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tendouluvr · 3 years

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not telling them you’re pregnant - f!reader

- fluff, sliiiight angst maybe

- characters: suna, sakusa, semi

- warnings: pregnancy (i don’t go into detail of giving birth or anything), cravings, morning sickness aka throwing up, two mention of the act of sex in semi’s, some cursing

- wc: 1.4k, 888, 946

a/n: it’s f!reader cuz pregnancy but there’s no specific pronouns/gendered terms used

also idk how suna got so long, he was the last one i wrote for bc i couldnt think of anything lmao

[2. iwaizumi, atsumu, kageyama]

SUNA

#! suna has been practicing late into the night the past few weeks

#! there’s a big game coming up and the entire team is feeling the pressure and adrenaline from the crunch time

#! you haven’t been feeling too good lately, a lot heavier and more tired than usual

#! thinking it was just stress from work and the missing presence of your boyfriend, you pushed through it and thought it would go away in the next few days

#! unfortunately, luck wasn’t on your side and you started to get sudden needs to throw up

#! it didn’t take you long to realize why your physical and mental drive have been down lately

#! you’re pregnant

#! or you believe you are

#! you bought a few tests, some of different brands so you can have a variety, and headed home to confirm your suspicion

#! a few minutes later, staring back at you was multiple positive symbols and the bolded ‘PREGNANT’s

#! taking a few deep breaths, you decided to tell suna tonight once he comes home

#! you thought it was better to let him know as soon as possible

#! it wouldn’t hurt anyone plus the faster you rip the bandaid off, the easier it’ll be to deal with it

#! so you waited

#! and waited

#! until 11pm that night, when suna finally came through the front door

#! “tarō! how was practice? can we talk?” you hurriedly greeted him

#! he was taken aback, not expecting you to be right beside him and in his ear as soon as he came in

#! of course you weren’t, you made sure to put some space in between you and him

#! but suna was stressed and tired, so everything is intensified to him at the moment

#! “can you back up?” he mumbled, pushing his way from in front of you to walk to the kitchen

#! “oh, sorry. can we talk?” you sheepishly smiled, hoping he would say yes

#! you’re not blind, you can tell that suna was tired but you really didn’t wanna put this off

#! you were just gonna tell him, he gets surprised, you both talk it out, and then go to bed and continue figuring things out tomorrow morning

#! but before any of that can happen, suna bluntly told you, “no. i’m tired. i’m sure whatever it is isn’t a big deal. can it be tomorrow? i wanna sleep.”

#! you didn’t get to answer before he was already walking away to the bedroom

#! understanding where he was coming from, you mentally agreed to talk to him tomorrow. one day wouldn’t change anything and you’ve seen plenty of people not tell their partners until a few weeks in

#! he was right, it wasn’t a big deal (yet)

#! so you waited until tomorrow

#! and waited

#! and once again, he came home late

#! “hey! can we quickly talk, babe?”

#! “i’m tired. tomorrow, okay?”

#! “oh, okay. night, rin!”

#! “g’night.”

#! night came and there was still no talk

#! this continued on for about 2 weeks, you finally choosing to not care anymore and just let him find out whenever he finds out

#! technically, you could’ve just blurted out a simple, “i’m pregnant.” any point during your nightly five seconds conversations

#! but seeing that he really was tired, springing it onto him would either put him in a full body shock for three days or he just doesn’t fully process your words until three days after

#! a month has passed, your stomach was still barely showing like most women at their one month mark

#! you decided to book an appointment for a checkup, it’ll be while suna’s at practice

#! and that doctor appointment was the exact reason suna found out

#! he was at practice when komori entered the gym

#! he had a doctor’s appointment for his annual checkup, and that’s where he saw you

#! you didn’t see komori, busy reading the directory to find your way to the right office

#! but he saw you on the way out. seeing that you looked a bit busy, he chose not to greet you and just quickly walk to his car lmao why is this funny to me

#! entering the gym, he greeted everyone and apologized for his tardiness even though it was excused

#! walking up to suna, he tapped him on the shoulder and quietly told him, “i saw yn at the hospital earlier. it’s been awhile since we all got together huh, they looked a bit different.”

#! ok so komori, being the smart person he is, deducted that you were pregnant when he saw your finger pointing at the ob/gyn office

#! and he genuinely thought suna knew so his comment was suppose to be a small joke that was meant to tease suna and his sex life

#! suna, however, was confused

#! look different? did you get surgery?

#! “what do you mean?”

#! komori rolled his eyes and gave a sweet smile at suna, “congrats you two! when were you gonna tell the rest of us?”

#! suna: 👨‍🦲 huh

#! “are you guys not pregnant?” he blinked at suna’s frozen reaction

#! suna became unresponsive so komori just walked away mumbling to himself about being sure he read the sign right

#! a loud whistle blew and it shook suna out of his daze, everyone got ready to play a practice game of 3 vs 3 while suna ran over to the coach

#! “hey coach, um i think there’s an emergency at home. can i go? ok thanks.”

#! his coach just stares after him as he sprints off, you think? is there an emergency or not?

#! suna quickly drove home, he may or may not have speed a little, and entered the apartment

#! “yn? baby?” he called out only to be greeted back with silence

#! probably still at the hospital....what were you doing there? he thought to himself while rummaging around the house to find anything that could give him somewhat of an idea

#! he was digging around in the bedroom when you came home, his head so frenzied he didn’t hear the front door open

#! but you heard the ruckus from the bedroom and immediately went into fight or flight

#! panicking, you took out your phone to call suna while quietly opening the front door to make your way back out before the intruder catches you

#! the phone rang and rang until it was picked up. “suna?” you whisper-yelled into the speaker. you had a habit of calling him by his last name when you were freaking out. he noticed and was equally alarmed

#! “what’s wrong?” he whispered back just as panicked

#! “there’s someone in our apartment. can you come home?”

#! “huh? oh, are you home?” he cackles into the phone speaker making you move the phone away from your ear, “it’s me, sweets, c’mere.”

#! you warily walked on your tiptoes over to your bedroom, peeking your head in and what a surprise, it is suna

#! “jackass! why are you home?!”

#! “why didn’t you tell me?” he cut straight to the point

#! “huh?”

#! “you’re pregnant. when were you gonna tell me?” his voice sounding stern, but the quiet smile dancing on his face tells a different story

#! “i tried.”

#! “huh? what do you mean?”

#! “all those times i asked if we could talk. i was trying to tell you.”

#! his heart dropped, eyebrows furrowing, while he stared you down

#! suna became unresponsive once again, standing there trying to think back to the first time you asked him

#! two weeks ago

#! “i’m sorry,” he quietly whispers

#! “hm? i..it’s fine....i was a bit sad, but i’m over it. at least you know now,” you casually shrugged it off like it wasn’t a big deal

#! “no. i shouldn’t have pushed you aside like that. even if you weren’t pregnant, even if you had just wanted to tell me about some stupid video you saw that day, i shouldn’t have told you off. i’m sorry, i love you a lot and you deserve so much better.”

#! “tarō, shut up. i accept your apology and i forgive you, now make it up to me by giving me a back massage while i show you the ultrasound pictures!”

#! he kisses you before lifting you up bridal style making his way to the bed

SAKUSA

#! contrary to popular beliefs, sakusa is not an obsessive germaphobe who finds everything disgusting but you

#! he wouldn’t be playing volleyball if he was that afraid of germs,,,,,

#! yes, he cringes if random little kids grab onto him after games because 1) he’s drenched in sweat and that feeling is not fun

#! 2) he doesn’t even know themmm

#! and 3) he wanna go home

#! but sakusa loves you and if you happened to get pregnant, he would love your kid(s) just the same

#! however, he never told you this. he never really had a reason to voice this out loud

#! so when you actually did get pregnant, you were confused

#! the only interactions between sakusa and kids you’ve seen multiple times were the moments between him and his fans

#! you guys have been to family parties and his nieces, nephews, and cousins looooves him

#! maybe it’s the fact that he’s a tall looming giant and they just want to climb

#! but besides those moments, you don’t recall him ever telling you upfront that he wants children of his own

#! and the constant stress and pressure he always seem to be working around also doesn’t help reassure you in any way

#! being an athlete for a living means always watching your body, health, and looks for the cameras (but omi could care less about the last thing)

#! he also has to make sure whether or not he’s working well with his teammates, practice and improve on anything he’s having problems with, and deal with atsumu’s dramatic ass

#! you’re an overthinker and because of that, all of these reasons were just reasons for you to postpone the pregnancy news to your long term boyfriend

#! it wasn’t too hard anyway, considering practice runs late sometimes and he’s busy majority of the time doing other stuff

#! when you guys do have alone time together, you both are so focused on one another that you actually forget that you’re pregnant and you never told him

#! you’re about to hit the three months mark now — time goes by fast — and sakusa has noticed you and your body changing

#! at first he just thought you were going through a phase of cravings and a bit of bloating, so he didn’t mention it and just let you be

#! he never got to witness you getting morning sickness because he goes on early runs or he was just out doing morning errands so he wouldn’t have to deal with it later that day

#! so when he caught you in the kitchen cutting up a lemon, the last thing he was expecting you to do was bring the lemon directly up to your mouth

#! “uh, what are you doing?” his deep voice caught you off guard, effectively stopping the hand that was holding the lemon

#! you just stare at him, not wide-eyed, not surprised, just stare

#! “eating a lemon.”

#! “i can see that.... why exactly?”

#! “dunno, the baby i guess.” you casually shrugged it off before popping the lemon slice into your mouth

#! “ah-,” he opened his mouth to stop you from eating the lemon, your words not fully processing in his mind, but cut off midway and froze when he finally realized

#! hearing him pause like that made you suddenly remembered that you never told him you were pregnant

#! you slowly turned back to look at him, mouth still slowly chewing the lemon slices

#! a moment of silence later, he unfreezes and just starts stiffly walking towards you

#! he grabbed you by the shoulders, made you look him in the eyes, before whispering, “you’re pregnant?!”

#! “y-yes..”

#! his eyes were wide, black pupils expanding as he stared you down, his lips slowly curving into a small smile

#! “you’re pregnant....,” he whispers, mainly to himself, hugging your head into his chest

#! “mhm, get off me i’m trying to eat,” you gently pushed him off but he wouldn’t budge

#! “omiiii please, if you get off i’ll give you a slice,” you tried bribing him. he couldn’t tell if you were being serious or just teasing

#! “no.”

#! “um ok, two slices?”

#! “no.”

#! “omi!”

#! he giggles before opening his arms to let you go

#! “why didn’t you tell me?”

#! you didn’t reply right away, making him start to overthink

#! did you not want the baby? or did you not want a kid with him? did you not want to be with him anymore? or was it not his?!

#! he childishly shakes his head side to side at the last question. he knew you wouldn’t do that

#! but you were still silent, making him nervously glance at you from the side

#! “sorry, piece of lemon stuck in my teeth. i just forgot to tell you,” the words easily flowing out of your mouth nonchalantly

#! sakusa’s fingers were literally about to start twitching from anxiousness beside you

#! a sigh of relief was heard from him and you turned to look at him

#! “you okay?”

#! he doesn’t answer, just gives you a smile and goes back to hugging you from behind

SEMI

#! you were currently sitting on the couch in your shared apartment waiting for semi to come home

#! he’s been on tour for a few months now, you both kept in touch by facetiming, texting, calling, and any other methods of virtual communication

#! you would tune into the live recording of all of his performances when you had time so you could watch him

#! a few weeks into tour, you suddenly felt different than usual but shook it off as nothing and probably just you missing your boyfriend

#! you believed that until one morning you were woken up by the sudden urge to throw up, dashing to the restroom as fast as your drowsy body can go

#! it was then that you realized you might be pregnant

#! the night before semi left, you both had sex to enjoy your last few hours together before he had to leave for a few months

#! with the new realization, you quickly dressed yourself to make a short trip to the store to pick up some tests

#! after half an hour of looking at yourself in the mirror, trying to wrap your head around this, you finally opened the first box

#! a few minutes later, all 5 tests were lined up on the bathroom counter showing positive

#! you stared at the tests, trying to make sure you weren’t reading it wrong

#! once you began to understand the responsibility of being pregnant a few hours later, you made a mental note to go out and buy some food for yourself the next day

#! you decided to sleep off the rest of that day

#! through all of the facetime calls with semi, you never once told him you were pregnant

#! you knew that if you told him he would freak out and either demand to go back home, or stay but all of his attention would be on you being pregnant alone at home for the rest of the tour

#! so here you are now, sitting with a 4 1/2 months baby bump waiting for your beloved to come home

#! it was around 6pm when the front door opened, sounds of shuffling bags and heavy steps could be heard from the musician

#! he cursed under his breath when he almost tripped over a duffle bag with some of his loungewear, calling out for you as he walks further into the apartment, “baby? i’m home!”

#! he was about to speak up again when he saw you asleep on the couch

#! bouncing his way over, he got onto his knees at the edge of the couch to observe your face. god i miss you, he thought to himself

#! he gently shakes you awake, you jolted in surprise not knowing you fell asleep in the first place

#! “hmm- what?,” soft murmurs falling from your lips as you adjusted your eyes at your surrounding

#! “eita!” he grinned at you, both of you pulling each other into a hug

#! “fuck, i miss you so much.” he whispered into your ears before placing his face into your neck

#! “i miss you more.” you tightened your grip around him making him move up on the couch to get more comfortable

#! you both moved around until he had you cradled in between him, your back against his chest

#! his hands going under your his shirt to caress you there when his movements stopped right on top of your stomach

#! it was silent as his warm hands rubbed your stomach in circles, the gears turning in his head

#! “are you- you feel- why’s your tum so round and hard?” he quizzically asked, still rubbing your stomach

#! “pregnant.” your voice a low whisper, he almost didn’t catch it

#! “what?”

#! “pregnant.” you repeated, a bit louder this time

#! “huh?”

#! “pregnant!” you sighed, moving his hand so you can get off of him

#! he grabs your wrist to stop you from walking away and turns you to look at him

#! “you’re pregnant?!”

#! “i just said that. yes.”

#! you knew you sounded blunt and a bit mean, it wasn’t his fault he doesn’t know at all, but your hormones have been making you crankier and it’s out of your control

#! “sorry. yes, i’m pregnant.”

#! his eyes continuously darts up and down from your eyes to your bump

#! “how long?”

#! “since you left.”

#! “was it the night before?” he was referring to your act of intimacy the night before he left

#! “yea.”

#! “wow. why didn’t you tell me?”

#! “because.”

#! “‘cuz what?”

#! “because i know you. you would either stop touring and come home, or stay but lose focus. i was just trying to not distract you because i know how important your career is to you. and because i thought that you’ll be having a six months break after this tour before your next comeback, i would tell you when you came home. i’m sorry if you’re ma-,”

#! “i’m not mad. oh don’t cry, babe, look at me.”he carefully cups your face, “it’s okay, it’s okay. i get why you kept it from me. and now that i have no schedule for the next six months, i can be there for you until the end of your pregnancy and the beginning of our baby’s life alright?”

#! you weakly nodded against his palms, and he brings you back down to lay your head on his chest as you both softly talk about the past months without each other

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notasdriedapricots · 2 years

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What’s Lucas like when he’s in love with mc?

Hello, anon! Oh, what a request… I'm limiting myself to 800 words because I feel like I could talk about this forever.

Lucas when he's in love with MC 💕

It takes a lot for him to fall, so when he does he falls hard. And I don't think he's one for the intense beginnings that fizzle out, I think his feelings stay fairly consistent. Not only because I believe his feelings (all, not just love) can be very intense in general, but rather because he knows there's some work involved as well. He will put in the effort to keep that sparkle alive, as long as MC does too, of course.

That's why he would be very hurt if MC didn't reciprocate his love with the same intensity. He doesn't need constant reassurance (only here and there, you know, every once in a while), but he really appreciates it because he can get insecure, as we know.

She's constantly on his mind, even the most superfluous thing reminds him of her. He keeps this to himself, though, because he thinks it's cheesy, but he can't help it.

He finds it hilarious if a girl tries to flirt with him. [Bugs Bunny "no" meme]

The sex is amazing. It's good even if he's not in love, I mean, it's Lucas we're talking about here, but I'll die on the hill that he does need some type of connection ("I don't just bed everything that walks"), and if that connection is pure love… I'll leave you to come to your own conclusions.

So protective. The man worries way too much, more than he needs to, about her wellbeing in every sense of the word. Probably MC will end up calling him out and he'll realise he's maybe overstepping a bit and back off because he does like an independent girl and the protectiveness is more of an impulse than a conscious thing.

MC would be spoiled rotten. That is for him a way to show not only love but also care. He doesn't just buy flowers to buy flowers; he buys the flowers he knows she likes, or none at all. The chocolates he knows she likes. The coffee how he knows she likes it. The ice cream flavour he knows she likes. The book by the author he knows she likes, and that he knows she hasn't read. The trip to the place he knows she wants to go on the weekend he knows she doesn't have plans. The lingerie they both like… If he buys jewellery it's not a necklace like one she already has, or gold when she prefers silver, or with a stone in a colour she doesn't wear. The care is in the acts, they are caring acts; the love comes through effortlessly in the details.

He relaxes his routine just a little bit for her. If she likes lying in on weekends, he'll do it for her and probably find a fun way to pass the time, and will generally tolerate her being a bit disorganised more than he normally would. He would still try to get her to be tidier though, of course, but he'd be more patient.

He'll introduce her to his family! I seriously think he would never do that unless it was really serious and he saw an actual future with her. And he would be extremely defensive if any criticism, no matter how small, was thrown her way. A bit of a "You better like her, or you'll never see me again. I'm just letting you know :)"

King of subtle touches. There's always a hand on her lower back, an arm resting casually on her chair and his fingertips gently running over her arm, he'll mindlessly pull her into a loose hug against his side, always intertwines their fingers when he grabs her hand...

Date nights are sacred. They have decided on a plan that they do every week and unless one of them is injured and/or dying, they're doing it. The plan will eventually change, of course, because otherwise that would be boring, but the concept of date night will be there for as long as they're together.

He likes sharing space while each of them is doing their own thing. The fact that he can sneak glances at her, or plant a random kiss on her head, or lightly touch her waist as he walks by, all without interrupting her or deviating from his task himself is always a plus for him.

So, long distance is not a viable option for him. He wouldn't necessarily insist they move in together, but spending time physically together is important.

Okay, this is very specific to Lucas with my OC, but, if MC is the one who tends to say "I love you" in the "predictable" moments, he'll let her have those in a way. He'll always come back with the "I love you too" because he's not about to leave his girl hanging like that, but he'll reserve his "I love you"s for more random moments because he likes catching her off guard. "Why did you say that now?" "Well, I don't only love you in those big moments, I love you when we're just watching a movie, too. Is that surprising to you?"

Okay, I'll shut up. Thank you so much for this ask! I hope this was a worthy reply

#lovely anons 💜#thank you!!#litg lucas #Lucas #litg hcs

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insertdisc5 · 3 years

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Hi!! I wanted to ask, in celebration of Deltarune CH. 2, do you have any updated thoughts and head canons about the game?? Like, y'know, similar to a previous ask about Kris in your Deltarune tag? Thanks!

thoughts on kris part 2 i guess???? (part 1 from ch1 here lol)

spoilers for deltarune like woah. this wont be kris focused just random thoughts on everything. thank you for giving me the opportunity to talk

not that many thoughts for this chapter tbh! EDIT LOL: this was a lie i have a lot of thoughts

-just in general i feel like the player isn't the only one controlling kris... like yes the player forced kris to do what happened in the snowgrave route but AT THE SAME TIME idk it feels like there's someone else too. just because of the terrifying voice i suppose. and also the jerky movement kris does every time they get their soul out? unless there's another reason for it... maybe getting your soul out means you walk weird lol

-BUT ALSO i feel like kris is 100% in control when they create fountains. idk it just makes sense kris would create them. to create another world, a better world, A WORLD WHERE THEIR BROTHER IS HERE PERHAPS? i do wonder why they get their soul out then though. i'm all for it sweetie! do whatever! i support you!

-(i am and will be playing deltarune with only kris' best interests in mind. i will not hurt anyone unless kris wants me to. dont worry my little meow meow im on your side! talk to me! no? okay ill stay under the sink its fine)

-speaking of asriel. SUMMER VACATION COLLEGE WHEN? SUMMER VACATION COLLEGE WHEN? SUMMER (starts crying) V-VACATION COLLEGE WHEN

-kris misses their brother so much it's so sad. if you make kris steal 5$ from asriel they take it "reluctantly"? talking to asriel online so often even alphys knows?? the google search?? GOING INTO ASRIEL'S GOOGLE SEARCH ROOM WITH THEIR EYES CLOSED BECAUSE THEY'RE CONVINCED THEY ALREADY KNOW WHATS IN THERE? THAT ONE IS LESS OF A MISSING THING BUT IM LIKE OH MY GOD

-the city walk with susie at the end makes it clear to me that kris really values susie's friendship... kris even sits with her if you spend long enough near the lake like aaaaah ;_;

-and even in snowgrave you spend your last acts with the final boss calling for your friends like YES there's a way bigger creepy aspect to this (kris as more of a Leader who Commands and commands their subjects to come) but still :'0 (and then noelle answers oh my god noelle im so sorry for the trauma)

-berdly. listen. listen. listen. liste

-berdly sucks but [berdly hurts his arm in the battle against queen if you don't save him because he doesnt want to hurt you] [berdly realizing smg's wrong in snowgrave and immediately taking steps to save noelle] berdly is my little crumb nugget. i will protect him.

-noelle. noelle. girlboss!

-like ooooh listen. hearing about the genocide path for undertale. made me go "that is SO COOL. i HAVE to experience it myself this is great. hehehe killing time" and like no regrets. i was fully enjoying the experience knowing i was an awful person. SNOWGRAVE THOUGH. i will never try this myself its too fucked up. casually grooming your childhood friend to murder people <3 and also acting like a weird stalker towards her <3 stockholm syndrome speedrun i will get all the info i can about this but i will never do this myself

-people remarking the kris/player>noelle relationship is similar to the relationship between player>chara in genocide path is like yes. chefs kiss. don't worry we just are making you stronger and everything will be fine "you made me kill my friend? and for what?" this is fine sweetie don't worry about it!!!!!!

-like the amount of details added to snowgrave, like if you equip noelle's watch she notices later? and her battle animations change as time goes on, she gets an ice shield and stops sighing in relief after battle? oh my god? oh my god.

-(berdly is not awake.) JUST KILL ME RIGHT HERE I HAVEN'T STOPPED THINKING ABOUT BERDLY NOT BEING AWAKE!!!!!

-also why didnt he turn into dust. so many possible reasons. is magic a thing in the normal world and perhaps no magic means no dust (theres graves). maybe he isnt dead. maybe hes braindead. maybe he'll come back. either way that boy is now in the closet big enough to put someone in

-also dess' name probably being december AND THATS WHY NOELLE LOST THE SPELLING BEE?!?!??! FUCK ME UP!!!!! JUST FUCK ME UP!!!!!!! OH MY GOD!!!!!!

-also so many good pixel art this chapter. too many? i didnt need pixel art of cardboard noelle falling on the statue. like thank you but please. please it hurts my game artist brain.

-the expressions in this chapter were also top notch. all the unsettling noelle expressions like (i fall over face first)

-i threw away the ball of junk (which i already tried in ch1) and this time the game was like "ARE YOU SURE BC THIS IS A BAD IDEA" and kris felt bitter :'( (it deletes all your items in the dark world)

-i uh fucked up and skipped the susie+noelle scene bc listen last time ralsei mentionned seeing what susie is doing we missed some PRIMO LORE. turns out it just makes you skip the scene and you dont get anything new. welp

-speaking of ralsei well you know. he exists. but im stuck on him going "i just wonder what being ralsei-like even is...?" ralsei my dude there's so much i could say about this. do you feel like you can't be ralsei-like because you feel like you have to be asriel-like

-but also that makes no sense bc susie hasnt even mentioned ralsei looks like asriel. and i cant imagine asriel being so meek. so WHAT GIVES

-ralsei as kris’ “i wish i was a monster just like my bro and family and i’d look like asriel but with red horns [THE HALLOWEEN COSTUME] and my name would be something cool like ralsei instead of a boring human name like kris and im sweet and cute because thats how i act with asriel because ASRIEL MADE ME” theory because that would be cute.

-ASRIEL GOING TO THE CHURCH TO CONFESS HIS "SINS" WHEN "SINS" AREN'T A THING IN THE ANGEL BELIEF LIKE I KNOW THIS INTERACTION WAS TREATED AS A JOKE BUT WHAT THE FUCK ASRIEL?

-kris definitely has a connection with the big red door in the city, judging by what the kids say they probably went there... i feel like this place's dark world will be the Final Dungeon you KNOW some shit happened there. also the sounds you hear when you go there is the phone dark world call's sound slowed down? AND AFTER SNOWGRAVE APPARENTLY YOU CANT HEAR IT ANYMORE? HUWAH?

-speaking of songs the songs were all so good, My Castle Town rules, the berdly snowgrave music is stuck in my head, flashback is uwah wuahah, Until Next Time is so good, AND ALSO A FRIEND NOTICED THE DARK WORLD CITY THEME IS JUST tHE SONG 74 (MOST NOTICEABLE WITH THE SNOWGRAVE VERSION)?????? WHAT DOES IT MEAN????? it might be just "hey its just reuse" BUT MR FOX YOU KNOW WE'RE GONNA READ INTO THIS IS NOELLE THE ONE SINGING IDK BRO!!!!!!!!!!

-asgore dreemurr fired from the force what happun!!!!! game theory is that asgore is related to dess' death/disappearance but eh who knows

-you start the chapter at lvl2 and get to lvl3 after the final boss, a friend mentioned this is probably because we destroyed a world and im :0

-to go back to kris it's still so interesting to figure out who they are based on how they act/people mention them. like kris shaking the ferris wheel car? yeah makes sense i can imagine a pranking kid do this. kris' dance? yeah thats a little silly but i can buy it. doing cool anime poses? well i dunno this doesnt line up PERFECTLY but sure. BUT EVERYTHING THAT HAPPENS IN SNOWGRAVE... especially >proceed like that is such a weird thing that i can't imagine them doing, but i can't completely see the "player" doing either (compare with going to sans -which kris doesnt know- and going "SANS!" because of course the player would know sans), like THATS one of the reasons i feel like there's someone else in there. the weird robotic merciless actions. if im going super meta it feels like there'd be someone else like writing the choices into existence for us to pick you know? gaster probably? god i need to read more gaster theories i completely sidestepped the gaster shit bc i wasnt interested. anyway just spitballing

-(looks at big shot guy) please dont make him the next tumblr guy i beg you

-obligatory "queen was great" mention if only because this part made me laugh a little bit too hard

that was a lot. thank you for letting me talk

#ask tag #deltarune #deltarune spoilers #snowgrave spoilers

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outercrasis · 3 years

Text

Maybe It’s A Sign

Pairing: Modern!Din Djarin x F!Reader

Rating: Explicit 18+

Word Count: 9.3k+

Warnings: alcohol, implied age difference, oral sex (f receiving), vaginal fingering, p-in-v sex, unprotected sex, cockwarming

Summary: You and Mando have been driving across America together for months. You're happy to be with him but part of you longs for something more.

A/N: I don’t really know the time period for this, probably like anything pre-2010s. There’s no use of y/n and let me know if I missed a warning :)

Read it on AO3

The breeze from the open truck window is cool against your heated skin. It's your only relief as the sun beats down on you through the windshield, the busted A/C offering no help. You're headed down some freeway in the middle of nowhere America, riding shotgun in an old beat-up truck that's seen better days.

You've been keeping your eyes on the flat landscape surrounding you, watching as field after field passes you by. They really weren't joking when they'd named them the Great Plains. Music filters through the air, some classic rock song you've heard a thousand times before. You still hum along mindlessly, enjoying the small amount of entertainment.

Bored of the vast sameness outside your window, your eyes drift over to your companion, driver, and owner of the truck. Mando. You study him, finding him far more interesting than the fields outside.

His worn baseball cap has been pushed up, presumably from scratching his scalp underneath and not bothering to fix it. Soft brown curls peek out around the edges of the hat. He has his sunglasses on and his eyes are firmly fixed on the road ahead, as they should be. The patchy scruff along his jawline has grown out a bit from your recent days on the road and you can see a few gray hairs mixed in with his darker natural color.

He shrugged off his jacket earlier in the day, leaving him in a worn gray t-shirt that hugged his lean muscles all just right. His faded blue jeans are on and you wonder how he can stand to wear them in the oppressive summer heat. You gave into shorts days ago.

All in all, he was a far better sight than anything outside the truck. As you look him over, you muse how everything he owns seems to be worn in. His rusty truck, his old hat, his distressed clothes. They all carry a sense of being lived in, nothing new and shiny on him. Well, except for his jewelry. His silver necklace and rings always shine brightly, a dramatic contrast to the rest of him.

"Stop staring," Mando suddenly says, breaking you from your observation of him. You're a little embarrassed to have been caught, but you aren't going to let him know that.

"Why? Nothin' else to look at around here."

That rewards you with a chuckle. At least he isn't irritated by your staring then.

"Don't you have a book or something?"

You look over at the book you had thrown on the dashboard. A used copy of Catcher in the Rye by J.D. Salinger that you picked up a couple states back. You aren't sure you like Holden, but it's a good read at least. "Yeah, but I can't read it for long before I start feeling sick. So I guess I'll just have to look at you instead."

"Sure that I won't make you sick?" Mando teases.

You smile. He's in a good mood today. There are days where conversation with him is like pulling teeth, but it makes days like today all the more worth it.

"Nah, you aren't so hard on the eyes." You say it cool and casual, genuine but not needy. As though you don't often think of his looks when you have the time and privacy to satisfy your needs.

Mando shakes his head slightly but you can see the ghost of a smile on his lips. "Sure, sweetheart."

He never seems to believe you when you compliment his appearance. It breaks your heart a little. Sure, he has some years on you, but you aren't blind. You know a good-looking man when you see one and Mando? He was it. If the man wasn't oblivious, he'd notice the looks plenty of women and some men throw him when he strolls into town.

Not sure of what to say next, but not wanting the conversation to end, you take to a habit that's been slowly forming over your months with him. It had begun out of boredom one day, but continued due to a desperate urge to learn anything and everything your mysterious companion will tell you about himself.

"When's your birthday?"

Mando isn't surprised anymore by your random questions. "May eighteenth."

Your eyes go wide at his answer. It was July now, meaning he'd let the day come and go without telling you. You had just assumed his birthday hadn't come around with you yet. "Mando! Why didn't you tell me? I would have at least said something if I had known."

He shrugs. "Birthdays aren't a big deal where I grew up."

"Were you raised Jehovah's Witness or something?" you ask.

"No, nothing like that." His fingers drum slightly on the steering wheel. You noticed a while ago that he did that when you got close to something he didn't want to talk about. His childhood always seems to be a touchy subject.

You want to know more, want to learn all of his secrets, but you don't want to jeopardize his good mood. Mando had shared bits and pieces of those more intimate details with you over your shared months with him, but always on his own time. His own terms. You won't push it now. Instead, you pivot to something more innocuous.

"If you could only eat one meal for the rest of your life, what would it be?"

You're surprised when he barely takes any time to consider the question before answering. "Tacos."

You raise an eyebrow. "Tacos? I took you for more of a burger and fries kind of guy."

"Nothing compares to a good authentic taco from down by the border." He says it with such confidence that you can do nothing other than believe him.

"I wouldn't know," you say.

Mando cocks an eyebrow at you now. "We'll have to fix that then."

A warm flush runs through your body at his words. You know he isn't looking to get rid of you, but hearing him make plans for the future with you, no matter how tentative, makes you happier than you care to admit. Small promises that you know he'll make good on eventually given the time and opportunity.

"What about you?" he asks.

"Easy. A full breakfast. Eggs, bacon, potatoes, and toast. Doesn't matter how they're cooked or the specific options, you can't go wrong."

You stretch yourself out in the cab as you answer, throwing your feet up on the dash. Your eyes close for a moment and you miss the way Mando's eyes rake over your extended frame.

"You're never awake for breakfast," Mando comments. He's right. You enjoy your sleep and when left to your own devices you easily dream through breakfast hours.

"That doesn't matter," you retort. "Breakfast food isn't only good in the morning."

You continue that way for a while, gathering small bits of information about him and sharing your own in return. You learn that he prefers hot weather over the cold, soft pillows over firm ones, showers over baths, and most surprisingly that he has a soft spot for musicals. That fact had made you giggle, imagining Mando singing along to The Music of the Night. With all of his mystery, he wouldn't make for a bad Phantom you think.

As the afternoon wears on, you can feel yourself growing tired. Between the warmth of the sun, the lulling rumble of the truck, and the comfortable environment of the cab, you're fighting to keep your eyes open. Mando notices your struggle and reaches a hand out towards you.

You aren't really sure when this began, but you aren't complaining about it. Mando would hold your hand whenever you fell asleep in the truck, thumb gently rubbing against your skin. His hands were rough, callused from years of work, but they felt nice. They felt strong, comforting. In those moments nothing else in the world mattered. And if you thought about his hands later, touching places other than your hands, then that was your business and no one else’s.

You wake up a couple hours later, Mando calling your name to pull you from your sleep. The sun has moved down in the sky and you guess it’s somewhere close to five o’clock. You’d check the time on the radio, but Mando never seemed to bother keeping it right due to regularly changing time zones with all the cross country traveling.

You’re sitting outside of some 24 hour diner on a random roadside. Mando seems to be fond of these little dives, preferring them to any of the big chain restaurants you always pass. Fast food is the only exception to that rule and even that’s rare, these food stops often being one of few chances to stretch your legs when you’re on the road.

“What do you think? Do they have the best pie in America?” you joke, pointing at the sun-worn sign hanging below the restaurant’s name. You can’t count how many ‘best blank in America’ signs you’ve seen at this point. While you can’t credit their authenticity, it usually did mean there was something good waiting for you on the menu.

“I suppose we’ll have to be the judges of that,” Mando replies.

You tug on your socks and shoes that you pulled off earlier in the day and hop out of the truck. The easy conversation and warm nap have you in a great mood, one that makes you a little bolder than you might otherwise be. Walking into the diner, you grab onto Mando’s arm, smiling at him when he looks down at you in surprise. He doesn’t pull away from you though and your heart beats a little bit faster.

The diner has plenty of open seats and you seat yourselves, grabbing one of the booths. The stiff vinyl isn’t the most comfortable, but you can’t say you’re surprised. The place looks like it hasn’t been renovated in a decade. If the smell from the kitchen is anything to go off of though, the food will be just fine.

A waitress comes over to take your orders. She’s exactly what you would imagine a waitress to look like in a diner like this one. Slightly heavyset, a kind face, and a big smile to offer you. “Hi there, what can I get the two of you?” she asks.

“I’ll take a coke, ma’am,” Mando says. He seems oblivious to the flush on the waitress’s cheeks at his baritone.

“I’ll take a coke too.”

“I’ll be right back, folks.”

You reach over to grab a sticky menu from the end of the table. The stickiness grosses you out a little, but it really does add to the ambiance of the place. Your conversation from earlier drifting back into mind, you immediately look for the breakfast section. Perfect. Their ‘two eggs and more’ option is exactly what you were looking for.

The waitress returns with your drinks and takes your orders, Mando getting himself a burger and fries. You smirk at him, taking the wrapper off of your straw. “I thought you said you weren’t a burger and fries kind of guy?”

Mando watches as you carefully make a wrapper worm, dropping the smallest amount of soda on the paper to make it move. “I just said tacos were my favorite, never said I’m a guy who doesn’t enjoy a good burger and fries, sweetheart.”

“Fair enough,” you say with a shrug.

You fall into a comfortable silence together at the table. Silence isn’t an uncommon occurrence between the two of you. When you first joined Mando you talked all the time. Trying to fill up the empty space, feeling like if someone wasn’t talking then the situation was awkward. Slowly you learned though. The silence was never awkward until you made it that way and unless Mando had something to say, he’d stay quiet. He’s not incapable of conversation, he just doesn’t like to force it.

You softly hum a tune that’s been stuck in your head, looking out the diner window and enjoying the sunset. It’s a gorgeous one today, the sky looking like an oil painting with its gradient of colors. The flat plains allow for a good view of it too, only a small building in the distance blocking any part of the horizon. You kick yourself for not picking up that disposable camera at the gas station this morning. The photo would never do it justice, but at least that way you could have a small piece of the gorgeous sky to hold onto.

Plates being set down on the table brings you back down to earth. You happily dig into your meal, pleased to have been right about the quality of food here. Nothing could beat a good meal at a greasy diner. Mando seems to enjoy his burger as well, scarfing it down well before you finish your plate.

He always ate like that and you aren’t sure why. It’s as though he thinks if he doesn’t eat it fast enough then someone is going to come and steal it from him. Early on you’d tried to speed up your eating, feeling awkward every time he finished and was forced to wait on you. Now though, you don’t care. Mando rarely ever stops moving and a meal with you is a time you can be certain that he isn’t doing anything for once. You hope that eventually it might encourage him to actually enjoy his food as well, but that still seems a long way off.

Mando picks at his fries and sips at his coke while you finish up. The waitress comes by to refill the drinks, another flush on her cheeks when Mando thanks her. There must not be many attractive men who roll through here if a simple thanks has her blushing, you think. Poor lady, she seems quite nice.

“So, what’s the plan?” you ask Mando between bites of egg and toast.

“Plan?”

“Yes, plan. We’ve been driving west for two days now and you seem to have some destination in mind. So, what’s the plan?” What plan, of course Mando has a plan. He always does. Was it always well thought out or complete? No, but there is never a time where he doesn’t have some sort of plan, some idea of where he’s off to next. You’re the one without plans, content with travelling alongside him.

Before Mando can reply, the waitress returns to the table and clears his now empty plate. “Can we get a slice of your pie?” Mando asks.

“Of course, what flavor would you like?” she replies.

“Whatever flavor you think is best, ma’am.” That garners yet another blush on the waitress’s cheeks. Wow. Things must be really bad around here then. One good-looking customer shouldn’t have that big of an impact on anyone, much less a woman who’s clearly made this job her life’s work.

She leaves and you prompt Mando again. “So? Plan?”

“I’m going to meet someone tonight, pick up a new job. Then we’ll go from there,” he finally tells you.

You aren’t pleased by his half-cryptic half-telling answer. He’s always doing this to you, giving you answers but never quite the whole thing. You bet he already knows what the next job is, he’s just being coy about it for some ridiculous reason.

You decide not to push it and slide your plate over to Mando. There are some hash browns left and he won’t just ask for them despite the fact that you’re clearly done. He doesn’t say thanks, just picks up the fork and shovels them in. This by now is routine too so it doesn’t bother you, but it’s still odd. Mando is just weird about food.

He finishes the last of your meal and the waitress returns with the pie. “Blueberry, winner of the county festival five years running,” she tells you.

You grab a fork and dig in, suddenly finding the room in your stomach for dessert. Best pie in America might be a stretch, but you believe their claim to the best pie in the county. It’s delicious, eliciting a small but satisfied groan from you on the first bite. You go to take a second bite when you realize Mando hasn’t moved yet, he’s just watching you with an expression on his face that you can’t quite make out.

“Earth to Mando?” you say, waving your hand. “Try the pie, it’s delicious.”

He breaks from his stare and takes a piece of the pie. “‘S good,” he says around the mouthful.

You laugh at his terrible manners. “Gross, finish chewing before you talk.”

He doesn’t have a witty retort, but he gives you a grin that makes you feel like you’ve won a million dollars. It’s one of the ones that reaches his eyes, making them just shy of sparkling. Now you really wish you had bought that disposable camera.

Finishing the award-winning dessert, you and Mando go up to the counter to pay. He’s left a tip on the table, a sizable one in your opinion, but you aren’t going to say anything about it. Mando is always leaving big tips at places like these.

You take in the diner for one last moment, not paying attention to Mando’s conversation with the waitress until she says something that catches your ear.

“-shift ends in a half hour.” Did you hear that right? Was she really propositioning Mando right now? Christ, things must be downright desolate around here.

Your heart stops as you wait to hear Mando’s reply. He could easily accept. She’s an attractive woman with that classic middle America charm about her. Any other man would probably take her up on the offer. Would it shatter your heart into a million pieces if Mando did? Most likely. But do you have any right to feel that way? Most likely not.

Mando isn’t tied to you, at least not in that way, and he’s certainly still a man. You haven’t known him to chase after any women the whole time you’ve been with him, but surely he has needs and the waitress is beautiful and willing. You wouldn’t be able to fault him for it.

“I’m flattered, but the lady here and I need to be getting back on the road,” Mando says, slinging an arm around your shoulders. You do your best to keep your face neutral, not wanting to come off as rude while also trying not to make it obvious the way your heart swoops at Mando’s reply. You know he doesn’t mean anything serious by it, but the implication is still very much there.

Embarrassment washes over the poor woman’s face. “Oh, I’m so sorry, I just assumed…” she trails off, not finishing her thought. You want to feel bad for her, but you can’t help but feel sorry for yourself.

You have a good idea of what she assumed. You’ve heard a multitude of mistaken relationships by now between you and Mando. Everything from some kind of family relation, to something more perverted that’s assumed by greasy motel attendants who cast odd glances when you ask for a double instead of a single. It’s never any less uncomfortable.

Mando brushes it off. “It’s fine ma’am, no harm, no foul.” The waitress doesn’t blush at his words anymore.

Bill paid, you and Mando leave the diner. His arm leaves you and you climb back into the truck. The radio flickers back to life and neither of you speak. You wish you could know what’s going on inside of his head. Probably just thinking about the next job. That seems like him, always focused on what’s coming next.

You can’t help but be consumed with thoughts of him. Situations like the one with the waitress always left you distracted. There’s no real way to describe your relationship with Mando. You had helped him with a deal and he had helped you with a way out of your one-horse town. Originally neither of you planned on staying together for this long, but at some point Mando stopped asking you where you wanted to go and you stopped asking if he was going to leave.

You’re comfortable around each other, content to drive across America while Mando picks up job after job. At some point your feelings deepened for him, you aren’t exactly sure when, but now you can’t imagine leaving Mando. It’s no longer just about the adventure of it for you. It’s something more, a deeper tie than you’ve ever had to anyone. However, you have no idea if he feels the same way and you don’t intend to find out. Better to love your mystery man from afar then reveal yourself and get left in the dust.

Fifteen minutes into the drive, Mando reaches over and turns down the radio. “I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable back there.”

You’re a bit surprised to hear an apology. After all, he had nothing to really apologize for. The waitress had come onto him, not the other way around. You know Mando isn’t the type to flat out refuse and insult someone like that. What he had done was… fine. You had hardly even considered it.

“You didn’t make me uncomfortable, Mando,” you tell him. “If anything she did, propositioning you like that.”

A small, relieved smile works its way across his face. “It was quite bold.”

That makes you laugh. “I’m not surprised, she was sizing you up since we walked in.”

“She was not,” Mando argues.

You shift in your seat to face him. “Are you kidding? You really didn’t notice her blushing every time you spoke to her?” If Mando was this oblivious maybe you didn’t need to worry about him catching onto you.

“Now you’re just lying, sweetheart.”

“Am not. You just don’t pay attention.”

Mando rolls his eyes and turns the radio back up. He mumbles something but you can’t make it out. You let it slide and allow yourself to relax. Your hand falls to the center of the bench seat as you look out the window. The stars are coming out now, another gorgeous sight in the vast expanse of the sky. So far away from the city, it feels like you can see every pinprick of light the universe has to offer. It’s a bit disorienting honestly. Nothing makes you feel smaller by comparison and yet, you don’t really mind.

You startle as something wraps around your hand. Looking down, you realize that it’s just Mando, holding your hand as he does when you’re close to falling asleep in the truck. You look up at him, confused. You aren’t anywhere close to nodding off. He should know that, so why…?

Mando doesn’t look at you, keeping his eyes fixed on the road. His thumb softly rubs against the back of your hand. You relax into his touch, turning your eyes back to the stars. Confusion about Mando’s actions doesn’t compare to the way your stomach flips at his gentle touch. It feels nice, domestic almost, if one can consider a life lived out of the front seat of a rusted out pickup domestic. His hand doesn’t leave yours until he pulls into the pothole filled parking lot of some dive bar.

Mando parks and turns the truck off. You move to get out of the truck with him when he squeezes your hand to stop you.

“Stay in the truck,” Mando says. His hand leaves you and he opens his own door, jumping out onto the cracked asphalt.

You look over at him, incredulous. “Excuse me? You know I am old enough to go in there, right?”

“I know. Stay in the truck.” Mando closes the truck door, giving you no more room to argue with him. It pisses you off.

What is this? Soften you up by holding your hand only to leave you behind? You hate when he does this, treating you like a child that’s just tagging along with him. You suppose you are tagging along, which stings a bit more, but you could be helpful, useful even if he would just let you in. Instead he keeps you at arm’s length at times, treating you like you can’t take care of yourself. He has no right to boss you around like that, telling you where you can and can’t go.

You watch his figure enter the bar, temper rising. If this place was good enough for him, it was certainly good enough for you. A bar like this had been where you met Mando months ago, working as a bartender and server. It didn’t bring back the best of memories, but you can handle yourself. At worst a fight might break out or patrons might get a little handsy. You can avoid the first and as for the second, it’s not as though Mando would need to put someone in the hospital for getting a little too flirty with you.

After fuming in the truck for a couple minutes, you make up your mind. You look yourself over in the mirror, trying to fix your appearance to look like you hadn't just spent the last two days in a truck. Pleased with yourself, you pull your shirt down slightly to reveal a bit more cleavage. The discovery of the power a pair of tits held in dive bars was one you made a long time ago. You flip the mirror back up and get out of the truck.

You practice your walk as you approach the bar door, trying to keep it calm and confident. Mando is going to be pissed at you for this, you already know, but you refuse to be treated like a child. If coming in here without his permission is what it takes for him to view you differently, then so be it. Younger you might be, but incapable you are not.

The moment you walk in the door, you spot Mando. He’s in the corner, talking to someone with his back to the door. He doesn’t even notice as you walk in and stroll up to the bar.

The man behind the counter is old, his white shirt spotted with stains and a towel thrown over his shoulder. It’s almost too stereotypical a look and you want to laugh. The stiff look he gives you though stifles your amusement.

“What can I get you?” he asks gruffly as you take a seat at the bartop.

“I’ll take a whiskey on the rocks.”

Whiskey is not your favorite drink. Not by a long shot. Really, you would have loved to order something fruity that you can’t taste the alcohol in, but whiskey is something you’ve learned to tolerate. You know that appearances matter in a place like this and a fruity drink would mark you as someone lost, not as someone who belongs here. You aren’t looking to get trashed anyway, just something to calm your nerves.

It doesn’t take long before someone is sidling up next to you at the bar. You don’t acknowledge him right away, instead staring up at the small CRT TV that’s playing the local news above the bar. Some murder case from a couple towns over is currently being highlighted. Lovely.

“What’s a pretty thing like you doing here?” he asks you.

You glance over at him, enough to get a look, but you don’t let your eyes linger. Lingering eyes would mean an invitation that you certainly don’t want to give. You have to admit, as far as seedy dive bar men went, he isn’t hard to look at. Not much older than you, clean shaven, bright blue eyes. Another time you might have gone for someone like him. Not now. These days your thoughts are only occupied by scruff, dark hair, and warm brown eyes.

“Came in for a drink,” you reply simply.

He leans in a bit closer. “Can I buy you another?”

You take a sip of your drink. “I think I’m alright, thanks.”

He pushes in even further, placing a hand on your thigh. This guy didn’t take no for an answer apparently. “Aw, come on now, don’t be that way sweetheart.”

Hearing him call you sweetheart makes you want to punch him more than him touching you does. It sounds wrong coming out of his mouth, harsh and manipulative, not the smooth and warm way Mando says it. For a moment, you do seriously consider punching this guy square in the jaw before deciding against it. You came in here to prove a point and not being able to handle a pushy guy would just prove the exact opposite of that.

You turn in your chair to move your thigh away from him. He has the decency to let his hand fall at least. “Don’t call me that,” you tell him.

“Alright then, what do I call you?”

You turn your attention back to the TV. Now they were highlighting a feel good story about an animal adoption from the nearby shelter. Odd shift in tone. You don’t reply to Blue-eyes and hope he gets the message.

“Playing hard to get, that’s fine,” he says. You take another sip of your whiskey. The news shifts to the weather. There’s more warm weather on the way for the next week, no storms in sight. That’ll be nice to drive in you think.

Blue-eyes’ hand returns to your thigh, creeping up higher than it was before. “I don’t mind hard to get, sweetheart.”

That one garners a slap. You do it before you even give it a real thought. It’s a good one at least, making a very solid sound as his head spins. It’s a testament to the bar that no one even spares it a second glance. Blue-eyes turns back to you, furious.

“You’re going to regret that, bitch,” he hisses at you, roughly grabbing your arm.

“You’re going to regret it if you don’t take your hand off of her.”

You’ve never been so happy to hear Mando’s voice in your life. Could you handle this guy? Probably. Do you want to? Absolutely not. You know on your own there's a near certain chance you'll end up with bruises before this guy gives up.

Somewhere in your mind you register the very real possibility that Mando is pissed at you right now. You shove it down, choosing to focus on the fact that he did just come to your defense.

Blue-eyes is more stupid then he looks and doesn’t read the very obvious threat Mando poses. Instead he doubles down and tightens his grip on you. “Oh yeah? And what are you going to do about it, old man?”

You can't say you're surprised when Mando punches him in the face instead of answering the question. You also can’t say that you feel bad about it either. The surprise and hurt of the sudden punch makes Blue-eyes release his grip on you, giving you enough time to move out of the way as Mando moves in. Mando grabs a fistful of Blue-eyes' shirt and pulls the guy in towards his face.

“Do you regret it?” Mando grits out. Blue-eyes sputters something that sounds like an apology and pushes himself away.

Satisfied, Mando now turns on you. You were right, he's pissed. His typically soft, warm eyes are hard on you now as he pulls you away.

You flounder to tell him you haven't paid for your drink but he just ignores you, dragging you out of the bar. If you were smarter, you would think to be a little scared about making a man like Mando mad at you. Instead, your thoughts are occupied with how he's barely even trying to overpower you and yet you couldn't break free of his grip if you tried. You wonder if there's something wrong with you for how much it's turning you on.

Arriving back at the truck, Mando releases his grip. "Get in," he demands.

You do as you're told and climb into the passenger seat as Mando goes around. Nerves finally settle in. Mando would never hurt you, you know that, but he could decide to ditch you somewhere. Whatever this situation is with him, it's far from formal. He has no obligation to you and could easily choose to end it. With the trouble you’ve just caused, you wouldn’t be surprised if this all comes to a swift and sudden end.

As Mando climbs into the cab, you stare down at the floorboards, terrified that he's going to tell you he's dropping you off somewhere and leaving you behind for good. You can't imagine your life without him now. There's nowhere for you to go, nothing for you to do without him. Right back to square one.

He doesn't speak right away, which only makes you more nervous. He peels the truck out of the parking lot, headed back in the direction you came from. You still don't look at him. It's obvious you fucked up and there's nothing you can really say to fix that. Your only hope is that he forgives you.

You're headed back through the small nearby town when he finally speaks. “I told you to stay in the truck.”

You don’t say anything in response. Anything you can come up with sounds childish in your head. The exact opposite of what you'd been trying to prove. Thankfully, Mando takes your silence as an answer.

“Why would you even do something like that? Do you know how stupid that was?” His hands are tight on the wheel, glancing between you and the road as he yells.

You mumble back to him.

“What was that? I couldn’t hear you.”

“He called me sweetheart,” you say a little louder.

“What?” He isn't going to let you off the hook with this and it gets under your skin. Some part of you thought he might be proud of you for smacking that creep and here he is berating you for it.

“He called me sweetheart, alright?” you half-shout.

Mando gives you a confused look, clearly not the answer he was expecting. “Do you- do you have a problem with that?” The heat is still present in his voice, but you can hear a little worry in it now. Shit. This is not what you wanted out of this whole ordeal.

You've never wanted the ground to come up and swallow you more. Why didn’t you just say that you smacked him for touching you? That would have been simple. How do you answer this without making everything weird? No, Mando, I don’t have a problem with that. I smacked him because I only like it when you call me that. Sure. That won’t be weird or awkward at all.

After cursing yourself for a few seconds, you manage a response. “No, I- I just didn’t like it when he said it.”

"Oh." That's Mando's only reply.

You know he's still angry about you coming into the bar, but apparently your answer has sidelined him. If it wasn't so embarrassing, you might even be rejoicing at his reaction. Instead you just feel like a fool.

The silence remains as you pull into a little local motel with the vacancy sign lit up. Mando hands you forty dollars, way more than you need, and tells you to get a room.

Okay. So he isn't getting rid of you… yet.

You barely even listen to the attendant as they tell you they only have one single available for the night. Now is not the time to be arguing about sleeping arrangements. You take the key, room 104, and make your way back to the truck.

You grab your bag from the flatbed and let Mando know the room number. He nods and goes to pull the truck around. You kick yourself as you walk over to the room. Why didn’t you just stay in the truck? Why didn’t you just lie to Mando about your reasons? He’s smart and it won’t take long now for him to put two and two together. Especially if he asks anymore questions.

You have no idea how Mando might react. If learning about your feelings towards him combined with what happened in the bar might be enough to leave you. He’s certainly not cold with you, but you’re not sure you’d call any of his actions romantic either. Holding your hand after the diner today is the closest he’s ever come. You wish you knew what that meant to him. You know what it meant to you.

Mando parks the truck outside of the room as you unlock the door. It’s not a fancy room, just one big square with a bathroom attached. There’s a full bed, a dresser with a TV on it, and a small table with a couple chairs. You toss your bag on the table and sit down on the edge of the bed. There’s no point in pretending you aren’t upset, Mando can always see through your lies. Might as well just get this over with.

Nervous, you hide your face in your hands, leaning forward with your elbows on your knees. You’re ready to deal with it, but not while actually looking at him. You can’t handle seeing his face as he figures things out; the way he might look at you while he rejects you. Suddenly you feel a wave of sympathy for the waitress earlier today. You hope Mando will let you down easy like he did for her.

You don’t look up when Mando comes into the room. His boots enter your line of vision and you close your eyes. You can’t look at any part of him right now. It’s too painful.

Mando says your name softly and you can sense as he kneels down in front of you. You don’t reply. Gently, he moves your hands away from your face. You still refuse to look at him and he cups your chin, lifting your head up to his.

“Look at me, sweetheart.” You wish you could resist, but you can’t. Not when he speaks to you in that soft tone. Not when he calls you that.

You meet his eye and see all the concern and worry he holds there. “I’m sorry, Mando. I should have listened to you.”

His hand slides up to hold your cheek. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have treated you that way. I could have at least told you why I didn’t want you coming in with me.”

You’re surprised at his apology. Two apologies he didn’t need to make in one day. This isn’t something you ever expected. You assumed he would still be full of heat and anger, not this careful kindness.

“Why didn’t you want me to come in?” you ask. You need to know the reason, need to know why it is he told you to stay behind. No matter how much the reason might hurt.

Mando sighs. “I didn’t want you to come in because I didn’t want anyone else looking at you.”

You pull back out of shock. “What?” Did you hear that correctly? Could that mean what you thought it might?

He takes off his baseball cap and runs a hand through his hair. “What can I say, sweetheart? I’m a jealous man.”

A thousand thoughts run through your mind. There are so many things you want to say, so many questions you want to ask, and yet none of them can find their way out. As a result, you do the only thing you can.

You lean in towards him, slowly, giving him enough time to stop you if he so chooses. He doesn’t though, instead following your lead and moving in closer. You carefully search his eyes for any answers they may hold. Your noses bump and you both pause. “Mando, I-”

He cuts you off. “Din. My name is Din.”

You close the gap and kiss him. The kiss is careful at first, as though you’re both still looking to confirm that yes, this is what you both want. Mand- Din’s lips are soft and sweet against yours and you melt as it’s everything you could have imagined and more. A small moan escapes you, one that you’re embarrassed about until it causes Din to deepen the kiss. Caution evaporates, quickly turning into passion as your tongues meet.

Din moves, getting up from the floor and pushing you back against the bed. His lips never leave yours, devouring you as though you might slip away at any moment. He gives your bottom lip a small nip, quickly soothing it with his tongue. You pull away, needing a moment to catch your breath.

“Is this okay?” Din asks, his voice low with desire. You respond by pulling him back down into another bruising kiss. Your positions shift as the kiss continues, Din’s knee finding its way between your legs as his arms wrap around you. Both of your hands have worked their way into his hair, something you’ve been fantasizing about for months now.

Din begins to kiss his way down your neck, leaving little love bites along the way. You gently tug on his hair, pulling a heavenly sound from him that only intensifies your pool of desire. Desperate for more, you move a hand down, seeking the hem of his shirt and slipping your hand underneath. His skin feels remarkable under your fingertips.

Din pulls away from your neck and quickly divests himself of his shirt. He allows you a moment to take him in, his lean physique flexing as he holds himself above you. Scars litter his body in various shapes and sizes, but you think they look beautiful against the glow of his honeyed skin.

Taking the opportunity, you remove your top as well, leaving you in your basic everyday bra. You wish you had worn your other bra, the sexier one, but with the way Din is looking at you, you’re not sure it matters. His lips return to your body, working his way across any and all of your newly exposed skin. One hand splays on your waist, holding you, grounding Din against you.

“You’re so soft, sweetheart,” Din murmurs against you. His lips find their way up to your chest, placing careful kisses against the globes of your breasts. He pauses and looks up at you, seeking your permission. You arch your back, allowing Din access to slip a hand beneath you and undo the clasp.

He pulls the bra away from you and you flush under the intensity of his gaze. “Perfect, you’re perfect,” Din says before reoccupying his mouth with your breasts. It seems that he has a real oral fixation, not that you mind in the slightest. His warm mouth feels heavenly against you, licking and sucking wherever he can.

Din takes one of your nipples into his mouth, his fingers playing with the other. It’s the best thing you’ve felt in months, better than any of your late night fantasies when you would try to satisfy your growing want for the man currently giving you so much pleasure. As though your attempts could ever come close to the real thing.

Din releases your nipple with a pop and returns to your mouth, licking his way inside. His kiss alone is enough to make you see stars. It makes you forget any other kiss you’ve ever shared, enveloping you in him and him alone.

You pull back slightly from the kiss, unable to take more without further relief. “Din, please, I want you,” you pant into his mouth. Din growls, actually growls, at your words. It's a far hotter response than it should be.

“Yeah, sweetheart? What do you want me to do to you? Tell me.” His knee comes up and presses his thigh against you where you want him most, causing you to moan out his name. “Use your words, sweet girl.”

He’s trying to kill you, you think. Calling you a name like that. Sweet girl. It loops in your mind until Din’s fingers ghost over your nipples again. “I want you to touch me,” you tell him.

“I’m already touching you,” Din says. He’s a tease, you think, growing slightly frustrated with him. His thigh moves against you again though and he’s immediately forgiven.

“Please, Din,” you whine, hoping he’ll take pity on you. Thankfully he does, moving his leg away and quickly removing your pants. You already know you’re soaking, your panties feeling cold against you with the loss of the other cloth barrier.

Din pauses for another moment to take you in before moving. You’re nearly bare before him, almost entirely on display.

“You’re so beautiful,” he compliments, his hands parting your thighs. “So perfect, so beautiful, and all mine.” You can feel yourself clench at his words. No one has ever made you feel this way before. His stare only relaxes you more, his words feeling like a warm blanket wrapping around your fears and quieting them.

Din’s fingers brush against you through the thin cotton. “Is this all for me, sweetheart? I can already feel how wet you are.”

He continues to tease you, only leaving you capable of nodding your head back at him. His eyes catch yours, watching your reaction as he pushes the near useless fabric off to the side and pushes one finger between your folds. Just the small touch sets you aflame, pushing yourself down onto his hand, wanting more.

His finger leaves you and you frown until you watch as he brings it to his mouth and licks your slick off of it. Din moans at the taste. “You taste better than you do in my dreams.”

He leans down to kiss you, sharing the taste of yourself while he pulls your panties off completely. They’re thrown haphazardly into the room, lost to be found for later.

Din then moves himself between your legs, slowly working kisses down your body as he slides back onto his knees on the floor. He grabs your waist and pulls you to the edge of the bed with ease and starts nipping and kissing your inner thighs. Your hands wind back into his hair, while you lie in disbelief that this is really happening right now.

Gentle kisses are placed along your folds, Din moving back as you try to grind your hips down onto him. His eyes catch yours again, mouth hovering over your clit as he speaks. “I’m going to taste you until you cum on my face and then I’m going to fuck you, okay?”

This time you manage a response, frantic to let him know that’s exactly what you want. “Yes, please, I want you so badly, Din.”

It’s all he needs to hear. His mouth comes down on your clit, carefully playing with the bundle of nerves, making you cry out and clench around nothing. He pulls away slightly and then licks a long stripe from bottom to top, pausing again at your clit to give it a teasing suck. Your hands pull at his hair from the attention.

He moves back down, teasing your entrance with his mouth. He moans, lapping up your pussy, acting every part a man dying of thirst who’s found oasis at your core. You buck into him and his hands quickly wrap around your legs, holding your hips in place. Din wants to pleasure you, but on his own terms, at his own speed.

You can’t make a coherent thought as he continues to eat you out. Small snippets of words make their way out of you, none of them making any real sense in conjunction with one another. It’s not until his thumb finds your clit as he continues to lick, suck, and nip at you that you find complete words to shout. “Din, oh god, yes, right there, I’m so close...”

Moments later you feel the tension within you snap, crying out as your body shakes from the overwhelming pleasure. Din continues to work you through your orgasm, only stopping when you physically push his head away from you. He trails hot kisses along your inner thighs again, telling you how beautiful you are, how good you taste, how perfect your pussy is.

As you come down from your high, Din removes the last of his clothes, finally freeing his stiff erection. Your breath catches as you take him in, your Adonis in the flesh. He’s gorgeous, you think, wondering what you did to get so lucky.

Then he’s back over top of you, kissing and sucking at your skin. Some of those are bound to leave marks for tomorrow but you don’t mind. You want everyone to see, for everyone to know that you’re his. No more mistaken assumptions about your relationship, you want it on display for the world.

You look down to catch a better glimpse of his cock, satiating the curiosity that’s plagued you for so long. He’s big. More than enough to fill you, possibly even more than you can handle. As wet as you are, you know you’ll need him to go slow, to slowly stretch you out before he can truly fuck you.

You tilt your hips, bumping against him, letting him know that you want him. “Do you want my fingers first?” Din asks. You know you should say yes, but you can’t imagine another moment without knowing what he feels like inside of you.

“No,” you tell him. “Just go slow.”

Din places a quick searing kiss against your lips and positions himself. The head of his cock presses against your slick entrance and you feel like you’re already seeing stars. Din is muttering in your ear, holding you tightly against him as he pushes into you.

“Fuck, you feel so good sweetheart. So tight and wet for me. I can’t wait to fill you up, to feel every inch of your sweet pussy.”

You nearly forget to breath as he slowly pushes in further. You can feel every inch of him and you only want more. Din’s stream of compliments are interrupted when he finally bottoms out in you, holding himself still as your walls clench and stretch around him. “Fuck, sweetheart.”

You turn your head and pull him into a blazing kiss, loving the way he feels filling you up. You wonder how you were ever satisfied with your fingers before when this had been next to you for so long. Din is apparently thinking along the same lines, whispering to you, “I’d have done this long ago if I knew you felt this good.”

You don’t even have time to consider the words as he slowly begins to move in you. The pleasure borders on agonizing as you begin to move your hips, encouraging him to move faster. Din responds quickly to your urging, setting a furious pace as he begins to lose all control. You know you’ll still be feeling him tomorrow and the thought makes you smile. You never want to go another day without a reminder of how he feels.

His thumb returns to your clit and you don’t have time to warn him before you’re thrown into another orgasm. Your walls clench around him and you lose yourself in the feeling of cumming on his cock. Din quickly follows, pulling out of you just in time to paint your stomach with ropes of his spend. You mourn the loss of him, but once Din finishes he buries himself back inside of you, causing another shock of pleasure to zing through your body.

Din rolls the both of you over, keeping himself sheathed in you, and allowing you to collapse on top of him. You’re both sweaty and panting, trying to come up with words. Din’s fingers lightly trace along your back, causing goosebumps to erupt across your flesh. You lift your head up from his chest in order to look at his face.

He’s completely debauched, sweat causing hair to cling to his forehead, the rest completely wild from your hands. His eyes are still blown wide, happily looking back at you. His lips are pink and swollen from all the kisses and licks he’s pressed into your skin. You know you can’t look much better than him.

You give a small clench around him and smile at the expression that runs across Din’s face. “I love the way you fill me,” you tell him. Din presses a loving kiss against your sweaty forehead.

“I never want to leave this perfect pussy of yours.” You can tell he means it too. If he could, he would stay buried in you forever. You love the way that sounds. His eyes flutter closed, reveling in the feeling of having you surround him.

“Din,” you say.

His eyes pop back open and refocus on you. “Yeah, sweetheart?”

A smile blooms across your face. “Nothing, I just wanted to say it. Din. It suits you.”

His name suits him in a different way than Mando does. Mando is the rough exterior, the front he puts up to the world. The one who punches men in bars for touching you and calling you pet names. The one that strikes fear into others, knowing that if he’s hot on their trail that they’re screwed. Din is the soft inside, the place where all of his ‘sweethearts’ originate, the cause for the hand holding and sparkling smiles. The man behind the armor that he presents to the world, the one who kisses and fills you up just right.

Din’s arms wrap around you tightly, clearly intent on never letting you go. You’re fine with that, letting it sink in that you’re finally laying in bed with the man who’s consumed your thoughts for months. A small, joyous giggle escapes you.

“What’s so funny?” Din asks.

“I thought you were going to leave me earlier. Now here I am, laying on top of you with your cock still inside of me.”

Din chuckles and you can feel it rumble in his chest. “I’m never letting you go sweetheart, no matter how much you piss me off.”

You fold your arms across his chest, letting your chin rest on your hands. “I am sorry. I just wanted you to notice me. I felt like you were treating me like a child,” you confess.

Din’s eyes widen a bit at your admission. “I always notice you, mesh’la. I never meant to treat you that way. I only want to keep you safe.”

“I know that now. Honestly, I feel so silly about it all.” He reaches up and pushes a strand of hair back from your face.

“Next time, I’ll take you in with me. I’ll show everyone that you’re mine.” He grinds his hips up into you to prove his point. It makes you squeal, causing a smirk to settle on Din’s lips. You give his cheek a small flick in retaliation but make no attempt to move.

You lay there for a little while longer, laying your head back down against Din’s chest, listening to his steady heartbeat beneath you. His hands trace anywhere he can touch on you, intoxicated by having you so close against him. Eventually though, you feel the call to use the bathroom and can no longer ignore it.

Din is almost painful sliding out of you, but you’re more upset about the loss of having him buried in you. Your legs are shaky as you stand, managing to make it to the bathroom on wobbly knees. You take a moment to clean yourself up, running a damp cloth across your body. Exhaustion hits as you return to bed, crawling under the covers and into Din’s arms.

You begin to drift off when Din asks, “Why’d you get a single? Not that I’m complaining.”

“All they had left. Maybe it was a sign,” you mumble back.

Din chuckles and presses a kiss against your head. “Yeah, maybe, sweetheart.”

#din djarin x reader #din djarin x female reader #modern!au #modern!din #din djarin fic #pedro pascal x reader #din djarin x you #the mandalorian fanfiction #mandocrasis fic

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louweasleymalfoy · 3 years

Text

Masterlist

•••

I still remember the third of December, me in your sweater

You said it looked better on me than it did you

Only if you knew how much I liked you

“Why is it so cold outside?” I whined as I pulled my knees to my chest, making Draco laugh.

"It’s winter Y/N/N" He playfully rolled his eyes as he pointed out the obvious "You should have known it was going to be cold"

I hummed in response and he looked at me through knitted eyebrows.

"Hold on" Draco ran to who knows where, leaving me behind.

The both of us were in the courtyard and not bringing a sweater was probably the dumbest idea I had.

Not even a minute has passed and Draco was back with a piece of clothing in his hands and he tossed it towards my direction.

"Here, wear my sweater you dummy"

I caught it, and gave him a smile of thanks.

"My hero" I dramatically said, placing a hand on my chest, as Draco ruffled my hair. "Can't have my dumb best friend freeze to death" I ignored his comment and decided to put it on.

As I pulled the sweater on, I was overwhelmed with the scent of green apples. It was comforting and I couldn’t help but feel instantly at peace.

"How do I look?" I asked him with a hopeful smile and he returned it with his own warm smile.

“You look better than me in it” He remarked and winked in my direction, making my heart melt and have butterflies erupt in my stomach. My words stuck in my throat.

I hated how Draco could make me so flustered like this. But unfortunately, he didn’t notice.

“Look!” I exclaimed, gesturing at the snowflake I caught in my hands.

“It’s beautiful,” I muttered, looking at the snowflake in awe. Unbeknownst to me, he was staring at me. “Yeah, it is,” Draco said

But I watch your eyes as she

Walks by

What a sight for sore eyes

Brighter than the blue sky

She's got you mesmerised while I die

Slytherin hosts the BEST parties, that is a fact. The party was in full swing at the common room as the students mingled with each other. I was standing by the table with Draco as we joked around, watching our friends get drunk.

"Fck you" I said as Draco made a snide comment about something I said.

"Maybe later" He said, giving me a flirty wink and I had to pretend that I didn't hear him, feeling myself blush. Whenever Draco got a couple of drinks in him, he would get in a flirtatious mood with me. I both loved it and hated it. When he was sober, he would never say something like that.

"You know I—" I stopped myself mid sentence when I noticed that Draco's focus was across the room. I followed his line of sight and saw the source of the distraction.

Heather

The girl waved in Draco's direction, making her way over as he didn’t take his eyes off of her.

All I could do was leave. I couldn’t stay there while he flirted with her. It would kill me.

Why would you ever kiss me?

I'm not even half as pretty

You gave her your sweater, it's just polyester

But you like her better

Wish I were Heather

I sat near the black lake with an empty bottle of fire whiskey in my hand. I wished I had another drink in my hand, but that would require me getting up from my spot.

Instead I closed his eyes and thought of everything and nothing. I feel someone sitting next to me and yet I made no effort to move, my eyes still shut.

"The stars look beautiful tonight don't you think?” A familiar voice said and I simply hummed in agreement.

"I feel like I don’t get nights like this as much as I want. When was the last time we went out to see the stars?" He continued and I opened my eyes.

"Draco, why are you here?" I asked him with furrowed brows "What? Am I not allowed to hang out with you anymore?" He playfully said with a grin and I rolled my eyes as he started to talk about random things.

"Theo is definitely not handling the break up well" Draco informed as we talked about our friend Theo who got his heart broken by a girl.

"Well trust me, dating is not fun" I said grumpily. He put his hand on my knee, making ne freeze up. "You know what Y/N? I can’t remember the last time you kissed someone"

"W-what?" I turned my head to look at him. "Oh come on, when was the last time you hung out with a guy that isn't me, Blaise, and Theo? When was the last time you kissed someone?"

"That's not true! I hang out with um..other guys?" I defended and yet I sounded unsure, looking away from him. "Oh yeah? Give me a guy's name that you've actually made out with"

There was a long silence to follow, before Draco said ever so casually "Well, you can kiss me if you want to? I don't mind" He offered

My head swiveled to face my friend, my mouth slightly agape in surprise. Draco laughed.

"Come on, I just want you to remember what it feels like. It’s just some fun between friends" He sat up, leaning towards me. "Yeah?" He asked.

I settled with a nod before Draco was inches from me. It felt like one of my craziest dreams as my eyes fluttered shut and I felt Draco's lips on mine.

It lasted no longer than ten seconds, but I could remember every detail. How his lips felt, how he exerted little pressure, and how it was over way before I wanted it to be. Draco pulled away so suddenly, his hand going up to his head.

"Woah. I think my head hurts. I better go to sleep. Goodnight Y/N" He got up from his spot and went inside.

I mumbled an agreement, wondering if I had just imagined the kiss.

Weeks later and I was still replaying those few minutes in my head.

Watch as she stands with her, holding your hand

Put your arm 'round her shoulder, now I'm getting colder

But how could I hate her, she's such an angel

But then again, kinda wish she were dead

I turned to watch them as the pair walked along the hallways. Her hand was nestled into his, he was swinging it ever so slightly. She pointed to something in the distance and they stopped to look. She said something to make him laugh, and he slung his arm around her shoulder. I felt like I was going to throw up.

"You are just going to get more depressed the more you stare at them ya know?" I jumped a little at the sound of Pansy's voice as she gave me a sad smile. I turned to look at Draco. His cheeks were pink as he stumbled for words with Heather beside him, wearing his sweater.

"I wasn’t- I was just-"

"It’s okay Y/N/N, I know that you love him" I exhaled. "Is it really that obvious?"

She shrugged her shoulders. "Probably not. I’m just observant. He should just admit that he likes you I’m sorry that he's with that btch."

“She’s not a btch” I said weakly, but couldn’t stop a sad smile form "I bet she's nice. I mean Draco likes her, not me. He'll probably only see me as a friend" I said as I feel my heart ache.

"So? You like her for Draco then?" Pansy asked

I looked back over to the pair where they were growing smaller in the distance.

"Is it bad I kinda wish she didn’t exist?"

"Not really" Pansy replied, placing a hand on my shoulder "We’ve all been there"

"I feel so stupid. Having feelings for my best friend" I muttered

She reached over to take my hands. "You can’t help who you fall in love with Y/N/N. I’m really sorry that you are in this situation. I could've sworn you two would end up with each other, turns out Draco is just blind to see that"

"He never loved me that way Pansy, I don't know what you're talking about, but still thank you for understanding.

I was embarrassed, but I felt tears threatening to fall from my eyes. It was nice to share my struggle with someone else.

"I think I’m going to sleep in our dorm" I said, letting go of her hands, and she gave me a nod. Before I left, she pulled me into an embrace, engulfing me in her arms.

"It’ll be okay Y/N/N, I promise you"

I thanked her and left, thinking of a certain blonde haired boy with grey eyes. I slammed the door shut and walked over to my closet.

I searched for something to wear and saw his sweater. I let my fingers run through the fabric and decided to wear it. I immediately crawled into bed and pulled the covers over me.

I closed my eyes as I cried myself to sleep. Of all the people my heart could have chosen, it decided on a boy who only saw me as a friend and nothing more. All I could do now was imagine what would've happened if he loved me back.

I wish I was Heather

•••

Part 2

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yeojaa · 4 years

Text

( NEVER LET YOU GO. )

You do things without thought, making impulse decisions that’d make Freud proud. Sometimes they pay off, sometimes they don’t.

(or: Jeon Jungkook’s just as impulsive as you.)

pairing. tattoo artist!jjk x f!reader.

genre + rating. slice of life fluff, light smut. explicit (but only at the end).

tags / warnings. mentions of heavily tattooed!JK, casual drinking, tender lovemakin’, JK with the bad jokes, honestly just him being funny and chill like that one guy you never get over...

wc. 7.6k.

beta reader(s). @hobi-gif, @papillonsgf, and @yeoldontknow 💛 ty for always indulging me and most importantly, supporting me when i begin to spiral. 🤠

author note. i got this idea into my head one evening in the shower and now... it is this. it’s not your usual bad boy tattoooist!JK fic but i hope you enjoy regardless. as always, feedback means a lot!

You and forethought aren’t close friends. You really aren’t even distant cousins, or part of the same family tree. You consider it a stranger, wave loftily as it passes you by, squinting like you can’t properly make out what it is. Careful consideration? Thoughtful patience? None of that exists for you. At least, not when you really, really want something.

It’s what has you here now, bumbling your way into the tattoo shop like a newborn baby bird.

You wonder how it must look, whether the shop assistant is used to this. Random girl shows up on a Sunday afternoon looking like a fish out of water, eager yet afraid. By how she greets you - with a curious stare and not quite a smile - you’re sure she is.

“Do you take walk-ins?”

You’d meant to make an appointment. Had sat for hours on the shop’s Instagram page, combing through the residents’ portfolios, trying to decide who to reach out to. When you’d finally decided, you’d realised books were a thing and most of them were closed. (Just your luck.)

Still, it never hurt to try, right?

“Everyone’s fully booked.” The girl sounds bored, apathetic yet genial. (You don’t blame her.) By the way her stare swings over you, it feels like a dismissal. You’re ready to admit defeat - head half-bowed, words draped over your tongue. “But our apprentice might be able to squeeze you in.”

An apprentice? Well— that’s not exactly what you’d been hoping for, but this shop is reputable. Well-known. Considered one of the best in the city. Surely their apprentice would be fine. Just less seasoned, not as experienced.

You all but snap your neck nodding along, gratitude tumbling out in the form of awkward laughter. “That’d be great!”

The girl passes you off with a nod of her head, gesturing down the hall. “Last room on the left. His name’s Jungkook. His schedule says he’s all clear, but maybe knock before you go in.” It’s not the sunniest smile you’ve ever received, but the small thing she offers helps with the nerves. Stills them beneath your skin as you do as you’re told.

“Jungkook?” There’s not really anywhere to knock, every wall neatly frosted glass and no doors in sight. (You had passed a few folding screens but otherwise, it’s open concept, each room offering a glimpse into the artist who works inside.) It feels too disruptive to tap your knuckles on one glass pane, lest it interrupt someone else.

(His studio is minimally decorated but inviting: one big cabinet; two of those typical IKEA shelves in the 4x4 grid that every new homeowner and their mother have; and a shop table, upon which a black backpack sits. Various plants dress the room - both hanging from the ceiling and along the window - and Polaroids string over walls, held aloft by twine. A Roomba sits by itself in a corner and the tattoo bed dominates most of the space, positioned closer to the dividing wall; one teeny tiny rolling chair sits beside it. There’s a bench on your left, with a pair of Birkenstocks tucked beneath. All in all, very homey. Reminiscent of your own apartment.)

Hidden behind the bed, crouched low to the ground beside the cabinet, is a head of dark hair that speaks, drawing your attention from studying the cozy space. “Oh?”

You’re not expecting the face that turns to you, all big doe eyes and the sweetest dimples.

For a moment, you forget what you’re here for. Why you’re standing in the empty door frame, staring down at the guy like you’ve spent your entire life secluded and have no idea how to speak.

The longer you’re quiet, the more his concern seems to grow, single brow disappearing into his inky fringe. It hangs in his vision at certain angles, shields the brightness of his stare with each turn of his chin. “Are you okay?” He’s even risen - stopped what he was doing - so he can see you more clearly, without any obstruction in the way. Good for him, but worse for you.

He’s so cute. Were you prepared to look like an uncertain idiot in front of this… angel?

“Y-yeah.” You manage after what feels like forever, sweeping your nerves under the rug that sits on the floor, separates the sole of his sneakers from hard concrete. “Um— I was told you might have some time? For, uh, a walk-in?”

(Why’re you stuttering? You’re never shy. Or rather, you’re not this nervous mess. People have always called you an extrovert, outgoing as hell, a social butterfly.)

(You aren’t those things but you appreciate the sentiment nonetheless.)

“Oh!” Realisation dawns across his features, throws his kind smile into greater relief, and you have to actively tell yourself not to stare, tearing your gaze away to focus on the wall of stencils past his shoulder. He moves into motion then, stepping around the bed to meet you still rooted in the doorway. “Yeah, I’ve got time. Come in.” Up close like this - there’s only maybe two feet between you - you can make out the little scar on his cheek; the tiny beauty mark below his bottom lip; each individual lash that frames his Bambi eyes and flutters when he blinks. “I probably can’t draw you anything new right now but I’ve got some flash, if you’re interested?”

Even if you weren’t interested, you don’t think you’d say no. You were always a sucker for a cute boy and this Jungkook? He was that. In spades.

“Sure.”

“Are you looking for anything in particular?” He’s retreating back into the room, moving to grab his iPad off the far table. It’s balanced on his arm when he swivels to you, prominent front teeth on full display. “I’ve got a pretty big selection.”

When he drops onto the bench - a wayward vine above his head tickling his cheek - he gestures to the spot beside him. This time, you don’t stare for a stupid amount of time, instead taking up the seat without hesitation.

“So—” He’s swiping through the photo library with his Apple Pen. You’re sure there are pretty sketches on the screen - you just can’t focus on them, too preoccupied by the artwork that crawls across his hand and into the sleeve of his oversized, well-worn shirt. It’s an intricate chrysanthemum, impossibly well-shaded with bold colours that demand attention and stand out over his fair complexion; it creeps halfway up the back of his hand to tickle over his knuckles. He notes your attention with a quiet chuckle, fingers wiggling. The ink moves, flows, ripples with the motion, before his hand relaxes, knuckles unravelling as he offers the limb to you and your curiosity. “Do you like it?”

“It’s incredible.” It really is. You’ve never seen anything like it, as if a painting has been done across his skin, laid in watercolour rather than tattoo ink. “Did it hurt?”

(You almost want to hit yourself for the stupid question. Of course it did. It’s a hand tattoo.)

Jungkook only laughs again, doesn’t hold it against you despite the verbal barrage you’re faced with internally. “Like crazy, but it was worth it. This was my first tattoo and all the rest have just sort of been—” He shrugs, fabric of his shirt bunching around his collar.

“A piece of cake?” You can only imagine.

“Exactly.”

You nod thoughtfully, as if that means anything to you. (It doesn’t. You’re bare as a baby’s bottom, blemish free save for the occasional hellish pimple and the scar you have from surgery on your hand when you broke parts of it in sixth grade.)

If he can tell you’re talking out of your ass, he says nothing, redirecting your attention back to the iPad propped on his lap. “Do any of these interest you?” He’s resumed scrolling, swiping carefully through pages of flash. There are assorted floral pieces (plum stems, lily stalks, fully bloomed mums) and various skeletons (what looks like a deer, a dragon, a wolf). They’re mostly blackwork with fine lines and heavy contrast, so wonderfully detailed you spend too much time studying one piece before he’s flipping to the next.

“That one.” It catches your eye more than the others have. Likely because it’s one of the few pieces in colour, soft hues spilling over neat lines. A pretty little cat with a braided collar, big golden bell centered beneath its head, unravelling petals sweeping around it.

“You like cats?”

You do. “She looks like mine.”

“It’s settled.” He beams then, rising so quickly you’re startled; you watch as he moves around the space with decisive steps, putting your plan into motion. A paper is pulled seemingly out of nowhere, laid on a wooden clipboard and offered with a blue ballpoint pen. “If you can fill all of this out, I can get the stencil ready.”

Well, that was easy. Somehow, you’d thought it’d be more complicated, a ton of back and forth and yes and no. You can’t deny you’re nervous, staring down at the consent form.

(It doesn’t mean you read it any more than you normally would, though. You gloss over all the points, making note of what you’re agreeing to without really considering any of it. You’ve wanted a tattoo for most of your life. There’s really no going back now.)

(You just hope it turns out like you want - that you’re not just being blindsided by a sudden superficial crush and a lack of critical thought.)

“I think I’m done,” you mumble, slashing the date into the paper with gusto.

“Do you have your ID?” You’ve got it ready for him when he returns to take both it and the form. “I’m just going to make copies and then we can discuss more.”

He’s gone with that same smile, disappearing back the way you’d come.

Alone, the nerves set in. You’re actually doing this. Getting a tattoo. Putting something permanent on your body. It’s exhilarating and terrifying all at once, shaking your hands in your lap. Maybe you should’ve eaten more before you’d come. (You’d woken up late - had only shoved two pieces of raisin pinwheel bread into your mouth before you’d made up your mind about this.)

(But had you really made up your mind? Was this going to be it? It feels mostly like yes, though the repetitive thud of your toe against concrete seems to indicate otherwise. It’s as if you’re tapping out something in morse, telling yourself—)

“Okay!” Jungkook’s back before you know it, driver’s license returned to you along with an unsealed envelope. You eye it curiously. “A copy of your form and an aftercare sheet.”

He’s really thought of everything. Or the shop has. Either way, you appreciate that when you’re not so sure, caught somewhere between giddily excited and vaguely worried, as if someone’s pulled a weight off your shoulders, taken on some of the burden of this spontaneous choice.

“So, where do you want it?” It’s like he has a one track mind, utterly focused on the task at hand. (Probably a good thing, given you’re about to voluntarily let him needle your poor skin.)

You hadn’t thought about that. You’d always liked the idea of a back of the arm tattoo, positioned somewhere along your tricep so it could be seen while turned away. “My arm?”

“Upper? Forearm?” There’s not an ounce of annoyance or exasperation or anything else negative. He’s just genuinely curious, peering over his shoulder at you.

“Tricep area, I think? Would that look good?”

“If you like it, it will.” Then he grins - beams so bright you half expect the sun to come zooming out of his mouth - and laughs, a funny little cackle that makes you do the same. “I’m kidding. That was cheesy. But I’m sure it’ll look fine. We can try laying it down first, so you get an idea?”

“That sounds good.” A lot better than endless years of regret for poor placement.

“You’ll, uh— need to take your shirt off though.”

It’s then you realise your mistake: wearing a turtleneck. “Oh.”

“Yeah.”

A beat of silence passes, then another, and he smiles so kindly you wonder what your expression must look like. Sour, like you’d sucked fresh lemon? Awkward, as if you’d never worn anything less than double layers before (a proud Never Nude)?

“If you’re uncomfortable, we can reschedule. Or I can put a divider up so you don’t have to worry about being seen from outside. Whatever you’d prefer.”

The longer you stay quiet - a seemingly common occurrence today - the closer his brows furrow, preparations coming to a standstill. You can tell he’s not trying to rush you, politely waiting for an answer with transfer paper in one hand and scissors in the other.

(If only he could peek into your brain, see the whole reason you’re hesitating is because you can’t quite remember which bra you’re wearing, whether it’s the slinky black one that offers absolutely zero support or the lacy blue one with the cute detailing and practically see-through cups.)

(Did it really matter either way? He was probably desensitized.)

“It’s fine.” You find the confidence somehow, nodding firmly. Jungkook’s still studying you carefully, though. Waiting as you strip your purse off your shoulder and reach for the hem of your sweater. It feels funny in your fingers, more like steel wool than sheep’s.

One breath. Two.

You fold your turtleneck neatly, laying it beside your bag and turning back to face him. “All right. Let’s do this.”

“So, which arm?” He’s close now - crossed to you in two strides of his long legs - and holds up the stencil.

Your right rises, fingers wiggling as if to say hello.

He lays the design down, pats it into place with deft fingers. You don’t realise the breath you’re holding until he pulls the sticky paper away, leaving neat line work in its wake.

“Oh.” It slips out of its own accord, almost a whisper as you stare at the design in the mirror. “It’s so pretty.”

There’s pride in his eyes as he stares with you, bounces his gaze between it and your face. “Thanks.” He lets you linger, peering thoughtfully at your reflection before speaking, casually hopeful. “What do you think?”

“This is it. Right here.”

Maybe he’d fist pump, if he were any less cool. As it stands, he simply nods, cheeks round like fresh baked bread, nose scrunched with glee.

“All right. We’ll shave you down and get started. You like the colours, right?” Once again, he’s buzzing around the room, gathering up all his materials and snapping black gloves on once everything is laid out upon his cart. It’s heavily stickered, covered in video game vinyls and anime mattes. (You recognise a handful of them, make a note to ask him where he got them from.) He pats the tissue papered bed top when you make no movement toward him. “Hop on up. Face down, if that’s okay.”

You do as he says, climbing atop with minimal grace. It takes you a bit of adjusting to get comfortable, folding your left arm under your head and allowing your right to simply dangle, uncertain of where it should be.

“You’re sparkly.”

“What?” You’d misheard that, right?

“Your skin. You’re sparkling.” He sounds a little in awe, surprised as wetness spills across your arm, the edge of a razor following closely thereafter.

“Oh.” Heat creeps over your cheeks, slinks all the way up into your roots and has you chuckling awkwardly. “It’s my soap.”

“Sparkle soap?” Whether he’s just making conversation or genuinely curious, you’re not sure. He does seem delighted by the fact, though, as if he’s never seen a girl covered in glitter before. (Which, fair.)

“It’s this specialty holiday soap. It has pigment in it.”

“That’s cool.” He’s laying the stencil down again, smoothing it over your now-hairless arm. “It smells nice.”

Obviously, you agree. It’s honey and citrus, brightly fragrant but not overpowering, lingering on your clothes like the subtle golden glitter does. Still, you flush, heat crossing from a casual day under the sun to burning-on-the-stove hot. “Thanks.”

“Was that weird? I hope not.”

“No, you’re fine.”

He hums a tiny noise, something that sounds like understanding and appreciation all at once.

Then the buzzing starts - a steady, inescapable brrrrrrrrr - and he’s gripping your arm, steady yet gentle. “Ready?”

Honestly, you’re not sure. Hearing the noise makes it seem scary, has your entire body tensing up like Pavlov’s dog. Your honesty can’t be helped, a nervous giggle chased off your tongue. “I think so.”

“I think so too.”

By the time you’re done - a good almost five hours later, your arm stinging so bad you wonder why you’d ever sat down in the first place - you’d fallen asleep twice, started drooling on your other arm once, and really, really have to pee.

“All right—”“ The incessant buzzing stops. Liquid spills where the pain centres, followed by rougher paper towel. “You are finished.”

(You might be imagining it, but he sounds about as relieved as you. Maybe because you’d been sitting for hours on hours, turning down his offer for a break because you just wanted to get it done and therefore forcing him to do the same.)

“Can I see?” You don’t want to leap to your feet - feel a bit too lightheaded for that - but you’re bouncing with excitement, the thrumming in your arm intensified when you shift to catch a better look at Jungkook’s face.

“Yeah, go ahead. Just be careful - you might be a bit—”

He’s right. You nearly topple over the moment you stand, none-too-gently rolling off the edge of the bed and barely landing safely on your feet. It’s only his close proximity that prevents you from falling to your knees, one degloved hand darting out to steady you.

“Careful!” It’s politely reproachful, coloured soft with worry.

“Sorry, sorry.” You seize the edge of the bed, gripping tight as you wait for everything to settle, the lightheadedness to recede. Everything straightens out quickly enough. “Got up too quickly.”

“Do you need a snack?” He’s already up, moving faster than you, rummaging through the cabinet against the far wall. “I’ve got seaweed and Choco Boys and shrimp chips and—”

You can’t help but laugh, hobbling to the mirror to inspect your new piece of art. “I’m fine.” That, and you’re too occupied with the ink that now sits embedded beneath your skin, a flurry of lovely colour and impressive line work.

“Choco Boys it is then.” The familiar yellow package is thrust toward you, a pack of his own already ripped open. Mushroom-shaped treats are tossed into his open mouth, lips curling around chocolate and his next words, “it’ll help with your sugar levels.”

A thank you comes, fingers curling around the snacks, but you’re still in deep, so focused on the lovely hue that bleeds over your skin, marks up previously unblemished flesh and holds your attention. It’s better than you could’ve possibly imagined, a piece of artwork forever yours. It makes you giddy as you stare at it - almost reach for it, but stop when you catch the alarmed widening of Jungkook’s eyes.

“You like?”

“I love.” You’d stare at it for hours, if you could. Likely will, once you get home, sitting in front of the mirror like a zombie. “Thank you so, so much.”

The brunet beams as he polishes off the last of his Choco Boys, tossing his dark hair back with a flick of his head. Triumph rolls off him in palpable waves, sitting pretty in the lines by his eyes, the scrunching around his nose. Seeing how it blooms in his stare is like a straight endorphin shot, as if you’ve done more than just be the canvas he’s laid all his hard work into. “It was a pleasure.”

It’s a whole month later - enough time for the piece to heal - before you decide you want another one. It’s not as spontaneous as the first time, instead led with an Instagram direct message to @jeonink. (You half expect him not to answer; you’re utterly delighted when he responds not five minutes later.)

Maybe it’s fate or maybe it’s luck that has him with availability the same day you reach out, bringing you back to the studio three hours after you’ve messaged him.

He’s just as cute as before, black baseball cap pulled low over his ears, silver-lined ears twinkling beneath the shop lights.

“So, what’re you thinking?”

Truthfully, you hadn’t done much thinking. Just like before, you’d decided you wanted a tattoo and, well, the rest had been history. You figured you’d let him have free reign, given how happy you were with your first piece. “A sleeve?”

That surprises him. His whole face lights up, eyes wide, mouth rounding curiously. “Like, a full sleeve?” It’s not necessarily a no - more of an are you sure? he hides between the syllables.

“I think so.”

He nods slowly, knowingly, arms folded over his chest, expression suddenly unreadable. “You caught the itch.”

Your own features twist, brows shooting high. “The what?”

“The tattoo itch,” he clarifies with a laugh, the sound sweeping your concern away like the sea. “People say once you get one, you get addicted to the feeling.” He’s extending both arms to you now, hands palm up. For a moment, you’re note sure what he’s doing. (In actuality, you’re distracted by the fact that he’s in a tee, muscle cording his limbs, undulating as he turns his arms over.) “I got bit by it when I lived in Japan. It’s actually what got me into tattooing myself.”

You remember what he’d said last time - how he’d spent a handful of years overseas, working in restaurants after having followed his last partner there. He’d shared lots about his life, giving you the Sparknotes version while you’d ground enamel to fine dust.

“I guess I have the itch then.”

“Guess you do.”

Your dream comes to life in four excruciating sessions. It’s some of the worst pain you’ve ever endured (you’re never going to get an elbow tattoo ever again) but you’d do it all again in a heartbeat, utterly in love with the mural that now lives on your skin. A peony caps your shoulder while one runs halfway up your bicep. Another takes up the entirety of your forearm. There’s a darling little bird and delicately inked koi. It’s breathtaking, greater than anything you could have dreamt up.

You’ve been staring at it for at least three minutes now, tracing over the freshly laid colour with a tender touch. You’re grateful for the SecondSkin, the clear bandage that wraps everything up and keeps it safe from your over eager hands.

“You did it.” Jungkook’s grinning at you, feet kicked up where he sits, his usual bag of Choco Boys balanced in his lap. “Big girl.”

From anyone else, it might sound condescending - might rub you the wrong way and have you glaring daggers. Instead, you take it in stride, beaming at him from your seat. He’s been there with you every step of the way, been there for every hour (seventeen over three months, to be exact) you’ve dedicated to finishing this beauty up. Tease you as he might, you know he really is proud of you.

“You mean we did it,” you return, giddy like a child.

“Ah, right.” The chocolate-covered snack he’s devouring goes crunch crunch crunch before he speaks, mouth still full, eyes crinkled. “I guess I did do all the work.”

“Hey! Screw you!” You’re glowering at him, middle finger raised in defiance.

(How curious that your relationship has grown like this, turned from tattoo artist and client to what feels like more. It probably makes sense, given the long hours you’ve spent together, the support he’s had to offer each time the pain has gotten this side of too much, chattering your teeth and dizzying your head. Solidarity in pain and all that.)

(You really had tapped out once, when he’d crept his gun into the ditch of your elbow. You’d asked him whether it’d hurt beforehand and he’d only laughed, shrugged off the question and continued with the careful shading to your inner arm. That in itself had hurt like a biiitch; you hadn’t thought it could get worse.)

(You’d been mistaken.)

“Am I wrong?” He drawls, full of laughter and that big dumb smile of his you’ve grown accustomed to. It eats up his cheeks and disappears his eyes, makes it hard to be mad at him when he looks so sweet.

“Yes, you are.” You’ve got absolutely nothing to back it up, but who cares. This is the sort of banter the two of you have developed, like two old friends forced to spend too much time together. (Not that you’d complain. You’ve loved hearing his stories, all the tales he regales you with whenever you’re in his chair.)

A snort is his answer, the full roll of his eyes over-exaggerated and playful. “You’re lucky we’re all finished or I’d sneak in an ugly fish somewhere on your arm.”

You think he’s kidding - know he takes too much pride in his work to do that.

Still, you stick your tongue out, hopping down from the bed with your freshly inked arm, hands clapping together in celebration. “You wouldn’t dare.” You’re confident, crossing to the bench to tug your flannel on, careful of the dull pain that throbs beneath the thin medical dressing.

“Wouldn’t I? I’m leaving anyway.”

You’re ready to call him out for it, insist he would never ruin the sanctity of his profession in such a way, when you realise the words he’s spoken, the casual tidbit he’s just dropped like it’s nothing.

“Leaving?”

(Is it you or do you sound disappointed? You can’t dwell on it for long, worried you’ll miss his explanation. Had he mentioned it previously? Slipped it in when you’d been delirious from pain? No, you would’ve remembered that. You swear you would’ve.)

“I’m moving to Tokyo.” How he’s so casual, you have absolutely no idea. You suppose it’s not a big deal for him - he’s not from here anyway. Home is back in Korea, the place he’d spent most of his life before moving to Japan and then here, just two years ago. (God, your memory is good. If only you’d retained knowledge like this when you were in school.) “My flight’s next weekend.”

Your face must be hilarious because Jungkook’s laughing, cackling like the evil villain in an anime.

“Gonna miss me?”

Would it be inappropriate to say yes? Because you will, you realise the moment he’s posed the question. You’ve grown to consider him a friend, someone who you send random memes to on Instagram (usually pertaining to #tattooartistproblems or one of your shared hobbies, like video games and finding the best noodle soup restaurant in the city).

You go for the safe bet, answering with a question of your own. “Are you gonna miss me?”

“I’ll miss your restaurant recs,” he answers, offering honesty to your reticence. “You can still send me funny photos though.”

You can’t help your laugh, the tiny quirk of your mouth into a smile. “I guess you’re right. Will you still be tattooing?” It’s an innocent enough question - you really do want to know. You can’t imagine going to anyone else, even if it means you’ll be shelling out an absurd amount of money for a plane ticket.

“Yep, new shop.” Something twinkles in his stare, has him giddy as he rises to his feet, tossing his empty packet of snacks into the trash bin. “Actually, where I got most of mine done.” You understand it then - that it’s a move of faith. He’s finally come full circle. You’re unbelievably happy for him, brimming with delight to mirror his pride.

But you’re still going to give him a little bit of a hard time because you have to. It wouldn’t feel right otherwise. “Whoa, big shot.”

“I am actually,” he sniffs, raking an ink-strewn hand through his hair. It’s longer now than it was when you met him, curling over the tops of his ears, hanging in his eyes at every turn. “You’ll be lucky if I remember you when I’m famous.”

“Famously lame, maybe,” you tease, slipping your bag over your shoulder. You busy yourself pulling your keys from the interior pocket, checking your phone as if you’re ready to go. It’s only when you’re standing in the hallway - you have no real intention of departing like this and he knows that, considering you haven’t paid yet - when you level him with a half-formed smirk. “But I guess I should take you for a drink?”

His hoodie is on before you know it, yanked over his head and tugged into place as he joins you. It’s become your regular routine - leaving together after your sessions, a perk of always booking the last slot he has available. (Not that you relied on that, but simply because your work schedule didn’t really allow for anything else.) “Obviously.”

Jeon Jungkook is a talented artist, a dedicated snacker, a lover of the colour black. You discover, sitting on the patio of the nearby bar, that he’s also really, really good at holding his liquor.

(Not that he’d ever indicated otherwise.)

“Do you think you’ll get anything else done?” He’s on his sixth pint, casually leaned back in his chair as he picks at the fries you’d ordered but that he seems perfectly happy to help himself to. (Payback for all the times he’s forced snacks on you maybe?) “Like, a face tattoo?”

You scoff at the question as if greatly offended. “You think I’d get a face tattoo?”

While a little glazed in the eyes, you can tell he’s altogether coherent, grinning across the table at you. “Hey, I don’t judge. You like making surprise decisions, so I wouldn’t be surprised.”

Okay, so he’s got you there. Used your own impulsive history against you. “I would never.”

“If you change your mind, do I get first dibs?”

“Dibs on what? Tattooing me?”

He nods as if it’s the most obvious answer in the world. “Duh.”

You can only roll your eyes, tossing a wayward burnt fry end at him. “Yes, Kook, you get first dibs on ruining my face.”

His expression twists, mouth shaping around words he’s keeping caged behind his teeth. There’s something he isn’t saying, a comeback he’s chosen to lock up. You wonder what it is.

“Hey - nothing wrong with face tattoos.”

“Really?” You’re leaning forward, a clear challenge written across your face. “Then why don’t you have one?” He has a million others as it is: a hand, nearly the entirety of both arms, his chest, his shoulders, one of his legs. (You haven’t seen them all in person but you have seen them online, memorialised on his Instagram feed.)

“And hide all this?” One inked hand is gesturing toward his own face, gesticulating wildly as if that’ll drive his point further home. “I would never.”

“That’s what I said!”

It doesn’t matter to him, not when he’s fully sober and most certainly not now, when he’s slightly buzzed, eyes glossier than usual. “But I’m cuter. It’d be a shame if it were me. You…” The way he trails off is suggestive, indicative of something mocking and mean. (Except it’s never cruel - far too friendly and soft to ever hurt your feelings.) “—not so much.”

Another fry hits him right between the eyes and then another disappears into the hood of his sweater, lost to the black fabric that bunches up around his neck and hides the flush he’s been battling since you two got to the bar an hour ago.

“Don’t be rude!”

He beams at you then, so unnecessarily endearing you can only throw one more piece at him.

“I’m kidding.” You knew that already but pretend to ignore the pseudo-apology, choosing instead to polish off the last of your now-cold fries. A bad choice, you realise when he continues, surprising you with the words that come out of his liquor-laden mouth so much so that you almost choke. “You’re actually pretty cute.”

(So what if you’ve sort of maybe been waiting to hear them? Wondering if the tiny crush you’d developed was in some way reciprocated?)

(Not that this meant it was. Only that you perhaps weren’t alone in thinking he was the most lovable - and somehow simultaneously hot - person you’d ever met. It’s almost rewarding to know the long hours together hadn’t left him unscathed.)

“You all good?” The look on his face is worse than that smile he usually offers, instead a devilish smirk that makes him look like Satan himself.

Were you? You’re not sure.

“I can’t believe you just said that.”

“Really? You can’t?” You’re not sure what that means, whether you’re simply reading too far into it. But then he’s dragging his bottom lip through his teeth, head cocked curiously. It’s a bait, you realise—and one you’ll gladly take.

“Should I have expected it?”

Shoulders hike, rising up around his ears. “I thought I made it sort of obvious.”

Had he? Thinking back on it, you can’t really recall. Of course, he’d always been friendly, indulging you in your pursuit of body art, sketching up the loveliest things you’d never even think to dream of; accepting your distracting Instagram messages without complaint, always tossing you a like or some sort of acknowledgement no matter what you’d send (and you’d send some random, random stuff). Chatting with him daily had just become the norm, conversation flowing freely whenever you’d pop in for your next session.

But that was just because he was a nice guy - or so you’d thought. You realise now how wrong you’d been, too occupied with your own crush to notice his (if it could be called that).

“You like me,” you hum, surprisingly nonchalant despite the little pitter patter in your chest, the flutter of your heart within your ribcage.

“I think you’re cute,” he retorts, though there’s no real weight to his rebuff. The two statements are really one and the same and you’re giddy with the knowledge, absolutely tickled pink.

Except for the fact that he’s leaving, fully prepared to start a new life in another city in just one week. The irony isn’t lost on you, like fate’s laughing even as she offers you this little crumb. (You feel like Oliver Twist, frankly.)

“Same difference.”

He huffs - you’re reminded of how adorable he is when he does that - and downs the lukewarm remainder of his beer. “I take it back.”

“No, you don’t.” Where the confidence comes from, who knows. You grip it tight with both hands though, hold it snugly as you level him with a stare that has his own unwavering. It’s almost as if you’re caught in a staring match, a battle of unspoken wits.

It drags on longer than it should, just the two of you locked to each other with nowhere to go.

Then he does the last thing you expect: shoves his chair aside and leans across the table, stealing a kiss and returning to his seat, all in the span of time it takes you to blink.

(His lips are so soft. A little chapped, a tiny bit dry, but soft - deceptively delicate. Bitter, touched with sea salt and something else distinctly him. French fries and beer and his Chapstick.)

(For the briefest moment, you wonder whether you’d just imagined it - if your imagination had truly gotten the best of you and you’ve absolutely lost your mind.)

“You just kissed me.” It seems like you’ve found your new favourite hobby of just repeating things, giving live play-by-plays like an awkward narrator in a romcom.

“Yeah, so?”

“You’re leaving.” Speaking the words into existence feels bad; you see the way his eyes tighten, the subtle sobering of his expression even while he tries to keep his cool.

“I am.” At least he’s realistic. It saves you from any uncertainty, keeping the what-ifs at bay.

You suppose it means you have nothing to lose.

“Do it again.”

And Jungkook does - over and over, sinking the taste of him almost as deeply as ink, offering a piece of himself you want to keep for just as long.

It takes you longer to add to your collection of art, nearly four whole years before you decide what you want next. (It’s a back piece this time - a full body suit from your shoulders down past your ass. Another cat, dressed in traditional Japanese clothing and surrounded by flowers. An ode to your first tattoo, to the one that had started it all.)

(You’re not sure you’re ready for the pain, though.)

“Lay down,” the artist instructs, back turned to you, busy preparing his materials. You’d stripped down while he was occupied, discarded all your clothes to the allocated basket and stood quietly in anticipation.

You do as he says, dropping atop the tattoo bed with a quiet oof. The stencil has already been laid, the entire outline ready to be inked into your skin. You can’t deny you’re more than a little nervous. It’s been years since you’d last gotten anything done, uninterested in finding a new artist since Jungkook had left.

(Which he had, exactly as he’d intended, gone on a 6 AM flight that you’d driven him to, teary-eyed and embarrassed. He’d laughed at you standing outside of the departure gate, his suitcase at his side, arms wrapped around your shoulders. You’d refused to show your face, burying it instead into the warmth of his neck, into the familiar scent of him that was going away for who knows how long.

“Stop being a baby,” he’d said, smothering you in kisses, the full weight of his laughter palpable through your close proximity. It'd rumbled out of his chest all the way into yours, finding a home behind your ribcage, right alongside where your heart fluttered, shaded blue and sad.

“Stop being mean,” you’d countered, petulant like a child.

It couldn’t be helped. You’d had only one week with him - one glorious, chaotic week filled with eating too much junk, rewatching your favourite animes, and generally making up for all the lost time you’d never even known there was. As amazing as it’d been, it still hadn’t prepared you for the goodbye.

That was your fault, though. You’d wrongly entertained the idea that maybe things would work out, that he’d change his mind or ask to take it - whatever you had, that is - with him, keep it going somehow. He hadn’t.)

“Do you have a preference where I start?” You’re unbothered, hair loosely knotted over your shoulder. Ready for the session to start - ready to feel the familiar sting again. (You’re proud of that. It might have taken you years and years but here you were, tackling something huge.)

“Nope.”

“Sounds good.”

The buzzing begins and pressure lands upon the small of your back, a gloved hand laid over the centre of your spine. You remind yourself to breathe in, out, focus on something other than the pain that fizzles over your skin and then ebbs into tenderness. Where he’s started - just above the fattiest part of your butt - isn’t too bad. Tolerable and yielding.

You can do this.

Your back aches in a different way than you’d anticipated, soreness buzzing beneath inflamed skin and making it uncomfortable to move around. It’s not any worse than your arm had been - the lines along your spine had felt comparable to that of your elbow - but it’s fresh, not dulled by years like your sleeve now was.

The artist is stripping his gloves off, your back neatly covered and the bed stripped of its original tissue paper. He’s leaned against the sink, onigiri held in his now-free hands, nibbling at the edge of the rice ball as you turn this way and that in the mirror. “You did good.”

You’re still undressed, admiring the linework from different angles, shimmying closer to your reflection to catch the lighter inking that makes up the undefined edges of the various florals. Something tells you that you should be shy - eager to redress after spending nearly five hours naked in the secluded studio - but you don’t care. Your back is quickly becoming a masterpiece, something that might as well be hung in the halls of the Louvre. You’re in love with it.

“Thanks.”

You mean thank you for his compliment but also for all his hard work, the long hours he’s put into bringing this beauty to life. It means so much - like progressing to the next level.

Which, you suppose it is. This is a fresh start for you. A new beginning in a new city.

“Proud of you,” he hums, suddenly close, broad palms searing heat over your hips. He’s careful to avoid the edge of the bandage that wraps your back and holds you delicately, like fine china or the most precious jewel in the world, lips sweet against your temple.

You meet his eyes in the mirror - the same sweet doe-eyed stare from five years ago. A little darker now, aged by the hand of time but endlessly kind, shining beneath the overhead lights.

“Proud of you,” you chirp, identical smiles spreading over your faces.

Jungkook’s having none of it though, bratty as usual. “Proud of us.”

You suppose you can settle for that. You really are proud of the two of you - for how far you’ve made it and all the obstacles you’ve overcome. From the first few weeks of sadness, all the melancholy that’d set in when he’d left, to exactly one month after, when he’d called you in the middle of the night, drunk and stumbling home.

(It’d been infuriating at the time - incoherent and foolish as he was - but it’d bloomed something between you, something neither of you could ignore.)

Four years of miserable long distance had become this: a love that's brought you back to his side, to a city you’re unfamiliar with but that he calls home; to a city that never sleeps, loud with pachinko machines and some of the best food you’ve ever had; to the place you’ve been missing every minute you were apart.

You’d never thought you would move for someone, uproot your entire life for a relationship, but he’d changed that. Made it worth it in ways you had never considered. Convinced you more and more with each trip you’d taken, two visits twice a year, for a measly two weeks at a time.

“Should we head home?” He means your physical home - the apartment the two of you had decided on in Roppongi, the one you haven’t seen yet, that he’s had to move into all by himself. It’s not quite as nice as the home in his arms.

You say yes anyway.

“I’m so talented.” The words come entirely too whole for your liking, loud somewhere above your head.

“Are you serious?” You’re levelling your boyfriend with the most incredulous look, whole face scrunched up, hands fisted into his dark sheets. It’s uncomfortable at this angle - kinking your neck as you look over your shoulder - but you really can’t believe he’s just said that. He’s knelt between your legs, knees spread wide around his own, his hand halfway up your back and tracking heat over your spine.

Somehow, he has the audacity to look surprised. “What?”

“You’re really patting yourself on the back right now?” Now, when he should be pounding you into oblivion, working that big fat cock of his through your fluttering walls, making you moan his name into his pillows like it’s his only job?

(It truthfully could be. You’d rank his skills in the bedroom on par with his skills in the studio.)

“Oh.” All at once, he’s the devil - sin personified. Or would be, if he didn’t somehow still look infuriatingly cute.

The gentle touch turns bruising, heel of his palm pressed hard into the tender notches of your spine. “You don’t like when I admire my own work?” Asked as he shifts behind you, length dragging out of your dripping cunt to gently tap against your aching clit. The head of it glides through your folds, mercilessly teasing but never slipping back in, never filling you whole like you need. (Because you really do need it. You haven’t seen him in six months, left to your own devices - literally.) It feels like heaven and hell, too good and not nearly enough all at once.

“Kook,” you snap. Try to, anyway, his name far too whiny and breathless to hold any real weight.

“I’m just admiring you, sweetheart.” He’s dragging the hand over your back, tracing all the lines he’s embedded into your skin. They make up his favourite piece, inked permanently into his favourite canvas. A testament to his hard work, his dedication, his love.

Any other time, you might not care. Here and now, after not having felt his touch in what feels like forever, you’re burning from the inside out, a million volts of electricity tripping your circuits. When you speak, it’s more a plea than a reprimand, uttered so sweetly you know he can’t deny you. “Admire me later.”

“I’ve missed you” is his only answer, punctuated by a fluid roll of his hips, the heavy press of his cock back into your dripping cunt. “I’ve missed this,” he breathes out, sinking all the way in, so slow you can feel every ridge and vein as he fills you.

“Missed you too,” you parrot back, a little delirious now that you’ve gotten what you want.

Now that he’s right where he should be - with you.

tag list. @neverthefirstchoice @youwannabelostandnotbefound @snackhobi @codeinebelle @xjoonchildx

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skepticalarrie · 2 years

Note

Do you think the leak was on purpose? I'm not sure why everyone is convinced it was just because it's happened in the past. Like mistakes can actually happen. I understand the promo behind getting an album getting leaked but what purpose would it serve to leak the titles, album name, artwork and date. When Harry leaked the album, we talked about it non stop for 2 months before the release. Harry never mentioned it, other than that tweet from Sony to draw attention to it. So lines were drawn and people who were against the leaks didn't listen, the rest of us did. But Louis didn't ignore the leak so that we could continue talking about the info we got. He tweeted he was gutted and immediately everyone stopped posting about it cause they were so upset that Louis was upset. So what would have been the point of it. To get it trending for a day? On top of Amazon's music sale for a day? It's gone now, no trace of it for a random person to stumble upon it on the chart. This just doesn't seem like something Louis would do intentionally. He spent 2 years tweeting about having faith in the future. He flashed it for a second at his festival last year. All that mysterious teasing lead up all that just for the title to be casually dropped? He's so meticulous with merch details like using the checkered print in his posters and then wearing the shirt in his cover art. Everything he did had a purpose. Oh and please is not cause a twarrie decided that 🏁 means bg is ending. The checkered is 28 programme too. This is all designed months and maybe years in advance. I bet he's gonna sing a new song at his festival and normally everyone would be freaking out about LT2 coming and asking when etc. but now everyone knows it'll be here in 3 months. Like ok? And if the leak was intentional, now he's gotta pretend it never happened? That makes no sense. I honestly think either someone on his team or amazon screwed up and he was genuinely gutted by it. He probably had so much planned for the rollout. Announcing the date and album title etc. Remember when the harrys house video announcement dropped? How excited we were? A leak just makes it hard to tease things. And I understand that it takes multiple people to get an album on Amazon set up but it doesn't mean that one person can't screw it up by accidentally releasing it.

Okay. I think a lot of people have really strong opinions on that topic and I’m slightly bored of the entire thing, to be honest. I understand where you’re coming from, and I don’t entirely disagree with you. But I think that’s the kind of situation we will only get the full picture and answers with a little bit of time, I feel like a lot of the assumptions you (and, I mean, all of us) are making are just based on several other “what ifs”.

I don’t think that is impossible that it was a mistake. But I do think that’s very unlikely. In a very practical way, we’re talking about like four or five different scenarios here of what could have happened. And we have no context. So that’s really all I have to say about it, let’s wait and see what’s up next. If it was in fact a “fake leak”, I’m sure it will become very clear in their next marketing move, like it was with Harry’s “leak”. And uh… that may be an unpopular opinion and I feel bad to even feel that way, but I kind of hope it was just a mistake… because I’m tired of everything being staged and fake somehow. Everything is always so fishy when it comes to Louis’ career, and that sucks.

#ask #lt2 leak

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lumosandnoxwriting · 4 years

Text

Figuring it Out Together - Fred Weasley

Title: Figuring it Out Together Pairing: Fred x Fem!Reader Warning: NSFW!! Male receiving oral, female receiving oral, fingering, dirty talk, unprotected sex, some dom/sub elements but nothing too intense, begging, semi-public sex Summary: landing in detention with the person she hates most is the last thing Y/N ever wants to do. But of course, with Fred Weasley around nothing ever seems to work out the way Y/N thinks it will. A/N: this is for the anon who wanted an enemies to lovers smut with Fred! The summary is shit but what else is new lol. Thank you so much to @fandomscombine and the two anons who helped me develop this idea!! Requests are open and feedback is always appreciated! I’ve started a tag list, so send me a message or ask if you’d like to be added! Tags: @pandaxnienke

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“Oi, Weasley! Get your ass back here!” Y/N shouts, chasing behind Fred as he heads towards the Gryffindor locker room with his brother. Fred and George stop in the tracks and turn around at the same time, the exact same cheeky smile on their mouths.

“Y/N!” George greets as she approaches.

“To what do we owe this pleasure?” Fred asks.

“You!” Y/N growls, pointing at Fred.

As Y/N comes to stand in front of them they both can’t help but notice how angry she is. Her face is flushed red and her eyes are dark and narrowed. Thankful that her anger seems to be directed at Fred, George gives his brother a sympathetic pat on the shoulder before turning around and following the rest of the team into the locker room.

“Me?” Fred teases, pointing to himself. “I’ve done something to rile up Miss prim and proper Y/N? Give me a moment, I need to bask in the glory.” Fred closes his eyes, tilts his head back and opens his arms as if the heavens have opened up and sunlight is gleaming down on him.

All this does is infuriate Y/N further, and when she finally gets close enough she shoves Fred as hard as she can. He doesn’t really move much, but it shocks him, and that’s enough for her. “What’s your problem you fucking prick? Why did you do that?”

“You’re going to have to elaborate, darling,” Fred responds casually, crossing his arms over his chest. “There’s a lot of things I’ve done in my life to classify me as a prick, so I’m going to need more details.”

“You broke his arm,” Y/N clarifies, gesturing towards the Quidditch pitch.

Fred rolls his eyes. “Your brother has suffered far worse injuries during a game, Y/N. Madam Pomfrey will have him fixed up in no time. No need for all the dramatics.”

Fred’s casual attitude does nothing but make Y/N angrier, and she shoves him again. “Most of them due to you no doubt! You knew how important this game was and yet you still had to go out of your way to be a complete asshat!”

Ravenclaw and Gryffindor have just finished a grueling match, and Fred spent most of it hitting bludgers at Y/N’s older brother Matthew like they were the only two people on the pitch. While Y/N normally would be loving the opportunity to rub in her house’s win, Y/N had been praying for Ravenclaw to win this particular match. It’s been Matthew’s dream to be a professional Quidditch player since he was a little kid, and this match was his opportunity to make that a reality. Scouts from a few different professional teams were in attendance, and the Ravenclaw team has spent weeks fitting in extra practices to give them the upper advantage on Gryffindor.

Even Y/N was positive that they would take the win, until Fred made it his personal agenda to ensure Matthew never scored a goal. Y/N’s brother had spent most of the game whizzing around the field avoiding Fred, and he failed to score a single goal. And the icing on the cake was that 20 minutes before Harry caught the snitch Fred hit a bludger so hard that Matthew couldn’t avoid it, and it came into direct contact with his arm – shattering quite a few of the bones in it.

Fred huffs. “What did you want me to do? Throw the game so your stupid brother could show off to all of those recruiters? Me hitting bludgers at him so he doesn’t score is kinda the whole point of the game, Y/N.”

“Don’t try and act like I’m the one in the wrong here, Fred!” Y/N shouts, gathering the attention of some of the students heading back towards the castle. “You were focusing a bit too hard on Matthew and you know it! There was six other Ravenclaw players on the pitch, did you think about trying to hit some bludgers towards them?”

“Oh fuck off, Y/N,” Fred spits, returning her anger. “It’s a fucking game, get over it. Why do you always have to be such a bitch? You suck the fun out of everything.”

Y/N is seething with anger, and just as she starts to pull her hand back to slap Fred across the face, Professor McGonagall is stepping in between them.

“What on God’s green earth do you two think you’re doing?” McGonagall asks, looking between the two of them. “Mr. Weasley, Ms. Y/L/N. Detention, all next week and I’ll have 50 points from each of you. Now I suggest you two go find something else to do before I make it a month.”

Y/N flips Fred off as McGonagall walks away before she’s turning on her heel and stomping back up to the castle.

“Will you sit down, your pacing is making me dizzy,” Matthew groans, putting his head in his hand.

“Sorry,” Y/N apologizes, giving her brother a sheepish smile. She takes a seat on the edge of his bed, trying not to jostle Matthew too much. Madam Pomfrey had been able to heal his arm quickly, but some of the potions she’d given him left him quite dizzy, so he’s still resting in the Hospital Wing.

“Fred is a prick, Y/N. You didn’t have to confront him,” Matthew says, looking up at Y/N. “Although I really wish you would have slapped him.”

“If McGonagall had only showed up a few seconds later,” Y/N laughs. “I’ve never had the urge to hit someone before but there’s just something about his stupid face that makes me so mad. You’ve been working so hard for this match and then he called me a bitch,” Y/N sighs and runs a hand through her hair. “I don’t know what came over me.”

“Don’t feel bad, and besides, this is a moment we should be celebrating.” When Y/N gives Matthew a confused look he laughs. “Your first detention! I’m so proud of you,” he says wistfully, pretending to wipe away a tear.

“Oh shove it,” Y/N says with a giggle. “I’m going to be stuck in a room every night for the next week with Fred doing whatever McGonagall wants, sounds lovely,” she adds sarcastically with an eyeroll.

“To be fair most girls would kill to be in your position,” Matthew points out with a laugh. “Locked in a room for hours on end with Fred Weasley. That’s like a girl’s wet dream come to life.” When Y/N grimaces at the thought Matthew gives her a look. “Every girl except for you apparently. Why do you even hate Fred so much?”

Y/N gives Matthew a look of surprise. “You can’t be serious?” When Matthew continues to look at her dumbfounded she scoffs. “You were at this school for two years before I was and all I heard when you were home on break was how much of an annoying prat Fred is. I mean I tried not to hate Fred just because you did when I got sorted into Gryffindor and he was pretty okay at first. But one day he just started being a dick to me and I realized you were right.”

“Probably because you’re my sister. I’m always on his case about pulling pranks or messing around in class, he probably figured you’d be the same way,” Matthew reasons.

Y/N shrugs. “Well he’s a bag of dicks anyway, so I’m not too bothered by it.”

Monday evening comes far too quickly for Y/N’s liking, and after dinner she trots off to the trophy room, Fred begrudgingly following behind. McGonagall is already waiting for them, and she directs them to sit on the couch in front of her. Y/N takes a seat and practically hugs the arm rest so she’s sitting as far away from Fred as possible.

“The behavior you two exhibited on Saturday was unacceptable and downright barbaric,” McGonagall scolds, her tone sharp. “You’ll be spending the week making sure every one of the trophies in this room shines like it’s brand new.” Y/N looks around at the vast amount of trophies in the room as McGonagall hands them each a rag. “This should give you plenty of time to not only think about your actions, but to resolve whatever animosity exists between the two of you.” She gives them each a stern look before heading towards the door. “I’ll be back to check on you both.”

Y/N groans as McGonagall shuts the door behind her and she hoists herself off of the couch towards the mantle, needing to put some space between her and Fred. McGonagall may want them to sort out their issues, but Y/N wants nothing to do with Fred, and she still has some lingering anger from their fight on Saturday so she’s sure all it would do is end in another detention. Y/N grabs a random trophy and starts scrubbing at it, keeping her back towards Fred.

“This is such bullshit,” Fred mutters to himself after a few minutes of working in silence. Y/N can feel his glare and her shoulders tense up, but she doesn’t say anything or turn around. “This is all your fault you know,” Fred continues a few moments later when Y/N continues to ignore him.

Y/N places the trophy she’d been working on back and picks up another one, determined not to give Fred a reaction. Clearly he’s trying to instigate her into getting into more trouble and while Fred may be used to serving detention Y/N plans on making this week her one and only stint. Y/N finally relaxes after a few minutes of silence, when Fred starts to hum some random song rather loudly and out of tune.

“Un-fucking-believable,” Y/N mutters to herself as she starts to work on another trophy. “Shut up!” Y/N demands, slamming the trophy she’d been working on down. As much as she wants to just ignore Fred, she also wants to keep her sanity.

“No,” Fred responds dully before he continues humming.

Y/N turns around to glare at Fred, and the sweet smile on his face only annoys her further. “Can you not be an asshole? For like, once in your life. Let’s just get through this week and then we can continue to hate each other from afar.”

Fred places the plaque he’d been working on down and leans back on the sofa, crossing his arms. “Why should I make this easy on you? You’re the one that got me into this mess.”

“Oh yeah, you’re right. You totally didn’t shout back at me or call me any names. You just stood there and let me yell at you,” Y/N responds with an eyeroll.

Fred narrows his eyes. “You started it,” he fires back. “I was on my way back to the locker room when you ran up to me and started shouting. And don’t forget you shoved me a few times. I only shouted back because I was tired of listening to your stupid voice.”

“Oh please, you barely moved when I shoved you. You’re acting like I broke your arm or something. Oh wait, that was you,” Y/N reminds him harshly. “You broke my brother’s arm during the most important Quidditch game of his life!”

Fred stands up and takes a step towards Y/N, his fists clenched. “You’re still on that? It’s a game Y/N! I wasn’t trying to break his arm, it just happened! You’re being such a fucking cry baby over nothing!”

“I’m not being a cry baby!” Y/N insist, taking a step towards Fred.

“Oh you’re right my mistake,” Fred spits. “You’re being a fucking bitch!”

Y/N brings her hand out to slap Fred, but his hand wraps around her wrist tightly. Before she has a chance to try and struggle against his grip Fred is pulling Y/N into his chest and kissing her hard. Y/N kisses him back with enthusiasm and moans into Fred’s mouth as his hands land on her bum and give it a tight squeeze.

“You’re so fucking hot when you’re mad,” Fred growls as he starts to bite and suck at Y/N’s neck. “You’re annoying as hell too,” he reminds as his hands shove up her shirt. “But so fucking hot.”

“Just shut up and kiss me,” Y/N demands, bringing their lips together again. Fred may be an annoying git, but even Y/N has to admit that he’s attractive and being with Fred will definitely make detention more interesting. “You have too many clothes on,” Y/N pants as they break apart, her hands starting to loosen Fred’s tie.

“I could say the same to you, princess,” Fred says, smirking when a shiver runs down Y/N’s spine. Normally the nickname would make her blood boil, but in this context it makes her pussy throb.

Y/N tosses Fred’s tie away as his fingers start to make quick work of her button down. “Why are these uniforms so fucking hard to take off,” Y/N groans as she starts to work at Fred’s shirt as well.

“That desperate for me already, Y/N?” Fred teases as he pushes her shirt off of her shoulders. He leans down to suck a mark onto the top of her breast as his hands move around her back to unhook her bra.

“Don’t flatter yourself, Weasley,” Y/N chides as she takes Fred’s shirt off. Her bra finally hits the ground, and Y/N lets out a whine as Fred’s mouth starts licking and sucking at her nipples. “You kissed me first, remember.”

“Only because I wanted you to shut the fuck up.” Fred steps back and sits on the couch, pulling Y/N down onto his lap. She straddles his waist and they both moan as she grinds down against him. Fred’s hands start to massage Y/N’s breasts and his thumbs start to roughly rub her nipples, causing her to let out a breathy moan. “That’s right, princess. Keep making those noises for me.”

Y/N bites her lip and rocks down against Fred again, determined to keep every noise that bubbles up her throat down. This seems to only spur Fred on, and his head dips down to take one of her nipples in his mouth, his tongue flicking the sensitive bud as his other hand continues rubbing the other. “Fuck, Fred,” Y/N moans, unable to keep it in any longer.

“Love the way you moan my name,” Fred praises, rocking his hips up into Y/N. He’s painfully hard in his trousers and he’s desperate for some friction. “Although I think there’s something even better for your mouth to do, princess.”

Y/N is dripping wet in her panties, and she hates to admit that the thought of sucking Fred’s cock sends a tingle right through her core. “Gonna have to ask me for it, Fred,” she teases, sinking to her knees in front of him.

Fred kicks his shoes off as Y/N undoes his belt and starts to work at the button of his trousers. “Look at you, you’re practically drooling,” Fred taunts playfully. “Give it another few seconds and you’ll be begging me to put my cock in your mouth.”

“You sure about that?” Y/N asks, looking up at Fred. She pulls his trousers and boxers down to his thighs in one go, and Y/N has to bite her tongue to keep from moaning as his cock springs out and slaps against his stomach. Fred exudes big dick energy, and Y/N’s pussy throbs as her hand wraps around him, pleasantly surprised that his size matches his personality.

Fred throws his head back and groans as Y/N starts to slowly stroke him. “Just fucking suck it already,” Fred demands. “You know you want it, slut.”

“Thought I was your princess?” Y/N teases as she leans forward, her tongue coming out to kitten lick at his sensitive head.

“Only good girls get to be called princess,” Fred moans, his hand fisting in her hair. “Bad girls who don’t do what I tell them get called slut.” Fred tugs on Y/N’s hair, and he smirks at the moan she lets out. “So you better get sucking if you wanna be my princess.”

Y/N presses her thighs together to try and get some relief on her clit as she decides what to do next. She desperately wants to suck Fred off, but a part of her wants to hold off for a bit and push him to beg her instead. But as Y/N strokes Fred, a bead of precum bubbles up on the tip of his cock, and it makes her mouth water.

“That’s it, princess,” Fred moans as Y/N finally takes him into her mouth and swallows him down. He watches as his length disappears into Y/N’s mouth, his hips twitching as he hits the back of her throat. “Fuck your mouth feels amazing. Gonna have to shove my cock into it every time you get mouthy with me.”

Y/N hums around Fred, her hand starting to work at the part of his cock she can’t fit in her mouth. She pulls her head back so her tongue can twist around the tip, Fred’s moans and pants only encouraging her further. Y/N bobs her head down, gagging as Fred hits the back of her throat. She starts to pull back, but Fred’s hips surge forward, fucking his cock back into her throat and making her gag again.

“Did I say you could fuck my throat?” Y/N scolds as she pulls off. Fred’s hips lift up again to chase her mouth, and she wraps her hand around his cock.

“Sorry princess,” Fred apologizes smugly. “You sound so good gagging around my cock I couldn’t help it.” Fred uses the grip he has on Y/N’s hair to bring her mouth back towards his crotch. “Just keep sucking, I won’t do it again.”

“I don’t really want to anymore,” Y/N teases. Her thumb swipes over the tip of Fred’s cock with every upstroke, causing his hips to jerk. “Gonna have to beg me for it, Fred.”

Fred groans. “Such a fucking tease, Y/N. Fine don’t suck my cock,” Fred says flatly, trying to bait her into taking him back down her throat. “Your hand feels just as good,” he groans.

Y/N narrows her eyes at Fred and pulls her hand away. “You wanna come from a hand? Then you can get yourself off.” She stands up then and kicks off her shoes before slowly shimmying out of her school skirt and panties. Y/N then lays back on the floor with her feet flat, knees bent and open so Fred can see her dripping core. She props herself up on one elbow and looks Fred dead in the eyes as her other hand starts to wander down to her pussy. “You can use your hand, and I’ll use mine.”

Fred watches in rapt awe as Y/N starts to slowly rub her clit, small moans falling from her lips. His cock twitches and he resists the urge to wrap his hand around himself. “Look how fucking wet you are, princess. All of that, just for me?” Fred bites his lip as Y/N starts to tease her entrance with her finger. “How about you come on my cock instead?”

Y/N whines as she sinks a finger into her heat, her attention completely focused on Fred. She watches as he stands up and gets rid of the rest of his clothes, her pussy throbbing at how wet his cock is still from her saliva. When Fred settles on his knees between her legs, Y/N reluctantly stops her movements on her core and places one hand on Fred’s chest while the other wraps around his cock.

“You wanna fuck me, Fred?” When Fred nods and goes to move forward, Y/N shoves him back. “Gonna have to beg me for it.”

“Stop fucking around, Y/N,” Fred complains. “You’re desperate for my cock and you know it.”

Y/N’s walls clench around nothing and her hips buck as if they’re searching for something to fill her. “Beg me for my pussy, Fred,” Y/N demands. “Beg me, and I’ll let you fuck me.”

“Let me fuck you, princess, please,” he begs. “Wanna ruin you with my cock, stretch that pretty little pussy out.”

Y/N is desperate for release at this point, and Fred begging for her only makes it worse. She immediately lets go of him and grabs his face, pulling him down for a messy kiss. As soon as he’s free to move Fred inches forward and slams into Y/N, both of them moaning as he buries himself in her completely.

“Fucking hell, Fred,” Y/N moans. Fred starts to fuck into her quickly, hitching one of her legs over his shoulder so he can move deeper inside of her. “Oh my fucking god right there,” Y/N pants as his cock starts to drag against her g-spot on each thrust. “You fill me up so good, Fred, fuck. Such a big cock, fucking me so well.” Fred starts to rub her clit, and her walls clench around him.

“You’re so fucking tight, Y/N,” Fred compliments. “Can feel your walls stretching for me, like they were made to take my cock.” Fred lands a particularly hard thrust and he’s rewarded with the hottest moan he’s ever heard. “Bet I’m the biggest you’ve ever taken. Aren’t I, princess?”

“Oh fuck, Fred,” Y/N gasps, her orgasm suddenly hitting her. She can feel her walls tightening and spasming around Fred, and her legs start to shake as pleasure washes over her. “Come inside me Fred please,” Y/N begs as she pulls their mouths together.

Fred’s hips still as he releases inside Y/N, his hips just slowly rolling to help him through his orgasm. He kisses Y/N slow as they both come down and once his cock stops twitching Fred slowly pulls out of Y/N and sits back on his shins. They both just sit their basking in the pleasure that’s still coursing through their veins, when footsteps start to approach the door.

“Shit, shit, fucking shit, that must be McGonagall,” Y/N panics, scrambling to find her clothes.

Fred grabs his wand and casts a spell at the door to keep it from opening. “Quick, get dressed. That’ll only stop her for a few minutes.”

They both get dressed hurriedly, and Y/N has just barely grabbed her rag and started to scrub at a random trophy when the door bursts open.

“Bloody old doors,” McGonagall mutters as she steps inside. She eyes both Fred and Y/N quizzically and Y/N holds her breath, waiting to be told off. “And how are things?” she asks.

Y/N breathes a sigh of relief. “Going well, professor.”

Fred nods in agreement. “We’ve been hard at work. Merlin’s honor,” Fred adds.

“Very well then. I shall see you both tomorrow after dinner.” McGonagall steps out of the way, and both Y/N and Fred practically throw down the things in their hands as they rush to leave the room.

They walk back to the common room side by side, neither of them really sure what to say. Fred says the password as they reach the Fat Lady, and he lets Y/N go in first. Before Y/N has a chance to say anything to Fred he’s heading to join George on one of the couches, and Hermione is calling Y/N over.

“How was detention?” Hermione asks as Y/N reaches the table she’s sat at.

Y/N shrugs, trying to keep from blushing. “It was fine. Pretty boring actually.”

“Only four more days,” Hermione says with a laugh. “I’m working on that Charms essay if you wanna join me.”

“Yeah, totally. I’m just gonna go upstairs and grab a quick shower first and then grab my stuff.” Y/N can feel Fred’s release dripping out of her and into her panties, and she’ll never be able to focus on her homework if she doesn’t get cleaned up first.

“See you in a bit then.”

Y/N gives Hermione a smile before she turns on her heel and starts to head towards the staircase. Her legs are still a little shaky, and as she takes the first few steps up she stumbles a bit. Y/N looks back to see if anyone noticed, only to be met with Fred’s eyes. He gives her a sly wink, and she flips him off before disappearing up the stairs.

“So detention with Weasley was okay?” Matthew asks Y/N the next morning at breakfast.

They’re sitting together at the Ravenclaw table as always, and Y/N is thankful for the space it gives her from Fred. Last night was the best sex Y/N has ever had, and the fact that it was with someone she has hated for years has done nothing but confuse her further. She still hates Fred without a shadow of a doubt, but Y/N would be lying if she said she didn’t want it to happen again.

“Yeah, it was pretty chill. McGonagall had us scrubbing trophies and stuff in the trophy room for hours which was mind numbing but, other than that it was uneventful,” Y/N lies. Telling her brother about her sex life is low on the list of things Y/N wants to do under normal circumstances, and it’s even lower when her partner is someone her brother considers an enemy.

“A bit of hard labor never hurt,” Matthew jokes, causing Y/N to choke on her orange juice.

“Yeah right. Hard labor,” Y/N tries to joke back once her coughs have died down. If only he knew the kind of hard labor we got up to Y/N thinks to herself as her eyes wander over towards the Gryffindor table. Her eyes meet Fred’s and she has to look away to avoid blushing.

“Hello, earth to Fred,” George calls, waving his hand in front of Fred’s face.

Fred drags his gaze away from Y/N so he can look at his brother. “Sorry, what did you say?”

George chuckles and looks over his shoulder to see what had Fred so occupied. “Ah, Y/N,” he drawls, looking back at Fred. “You were pretty quiet after you got back from detention. Did something happen?”

“No, not at all,” Fred lies, hoping his cheeks don’t start to heat up. Much like Y/N, Fred is completely confused about their encounter. He’s loathed both Y/N and her brother for as long as he can remember, but less than 12 hours ago they were having some of the best sex Fred has ever had and he’s already thinking about what they might get up to when they’re alone tonight.

“I was kinda surprised you came back in one piece,” Ron adds with a laugh. Fred throws his spoon at Ron, and the younger boy dodges it. “No need to be so rude. You two have hated each other for years and she looked ready to beat your ass on Saturday. I figured she’d take the opportunity to do it when you were alone.”

“Why do you two hate each other so much?” Hermione asks from Ron’s side. “It seems like you’ve been at each other’s throats since our first year.”

“I hate her because Y/N is an uppity asshole like her brother. Matthew is always getting me and George in trouble and Y/N does the same,” Fred explains. “Your first year, George was serving a detention with Snape and I set up what was going to be our best revenge prank yet. I went all out, it took weeks of planning. Except it never went off. Someone ratted on me and McGonagall intervened. I got in probably the worst trouble I’ve ever been in, Mum sent Howlers for days afterwards. I was in detention for months.”

“I remember that! Mum was still pissed at Christmas,” Ron says.

Hermione knits her eyebrows together. “I remember that too. But what does that have to do with Y/N?”

Fred sighs. “When I was leaving the prank to wait for George so we could set it off, Y/N passed me in the hallway. It had to be her who ratted me out just like her brown-nosing brother.”

“But it couldn’t have been Y/N. I spent most of the afternoon with her in the library working on a Herbology assignment. Ron and Harry were there too,” Hermione explains, and both Ron and Harry nod in agreement. “She must have passed you on the way into the library. By the time we left the library you were already in trouble, there’s no way she could have gone to see McGonagall between the time she passed you and when she got to the library.”

“Bet you it was Malfoy,” Harry adds. “He was leaving the library as Y/N entered, remember? He shoved her into the door jamb as they passed by each other.”

“Hold on, hold on, hold on,” Fred interrupts, his tone dripping with confusion. “You mean to tell me that I’ve spent the past 5 years hating Y/N for something she didn’t even do?”

Hermione nods. “Seems that way.”

Fred groans and stands up. “I’ll see you guys later.”

Fred heads out of the Great Hall and towards class, feeling even more confused than he had before.

“You plan on ignoring me all night, princess?” Fred says quietly, coming up behind Y/N. McGonagall has just barely shut the door behind her to leave them be and Fred doesn’t want to waste any time. He’s decided in the time it’s been since breakfast that he really isn’t sure how he truly feels about Y/N and having sex with her seems to be the best way for him to figure it out. He’d been trying to catch her attention all day, but Y/N barely even glanced at him.

“How the hell do you move so quietly?” Y/N asks, toying with the rag in her hands. Truthfully Y/N had planned on ignoring Fred. She spent most of the day trying to decide what to do about this murky new relationship they’ve gotten themselves in, and finally settled on letting Fred take the next step. Y/N is prideful above anything else, and she’d rather streak through the hallways naked than come on to Fred when he only saw their sex as a one-time thing.

Fred presses a kiss to the side of Y/N’s neck, smiling into the skin when she shivers. “You didn’t answer my question, princess.”

“You that desperate for me already, Fred?” Y/N teases, turning around to look at him.

“No,” Fred responds slowly, his gaze flicking to Y/N’s lips for a moment. “But I know you enjoyed last night, as did I. So I don’t see why we can’t do it again.”

“Maybe because we’re supposed to be shining these stupid trophies, not having sex. We barely did any work last night and I have a feeling McGonagall will notice when everything looks the same again,” Y/N responds in lieu of actually responding to Fred’s preposition.

“I can take care of that,” Fred insists. He takes his wand out of his back pocket and casts a spell which makes several of the trophies around them shine like diamonds. “There. Now McGonagall will have no idea what we were really getting up to in here.”

Y/N drops her rag and turns around, her arms winding around Fred’s neck as his wrap around her waist. She bites her lip, unable to stop her eyes from traveling down to Fred’s mouth. “This doesn’t change anything between us,” Y/N says softly, looking into Fred’s eyes. “Outside of this room I still hate you and you still hate me. Got it?”

“Of course, princess,” Fred confirms. Once Y/N relaxes in his embrace Fred wastes no time and presses their lips together, his tongue forcing its way into her mouth.

Y/N moans into the kiss, one of her hands trailing down Fred’s torso to his hardening erection. She palms him lightly, smirking when his knees quiver. “So hard for me already, Freddie? You miss being buried in my pussy that much?”

Fred starts to trail kisses down Y/N’s neck, one of his hands inching up her skirt. He pushes the fabric aside as he sucks a mark into her skin, and let’s two of his fingers rub through her wet folds. “You’re one to talk,” Fred teases as Y/N gasps. “I’ve barely even touched you and you’re dripping wet. Been thinking about my cock, princess?”

“Fred,” Y/N whines as he sinks a finger into her heat. She clenches around him, her hand starting to palm him harder.

Fred pulls his hand out of her panties and kisses away Y/N’s pout. “Your mouth felt so good on me yesterday, princess,” Fred starts, leading them over to the couch. “And tonight, I’m gonna use my mouth on you to say thank you.”

Y/N shivers as Fred pushes her back onto the couch, her arousal growing even more. His voice is deep and slow, the complete opposite to how it was last night. Yesterday they had both teased each other, but it’s clear by Fred’s actions so far that he’s in no mood to play the same games again.

“How generous,” Y/N teases, watching as Fred starts to unbutton his shirt.

“If you want me to tease I can tease,” Fred muses, dropping his shirt on the ground next to his tie. “Or you can get naked and I’ll eat that pretty pussy of yours until you’re begging me to let you cum.”

Y/N immediately kicks off her shoes and wiggles out of her skirt and panties, letting them drop to the floor. “Please eat me out, Fred,” she pleads as her hands start to work at the buttons of her shirt.

Fred kicks Y/N’s discarded clothes out of the way and drops to his knees, grabbing a thigh in each hand. He pulls her legs apart and settles in between them before pressing kisses up her thigh and towards her heat. “How can I say no when you ask so nicely, princess?” Fred stops to suck a mark on the inside of her thigh, only an inch or two away from where Y/N needs him most. “Bet you taste so good, princess.”

“Put your mouth on me and you’ll find out,” Y/N pants, fisting a hand in Fred’s hair.

Fred looks up at Y/N, his mouth running dry and how beautiful she looks. Her cheeks are flushed pink, and her school shirt lays open, the tops of her breasts spilling out over the cups of her bra. Fred can still make out some of the marks he left on them yesterday as her chest heaves with deep breaths. Y/N’s stomach is quivering and Fred dips down and licks a long strip from the bottom of her pussy to the top to keep himself from blurting out just how beautiful he finds her.

Y/N moans as Fred’s tongue starts to flick at her clit, tugging his hair slightly. Fred’s fingers are digging into her thighs and it only turns her on more. “More, Fred, please.”

Fred’s tongue travels down from Y/N’s clit to her dripping entrance, slowly sliding into her as he collects her juices. He moans at her taste, letting his tongue fuck in and out of Y/N’s pussy. “Knew you’d taste good,” Fred praises. He sucks Y/N’s clit into his mouth and takes one of his hands off her thigh so he can sink his index finger into her.

“Freddie,” Y/N whines, bearing her hips down onto his finger. He curls it inside of her, and Y/N clenches around it. “Wanna come, please,” Y/N begs.

Fred nibbles lightly on her clit, teasing a second finger around her entrance. “Gonna have to come from just one finger, princess. Want my cock to stretch you out.” Y/N lets out a loud moan at that, and Fred smiles as he presses a wet kiss to her clit. “You like that idea, princess? My cock splitting you open?”

“Fuck me now, Fred,” Y/N demands, tugging on his hair again. “Wanna come around your cock.”

Fred licks up Y/N’s core one last time before he pulls away and starts to work on taking the rest of his clothes off. “Fuck, Y/N. You can’t say shit like that to me and not expect me to bury my cock in you every chance I get.” Fred stands up to get rid of his bottoms, watching as Y/N tosses her shirt aside and takes off her bra. “Don’t think I told you how incredible your tits are yesterday, Y/N. They’re so soft and round and perfect,” he groans.

Y/N flushes under Fred’s praise and climbs onto his lap when he sits down next to her. She presses their lips together and kisses him messily, one of her hands gripping his shoulder while the other reaches around to grip the base of his cock. “Gonna make me do all the work, Weasley? Typical man,” she teases, letting the tip of his cock tease her entrance.

Fred’s hands land on Y/N’s hips and he smirks as their lips connect once again. When Y/N teases her entrance again, Fred jerks his hips up and slams her down at the same time, shoving his cock all the way into Y/N. “What was that, princess? About me doing all the work?”

Y/N gasps as Fred enters her, her walls twitching around him. “So fucking big, Fred, holy hell. Feels like it’s splitting me in two. Feels so good.”

Fred hums and kisses Y/N again as she starts to bounce on him, his hips meeting her thrusts. “Riding me so good, princess,” he groans. “You feel amazing around me. Always so tight for me.” One of Fred’s hands travels to Y/N’s core and starts to lightly rub her clit while the other starts to pinch and toy with her nipple. He leans forward and presses his lips to her neck, biting and sucking at the sensitive skin.

“Not where people can see,” Y/N warns, tipping her head back to give Fred more room to kiss. She leans back to brace a hand on Fred’s thigh, whining at the new angle. The tip of Fred’s cock rubs her g-spot with each movement, and Y/N can feel her orgasm building.

“But that’s half the fun,” Fred pouts, examining the few bruises he’s left on her neck. “Want everyone to know who this pussy belongs too.”

Y/N moans as Fred’s head dips down and takes one of her nipples into his mouth. “So this pussy belongs to you?” Y/N stutters, her eyes fluttering closed as Fred nibbles on her nipple and starts to rub her clit faster.

“Does it not?” Fred asks, fucking his hips up into Y/N harder. “Or is there someone else that makes you feel this good?”

“Fred,” Y/N moans as he pinches her clit and nipple at the same time, her orgasm taking over her suddenly.

“Fucking hell,” Fred moans as Y/N tightens around him and collapses into his chest. He grips her hips and moves her on his cock as he chases his own release. “How the fuck are you even tighter?” He groans as Y/N clenches around him again, and he brings her down on him one last time before his cock starts to twitch and he releases inside of her.

Fred starts to rub Y/N’s back as they both come down, whining as she shifts on his softening cock. “So good for me, princess,” he praises, pressing a few kisses to the side of Y/N’s face.

Y/N pulls away from Fred slightly so she can kiss him. Their lips move together softly and Y/N whines into it when Fred lifts her off of his cock. “Feel so empty without you,” she admits sheepishly, her cheeks heating up.

Fred chuckles and starts to trace shapes into her sweaty skin. “Trust me, love. If McGonagall wasn’t due to barge through that door any minute now we’d be getting ready for round 2.”

By the time Friday rolls around Y/N is more confused than ever. Every time her and Fred go their separate ways after detention leaves her with an empty feeling in her chest and she’s not quite sure what to make of it. It doesn’t help that Fred has started being nice to her outside of their detentions too.

Instead of his usual hard glares she finds him looking at her softly during meals and he greets her every time their paths cross instead of ignoring her as per usual. Their housemates are starting to notice Fred’s change in behavior as well. One morning he lets her have the last piece of bacon on the platter, and Hermione gives her a questioning look. When she’s doing homework in the common room with Harry and her ink runs out, Fred pulls a new bottle out of his bag and immediately hands it over to her, causing Harry’s jaw to practically drop. It’s almost as if they’re friends now, and it only complicates things in Y/N’s head further.

Y/N has found herself actually enjoying Fred’s tenderness, and she doesn’t quite know what that means. Tonight is the last night they’ll have to spend together, and Y/N is both scared and curious about what that means for their relationship. She spares a glance at Fred from down the table as Hermione chatters on about something, and she looks away quickly when his eyes meet hers.

“Last detention, what are you gonna do once you’re a free man?” George asks, pulling Fred’s attention back to him. When all his brother does is shrug, George frowns. “What the hell has gotten into you? You’ve been acting weird all week and now you almost seem, sad that your detention is over with.”

Fred bites his lip, pushing his food around on his plate with his fork. “Just been thinking about stuff.” Fred has gotten himself in a major problem, and he’s been trying to figure out how to get himself out of it all week. After his second time with Y/N things became clearer to Fred, he certainly doesn’t hate Y/N anymore, and he’s found himself developing feelings for her. He wouldn’t say he’s in love, but he’d be lying if he said he can’t see himself falling in love with Y/N.

He’s been paying more attention to her since his revelation that his deep-rooted hate was based in a misunderstanding, and he’s noticed so many things about her that he finds so endearing. It certainly doesn’t help that he’s had her moaning and writhing underneath him every day this week and every time she moans his name his heart swells.

“This about Y/N?” George asks carefully, not wanting to push Fred too much. Being a twin has its advantages, and while he can’t say he knows what’s going on in Fred’s head he can tell something is off with him and it’s not too hard to guess why.

“I don’t hate her anymore,” Fred admits quietly. “And it’s not like I’m in love with her or anything, but I think I could be. Someday. If she would let me.” Fred sighs and looks at George. “But I’m pretty sure she still hates my guts, I mean how could she not? I’ve been a dick to her for years and it’s stupid of me to think that a few nights of sex can change that.”

George chokes on his pumpkin juice. “You two have been screwing?”

“Shh, shh,” Fred says quickly, looking around to make sure no one overheard. “Keep your voice down, I don’t need the whole school knowing. Especially Y/N’s brother.”

“I thought you two were just making out or something,” George continues quietly. “Now I know why you’re so happy when you get back from detention every night.” George wiggles his eyebrows at Fred, and Fred rolls his eyes in response.

“We agreed that we wouldn’t continue hooking up after our detention was up and things are going to go right back to how they were before it started,” Fred pauses to swallow the lump in his throat. “But I don’t feel the same way about her as I did before and I don’t know if I can start pretending to hate her.”

George gives Fred a sad smile and ruffles his hair. “I wish I could help you, Freddie.”

“Yeah. Me too.” Fred watches as Y/N stands up to head to detention, and he slowly follows her lead trying not to pay too much attention to how her hips sway.

“I guess this is it,” Y/N says quietly, trying to not let the sadness she feels creep into her chest. Fred has just finished fucking her into the carpet and she’s cuddled into his side as they catch their breath. In a few minutes McGonagall will be back, and whatever this is between her and Fred will be over.

“Guess so,” Fred responds, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. His chest is already aching, and they haven’t even parted ways yet.

Y/N tilts her head up and catches Fred’s mouth in one final kiss. “It was nice, to not be your enemy for a bit.”

“Let’s not go back to being enemies then,” Fred says carefully. When Y/N looks up at him worriedly Fred musters up what he hopes is a reassuring smile. “Friends?”

Y/N nods, trying to figure out why Fred’s offer of friendship simultaneously makes her happy and sad. “Sure, friends.”

They part and get dresses quietly, barely even able to look at each other. When McGonagall finally pushes through the door their standing at opposite ends of the room, and the awkwardness in the air is evident.

“I hope you two learned your lesson,” McGonagall says quietly before watching the two of them scurry away, their heads hanging low.

Despite the fact that she and Fred had agreed to be friends, Y/N can’t help but notice that he’s ignoring her. It’s been a little over a week since their last detention, and Fred hasn’t even said two words to Y/N. He’s barely even looked at her. His sudden disappearance from her life has left her both sad and angry, and she’s started to realize that maybe it’s because she really wanted to be more than friends with Fred. She thought maybe he had wanted that too, but with his sudden cool attitude, Y/N isn’t going to be the one searching him out to get to the bottom of it.

“Okay, you’re like, the best sister ever,” Matthew greets as she comes to sit next to him at the Ravenclaw table. It’s fairly early on a Saturday morning, so the Great Hall is still pretty empty.

“I mean I know that,” Y/N says with a laugh as she sits down next to him. “But do you wanna explain why you’re suddenly realizing it too?”

Matthew rolls his eyes and waves around the letter in his hand. “I got this in the mail today, no need to be so coy.”

“What is it?” Y/N grabs the letter from him and scans over it briefly. “One of the teams is going to send another scout to your next game. That’s amazing!”

Matthew frowns at her. “You mean you didn’t write to them?” When Y/N shakes her head, his frown turns into a look of confusion. “The letter says someone at school wrote to them and asked them to reconsider drafting me and that I’m a better player than I demonstrated.”

“Must have been someone on the team,” Y/N muses, taking a sip of orange juice.

“That’s what I thought, but look at the team they sent the letter to,” Matthew insists, tossing the envelope to Y/N.

She looks at it closely, noticing the team emblem embossed into the parchment. “That’s your favorite team,” Y/N points out.

“That’s why I figured it was you. You’re the only one that knows they’re my favorite, and it’s kinda weird that out of the six or seven teams that sent scouts this person would send a letter to the one team I’ve always wanted to play for.”

Y/N’s jaw drop as a conversation she’d had with Fred one night as they laid next to each other to recover. She offhandedly mentioned how sad Matthew had been after receiving a rejection letter from his favorite team. She thought nothing of it at the time when Fred asked her which team it was, but it all makes sense now.

“I think I know who sent that letter. I’ll be back.”

Y/N heads out of the Great Hall and back towards the Gryffindor Common Room, all kinds of emotions flowing through her body.

“Fred!” Y/N shouts as she throws the door to his dorm open. All three of the boys in there jump, frightened by her sudden appearance. She starts to storm towards Fred, and George and Lee take the opportunity to sneak out of the room, shutting the door behind them.

“Do you mind?” Fred says dully. His back is to Y/N and he takes a deep breath to calm himself down. “I’m kind of in the middle of something.”

As Y/N comes to stand behind Fred she can’t help but notice that he’s standing next to his bed in nothing but his boxers. His hair is messy, and she figures he’s only been awake a few minutes. “It’s nothing I haven’t seen before,” Y/N reminds him. “I need to talk to you.”

Fred sighs and turns around to look at her, sitting on his bed. “What?” His voice shakes, and he prays Y/N doesn’t notice.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Y/N asks, trying not to lose her nerve. Fred looks beautiful sitting there, and it’s taking everything in her not to crawl into his lap and kiss him.

Fred rolls his eyes. “Lots of things are wrong with me, Y/N. You’re going to have to elaborate.”

“Why did you send that letter? To the quidditch team?” she asks, crossing her arms over her chest.

Fred smiles sheepishly and scratches the back of his head. “They weren’t supposed to say you sent the letter,” he mumbles.

“They didn’t. But the only person who knows about Matthew’s dream to play for that team besides he and I is you. And since he didn’t send the letter and neither did I it had to have been you,” Y/N pauses, looking at Fred. “Why did you do it?” she asks again, softer.

“I dunno,” Fred responds with a shrug. “I could tell you were upset about the whole thing, so I figured I’d reach out. The worst they could do is send a letter back to me saying no. And then you’d never have to know about it. And if they said yes Matthew would never know it was me who sent the original letter in.” Fred bites his lips. “I just wanted to do something to make you feel better.”

Y/N’s heart melts. “You did it for me?”

“Why are you surprised? I figured it was obvious there isn’t much I wouldn’t do for you. Or have you forgotten about the seven orgasms I gave you last Thursday?” Fred teases.

Y/N can feel her cheeks flush and a shiver runs down her spine at the memory. “Why go through all that and not even take the credit for it?”

“Because of what you said, the second night of our detention,” Fred starts. “You made me promise that us hooking up wouldn’t change our relationship outside of detention and I very clearly broke that promise.”

“But I thought we agreed to be friends?” Y/N admits softly. When Fred nods she sighs in frustration. “Then how come you’ve been ignoring me? I’ve seen you less in the past week than I did when we hated each other.”

“Because I don’t want to be just your friend,” Fred admits. “I want to hold your hand and take you on dates and kiss you and fuck you in my bed. Or your bed. Any bed really I still have fucking carpet burn on my knees,” he jokes, trying to diffuse the air in the room. “I’m starting to feel things for you, Y/N. And I thought just being your friend would be enough but it’s not.”

“Freddie,” Y/N whispers, taking his hand in hers. “Why not just say all that then?”

Fred rolls his eyes. “Maybe because you’ve spent the past five years hating my guts? And you were pretty adamant that you wanted to continue hating me no matter how much sex we had.”

“You seemed to hate me pretty strongly too,” Y/N points out with a quiet laugh. “I wanted to hate you still, I really did. No offense,” she apologizes, squeezing Fred’s hand. “But as we spent more and more time together inside and outside the trophy room I couldn’t even remember why I started hating you in the first place. Your issues with Matthew are your issues with Matthew, and I shouldn’t have made them my issues with you too.”

“That’s why you hated me? Because of Matthew?” Fred asks, pulling Y/N onto his lap.

“It sounds stupid now. But it made sense at the time,” Y/N says quietly.

Fred grips Y/N’s face carefully and brings their lips together in a slow kiss. Their mouths move together softly, and Fred can’t help but notice how perfectly they fit together. Fred nibbles on Y/N’s lips to ask permission to enter her mouth, but Y/N keeps her lips shut tight. Sensing her sudden hesitation, Fred pulls away. “What’s wrong? I thought all that meant we were going to move towards something more. Did I read it all wrong? Oh god I did. I’m sorry I’m such an idiot.”

Y/N presses a reassuring kiss to Fred’s mouth. “It did mean we’re moving towards something more. I want to be something more with you,” Y/N admits. “I just. I don’t know how to be something more with you, Freddie. I don’t know how to be your girlfriend.”

Fred chuckles. “Well I don’t exactly know how to be your boyfriend either.” Fred kisses Y/N again sweetly. “But that’s the fun part of a new relationship, isn’t it? Figuring it out together.”

“At least we’ve already got the sex part figured out.” Y/N laughs as Fred stands up and throws her down on the bed.

Fred crawls up the bed and drapes himself over Y/N. “Doesn’t hurt to work on it, though,” Fred teases, kissing her hard.

#fred weasley #Fred Weasley imagine #Fred Weasley smut #fw #golden

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