sister repeating ‘Oh my god, oh my god’ beside him as Y/N waved back in their direction.

Y/N was talented, there was no denying it. And the way that she interacted with her fans, you could tell that she was grateful for every second of it. It was touching. She was knocking down his assumptions about her little bit by little bit. He always thought that she’d be a spoiled, ungrateful celebrity, but that seemed to be completely false.

By the end of the concert, he had eased up and began to jump around, goofily, with his sister while Y/N watched, dancing around on stage, laughing and singing. Finally, the burly manager he had seen on the first day of their meeting with the Dean had approached him and his sister, informing them that they were invited backstage and to follow him.

His nerves began to rise in his chest again as they wove down several corridors until eventually, they stood before a door with Y/N’s name taped on it. The manager knocked loudly and waited a moment before they heard her voice on the other side call out, “Come in!”

With a turn of the knob, Y/N was now seen. She was in a new, more casual change of clothes and her hair was now up, but with visible beads of sweat lining her forehead and neck, she took a long swig of water.

“Hi!” she called, capping her drink and beckoning the two in, “Come in, come in! I’m so glad you came!”

“Hi! It’s so nice to meet you,” Gemma tip-toed closer to her, smiling coyly as the door was closed behind them.

“It’s nice to meet you, too!” Y/N grinned, giving Gemma a much-wanted hug, “Please tell me you’re Harry’s sister.”

“Yes, I’m Gemma, his older sister.”

“Oh, thank god. I was worried he’d bring a date,” Y/N said, boldly, “He’s been playing hard-to-get.”

“You’re interested in my brother?” Gemma asked, astounded, “You’re way out of his league.”

Harry’s mouth fell open as Y/N laughed, “Yeah, and you’d think that’d be enough for him, wouldn’t you? But apparently he’s got standards,” she hyperbolized, rolling her eyes.

For an hour, Harry watched and laughed as Y/N and his sister talked and got to know each other more. They made jokes at his expense, and exchanged stories from their childhoods, shocked by how similar they seemed.

“You grew up around here, right?” Gemma asked the singer, taking a sip from her second beer of the night.

Y/N nodded, “Yeah, about fifteen minutes from here.” Harry’s eyebrows furrowed, knowing the only residential area in a fifteen-mile radius wasn’t exactly known to be the best neighborhood. Y/N seemed to gather his thoughts, further explaining, “It wasn’t always easy. My siblings and I were cramped in a two bedroom apartment and we didn’t have our own phones until well into our teens. I missed out on a lot growing up, but my parents did their best. We had everything we needed. I was lucky to be able to get all this and get them out of that apartment. My parents deserved a big house and a yard. I owed them that much.”

“How did you do it? How did you get to this point?” Harry asked, astounded.

Y/N shrugged, “Right place, right time. I was found singing at the mall for a small gig at a Christmas event. The rest is hard work and history.”

Harry shook his head, speechless. He felt guilty for passing judgment on her before, assuming that it was all handed to her and that she had got her start because of her parents' connections. She was self-made, smart, and deserving of every bit of success that came her way.

After one more round of beers, it was getting time for them to leave. Harry could see the excitement in her sister’s eyes start to be replaced by fatigue, and as much as he wanted to stay and talk some more, he knew he had to get a jump start on grading papers.

He set his empty bottle of beer down and Y/N frowned, “Time to go?”

“Yeah, should probably head out,” Harry nodded, pausing for a moment and taking in the frown on her face. He didn’t have time to think before he blurted out, “Want to join us for the ride?”

Her eyebrows raised and her lips twitched up into a smile, “Yeah, sure.”

Gemma let Y/N take the passenger seat and Harry felt tense as he drove, hand shifting the gears right beside her leg. He smiled every time he heard her laugh, though he couldn’t quite pay attention to what the girls were talking about. He was able to gather that they exchanged phone numbers before he reached Gemma’s house. His sister gave them both kisses on the cheek before bounding up the steps to her home.

The silence was deafening and Harry was certain she could hear him gulp as he turned to her and asked, “Where to?”

He knew what she was going to say. He didn’t need to ask. But to hear it come out of her mouth was something almost too much to handle, “Your place.”

He reversed out of the driveway, barely croaking out, “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Why?” she asked, turning towards him.

“You’re still my student.”

“So? We can just talk.”

Harry turned and looked at her, giving her a knowing look, “You know it’s not to just talk.”

“Why can’t it be? You don’t have any self-restraint? Is it because you like me?”

Harry felt a blush rise to his cheeks as he fumbled out a, “No.”

“Well then, what’s the problem?”

“......Fine.”

There wasn’t another word uttered for the rest of the journey to his place and he began to overthink. Was his apartment clean? Had he done the dishes? How messy was his room? Did it smell? He knew he should have gotten that diffuser from the store last week.

His nerves rose as he led her up to his apartment complex, pushing the door open and flicking on the lights, breathing a sigh of relief to see that it was, for the most part, fairly tidy. Y/N walked past him, scanning the scene, and as he locked the door he also held his breath, waiting for her to say something.

“Nice view,” she noted, briefly looking out of the window before turning to face him.

He tossed his keys on the entry table and motioned towards the kitchen to his left, “Drink?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“Tea? Coffee? Water?”

“Water’s fine,” she said, making her way towards his living room.

He took the moment to catch his breath, trying to regain control of his thoughts before joining Y/N on his couch, handing her the drink. They both took a swig and he felt her eyes bearing holes into him, again.

When he set his drink down, he turned to her, “You’re very intense, you know.”

She smirked, leaning into the couch some more, “Yeah. I just know what I want.”

“And what’s that.”

“You.”

The immediate response caught him off-guard, but he wasn’t surprised by the answer. At this point, he knew exactly what she wanted, and was only feeding his ego more. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t intrigued by her and hadn’t thought about the same, but a part of him liked the chase.

He chuckled, sitting back, “You’re my student.”

She moved closer to him, more energetic this time, “I just happen to be into Musical Theory, that’s all.”

“You’re still my student,” he grinned, amused, patting her leg.

“So, what if I drop out? Would that change anything?”

Harry’s grin faded and his hand stayed where it was, resting on her thigh. He stared into her shining eyes again, seeing the seriousness behind them, and he froze, unsure of what to say. Would it change anything if she dropped out of his class? He wasn’t sure it would even need to come to that if she kept looking at him like that any longer.

His eyes flickered from her eyes, to her lips, and back up to her eyes as she waited for a response. He debated whether or not to just give in and kiss her right there. She wanted it, he wanted it, why keep fighting it? There weren’t any rules against relationships with students at his University, not like they’d even fight him on this one; they’re the ones that basically told him to give her everything she wanted.

But when he didn’t respond, Y/N pulled back away. He slumped, kicking himself for not pulling a move sooner. And after a moment of silence, she asked, “Hey, is it okay if I use your shower, real quick? I’m still sweaty from the show and I feel gross. I can take an uber home afterward.”

A million thoughts ran through his mind. Was that a move? Or an invite? Should he ask to join her? Why did she have to leave? He could drive her home, she didn’t need to take an Uber. But the only thing that came out of his mouth was, “Uh, yeah, sure.”

He showed her to the bathroom and went to grab her a towel from the linen closet as she adjusted the knobs and stuck her hand under the flow of water, gauging the temperature. By the time he got back in, she seemed happy with the warmth of the flow and took her hair out of its bun, placing the hair tie on the edge of his sink. He hung the grey towel on the rack beside the shower.

“Let me know if you need anything,” he muttered.

She smiled, “Thanks,” and before he was fully out of the room, she began to pull at the ends of her shirt. Quickly, he scurried out of the bathroom and closed the door to give her privacy.

Once out, his hands shot up to his forehead and he crouched, mumbling to himself a frustrated, “Fuck! What the fuck is wrong with you? Idiot!”

He sat impatiently on his couch, waiting for her to finish. When he heard the screech of the knobs turning and the pressure from the water fade, he shifted his position and quickly forced his attention elsewhere, trying to act casual. But when he heard the creak of the door opening, he turned his attention to see Y/N standing in the doorway, bathroom light glowing behind her, hair rang out and damp, clutching the towel around her body.

His eyes widened a bit as she spoke, “Do you have clothes I can borrow? Mine are still covered in sweat.”

“Uh, yeah, probably. In my room,” he stammered, getting to his feet and leading the way to his bedroom.

She followed, her feet lightly padding the wood floors. He felt almost embarrassed to have her in his bedroom. He wasn’t sure why, it’s not like it was dirty and he didn’t have anything oddities displayed, still, it was an intimate space, and to have her there felt personal.

He opened the bottom drawer of his dresser where he kept his pajamas and motioned towards it, standing up straight, “You can borrow anything from here.”

She bent down in front of him to rummage through, giving him a better look at her back. It looked clean, soft, and supple as droplets of water still lined her back and dripped from the ends of her hair, getting absorbed by the thin white towel she had wrapped around her. When she stood up, he took a step back and she turned, holding one of his oversized white t-shirts and a pair of his plaid pajama pants.

He stood there, unable to move as she stared at him, raising an eyebrow. And still, as she tossed the clothes on the bed behind him, he found himself, once again, rooted to the spot. A smirk started to form on her face and her voice was soft and playful as she spoke.

“How’s that self-restraint going?” she teased.

He didn’t move. He didn’t speak. He just looked at her. And when her playful smile began to shift into something more alluring, he held his breath, watching as she untucked the towel around her chest and let it fall to the ground. His eyes instantly dropped to her exposed chest and he felt his heartbeat pounding rapidly in his chest as she stepped closer to him, barely twelve inches, refusing to take her eyes off of his.

“I know you want to,” she whispered, stroking his arms before taking hold of his hands, lifting them and placing them on her chest, “Touch me.”

He felt his erection becoming uncomfortable as he ran out of room in his pants for growth, massaging her chest. His attention roamed back up, locking eyes with her again. There was no stopping it.

************************************************** In a bout of passion, they threw themselves at each other, hungrily attaching their lips to one another, tongues circling and roaming the other’s mouth. Y/N tore fabric after fabric off of him as they spun, grabbing at each other roughly and without deliberation. Soon, they were both naked and knocking into walls and tripping over clothes.

Harry pushed her up against the dresser as she grabbed hold of his dick, pumping her hands up and down his shaft as he moaned into her mouth.

“Does that feel good, Professor?” she bit his lip with a smile.

“Ungh,” he grunted, pulling away. He spun her around so that her back was to his chest, and forced her down to bend over his dresser, propping one of her legs up on the top of it before he got to his knees, burying his face in her muff.

She cried out, “Yes! Teach me, Professor!”

He flicked his tongue inside of her, lapping up all of her juices while he rubbed himself. He could have kept going for hours, but he could feel her legs start to tremble. When he stood up, he slapped his cock on her ass a couple of times, swiping his tip against her entrance enough to get it lubricated before slipping right into her.

Y/N threw her head back, breathing, “Oh my god, you feel so good, Harry.”

He wrapped an arm around her neck while his other hand clasped over her mouth as he grunted, “Professor Styles,” before sucking on her shoulder blade.

When he loosened his hand from her mouth to take hold of her hip, she whined, “I’m so sorry, Professor Styles. I’m not always bad.”

“No, Y/N,” he pulled out of her, spinning her to face him, tempting her as he walked backwards towards his bed, “You’re my good girl.”

The back of his legs hit his bed and he scooched himself back, letting her climb over top of him, straddling his hips. She bent down, biting his lip again as she lowered herself onto him, gasping as her cunt swallowed him up.

She leaned back, letting him get a better look at her, breasts jumping up and down along with her. He ran a hand from her cleavage down to her navel, grazing her soft skin and watching as her mouth formed an ‘o’, scrunching up her eyebrows in pleasure as she called out his name.

“That’s a good girl,” he breathed, an arm behind his head as he watched, “Make me cum.”

She rode him faster, breathing heavier as he continued to grunt, propping himself up now and suckling on her skin. Her breaths became more shallow and her movements more rigid as she wrapped her arms around his neck, forcing herself onto him even harder. He wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her down onto him, even more, to go deeper. He could feel her throbbing around him, which only made him more aroused.

“Good girl, Y/N,” he breathed, “Cum on my dick.”

She buried her face into the crook of his neck, and with three more pumps she let out a scream as she said, “Pro-fessor Styles!”

He smirked, quickly flipping her on her back and pumping harder and faster into her as her legs wrapped around his waist. She panted, squeaking as he grunted into her. He looked into her eyes which were full of lust as she stared back into him and he could feel himself start to build up. Even faster now, knowing he was about to finish, he smashed his lips down on her quickly before pulling out and squirting his jizz on her stomach, letting her rub out every last drop.

*******************************************

He collapsed on the bed beside her as they panted, trying to catch their breath before he got the strength to reach down and grab his shirt for them to clean up the mess.

When he turned to face her, she smirked, “Do I need to drop your class? Or can we fuck in your office next time?”

He let out a breathy laugh and mumbled, “That depends. Are you going to the party with Mark tomorrow?”

“Do you want me to?” she retorted.

With a deep breath, Harry shimmied closer to her, nuzzling his head into her chest which made her wrap her arms around him, running her fingers through her hair as he whimpered, “No.”

She laughed, kissing his curly brown locks, “Told you I’d make you fall in love with me.”

------------------------------------

Taglist:

@odetostep @mylittleangel9403 @thurhomish @fallingfordolans @gwenlovesharrystyles , @harryswinterberries, @gucciboots, @golden-grande, @ilovedogs1989 @f4llingfairy

#Harry styles imagine #harry styles imagines #harry styles #harry styles smut #harry styles fluff #Professor! Harry #Harry styles one shot #harry styles oneshot #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fan fic #harry styles fan fiction #harry styles fanfiction #one direction #one direction imagine #one direction smut

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spvce-cowboy · 3 years

Text

songbird

ch. 4 of i’ll be here in the morning (the mandalorian x fem!reader)

previous-ch. 3: “reunion”

next-ch. 5: “the hero’s shoulders”

rating: mature

11.3k words

warnings: PERIL!!!, violence, alcohol and drug use, jealous/protective mando

a/n: apologies in advance for the slight cliffhanger—this chapter got WAAAYY too long so I had to split in two. luckily means I’ll be able to get the next one out to you all asap ! <3

summary: you are forced to go undercover in order to help Mando capture his next quarry, the lionized Tyreus Cavill.

You’re most nervous about remembering the proper steps to a waltz. You know, instead of being worried about aiding one of the deadliest bounty hunters in the galaxy on his highest profile mission yet. Because that totally makes sense, right?

At the Estate, you and Febhana were taught dancing in order to entertain the Lord’s guests. Digging up any memories from that period of your life is enough to have the taste bile flood your mouth. You do your best to swallow it down, keeping a cool face for your sake and everyone else’s.

Honestly, you’d trade being afraid of the known over the unknown any day. The anxiety of remembering your time at the Estate was more familiar, something you could deal with, and have been for years now.

Thinking too hard about the severity of the current situation, about how you had absolutely no idea what you were doing, that was the kind of fear you avoid at all possible cost. So you settle for being nervous about a waltz, nothing more and nothing less.

Mando is seated beside the driver. He doesn’t turn back to address you and Febhana directly, instead tilting his head slightly in order to look at the two of you through the rearview mirror. Before the three of you left, he gave you a small listening device that you now have tucked against the edge of the undergarments you have on. The dress is too exposing to hide it anywhere else.

He debriefs you on the specifics of the mission the entire ride there, showing you multiple images of the quarry, plans of action, a blur of different scenarios and how you should react that you have already quickly forgotten in the haze of your building anxiety.

“The main rule is no secondary locations,” he concludes. “We can’t risk either of you being alone with him. It’s too unstable of a situation as is.”

You nod, staring at him through his partial reflection. From the back of your mind there’s a quiet glimmer of endearment, how you’ve never seen him this thorough about a hunt—Mando seems more like a wing-it-and-figure-it-out-from-there kind of guy. You’re not sure if you’re getting special treatment because he doesn’t like involving someone like you in his job or because this quarry is too valuable of a target to botch. The former doesn’t add to your anxiety, so you run with that.

You tear your eyes from the mirror when Febhana digs through her purse and plops a set of papers in your lap. You examine them closely, trying to bring the little details to memory as best you could.

“Is that even a real name?” You ask, face screwed up slightly, pointing where it’s listed on the fake ID.

Febhana cranes her neck over your shoulder, looking down at the papers with you. “Sophste Wilkbail? Sure, sounds like a poet or something. You can play that up.”

From the front seat, Mando gives a sardonic huff of air. It’s such a cruel sound you can practically visualize the scowl he’s put behind it. Febhana rolls her eyes.

“Listen, darling, believability is just about the last thing we need to worry about, right now,” Febhana settles back into her side of the speeder’s velveteen cabin. “Hiding who you are is more important. As soon as we get past the guards it’ll be easy. Just try your best to pretend like this is any other party.”

You neglect to tell her that you have not been to any parties besides the ones at the Estate. Instead, you nod, training your gaze out the front windshield.

The driver lights another cigarette as he pulls the speeder into a line of idling vehicles that border the streets outside the Tagge mansion. You can tell that you’ve arrived by the bright lights and banners flooding from the building’s open face, an intimidating amount of guards tucked away at every discernible outpost. You drum your fingers against your knee to the song you can faintly hear playing from the radio.

Febhana’s soft hand against your arm breaks you from your reverie. Her words are far more gentle now. “Are you ready?”

You nod. It’s a sharp, curt movement of your head. Steadfast. You’re kind of scared shitless, but determined. She smiles at you, widely, and it’s enough to have you smiling back.

“Let’s get this show on the road, then.”

The first thing you are certain of upon entering the Tagge’s mansion is the fact that this isn’t a home. It’s a cathedral. Possibly the biggest, most extravagant place you’ve ever been in.

The entranceway alone is enough to have you clinging to Febhana’s side a little tighter than you had initially intended to. It looks like… it looks like a marble maw, stretched open, fangs bared. You and Febhana follow the tongue-like carpet down the hall in small, measured steps. She takes to ducking her head in greeting to those she recognizes, you

It only takes a few moments for you to realize the awe you’re feeling is a strange combination of genuine wonder and pure intimidation. You think that’s the point. It doesn’t help with the uneasy feeling that’s situated itself in the cavity of your chest since getting into the car.

“They like to play pretend royalty here, don’t they?” Febhana mutters under her breath, giving a polite smile to a passing guard as she does. “Stars, you’d think they’d try to lay claim to Naboo itself with a place as decked out as this. Tasteless.”

You huff a laugh as she continues to lead you down the main hall. You try to look as dignified as possible, as if environments like this were an everyday occurrence. It’s difficult to do, but with the assurance of her at your side and Mando a few rigid steps behind you, the anxiety pressing from within your chest is somewhat quelled.

The main dancehall is filled with people. Everything—from the tall curtains to the paintings on the walls—is in cool tones of green and gold, interrupted by great expanses of marble. At the far end of the room are two twisting staircases leading to a platform where the band is playing. The ceiling has some kind of intricate mural you desperately want to examine, but when you try to crane your head back Febhana tugs at your arm slightly, reminding you to play it cool.

You square your shoulders as Mando sidesteps to remain pressed against the walls with the other guard droids, the movement a little too fluid for someone who is supposed to be a robot. You pray everyone is too drunk to notice. They are.

With Mando’s presence lost you sink a little further into your anxiousness as Febhana begins introducing you to a flurry of different people. She delicately places a drink in your hands from a passing server, murmuring a word of encouragement in your ear before moving to the next group. It all passes in a blur, but smiling and graciously dipping your head seems to get you through a lot of the interactions without having to actually pay attention.

You quickly realize she is strategically maneuvering her way towards the stage—or, rather, those who are gathered beneath it. There are a collection of small tables lining the perimeter where people are seated if they are not dancing. Below the stage are three larger tables that overlook the entirety of the ballroom. It’s too crowded from where you’re standing to see any of the occupants.

What you really notice, right after taking in what you can of your surroundings, is that there will be no feasible way for you to pull this off. Not here in the Tagge house at least. Every entrance into the private portions of the house are heavily guarded, cameras everywhere. You do your best to swallow the mounting sense of dread, keeping a smile on your face while Febhana continues to lead you through so many introductions all the names and faces blur together.

You tug at Febhana’s arm slightly between introductions to signal your need to speak with her. She eventually pulls you into the cubby of a towering window after disentangling the two of you from another meaningless conversation.

“Febhana,” you lower your voice and maintain small smile on your face to keep prying eyes and ears disinterested. Better safe than sorry. “There’s no way this is going to work. Not here. I’ve counted at least five guards around every possible entrance.”

“I know, I saw,” Febhana takes a deep breath, eyes wandering out the window. “Let’s just… tough it out. See what happens. I don’t really want to get on the Guild’s bad side, or your friend’s for that matter.”

You wince slightly as the idea that this plan could affect her in any way but nod, trying to swallow your guilt in not fully thinking through how much you were asking of her to help you and Mando out like this. You step out of the little alcove and move your way back to the perimeter of the floor.

From this vantage point, you can see one of Febhana friends wander up to the main tables and hug a seated boy in greeting. The contact leans down and says something in the boy’s ear before turning back to glance at where you are standing.

You’re close enough, now, to realize the table the contact just approached is where the Tagge siblings are sitting. The playboys surrounding them have such a loud presence you’re surprised you didn’t notice them earlier.

They’re all practically kids, at least a year or two younger than you, but they act in that way where they knew they were untouchable. They have lived and breathed an entire lifetime of knowing that they are people who could get away with absolutely anything—and have, more than once. It radiates off of every movement they make, from the way they throw their heads back in obnoxious laughter, to the cruel tilt of their mouths as they speak. Everything about them set off some deep-seeded instinct in you to stay away.

Scanning their faces, you recognize the quarry almost instantly.

The photos Mando showed you didn’t do him justice. Tyreus Cavill is wearing a crisp black suit and has skin so pale it’s nearly opalescent. His hair is slicked back close to his scalp, the severe nature of his bone structure combined with some of the darkest eyes you’ve ever seen gives him the appearance of a leering jackal.

Cavill stares up at the ceiling, tracing the rim of his wineglass with long fingers as the person seated beside him speaks. He looks bored--they all do, a kind of lax slant to their gathered bodies that stands in stark contrast to the tight, aloof postures of most everyone else around them.

You tear your eyes from Cavill as the boy that Febhana’s contact is talking to begins to stand. You look at the new boy evenly from where you’re standing, holding his gaze as confidently as you can, before turning back to where Febhana is standing behind you.

Febhana flashes you a sly look. You can practically see the gears turning in her head as she flicks her eyes in the direction of the Tagge brothers and Cavill. You quickly put two and two together.

Whoever it was that’s approaching you right now is your invite to the table. Possibly the only one you’d be getting all night.

“I’ve got eyes on him,” you murmur to yourself, hoping Mando’s device can pick it up. You glance to where he is positioned against the wall and see him dip his head slightly in response. Feeling a little more confident, you pull your shoulders back and pretend to make conversation with Febhana.

The boy enters your periphery shortly thereafter, standing at your side as he greets Febhana first.

“Febhana,” the boy tucks his head in greeting to her, then turns his gaze to you. His hair is a thick mop of curls, nose slightly twisted in a way that suggests he isn’t too good at fighting. The crooked smile he gives you is warm enough to push off your initial feeling of disquiet concerning his friends. “And who is this?”

“Lucius, this is my old friend, Sopheste Wilkbail,” Febhana introduces you by your fake name, then motions to the boy. “Sopheste, this is Lucius Laycam, his father owns the racetrack we went to earlier.”

“Dreadful business,” Lucius’s eyes glint, keeping his head tucked slightly in that way men do when they want you to feel like you’re the only person in the room. You don’t like the fact that he knows to say something like that, it demonstrates an ability to read you too easily.

Lucius takes your hand delicately, leaning down to kiss the ridges of your knuckles. He straightens to say his next words directly into your ear, getting unnecessarily close to do so.

“I’d like to treat you to a dance, if you don’t mind,” his voice rumbles. Your eyes flick to the table from over his shoulder. You make brief eye contact with Cavill, who has leveled his head to take a swig straight from the decanter at the center of the table, entirely disregarding the glass already in his hand. Cavill actually looks at you this time, and holds it, albeit briefly. Lucius finishes his proposal as you train your gaze back to the floor, “And then another drink.”

You give him your best smile and nod. It’s just a small dip of your head, but he eagerly pulls you away from Febhana and towards the center of the dance-floor.

Luckily for you, Lucius isn’t a flashy dancer. He’s amicable in a way you weren’t expecting, considering the company he keeps. He reminds you a lot of the village boy you were having a bit of a fling with before you left Am’ile’s planet: slightly empty-headed, but cute, and very enthusiastic about whatever task he’s put to. There’s a certain goofiness to him that pushes away any residual anxiety with the fits of laughter you tumble into as a direct result of his antics.

It’s kind of… exciting. You don’t want to admit it fully, but there’s something thrilling about someone taking so much interest in you. You’ve been so touch-starved that just the feeling of his hand partially cupping your exposed back in enough to send butterflies straight to your stomach. A different kind of anxious butterflies. Good butterflies.

Maker, it’s only been a few months since you left Am’ile’s and you’ve already been reduced to a giddy schoolgirl at the very brush of someone’s hand against your bare skin. You don’t know how Mando does it, you really don’t.

Lucius pulls the two of you to a halt when the band dies down, the singer murmuring something unintelligible into the mic.

“It was a pleasure, Miss Wilkbail,” he steps back, kissing your hand again and bowing. By this point you’ve figured out that his exaggerated, gentlemanly manner is just another shtick of his. You press your lips together to poorly conceal a giggle, giving him your own mock curtsey in turn.

“And you, Mr. Laycam.”

“Now if you’d like to join me, I’m on a mission to get absolutely plastered before these blowhards,” he motions to the others on the dancefloor with a twirl of his finger, “find a way to make this night even more suffocating than it already is.”

“Sounds just about perfect,” you say as you take the arm he offers you. He pulls you toward the table and you try to keep up with his long strides, bunching some of the skirt of your dress in your hand and lifting the fabric to prevent tripping.

Lucius pulls out a seat for you, introducing you to the playboys seated beside him. You’re directly across from Cavill, who is still nursing the table’s decanter, completely disengaged from the conversation occurring between the two friends that are seated on either side of him.

“Are you new to Canto?” The playboy who asks is a Tagge twin, one of the three brothers who are currently seated at the table with you. You can tell by the signature white-blonde hair.

“A friend of mine wanted me to stay with her for a while,” you say, graciously taking the champagne glass that Lucius plucks off a passing server’s tray to offer you.

“Febhana, you sister’s friend,” Lucius clarifies for the Tagge boy.

“The visiting court singer Heresta was telling me about, before?” The Tagge brother directs the question to Lucius, when his friend nods he raises both eyebrows and shoots you a grin.

“I’m still in training,” you clarify with a nervous laugh, finding it easier to talk if your eyes are trained on the glass in your hand. “But yes, that’d be me. The court singer.”

“What did you say?”

Cavill’s voice quiets the conversations of the other playboys almost immediately. The other Tagge brothers glance over but quickly resume a normal volume. The hierarchy of the table becomes very clear, after that.

“I’m training to be a court singer,” you repeat yourself, sliding your head towards the quarry with your best stab at a cool, practiced gaze of utter ambivalence. Cavill’s eyes remain trained on you, utterly serpentine.

Ah. You press your lips together and look down at your hands folded neatly in your lap, initial resolve broken.

“A court singer?” His voice is a low purr. You raise your gaze again. It seems as though once he takes interest in something, most of his buddies do too. A few of them glance away from their conversations to give you a scathing examination. It takes everything within you to not crawl out of your own skin. So much for the ease you felt back on the dancefloor. “Will you sing for us?”

Your cheeks fill with a heat that quickly travels to your chest. Didn’t expect that. Maybe you should have.

“I... Not here. The singer the Tagges have hired is so lovely, I’m afraid they far outshine me,” your eyes flick back up to his at your last word, you do your best to mask your burning revulsion as shyness.

“That wasn’t a request.” Cavill’s response is so blunt and immediate you actually flinch a little.

“C’mon Tyreus,” Lucius’s voice is quick to intervene. “Leave her alone, she just got here.”

Cavill blinks slowly, as if his eyelids are too taxing of a weight for him to bear. He hums, leaning back in his seat slightly and stretching his arms out to rest on the backs of the chairs on either side of him.

When it becomes clear he has nothing else to say, the other conversations at the table continue as a normal. As if there were no previous interruption. You gradually return to the sense of ease you’d begun to develop earlier, the feeling is seemingly dependent on Cavill’s lack of attention.

Eventually, one of the playboys taps Lucius on the shoulder in passing, quickly murmuring something in his ear before leaving the table to chase down one of the serves for another decanter. Lucius nods, then turns back to you.

“Tyreus wants to extend an invitation to a club we’re going to in an hour or so, if you’d like to join us,” his fingers graze over the peak of your exposed shoulder from where his arm is resting against the back of your seat. For some reason it does not feel as nice as his touch had previously. It’s more intentional, all his playfulness gone. You think that’s why. “Way better than this shit, not so fuckin’ rigid. More private.”

The emphasis he places on those last words is so overt you have to resist an eye-roll. You nod, trying to keep your expression light and ditzy while straightening slightly in your chair. “Tell him it would be an honor.”

Lucius smiles, the fingers that were tracing the line of your opposite shoulder coming up to brush against the shell of your ear. You blink at the touch, vaguely aware of his face inching closer to yours.

You stand without warning, mumbling something about having to use the bathroom before quickly maneuvering your way around the tables and through the arching marble columns that line the ballroom. You walk as briskly as you can into one of the adjoining hallways, following it down and into the women’s bathroom.

Taking a shuttering breath, you place your hands on your hips and close your eyes. Your brain runs at a mile a minute, trying to figure out how to adapt the plan as Mando communicated it to you, considering the fact that Cavill’s posse was leaving within the hour.

You reach your conclusion quickly. You’re the one with the invite, with the way into the inner circle. No time to try and bring Febhana along with you. Honeypot it is.

The bathroom door slamming open breaks you from your thoughts. You gasp, hand pressed to your chest as you whip around. There’s a second of blind panic at the decorated droid stiffly stands at the door’s threshold, both fists clenched at its side, before you remember Mando’s disguise.

You open your mouth indignantly to scold him for bursting in like that but he holds a finger up to shush you, entering the bathroom in one long stride, checking under the stalls for people then briskly locking the main door behind him.

He’s furious. It’s the most blatant display from him you think you’ve ever seen.

“I—” Mando grits out. “Your singing. He doesn’t deserve to get that. None of them do. They’re just using it to get to you.”

You blink twice, completely baffled that that’s the first thing that comes out of his mouth.

He makes another frustrated sound, obviously recognizing your shock, and tries to clarify. “They were… clearly making you uncomfortable but they just kept pushing you—you shouldn’t have to just sit there and take that—"

“Yeah, Mando, that’s kind of how flirting works when you’re dealing with a bunch of entitled assholes,” you snap, finally finding your words. Out of any other possible thing he could be angry about and this was it? “I’ll have to play into what they want to get closer to Cavill. Lucius seems sweet, a little overbearing but sweet. It’ll be fine.”

You’re already hovering the fine line between tipsy and just plain tired. All you want is to get home at this point—your feet hurt, the dress is uncomfortable, and, by your book, making conversation with these silver-spoon pricks could be comparable to pulling teeth. You love Febhana, and you could see the fun in a night like this, but you’re also trying to help Mando do his damn job and if he doesn’t start cooperating—

“He doesn’t. Lay. A finger. On you.” There’s an anger in his voice you’ve never encountered before, not while directed at you, at least. It stops any other thoughts from entering your head. He takes a deep, quivering breath to calm himself. It doesn’t work. “If you’re… if you don’t want it. He will not even look at you. The second—I don’t care if it makes a scene I’ll—"

“Mando.” You lay a hand on his chest. He instantly freezes. “I know that. Thank you. I’m a big girl, I can hold my own. It’s okay.” Trying to lighten the mood, you lift your chin up a bit, smiling at him as brightly as you can manage. “Can we please just talk about how we’re gonna pull this off?”

He gives you a tight nod.

“I… I know that you’ve been doing this for a lot longer than I have, which is the understatement of the millennia, but just… hear me out here. Lucius just invited me to go with them to a club—like, right now.” You feel like if you stop talking he won’t listen to what you have to say, so you keep plowing forward. “I know you made a point about no secondary locations. But, if we have the time I think the best plan of action would be for me to split off, go with them to the club and draw him out to you in some way. The security here is so tight, there’s no way I think we could pull this off without it blowing back on Febhana. She’s important to me and I would appreciate if we could get her out of this scot-free.”

You take a breath, glancing up at him to gauge his reaction thus far. When he doesn’t interject, you continue, keeping your hand on his chest as you speak—for some reason you feel like he listens to you better when you do. “Lucius mentioned that things are way more lax there, so I’m thinking that’ll translate to security measures too. I’m sure Febhana is familiar enough wherever they’re going. She can give you enough intel to be able to get an idea of the place on your way over. Then we can go home.”

“I agree.” His reluctance is palpable, but his next words are far more level-headed than you expected. “You’re right, we shouldn’t jeopardize Febhana. Try to get one of them to tell you a specific location and I can meet you there. I just—” he flexes his hands. “I need to get off this planet.”

“I know,” you sigh, giving his chest a reassuring pat before turning away to go back to the line of mirrors stationed above the sinks, checking your makeup. “Me too.”

You turn on the faucet and lean down to drink straight from the tap. You’re stone sober at this point and the icy water is potentially the best thing you’ve ever tasted. The headache pushing at the back of your eyes has increased to a dull throb.

Mando’s voice from behind you. “Ladylike.”

You turn off the sink and straighten, rolling your eyes. “Oh bite me,” the sharpness of your voice is negated by the laugh you have to push through to get the words out. Relieved that the charged air between the two of you has dissipated, you wipe your mouth with the back of your hand. “Let’s get this over with, I’m exhausted.”

Mando escorts you back down the dimly lit hall, the low hum of the party forms a gradual crescendo the closer you get to the intricate archway where the hallway breaches the ballroom. He pulls you to a stop with a hand on your forearm before you are able to enter.

Despite the heels you’re wearing, he still has to lean down to speak to you.

“Be careful,” he murmurs. Unexpectedly, he swipes his thumb across your elbow before turning heel and rejoining the other droids against the wall.

It’s such an unnecessary motion you can’t help but freeze, unsure how to process that small display of… well, if you didn’t know any better you’d describe it as intimacy. And not the unique sort of platonic camaraderie you’ve started getting used with him. It feels too much like a stolen gesture for that. Something he’s only done out of a pure disregard for his usual utilitarian ethos.

You swallow and square your shoulders, putting on the best smile you can before heading back to the Tagge table.

Biting your lip as you sink down onto the seat beside Lucius, you drag the knuckles of a relaxed hand down the length of his arm.

“Could I say goodbye to Febhana before we go?” You say as innocently as possible, still figuring out a way to organically ask where the fuck they were going to be taking you without acting too suspicious.

Lucius’s eyes flick over the table, only a few of the seats have emptied. Cavill is gone already.

“Yeah, that should be fine. Just find me when you’re done.”

You stand back up, stretching your neck to find your friend among the crowd. Quickly spotting Febhana, you navigate your way back through the crowd. Just as she has predicted, the uptight façade of the event is quickly dissolving as glasses empty and bodies inch closer together. The crowd you are now navigating through seems completely different from the one you’d encountered upon first entering the dancehall. The heady breath of the gathered crowd leaves a different crackle of energy over the room—considering Cavill’s circle wants to leave this for something “more exciting” is foreboding. Wherever you end up, you’ll deal.

Reaching Febhana’s side, you gently touch her arm to get her attention. She turns, smiling as she sees you.

“There you are! I thought I’d lost you,” she aligns her inner forearms with the length of yours, gripping you lightly in greeting. Touch was once meant survival for the two of you. Back on the Estate, sometimes the only communication you would be able to engage in for days on end, the smallest of reassurances are sometimes the most solid. Old habits die hard. You reciprocate the motion, grasping the inner portion of her elbows.

You duck your head in the direction of the person she was speaking to in a small apology for interrupting. Leaning in to quietly inform her of the change of plans, you tell her that Mando is going to try to meet you at the club. Febhana keeps a straight face as you do, but there’s a glint of worry in her gaze.

“Alright,” she says cheerfully. “I’ll tell the driver to wait outside. He can pick you up and take you back to the apartment when you’re ready to call it a night. I’ve prepared the guest room for you, the service droid can lead you there.”

“Febhana—” your brow furrows as you pull back, unwilling to take advantage of her kindness more than you already have, let alone her only way home. She interrupts you before you can insist.

“I’m going for drinks with friends after this, I’ll ride with them. Please, darling,” she kisses your cheek. “Good luck, and be safe,” she says softly as she pulls back, still gripping you by both elbows. You squeeze her forearms, giving a curt nod.

“I’ve learned from the best,” you manage a confident smile and disentangle her arms from yours. You tell her you’ll update her over the comlink and turn to rejoin Lucius, who was in the midst of his own farewells.

Febhana leaves as you wait for Lucius to finish his conversation. Mando has long since disappeared from his place at the wall. Taking a deep breath, you keep your shoulders back and your head high. You were completely alone.

There are five neat lines of spice on the mirrored platter. The Tagge twin is the one to offer it to you, pushing the surface in your direction before sinking back into the velveteen material of the curved couch.

You are in a private room at the club, one of a series of pod-like structures suspended over the dance-floor. The private pod opens into an expansive piece of curved glass that fills out the rest of its intended, ovular, form. If it weren’t for all the plush carpeting, the liquor and smoke and sultry lighting, it would make a decent observation deck. The room makes you feel like the surrounding world is a fish tank, all those people below you just interesting little creatures to look down at and inspect.

There’s something about the very nature of the space that drips luxury—but it’s a kind far removed from the crisp marble lines of the Tagge mansion. This is all seduction. All contours. All darkness and deep tones of amber, starkly contrasting against the pulsing blue lights of the dance-floor below.

The table before you is cluttered with empty glasses, bottles, as well as a few personal items owned by the boys who had already left to chase down the bodies below: a tuxedo tie here, a watch probably worth more than the Crest itself there—you know, the usual things you abandon in search of a warm mouth.

Lucius and Cavill are sharing a cigarette, the burning cherry one of the brightest sources of light in the room. Everything else is illuminated by low shades of red and orange from the warbling fixtures woven against the solid portion of the wall, which then part to trace the curved edges of the observation window.

The music is subdued at this height, yet the grinding pulse of a guitar still sends vibrations through the floor. Through you. The boys’ cigarette traces patterns between them as they exchange it, back and forth, saying very little in between.

Taking a deep breath, you glance down at the platter on the table. You press your lips together, glancing up at Lucius, then Cavill, who has gradually started to pay more attention to you the further into the night you descend.

Pretending to take another sip of your drink, you push the platter towards Lucius. Trying not to draw too much attention to your refusal, you move a little closer to his body as a potential distraction. Either it works or they didn’t care to begin with. Lucius curves into himself, pressing a finger against his nostril to inhale a line. Cavill does two.

Genuinely, there’s no way they could find any kind of appeal to this. You just can’t fathom it—they barely talk to one another, this group. And when they do they seem just as bored in the act as everyone else is. You’d take a night spent with Mando and the kid over this any day.

The Tagge boy jolts back awake, blearily rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand. The motion is so sudden it startles you, jumping slightly as he pushes away from the table.

“M’gonna go downstairs,” Tagge’s legs wobble like a newborn calf’s might. “Getta girl.” His departure is unceremonious, just like the others had been. You have a feeling the only thing keeping Lucius at this table is you, and the only thing keeping you at this table is Cavill. Fuck doesn’t really cut it.

As the two of them work on what remains on the platter, you carefully shift out of the circular booth, pacing over to the glass wall to look down at the crowd of writhing bodies.

“Have y’ever been to this place before?” Lucius asks after a moment. He stretches over the top of the couch to look down at the crowd with you. As he does, because you think the universe genuinely hates you, you notice Mando’s disguised silhouette—he’s barely concealed by the darkness of the dance-floor’s periphery. You look away as to not draw too much attention to that one spot.

“No. Never. I’ve been cooped up at the conservatory for most of my life,” you say as angle your body towards the couch, crossing your arms and leaning against the wall with one shoulder. Like this, you’re able to keep Mando in the very edges of your periphery.

What you just said was true for your mother, you knew that. Honestly, you’ve gotten through most of the night by just adopting what you remember about her. It was far too natural of a mask to adopt—maybe that should have creeped you out, but the ease of being able to do so is comforting considering the scope of the mission before you.

You take a breath to clear your mind, needing to get ahead of the conversation before either of them can corner you in a story you’re not able to fabricate. You need to give Mando a clue about where the hell you are.

“How far up do you think we are?” You ask, cocking your head slightly, praying that Mando’s comlink can hear your above what you’re sure is a raucous crowd. It works, you see his head jerk up to finally notice the private rooms above him. Thank the Maker.

“I dunno,” Lucius turns his head to look where you’re looking. “You afraid of heights or something?”

You give a nonchalant laugh, shaking your head slightly. By the time you look back up to scan the crowd one more time you’ve lost track of Mando. Either he’s disappeared in the mass of bodies or he’d gone completely. You have absolutely no clue, and you don’t want to draw attention by continuing to search for him.

Leveling your gaze back to the two boys, you look them over in a way you hope will draw either’s attention. Both are belligerently intoxicated, the glasses before them long since emptied, the smell of spice thick. It gives Cavill the air of a cat luxuriously stretched in the sun, as if it were just some kind of a natural, comfortable state for him.

As if he can read your thoughts, he speaks.

“Why wouldn’t you sing for us, earlier,” Cavill’s voice alone is enough to make your skin crawl. He ashes the cigarette he was smoking. There’s a loud sound of inhaling from Lucius, whose shadowy form is hunched over the table as he finishes what is left on the platter before him.

“Could you quit it,” Lucius mumbles as he rubs either side of his nose, head thrown back as he sniffs indignantly. “She obviously doesn’t want to.”

“If you were shy earlier, it’s just the three of us now. Completely different,” Cavill says, reaching over to wipe his fingers over the platter’s surface. He rubs his gums with the residue. You expect Lucius to defend you and divert the conversation like he’d done earlier. He doesn’t. Cavill sucks his teeth, leaning back once again. “Sing. I want to hear you.”

“It just feels strange is all,” you bite your lip, voice admittedly a bit brisk in how absent-mindedly it disregards what Cavill is asking. Your turn your gaze back out over the club, mainly to get Cavill’s off you.

You’re worried about Mando, about how long it’s taken him to give you some kind of sign that he’s ready. Maybe he’s waiting until you’re completely alone with Cavill? He pushed that in the car, how this whole thing has to be done as quietly as possible. The problem is that you’ve got absolutely no idea how to get Lucius out of the picture.

“Before there were too many people and now there are too little? What do you want?” Cavill’s words float in the air behind you as you pace to the bar cart, determined to busy your hands by remaking the drink you hadn’t touched since entering the room. “Isn’t that what you’re training for?”

Maybe Mando has been stopped? Your eyes flick to the circular doors partitioning the enclosed room from the catwalk hallway. You remember loudly greeting the guards that were there when the posse first entered the room, giving him the best heads up you could organically muster. Could he take both of them out on his own? Quietly?

“Um, yeah I suppose. It’s just different, there. In conservatory.” Dropping ice into your glass, you hear Cavill scoff. Lucius mumbles something. You bend slightly to get some of the bitters from the cart’s lower shelf.

And an explosion of glass shatters right where your head just was.

You whip around in shock, only to see Cavill already standing, swaying a bit on his feet, dress-shirt partially unbuttoned and messily untucked. It’s almost like some kind of switch went off, transforming him into something utterly unrecognizable.

He’s a fucking mess. Eyes nearly black. The empty decanter from the Tagge mansion in his hand.

“In conservatory,” he mocks, his lips pulled upwards in a vicious snarl. “Who the fuck do you think you are?”

Before you can react, the decanter is being flung at you—it misses, again. Shattering on the ground in front of you this time. You press yourself as far as you can against the bar cart, eyes wide. Cavill spits, then wipes his mouth with his hand, looking at you through half-lidded eyes.

“Kneel.”

Horrified, your gaze flicks from Lucius back to the tantrum-throwing, wolf-eyed aristocrat standing in front of you.

“What?” You ask incredulously, browns knitted together in complete confusion.

“I said kneel,” Cavill jabs his finger to the ground. “Pick that shit up.”

Lucius does a poor job of concealing a pained grimace. Or maybe you’ve grown far too good at reading the tiniest expressions from your masked companion that you’ve become hyper-aware of these kind of things. He gives a small: “Maker, Tyreus.” If it were supposed to be a warning it was a shitty one.

Survival instincts set in immediately. You turn your eyes to the floor and make your breathing as small and quiet as possible. Obediently, you comply. Kneeling on the ground and reaching out a shaking hand to begin plucking the shards from the carpet.

Cavill stalks behind you in an instant, one hand sealing around the back of your neck and pushing your head down to immobilize you. Simultaneously, his other hand wraps around your wrist, twisting your arm back and making your body to fold in on itself, pressing you into the ground.

You can’t help but cry out, the sharp motion forcing you to quickly catch yourself with your free hand. Your palm lands directly in the broken glass. You’d give anything to erase the wet sound it makes from your head forever.

It takes you less than a second to realize he’s trying to force your face into the carpet. Into it. Fuck.

“D’you want to tell me, huh?” He’s folds in half to speak directly in your ear, his spit hitting your cheek. He twists your arm further, grinding the hand supporting the rest of your body deeper into the glass. You grit your teeth to prevent another pained sound from escaping. “Wanna tell me who the fuck you think you are? Too good for me, whore? Too good for all this?”

The doors burst open. Cavill lets go of you in shock, it gives you time to crawl away from him as Mando levels his blaster at the boy. You scrape one of your knees in the process, you don’t notice it over the adrenalin pulsing through you.

Lucius swears loudly, standing.

“Don’t move.” Mando’s words are more of a growl than anything else.

In the pause this creates, you’re able to kick out your leg and take Cavill out from the back of the knees. It’s not graceful or pretty but it works. Cavill falls to the ground and you quickly clamber on top of him, forcing his hands behind his back, keeping him down with a bloodied knee to the spine.

Mando throws you the cuffs, training his blaster back on Lucius as you work on securing the binds around his quarry’s wrists.

“The spice,” Mando barks out the order. Lucius, eyes wide with terror, looks from the bounty hunter, to you, back to the bounty hunter.

“W-What?”

Mando shoots Lucius in the leg. The boy screams a curse, folding into himself in pain. The air smells like burnt flesh and coins. You swallow, looking back down and busying yourself with keeping Cavill still as he struggles against the floor.

“The. Spice.” He repeats. Choking on his sobs, Lucius reaches a shaking hand into his suit jacket’s pocket, throwing the little bag on the floor. Mando stalks over to him, Lucius cowers.

“Listen, man I—I’ll give you anything you want, ok? My father—”

Mando pistol whips him, the force behind it is enough to also slam Lucius’s head into the table as a result, knocking him unconscious. The bounty hunter turns, snatching up the spice on the ground and crossing over to you, kneeling beside Cavill, whose face is pressed into the ground.

“Mother fucker,” Cavill snarls, the first coherent set of words he’s said since Mando entered. Without reacting, Mando pinches Cavill’s nose shut. You’re confused for a moment, then Cavill opens his lips to either breathe or continue his litany of abuses and Mando takes that opportunity to empty the rest of the spice directly into the quarry’s mouth.

Cavill’s eyes widen, then almost immediately roll back into his skull. He jerks once, then lays still.

It all happens so fast you barely process Mando’s gentle order for you to stand. You do eventually, your legs a bit shaky as you cross back over to the bar cart, holding your palm up to the light in order to puck the largest pieces of glass out before wrapping your wound with a decorative napkin.

When you turn, Mando is pacing the room’s glass perimeter, looking down at the dance-floor to see if anyone noticed the commotion over the pounding music. His takes two brisk strides to cross the room, back to you.

“Are you okay?” He asks, his voice curt and professional. You duck your head in a nod, still pressing the napkins to your bleeding hand. Mando then turns to deal with Lucius’s body, stuffing his mouth with one of the tux ties on the table, binding his wrists. Buying the two of you time, you guess.

You look down at Cavill’s crumpled body. Unconscious, like this, you realize he couldn’t be more than twenty years old. Maybe even nineteen. “They’re all just kids, aren’t they?”

Mando’s sighs, crossing the room again to lean out the open doors to gauge the best way of getting back to the driver. “Pel kar’ta.” Whatever he just called you, it sounds like an accusation “That doesn’t excuse it.”

“No,” you murmur to yourself, gaze still fixed to the boy on the floor. “No, I guess it doesn’t.”

The napkins you use on your injured hand manages to somewhat stop the bleeding. You wait in the backseat as Mando and the driver stuff Cavill’s body into the trunk. You manage to pluck the last of the shards out of the meat of your palm once Mando silently slides into the seat beside you.

The driver leans over to the seemingly empty passenger seat, plucking a bundle of swaddled fabric and passing it back to Mando. It’s the child, sleeping deeply.

“Febhana said she had a feeling you’d want to get off planet as fast as possible. She sends her well wishes,” the driver grits out. He pulls the speeder off the roof of the club, quickly maneuvering the vehicle into Canto Bight’s weaving back alleys.

You take a deep breath, leaning your head against the window.

“I’m sorry,” you manage after a few minutes of driving, the words so soft they break slightly as they leave your mouth. “I… I didn’t think it could get that messy. I should have stuck to the plan.”

He says your name softly, it crackles over the speakers of the modulator. You take too much comfort in how he says it, the way it fills the space between the two of you. “Jobs like this are never clean.”

“You said this needed to go quietly,” you turn your head to look at him directly. “That wasn’t quiet.”

“I should have interfered earlier, that was my fault,” his response is immediate. “You shouldn’t have gotten hurt.”

You scoff, rolling your eyes and resting your head against the window. “I am not trying to make this about me. I just—I know it was a leap of faith involving me in this. I screwed it up, I want to apologize.”

“I didn’t think you were. I was making a clarification. You shouldn’t have gotten hurt.”

The kid makes a small sound in his sleep, you know he’s stretching and nuzzling into the crook of Mando’s arms without having to look over.

“Okay. I don’t want to talk about it anymore.”

He says your name again. You shake your head.

“Let’s just pretend it didn’t happen like that, if that’s okay?” You keep your gaze trained out the window, watching the city as it passes a good distraction from the pain pulsing from your hand up your wrist. “I’ll be fine once we get home.”

From your periphery, you see Mando nod.

Arriving at the hangar, you scoop the child in one arm and open the speeder door with a slight wince. You thank the driver and make a beeline for the Crest, busying yourself with tucking the little one in his cradle while Mando deals with the body.

By the time you shed the dress Febhana leant you—now ruined, thanks to that asshole—and quickly shower, you’re starting to catch a second wind of energy. You’re wide awake by the time you pull on a sleep shirt and a soft pair of shorts, catching yourself on the wall as the Crest rumbles into hyperspace.

Settling at your med station, you examine your injured hand under a small portable light, making sure you didn’t miss any pieces of glass due to the dim lighting of the landspeeder’s interior. You hear Mando step behind you.

“Let me see it,” he says. You straighten, looking up at him. Mando is holding a hand out, for yours. He’s back in the clothes he sometimes wears during your long stretches of travel, no armor save for the helmet on his head. His gloves are removed.

The first time he’d done this it had nearly knocked the wind out of you, stopping your words mid-sentence as you entered the cockpit to feed the kid breakfast. He was reclined in the pilot’s seat, the sturdy fingers grasping a rag to oil the pauldron he held in his other hand. You only caught the brief glimmer of a thick beskar ring on his thumb before averting your eyes, stuttering an apology.

At this point, you’ve seen enough of his hands to have memorized every scar and callous. You know it all, from the broken mountains of his knuckles to the small tattoo below the web of his thumb, so weathered by age you still cannot make sense of what it’s supposed to be.

This is different, though. He’s asking to touch you, skin on skin. That’s what makes you pause, looking at him blankly. Mando tries again.

“It’s my fault you got hurt—please, let me take care of you this once.”

There’s something in his voice that sounds incredibly pained, it’s enough to break you from your thoughts. You hesitate, then shift to face him on the crate you’d pulled over to sit on.

You offer him your hand, palm up, in wordless agreement.

He starts his work there, diligently giving it one last look over for glass before slathering it in bacta and firmly wrapping it with gauze. His hands feel just as you thought they would, rough but warm, hesitant at first but firmer once he gains the confidence to really touch you.

Mando then begins to examine your shoulder, delicately asking you to lift your arm, shift it in different directions and tell him when it hurts. You comply, easily succumbing to his little, light touches.

Maker, if Lucius had managed to give you butterflies on the dance-floor this… this couldn’t even be qualified at anything close to that feeling. The flight of birds, more like. A whole flock. A force only rivaled by the quick beat of your pulse.

“I got you something.” If you didn’t know any better you’d think his voice has a certain tinge of shyness to it. “A few days ago. I kept forgetting to give it to you.”

“Do tell,” you manage a casual yawn, then wince when his fingers dig into your scapula. “Ow.”

“Sorry,” he removes his hands from you, turning and walking to the other side of the hull. He rifles through a crate and emerges with what looks like a little box, offering it to you. You balance it in your bandaged hand, recognizing the object the second you see the speakers affixed to either end of it.

A wide grin breaks out over your face as you look up at him. “Is this a radio?”

He nods, plucking the tube of muscle warming agent from the med-kit and spreading it against your shoulder. His gloves are still off, the rough feeling of his hands against you enough to steal all words from your parted lips.

“Thank you,” you manage. “Mando—this is so nice I—”

“It’s nothing,” he says it frankly. You gladly don’t continue your sentence, turning the object over in your hand. “The woman told me it should work just about anywhere. If it loses signal it’ll just play some kind of recorded catalogue.”

You nod, bracing your forearms against your thighs and fiddling with the radio’s controls as he continues to talk, his thumbs working against every part of the joint they can. The feeling is far too easy to give into, you allow yourself to close your eyes as he continues, placing the radio beside you and leaning back to rest your elbows on the table to your back.

“I thought it was the least I could offer you. You seem so happy whenever there’s music,” Mando says as he kneels in front of you, wiping off your injured knee, rubbing away the scabs that were already forming with a disinfectant-soaked towel. He disregards the hiss you give and begins applying the bacta to the scored surface. “Especially tonight, when you were dancing. I didn’t realize you could.”

You laugh, smiling to yourself. “I was most nervous about that, as ridiculous as it sounds.” You muffle a relieved groan at the numb warmth that begins to spread as soon as the bacta sets in. You turn over what you want to ask for a long time before you muster the courage to say it. Why not? “I could teach you.”

A pause. “What?”

“I could teach you to dance, if you want me to,” you open your eyes to look down at the man kneeling before you. His fingers are frozen against the bandage he was in the process of tying off—incorrectly, you might add, but you can fix it later. You can’t help but smile at him. “Put this radio to use.”

He pauses for a moment longer, then shakes his head and goes back to adjusting your bandages. “Don’t mess with me like that, I’ll take back the compliment.”

“Hey! C’mon,” you bite your lip, stretching out your uninjured leg to faux-kick his side. He grabs your foot before it can make contact, gently guiding it back to the floor. “I’m being serious. Gotta blow off some steam before I can sleep.” Heat shoots up to your face, the words leaving your mouth before you can think them through. “It’ll be fun, I promise.”

“Alright.” Mando stands, crossing his arms over his chest to regard you.

You genuinely don’t believe it. Your smile widens. “Are you serious?”

His head cocks to the side. “If you make a big deal out of it I’ll purposefully step on your toes.”

It’s hard to contain your glee. You push yourself up to your feet, Mando’s arms shooting out in a protective gesture to catch you when you wobble slightly.

“Relax, I’m fine,” you gently push his hands away, walking over to the other side of the hull to place the radio on top of a stack of crates. Fiddling with it for a moment, you find a station playing something slow.

Turning back around, you see that Mando has turned off the med-station’s light, the brightest source of illumination now coming from the radio’s tiny interface behind you. The rest of the hull’s sconces are in night mode, the dull orange glow just enough to see what’s in front of you.

“Okay,” you begin, standing in the middle of the room and motioning Mando towards you. He complies. You hold out both hands. When he doesn’t get it, you press your lips together to suppress a smile, taking them for yourself where they rest limply at his sides. “So, you’d start by approaching your lady and holding her hand up, like this.” You bend your right elbow, your loosely interlocked hand forcing his left arm to do the same.

Mando nods, head bowed to you in observation, a diligent student.

“Then,” you continue, guiding his right hand to the curve of your waist. “You’d place your other hand here, or mid-back, whatever feels most appropriate for the situation.” He doesn’t move his hand. It sends a bit of a thrill through you. You place your left hand on his bicep, looking up at him and grinning. “See? You’re a natural.”

The both of you laugh at that one. His comes out as nothing more than a hoarse release of air from the modulator, but it’s enough to have you absolutely elated.

You start to sway slightly, to the rhythm of the song now playing from the radio’s speakers. Mando picks up the hint, taking up the role of leader while you gladly follow. He’s actually okay—granted, the two of you are just swaying in place, but still.

“I meant that, you know.”

“Hm?” You ask, partially distracted in trying to figure out what move to teach him next. The waltz you and Lucius did would be far too complicated, maybe there would be some kind of way to simplify it…

“What I said earlier. You looked beautiful, tonight,” Mando says, chin still tucked to look down at you. You blink, only actually processing what he’d just said a few seconds after he said it. You purposefully keep your eyes trained to his chest in order to keep your thoughts straight. “I um… I didn’t know how to tell you. Earlier. In the car. But I wanted to.”

“Hate to inform you, but the dress is in tatters and I am way too lazy to put all that makeup on again,” you chuckle, using the side of your foot to nudge him into a bit of a wider stance. He has the resting state of a soldier at attention—fitting, you guess, for a Mandalorian. It’s something so natural about to him that you’ve only really noticed the rigidity of it now.

“No, no I’m not… That’s not what I meant. You look that way always just—tonight, especially.”

“Well, Mando, if I didn’t know any better I’d think you sound a little bashful right now,” you joke, trying to move on as quickly as possible to cover up the fact that you had no idea how to take a compliment. You turn your head a little too quickly to look back down at his feet, ready to instruct him on the next steps, and your forehead collides with him helmet.

It fucking hurts.

You wince, cursing slightly under your breath and screwing up your face, trying to laugh off the heat burning in your cheeks and across your chest. “Ow.”

“Fuck, sorry,” Mando mutters, releasing your hands and cupping either sides of your jaw with his hands. His thumbs press along the underside of your chin, tilting your face up towards him as he inspects it for damage. “Are you okay?”

You close your eyes and nod, swallowing. “Yeah, just surprised me is all—never had to teach a tin can how to dance before, forgot I had to be conscious about the...” one of his thumbs traces a curved line against your chin before he removes his hands from your face. The motion is quick and then gone immediately, just as he had done in the hallways of the Tagge mansion. It has a far more vivid consequence of completely scrambling your thoughts, this time around. “Helmet,” you manage.

After a moment, Mando tilts his head.

“Close your eyes,” his voice is husky, from the modulator or something else you don’t know.

You comply without question, pulse increasing as you feel Mando step away and rummage through something. He returns, standing behind you this time. Fabric is wrapped around your eyes—once, then twice. You reach a hand up to touch it, recognize the slightly rough texture of gauze almost immediately.

There’s some kind of a hissing sound, then the clank of metal being placed on something solid. Then he’s back in front of you.

“Think you can teach me like this?” And it’s his voice. His voice. Rough but warm and unobstructed. Just as his hands had been. It takes the wind right out of your lungs.

“Mando,” if you could think of anything else to say, you’d cringe at how breathless you sound. What are you, a locked-away damsel in distress?

“When I was younger I was… a bit more lax. Running with the wrong people. I relied on… technicalities, in our code, a little too heavily back then.” You never want to stop hearing his voice. There’s something about the modulator that doesn’t do the light lilt to his words justice, the low but crisp resonance of his voice. “But I’ve… this is new. But okay. Within the rules.”

“Are you—” clearing your throat, you try again. More firm this time. “Are you sure?”

“Just don’t touch my face with your hands,” his voice remains clipped, slightly cautious, but resolved. Typical. “If you—I can put the helm back on, if this makes you uncomfortable.”

“No!” You interject, placing both hands on his chest in reassurance. “No, I… no. I feel honored and happy, really happy, that you’d trust me like this. It means a lot.”

You hear him hum low in his throat, a sound you know he makes sometimes when he nods. He takes your hand, again, the other going back to your waist. “Okay, start over.”

“So,” you begin again, trying your best to run your mouth enough to distract from how… serious this feels. You know it most likely isn’t a huge deal, if he’s willing to do this after one accidental collision—but, well. Still. “When you’re ready, you’ll step forward and I’ll step back. And… uh…” you bite your lip as his hand drifts lower, just an inch, to rest at the small of your back. You look up at him through the blindfold out of habit. “You lead, I follow, simple as that.”

“Simple as that?” His words have a rare, palpable heat to them. You can never be certain, of course, but you’re convinced there’s a small smile behind his question. It’s easier to tell, now.

“Yeah,” your chest feels tight with an emotion so close yet so different from the joy you’re used to feeling. Your smile is uncontainable, if barely visible in the hull’s dim light. “It really is.”

He’s a fast learner, easily taking you in slow, looping circles around the room for the next few songs. The silence between the two of you is comforting.

The longer the radio plays, the deeper you sink into one another, your entwined movements eventually spiraling back to the center of the space, settling into an easy, sedentary sway there. You only really notice this as Mando’s hand drifts from your lower back to wrap around the curve of your opposite hip, the length of his sturdy forearm braced against your body. After a beat, you let go of the hand you’re holding onto and wrap both arms loosely around his neck, leaning into him fully.

The two of you don’t acknowledge it, playing it off as an incidental thing, this gradual enclosure of your bodies. The equally quick thrum of your hearts betrays the known secret behind the little game you are playing.

“What did that phrase you use mean, when we talked earlier?” You press the side of your face to Mando’s chest. He props his chin against the crown of your head in welcome response.

The hand previously holding yours moves up your spine in order to gently cradle the back of your neck, gently holding you in place. His thumb traces repetative arcs against the sensitive line between the corner of your jaw and your earlobe. It feels like a salve in its own right, erasing the feeling of Cavill’s skin pressed against your own.

“What did what mean?” Mando asks innocently enough, as his hand continues its serene movement. It’s the most he’s ever touched you, and you suppose he keeps his tone completely casual to make up for the fact. As if the two of you were conversing from other sides of the room, not entangled in each other. You’re more than willing to play into the charade if it means you can have this, the ability to close your eyes and take in the rumble of his voice against your ear.

“Pel… pel kar-ta?” You wince at your gross mispronunciation. “What you called me back there, at the club.”

“Oh—” he seems surprised, like he didn’t even remember saying it. “That’s—that’s Mando’a. It means… well it’s the closest expression to kindness we have.” He keeps rubbing the corner of your jaw with his thumb, keeping rhythm with your movements. If it could even be considered that, at this point. “A more direct translation would be ‘soft hearted.’ Someone who is unapologetically forgiving towards others, even to those don’t deserve it. An ability to love that clouds greater judgment.”

“I have the feeling it’s not the most complimentary nickname for Mandalorians.”

“No, no it isn’t,” the breath of his laugh ruffles your hair. You can’t help but hide your smile in the warm fabric of his shirt, laughing with him. Mando shifts slightly, curving over you, your cheek against his, rough with a well-developed five o’clock shadow. “But, um. I mean it as a compliment, for you. As stupid as you can get.”

If someone punched you in the gut it wouldn’t have left you this breathless. You try to disguise the euphoric feeling it gives you in humor. You’re worried that if you give too much away he’ll stop touching you. Stop holding you like this. Like you were the one gentle thing he’d succumb to.

“Well, it seems hardly fair that you get to call me a nickname and I get nothing at all,” you huff in playful offense, barely able to keep the smile off your face. “Totally unfair.”

“Give me your best, then.” He’s still smiling, you don’t know how you can tell but you just can. It’s infectious.

“What about… hmm… I dunno—tin can?”

“That one’s taken.”

“Oh, have some lady in waiting I should know about?”

“That’s probably the exact opposite way I’d describe him.”

You laugh. “Bucket head?”

“Not very original.”

“Well,” you give an airy hmph. “I’m stumped. You win. Mando it remains.”

Continuing your sway as the music maintains its soft tumble from the radio’s speakers, the two of you go so long without speaking you think the conversation has ended--until:

“Din.” He says the word so softly it wouldn’t have been picked up if he were still speaking through the vocoder.

Your brow furrows. “Sorry, what?”

“Din. Din Djarin. My name. When it’s… when it’s just us, you can use it. If you’d like.”

You cup your hand around the other side of his neck and pull back slightly. His hand automatically lifts to press against your cheek, a refusal to allow you to move any further despite the fact that you’re wearing the blindfold. Pure habit, you think.

You blink against the fabric stretched over your eyes, trying to quell your burning desire to do something absolutely disastrous.

So you say his name instead.

tag list: @im-the-nerdiest-of-them-a11 @walkingthegrounds @roseallisonparker @kaitlyn2907 @dinsbeskar @mandoandyodito @kyjoraven @ineffableloveforyou

please let me know if you would like to be added/removed !!

#the mandalorian #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x y/n #din djarin #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din and grogu #mandalorian and grogu #grogu #reader insert #i'll be here in the morning #i'll be here in the morning ch4 #fanfic #star wars fanfiction

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magicforjournals · 3 years

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The Green Dress (A Story About Loki) Chapter one : Him

Summary : A love story between a simple girl and Loki. Having been friends with Natasha for a couple of years now, you were used to her meddling in your love life. You and Nat met back when she was “working” for Tony; both of them had attended the opening of the new school, which you worked at, dedicated to Stark. She had walked over to ask if you needed help with anything as you were setting up the donations table. Your friendship developed from there on and you basically became sisters. You don’t think, however, that she was ready for how Loki changed your life.

Warning : None

You smile as you look down at your phone, which was ringing on your desk. Of course, Nat would call you right as the school day ends.

“Hey! What’s going on?” You say as you answer the call.

“Why do I only work with children?” Nat whines. “Don’t get me wrong, I love my job! But God, I wish I didn’t have to babysit them, you know.”

“I know hun, but are you honestly that surprised?” You reply as you’re picking up your class material and shoving everything in your bag. “How about I pick you up from work, and we go out for some drinks? I don’t have any grading to do today!” That was a rare occurrence. You usually had so much work. Your students were some of the more gifted ones in the entire school, and you always had extra work for them to do, meaning more work for you.

“Damn, you’re either slacking or you’re very efficient teach! We are having a party tonight at the compound remember?” Shit, you had forgotten about it. Who the hell has a party on a Thursday night?! And of course, you had promised the Avengers you’d attend… smart.

“I didn’t forget,“ Lies. “I have to go home and change, I’ll head over right after.“

“I stopped by your apartment to grab your clothes for you already,“ Nat says, all giddy. “I told you that giving me a key was a mistake. And I’m parked outside, no drinking and driving tonight! So hurry up, it’s freezing out here!” Oh God, why were you not surprised that she had done all of that?

“You’ll be the death of me Romanoff. I’ll be out in a sec then,“ you sigh. This woman was sometimes too much.

You chuckle as you finish packing your bag and walk out, locking the door to your classroom behind you. As you open the door to the outside, a chilling breeze greets you, making you shiver and shut your coat closed against your chest. As you make sure your car is locked, pressing the button three times just to be sure, you see Nat waving at you from the driver seat of her car. You think about the first time she told you about her job and her past, both of you drunk in your living room, swapping stories. Of course, your past wasn’t as rough as hers, but still, you felt connected to her in many ways. She quickly became your best friend, and the one you called after each miserable date, or whenever the awful guy you were dating dumped you. After your last breakup, around 8 months ago, she had vowed to find you the perfect man. She had talked about setting you up with one of the Avengers, but nothing had come of it.

“You look exhausted! What the hell did those kids do to you today?!“ Are the first words Nat greets you with when you open the car door. Geez, you didn’t think you looked that bad.

“You look nice too Nat!“ You smirk back, tossing your purse on the back seat.

“Get in loser,“ She answers, smiling. This friendship is definitely one of a kind! As you get in, you see that Nat seems a little on edge - almost nervous. This is odd. Usually, Nat isn’t the nervous type. She starts driving away, and you lean back on the leather seat, wondering what is bothering your friend. You know not to pry sometimes but this is different, she almost seems excited?

“Spill it Red“ You finally say.

“Ok, I’ll tell you, but don’t be mad at me ok?“ She replies in a small voice, a guilty look on her face.

“Oh no, I don’t like when you make that face. What did you do this time?“ You’re even scared to ask that.

“Steve is gonna be there tonight.“

Steve… Steve Rogers, the man you’ve had a HUGE crush on since the day you met. He was just so sweet and so considerate. And hot. Oh God was he ever hot. You’ve dreamt of climbing him like a tree and feel his strong hands on your body, around your neck. Nat had once tried to talk him into asking you out, but he never did. He didn’t want to force you into this crazy mess that was his life, that much he had told you face to face. From that day on, you rarely were in the presence of one another, not that you’ve been avoiding him nor he avoiding you, it just happened that way. There still was this weird feeling, tension between you guys, and being in his company made you sort of on edge. It was crazy, you knew nothing would happen between the two of you.Nat was still hoping however.

“That’s ok Nat. I’m over it. Why do you feel bad though? About the fact that Rogers is gonna be there?“ And then it hit you… She had picked out your outfit for tonight. “Oh no, Natasha, what did you grab out of my closet?“ You ask, panic in your voice.

“The green dress.”

You nod and sigh in relief. Ok, that wasn’t as bad as you thought it would be. You liked your emerald green dress. It was a little dressy, off the shoulder, hugged all your curves, but it was nice! It made you feel beautiful and powerful whenever you wore it too. “Oh, and Thor is apparently bringing his brother too. They’re trying to rebuild their relationship, or whatever. I still don’t trust Loki, but Thor seems adamant that he’s changed, so we’ll see.“ Natasha adds, shrugging her shoulders, quite indifferent about the situation and making the turn on to the road to the compound, stopping to scan her ID at the gate.

You hadn’t met Loki yet. In the past couple of years, you had of course heard about Loki Laufeyson, the villain that tried to take over Earth. However, to you, it seemed that he was a misunderstood child and was finally lashing out after all those years. Guess you’ll be confirming your suspicions tonight.

Natasha pulls up in her parking space next to Tony’s multiple cars and you both get out, just chatting about your day at school, how your students are advancing rapidly. She cares so much about your job and your kids, it’s endearing. She would’ve been a great teacher, a mother even, if she hadn’t been brought up in that place… You subconsciously shiver at the thought of the Red Room Natasha mentioned once a long time ago, but that bit of information was forever etched into your brain.

As you walk into the building, making your way to Nat’s little apartment, you guys bump into Pepper, her arms full of documents and looking a little frazzled.

“Woah, you okay there Pepper?“ You ask, instinctually reaching out to help her.

“Yeah,“ she sighs, out of breath. “Just taking care of some business for Stark Industries. Tony had to sign a couple of things for me to go ahead with the deals.“ Poor Pepper, she worked so hard as the CEO, she often forgets to take time for herself.

“Why don’t you come by my place, we’re getting ready for the party tonight. You could use a drink Pep, seriously.“ Nat replies, taking the papers out of Pepper’s arms. “I’ll ask someone to drop these off at your office. Door is unlocked, you guys go, I’ll meet you there in a second!“ She nudges you and Pepper down the hall.

You’ve always liked Nat’s small studio apartment, it was cozy and peaceful. Like promised, Natasha met up with you guys after only a couple of minutes and you three started getting ready for the party, drinking, doing your makeup - something out of a bad rom-com honestly.

“So why are you guys having this party again?” You ask as you’re walking down the stairs to the living room/bar idea. Nat had done your makeup, (she was so talented honestly!) and you were wearing that green dress she had also picked out for you, you felt beautiful and you were excited to let loose on a Thursday night (you still thought that was weird), your week had been rough so far.

“It’s to celebrate Maria’s birthday, she didn’t want to do anything huge so we thought she’d like to hang out with friends.” Pepper replies.

And friends there was, everyone was there. Even Bucky! You hadn’t seen him in a while, he stayed away often, trying to figure out where he fits in this new life of his now. Nonetheless, you always enjoyed his company, he was quite funny and you were happy to see him again.

As you reached the bottom of the stairs you scanned the room, looking for Steve, hoping that tonight’s interactions with him won’t be too weird, when you land on a pair of stunning blue/green eyes just staring at you. Almost immediately, you feel your heart flutter and your stomach twist, a warm feeling spreading inside of you. Who was that? Your eyes start moving down the stranger’s face, below his mesmerizing eyes, framed by thick black brows, there was a straight nose, thin but beautiful lips, dimples as he was smiling at you, a strong jaw…

“That’s Loki,” Nat whispers in your ear. “I don’t know why Thor thought it’d be a good idea to bring him tonight.” She keeps talking, but you don’t hear anything. All you see is this fascinating man, who is smiling kindly at you from across the room, a spark of mischief in his eyes.

So that’s him. Loki.

#loki x reader #loki laufeyson #marvel #mcu #avengers #natasha romanoff #bucky barnes #steve rogers #pepper potts #thor #tom hiddleston #chris evans #reader insert #green dress

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herradhighpriestess · 3 years

Text

Love Grows in the Valley of Death

Chapter Nine: The $64,000 Question

As Dr. Wakefield began rummaging through the ugly yellow folders in the rows of tall, grey steel cabinets, each containing four drawers of files, across town in Helena’s kitchen, Tig kept his grip tight enough that his touch brushed into near painful as his eyes bored into her, “please,” he finally growled, his tone reeking of outright, face down begging.

Helena pressed her dry lips together and tried to control her breathing, distracted by his ironclad hold, making it difficult to form words. “Can you pretend you didn’t hear the message or see the flowers?” she managed to stammer.

Tig shook his head before she lapsed into silence. He lifted a hand to pinch her chin with his fingertips as he dropped his face until their lips were a breath apart. “Talk to me,” he demanded on a whisper.

In the space before Helena spoke, her mind whirred with the intensity of the turbine engine of a jumbo jet. “What do I say? Will he end up hurting me?” Helena thought before she stopped being able to think when Tig pressed his lips to hers. His kiss turned urgent, and she felt herself left breathless when he lifted his lips, foreign patience shrouded him as he gave her time to think.

Helena blinked and found herself unable to look away from Tig’s probing, penetrative stare. The press of his body made Helena fight competing lust-fueled thoughts as she cleared her throat. “How do I fit in?” she finally asked.

Tig frowned, unsure of what she was asking, and Helena continued before he could speak.

“How do I fit into your world?” Helena asked as her mind once again conjured the seemingly inerasable image of the skinny, glossy-lipped, spike-heeled, gonorrhea ridden, parasitic whore trying to play with Tig’s stick.

Tig dropped a strong hand to encircle Helena’s wrist, the tips of his middle finger and thumb overlapping. He lifted her hand to his mouth and pressed his lips to the center of her palm. Tig squeezed her smaller hand, free from scars, lines and nails gaudily encrusted with rhinestones before he spoke.

“I should be askin’ you the same thing baby,” Tig murmured on a heady rasp, his exhale a hot tease against her skin.

Helena drowned in the electrical sensation that was ignited the nanosecond he pressed his lips to her palm, the wiry strands of his facial hair, near-singeing where it brushed against her skin.

Helena blinked hard as she tried to collect her flurrying thoughts, she was suddenly a snow globe that had been violently shaken and left to find herself again amongst the falling chunks of artificial snow. “How does he fit in?” Helena asked herself. “How do I tell him that he scares the nightmares away, that since the moment I met him, he filled a space inside me that was empty?” Helena asked herself as her face turned a brilliant, fuchsia hue as she let her mind wander down a sexual rabbit hole.

“Because you’re different,” Helena finally managed and added in a quick stammer as Tig’s hands slid down to rest on her hips. “You’re not like the rest of them.”

Tig squeezed her taut hips, massaging the supple flesh through her jeans. “Who do ya think I am doll?” he asked on a heady tease.

“I think you’re dangerous,” Helena whispered on an exhale as Tig tugged her closer and slid one hand up the length of her spine, his fingertips brushing each of the protruding vertebrate until he could tangle his fingers in the silken fall of her hair.

Tig couldn’t even pretend to deny the veracity of her words as he tugged on her hair until her neck pulled taut and Helena met his unblinking eyes. “Not towards you in any way baby, nothing bad will ever happen to you again,” Tig rasped and crushed his lips to hers, stealing her breath with the intensity of his want.

Helena was forced to surrender in Tig’s embrace, his hands everywhere at once while holding her immobile.

Tig’s strength was equal parts frightening and protective, his physical intimidation was not lost on himself as he settled closer to her.

“I’m not the kind of man you think I am,” Tig whispered as he pressed his lips against her ear and smoothed one hand down her side and cupped a hand under the curve of her bottom.

“What do you think I have wrong?” Helena asked on a low murmur.

“That I’m some kind of monster, inhuman,” Tig growled in a low tone.

“I don’t think you’re a monster,” Helena said softly and lifted a hand to cup his jaw. Tig captured her wrist, keeping her palm pressed hard to his face. Helena shivered as she felt the stubble against her warm palm and could feel his words vibrate against her skin as he spoke.

Helena almost didn’t hear him add in a strangled whisper against her flushed skin over the thundering beat of her heart. “Please don’t reject me,” Tig growled.

As Tig and Helena’s red blood cells bloated and their pupils pulsed with the increase of their collective and rising blood pressure, across town in the Human Resources office at St. Thomas’s, Dr. Andrew Wakefield pulled open a metal drawer and pawed through the folders until he found Helena’s personnel file.

Andrew began to whistle a lively show tune as he opened Helena’s folder on top of the HR secretary’s desk.

For a second Andrew looked like a reptile, so much so, one would’ve expected a forked tongue to slip out from his thin lips and wet his twisted smile as he read her name aloud from the sunny yellow folder tab.

Onassis, Helena.

Andrew skimmed her contact information, most of which he already knew, before he fished his phone out of his pocket and took pictures of each page in the manila file folder.

Andrew replaced the file and easily slipped out of St. Thomas’s before he casually made his way back to his hotel room.

As the prominent and adored Floridian doctor returned to his hotel room, back in Helena’s kitchen, the air had become charged, and Tig found himself closer and closer to losing the mere semblance of control he possessed.

Helena found her voice as Tig began to tug open the top button of her jeans and deftly lowered her zipper. “No, I, I can’t,” Helena began before she trailed off into silence and desperately tried to avoid his gaze.

“Ya can’t or ya won’t?” Tig hissed, his exhale fell from lungs surrounding his heart that began to gallop in its opaque pericardial sac.

Tig never stopped his touch even as Helena unsuccessfully pushed at his hands and incoherently protested. “I can’t right now,” Helena finally spit, her anxiety had melted into vulnerable defensiveness.

Tig tried to lessen his hold but failed as he took a deep breath in through his nose as he softened his tone but fell flat in an effort to blunt the crassness of his words. “I’ll do anything you tell me, just let me fuck you baby,” he grumbled, his words delivered under the growing roughness of his touch.

Helena couldn’t help but laugh nervously once she caught her breath and dropped her hands to close around Tig’s wrists, simultaneously brilliantly blushing at his ragged admission. She shook her head, “I should probably tell you something,” Helena lamely managed.

“Tell me,” Tig said on a rasp as he buried his face in the curve of her neck, his exhale causing her to break out in goosebumps.

Helena danced her fingertips up his forearms and along the curve of his triceps as she tried to formulate a coherent sentence. “I need some air,” she said in more of a shrill tone than she would’ve liked.

“Could we go outside for a few minutes?” Helena asked on a breathy moan as Tig slid a hand to cup over the clothed junction of her thighs, shuddering with the urgent want to sheath himself in her wet center.

“Just a few,” Tig finally conceded on a frustrated groan.

Helena looked past his shoulder as she raised her hands to his chest, feeling his heart pounding under her palm. Tig let her slide along the edge of the counter away from him as he drummed his fingertips on the outside of his thighs.

“Don’t fuck this up,” Tig told himself as he followed Helena outside.

They each settled into the new turquoise chairs that Helena had picked up at the hardware store, the southwestern round chair pads were still stiff with newness but stood out brightly on the sagging porch.

Helena tapped the arm of the metal chair. “I bought these the day I moved here.”

Tig squeezed the cold arms of the matching chair, “from Harvest’s?” he asked, not sure how to have a casual conversation with her when all he wanted to do was fuck her until he forgot how to spell his name.

Helena nodded, “that place is great, I think I’ve been there more than the grocery store.”

Tig nodded and fumbled for his freshly opened pack of cigarettes out of his pants pocket as Helena directed her gaze out at the overgrown yard that needed countless full weekends to clean up and who even knew how many trips back and forth to Harvest’s for mulch, weed killer and topsoil.

Tig was grateful to whoever was on the other end of the incoming call that made his phone buzz in his other pocket.

Helena moved her eyes off a trio of overgrown Meyer lemon trees, their wickedly sharp thorns ready and waiting to rip the flesh from anyone who dared supplant them, to look over at Tig as he frowned down at the caller ID.

“I gotta get this,” Tig murmured, suppressing the anger from his tone that he was being pulled away from her. Helena nodded and watched Tig disappear into the house before he answered the call.

“Yeah,” Tig grumbled tersely as he picked up Clay’s incoming call.

“Where are you?” Clay barked, irritated that Tig had been ignoring a laundry list of calls and messages.

“I’m just working on some things,” Tig benignly answered.

“Well brother, we’re meeting with the Irish in a few hours. Can you break away from your ‘things’ for a while?” Clay added with a chuckle, recalling Gemma telling him what she’d seen in the grocery store aisle with toiletries and over-the-counter products.

Tig walked over to the kitchen counter and stared down at the chipped tiles on the edge and ivory-colored grout lines as he tried to come up with an excuse to not have to leave.

As Tig was trying to come up with an excuse that would hold water to skip out on Club business, Helena’s phone chimed from where she had left it by the stainless-steel toaster.

Tig glanced over his shoulder and could see Helena still sitting on the rear porch, staring out at the yard just as she had been when Clay called.

“Tig? You there?” Clay asked when Tig fell deathly silent as he picked up her phone and glanced at the message preview that popped up on the phone.

“I gotta call you back,” Tig muttered abruptly and hung up on Clay.

Tig clenched his teeth until his jaw popped as he read the first sentence of the incoming text message. Helena’s locked screen kept him from reading any further than the three words displayed on the smudged screen.

“Remember this baby?” Tig read aloud before another message arrived. Tig squinted down at the small square photo that was too tiny to discern much detail.

Helena flinched when Tig stomped back outside and held her phone out towards her, the screen facing her.

“What is this?”

Helena’s face first drained of color as she swallowed hard and was then replaced with a wave of defensiveness as she reached out for her phone. Tig held it just out of her reach, “tell me who sent this.”

Helena blew out a low breath before she moved her eyes from the rectangular screen to settle on his face. “Fine,” she finally said in a heated tone as she began to flush. “Give me the phone first,” she demanded as she held her hand out.

Tig pressed his lips together. Feeling his salivary glands leak and a trill of excitement stimulate his nervous system as Helena’s indignation at his invasive encroachment into secrets she wanted to keep hermitically sealed in a titanium coffin, buried under three million miles of earth.

Tig’s watched her eyes grow wide as her irises practically vibrated in their sockets. In the center of his brain, his pituitary gland ejaculated hormones that further fanned his lust as her pink tongue darted out to moisten her lips.

Helena felt the tiniest lessening of the electrical heaviness in the air when Tig gently placed her phone in her waiting palm. They both felt a tingling jolt as his fingertips brushed against her open hand.

Tig sat back down on the firm chair pad and watched Helena unlock her phone and read the messages. He watched her eyes move back and forth over the words before she began to speak.

Helena spoke without meeting his eyes, never taking her gaze off her phone clutched in her hand. Her voice grew in strength as she gripped her phone so tight that the skin over her knuckles turned white as it was pulled taut.

“Before I started in the neurology ward, I heard all sorts of rumors about several of the physician department heads and a game they played.”

Tig waited as she gathered her words, willing to give her eons to continue, as long as she would speak only to him.

“Dr. Gatez, with a Z, was the one who started everything. He paid off a guy in maintenance to put cameras in the bathrooms, changing rooms and staff lounges. They had competitions for best pictures and videos recorded. They set aside one department head meeting a month to talk about their other conquests,” Helena said before closing her eyes and resumed leaning back in the metal chair.

Tig didn’t have to wait long for her to continue.

“Besides their surveillance fun, they would often use the footage to blackmail people they found in compromising footage or threaten to release still frames. Sometimes they’d try to leverage more with their threats,” Helena said as she looked down at her phone and reread the simple message and tapped on the photo, enlarging it.

Helena was transported back to the events she had moved three-thousand miles away from as she stared at the screen.

Helena turned the phone’s face towards Tig, she cleared her throat as his eyes fell on an image of her emerging from the employee shower. She positioned her fingers to cover most of her nudity.

“After I was sent this and a few that were similar, there was another message that said I could find out how to keep that picture and more from being circulated to the entire staff.”

Helena settled back in the chair and turned the screen back towards herself as she struggled for a moment to find her words.

“One of the doctors told me that all I had to do was perform a few free favors and I’d get the originals.”

Tig felt himself hit with a simultaneous tsunami on each hemisphere of his brain as he battled vastly different thoughts about what Helena described. Tig was both compelled to comfort her while at the same time he felt a coiled charge of excitement in his body as he wanted to rip her phone out of her hand to see the uncensored image of her wet nakedness.

“He tried to take payment when I said no,” Helena started to say before her voice broke and she sniffed hard. “There was a security guard close by,” she added and pinched the bridge of her nose as a headache decided to start brewing behind her eyes.

Tig finally spoke when Helena didn’t seem like she was going to offer more. “What happened after that?”

“I filed a report with the hospital and police department but of all places the cameras weren’t working was the parking garage and the security guard never got a good look at him. It became my word against the esteemed Dr. Wakefield and Gatez,” Helena spit.

Helena blew out a low breath. “The threats quickly escalated, and I tapped into my trust and left everything behind. I didn’t even put them down as a job reference for St. Thomas.”

Tig left his chair and dropped to a knee in front of her. If someone had been watching, without words, it would appear he was proposing. “Let me in,” Tig breathed as he pulled her phone from her tight grip and set it aside. He gathered her hands and smoothed his fingers over her soft, unscarred skin.

Tig pressed his lips to her palms before he buried his face in her lap. “Please let me in,” he begged.

Helena stared down at Tig’s head, his face pressed against the tops of her thighs, his ragged exhales were hot through the denim.

Tig held himself statue still on the outside while inside his chest cavity, his heart leapfrogged itself with its rapid beating.

Helena lifted her hands and slid her fingertips through his hair, the strands tickling her palms.

Tig closed his eyes and smoothed his hands up and down the outside of Helena’s thighs as she rubbed her fingertips in slow circles on his scalp.

As Helena and Tig remained in silence, across town at the Clubhouse, Piney was eating a second sandwich, the new anti-nausea medication had made his appetite return with a vengeance.

Inside his body, the cancerous cells continued to divide. Piney’s discomfort was trapped behind a narcotic wall that was difficult to maintain, the breakthrough pain made his spine practically bow with its intensity.

Piney lowered the volume on the game show rerun as Cassie brought him an extra slice of pie she had brought from St. Thomas’s cafeteria. As the two of them talked about bland topics and then shouted out their answers to the game show trivia, back on Helena’s rear porch, Tig squeezed her hips until she hissed from the pressure as her whispered words fell around his ears.

“Can I trust you, Tig?” Helena asked. He began to nod his head the nanosecond she was done speaking.

“I need something, “ Helena began and trailed off as she lost confidence in her words.

“Talk to me,” Tig demanded as he snapped his head up to find her eyes on him.

“I want,” Helena began before she paused briefly. “I need to know I mean something to you, I’m not disposable.”

Tig rose to his feet and pulled her up and out of the blue wrought-iron chair to join him. “You’re everything,” he growled and crushed his lips to hers.

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