an: it’s been a long time since I wrote this guy, so go easy on me! this was just an idea I had this afternoon, so I wrote it down. dedicated to @intheorangebedroom — she’ll know why ❤️
—
The movie ended about an hour ago.
The screen went black, and then the TV turned off, and the room was left in a dusky, liminal space, where nothing held its true color, only variations on the color that you knew existed.
The stripes on the worn blanket you were sitting on, the colorful skulls that hung on the wall from an exhibition you saw last month, the art you had framed – it was all tinged in a greyish-blue that served as a holding space for the tension steadily rising between the two of you, from your spots on the couch.
You had met him at a café – a lone American sitting at the bar while the locals sat outside. Your elbow had bumped into his when you went inside to pay, and your apology had turned into a conversation, and then into an offer to meet up.
He – Francisco, as he introduced himself – was traveling for a few weeks, and in a show of courage that had you surprising yourself, you offered to be his guide.
Maybe it was the glint of interest in his eyes. Or maybe it was the hint of dark curls under his hat, ones that had you wondering how soft they were. Maybe it was the look on his face – first an assessing, intensely soulful look that pinned you in place, then a surprisingly vulnerable one that held you there.
Whatever it was, you offered and he accepted. Day trips had turned into night walks, had turned into this meeting at your place for a home-cooked meal, which had then turned into….this.
This aching space, where anything was possible.
This muted space, that was devoid of color but so rich in other things: in the low, gravely drag of his voice, in the heady, masculine scent of his skin, in the gentle caress of his fingers playing idly with yours.
Slumped together on your sofa, shoulder to shoulder, a low pitch of conversation is exchanged between you in the dark room. Your breath is shallow, your heart racing, your mind hoping – yet you sit still and let him play: his fingers sliding between yours, his thumb brushing over your skin, his touch tracing your knuckles.
He is so close you can feel him talking as well as hear it. So close you can smell a whiff of the detergent he uses.
Turning your head in reply to something he says, your warm breath mingles in the shared space between your mouths. His breathing seems just like yours, a cross between holding it in fear of breaking the moment, and taking sips just to breathe each other in.
The room around you is pregnant with intimacy, with the occasional street noise that drifts in on the wind, and in this aching quiet, his hand lifts to cup your jaw, the tension between your bodies swelling to new heights….
And then, he kisses you.
His mouth is tender, exploring. Weighted, firm. His lips press fully against yours, capturing you in place, fingertips brushing against the hinge of your jaw. Your mouth parts to invite him in, and he accepts with a slow slide of his tongue, tasting, tasting, tasting. The kiss deepens with a sigh, your body melting backwards to pull him on top of you and he follows your guidance, seeking out your closeness and your flavor, his hands beginning to wander, just like yours.
The comforting, solid weight of his body presses you into the couch, his hips finding a home between the cradle of your thighs. You kiss, and kiss. Lips sealing together, mouths opening wide, tongues sliding together to savor taste.
The room sees it all – a blank canvas for the bright bursting thing happening between you two. The thing that’s been there from the start, finally coming to fruition. Everything drips – the grey walls bathed in intimacy, the muted tones awash with arousal, the clinging cotton covering your core.
Your laps grind together, your aligned bodies melding as his strong arms wrap around you to hold you close, and your ankles hook over his lower back. Your fingers slide through his curls and they are exactly as soft as you thought they’d be, like slippery silk.
You give them a tug, and are rewarded with his lowest, neediest groan yet.
Weighted with want, rumbled into your open mouth.
The movie ended an hour and a half ago, and his form joins the dusky tones of the room when he kneels between your bare thighs, your jeans and panties hooked around one ankle while it’s his tongue this time that sparks and lights, washing your body in arousal so strong it hurts.
He delves deep, licks wide, flicks and swirls and laps.
With your back arched, he devours.
His broad back is reflected in the black screen of your TV, the filthy image of his grey t-shirt pulling tight between his shoulder blades in his hungry hunch, his dark curls tucked between your spread thighs. Your fingers curl to grasp at the blanket beneath you and you roll your hips into his hungry mouth until your moans break the weighted silence, joining the night sounds from outside.
He joins you on the couch after that, even though it’s not big enough for what he has in mind. It’s a two seater, a small thing, but he makes it work when he stretches out on top of you and smears your own wetness against your mouth with his searing kiss, and reaches between the press of your bodies to unbuckle his belt.
There are other people in your building – a neighbor whom you share a wall with, who you only hear on football match days. A woman beneath you, the shouts of her children heard sometimes through the vents. Still more in the floors beneath them, and in the streets outside, and in the expanse of the city as it spreads across the earth – yet your entire existence is reduced to this one room when he opens your mouth with his just as he slides forward to break you open with a filling, weighted grind.
Your teeth catch his lower lip when you whine underneath him, and you can tell he likes it, this confirmation that he’s a lot to take. He grins against your mouth – decadent and filthy, slightly cocky and mischievous – and begins to fuck you on your couch like he’s been planning it since day one, from that first meeting in the bar.
He fucks with intent, with purpose. With experience, with competence. But also just like that first meeting, his intensity gives way to something more base, something feral and open and vulnerable. Like he can’t help the need that pours out, or the way he seeks your warmth.
His hips rock forward, demanding you take him in your pinned place underneath his body. His strokes are a rolled grind that has you lifting yours to meet his, forcing him deeper as your nails dig into his lower back, holding on.
The room absorbs every filthy sound: the humid panting of breath, the needy, low moans, his grunts that match the rhythmic punch of his hips. Filthy confessions pour from his mouth – your pussy feels so good, I wanted to fuck you the first time we met, bet your mouth was made for me too, your fucking pussy is so tight I’m gonna cum, you’re going to make me cum.
Every piece of praise washes over the sensitive hollow beneath your ear.
It’s like rebirth, like baptism. Like your life was as muted and dull as the small room around you and he found you and tugged you into the bright bursting daylight, plunging you into a colored life of sensation, of aching desire, of feelings too strong to be real.
When he comes, you join him, a tear sliding from the corner of your eye.
The movie ended two hours ago, and dawn breaks on the horizon somewhere outside. It trickles in through your open window, a slice of barely illuminated gold.
Sated and spent, he lays on top of you and your fingers drift mindlessly through his damp roots, over his soft shirt, along the firm planes of his skin. It’s a tight fit, an uncomfortable one that you don’t mind, when he shifts his weight off you to tuck himself into the back of the couch, holding you close against him.
While he dozes, you stay awake.
Bird sounds replace the quiet, light illuminates the darkness. From your spot crushed against his chest, you watch his pulse beat under his skin, strong and steady. Leaning in, you inhale his scent from the place on his body drenched with it – the hollow of his throat.
Slowly, lightly, as light slips into the room and brings color with it, you brush your fingers over the freckles that dot his skin just above his collar. There is a cluster you’ve been obsessed with since you first saw him, and you find them, dusted across his skin.
Resting your mouth against them, you let your eyes close as you press a kiss that lingers.
A full press of your mouth — one that lingers, then stays, as you fall asleep.
Summary: Your life gets infinitely more complicated when your overbearing parents decide to meddle in your professional life and you accidentally catch your crush in the shower. (Part 1 of Man I Need)
Pairing: Ice Hockey Coach!Alpha!Boba Fett x fem!Omega!Reader
Wordcount: 5.8k | Rating: E (18+ only!)
Warnings: bad/complicated parent/child relationship, reader with anxiety, descriptions of a panic attack, dirty talk, voyeurism, explicit sexual content, older man/younger woman, workplace relationship, slight verbal degradation, pet names
Good morning!!! I hope you are all doing well and that you are having a wonderful week 🥰 I have the luxury of recovering from a small (truly v small!) surgery which means lots of rest but also lots of reading, (hopefully) writing and daydreaming. And also posting this part early because I am awake lol Anyway, a very special shoutout to @daimyosprincess because her thots majorly inspired a certain scene in this part 👀 and also what would the Boba fandom be without her? I hope you enjoy this little premiere. Let me know what you think in a comment or reblog, those really do mean the world to me ❤️
masterlist | crossposted on AO3
“Did you hear about it yet?”
“Hear about what?” your colleague-slash-friend-slash-roommate, Maudii, sat down next to you, offering you some of her chips. You declined her offer with a quick shake of your head, suddenly feeling very anxious. Like the precarious place you had just carved out for yourself was already in danger. The space of your tiny cubicle filled with the sound of her chewing and your skin tingled with the instinct to flee.
You had worked a long time to fight against the constant feeling of unease and had managed to suppress it for the last few months, ever since you had started your paid internship in the press/marketing department of the local ice hockey team.
Still chewing, your friend pointed to the headline on the newspaper she had brought with you. “We got a new owner. Some private investments company or something.”
Maudii continued to talk but you did not continue to listen. Mandalorian Minotaurs Taken Over By Media Giant!!! Was printed in large letters, right there on the paper. It wasn’t that headline in particular that had your heart stopping but the fact that it was your last name staring back at you from the title page.
Or, to be more accurate, your father’s last name.
“I have to go,” you stood up, feeling faint, “To … the bathroom.”
And off you went.
At least you weren’t lying. You were going to the bathroom. Just not the closest one.
The Minotaur headquarters were situated in their own arena. A large building in the middle of the city, its insides resembled more a maze than anything else but it had become familiar to you in the last few months. Ever since you had finally managed to finish your postgraduate degree – without dipping into your trust fund – you had sought out job opportunities that would put you as far away as possible from the family business on the east coast. A hockey team in a random city on the other side of the country had seemed like a safe bet.
Now all you had ended up doing was losing the one little corner where your parents had left you in peace.
Practice was done for today already, so you allowed yourself to venture into the lower levels, hurrying down the stairs until your legs were burning and the hardwood floors switched into durable light grey vinyl flooring. Passing through the metal door in the stairway, you ended up in a hallway that was painted a stark white.
Team photos from the past few decades accompanied you on your way down the hall. By now, your heart was pounding so hard in your chest, it was all you could do not to sink to your knees in plain sight. The wall was interrupted by a door and yeah, your sight might have been blurry, but you would recognize the little white stick figure anywhere.
Sanctuary.
Deep breaths, you tried to encourage yourself, deep breaths. In an out. In. And out. All will be well.
The door swung closed behind you and you rested your hand against the tiled wall. It was cool to the touch and you bent over, trying to regulate your breathing to no avail. Maybe some water would help?
Giant mirrors covered the wall over the sinks. The aesthetic of this room could be best described as 1980’s high school locker room chic, some of the tiles were chipped and you could see rust on the fittings. It wasn’t the best maintained room which is why it had quickly become your escape when you needed a place to breathe way from everyone else. Knowing that this secret space existed, just waiting for you to seek it out, had done wonders for staving off any panic attacks during your first few weeks here.
Although you had grown more confident in your position, it did not change the fact that – right now – you could not stand to look at yourself. Facing yourself would mean facing a lot of truths and fears you had run away from the past few years and it would not help that you looked like a mess. And felt like one, too.
With ignoring the sinks seeming like the better option, you rounded the corner to the showers. Either the quiet, tiled space would make you feel calm and settled or like you were in an 80’s horror flick version of an insane asylum.
Only, the space wasn’t quiet.
Your eyes followed the puddle of water and landed on two bare feet.
How odd, that would mean that somebody was standing –
Somebody way standing there.
Naked.
There was water coming out of the fixed showerhead, steam filling the room and your eyes widened in panic. How had you not noticed that? How had your head been so preoccupied with your approaching panic attack that you hadn’t noticed that you were not alone?
And not just alone with anybody. You would recognize that scent – woodsy with a hint of coffee – anywhere and even if you didn’t, the shape of his broad shoulders would betray him. Boba fucking Fett was standing with his back to you. Retired hockey legend and recently announced coach for the Mandalorian Minotaurs.
One forearm was braced against the tiles, his other arm was covered by his body but you could see it moving, almost as if –
Fuck.
Your cheeks blazed with heat at the realization that Boba Fett, national treasure and former captain of the Tuskan Raiders, was jerking off. This was probably the moment where normal people would (1) quietly disappear or (2) apologize loudly and then disappear.
You did neither.
No, you just stood there, your eyes raking over his form, taking in the sight of him. And what a sight it was. He was all muscles and fat and breadth. Thick. Sturdy. A man who no longer had to keep up with his physique for his career but who was still strong as fuck. There was a tattoo on his shoulder blade that seemed to wrap towards his chest too, his ass was exquisite and his thighs were trunks and –
Stars, you needed to leave right now.
He groaned and the deep sound reverberated through your entire body. You could feel a gush of wetness between your thighs, the arousal covering your panic for just a moment. You liked men who were vocal during sex, there was just something about it that made your blood thrum. Maybe because you were always quiet? A ying to your yang?
Your last boyfriend, Dreks, back in college, had just rolled his eyes at your quiet comment that it made you feel good to hear him. “Why do you wanna hear me if you barely get your mouth open, hm?” he had asked and closed that part of the conversation for the rest of your relationship. Somehow, you had the feeling that this problem would not occur with Boba Fett.
As if he could sense you thinking about him, his face turned. Brown eyes found yours immediately and you could see them widen in surprise for just a moment. But the water didn’t stop beating down his back and his hand didn’t stop stroking .
His eyes fixed you where you stood. You had never felt more like caged prey, being eyed by a predator. Although prey usually wanted to escape. You didn’t know what you wanted. Maybe you wanted to step closer, actually.
“Came for a show?” he asked, his mouth forming an amused smile. One that you were sure would haunt you in your dreams.
You swallowed thickly, desperately trying to find words to answer him. You needed to do something. You needed to apologize. You needed to leave. You needed to quit your job and hope your parents would not find you where you escaped to next.
Instead, your feet remained rooted to the floor. The sound of water hitting the tiles echoed in the room, it was almost loud enough to cover your heavy breathing and racing heartbeat. The steam wasn’t enough to cover his scent, though, or yours. Maybe it even emphasized it like some kind of diffuser. All you could smell was him.
Boba Fett was unfairly handsome for a man his age. For a man of any age, really. Now that you thought about it, you didn’t even know how old he was. Probably too old for you, although when had that ever stopped your brain from conjuring up the filthiest fantasies with a man old enough to be your father?
And then, as if you had not suffered enough, he fully turned around to face you.
It was as if the universe was giving you another chance to do what was right. To turn around. Avert your eyes. Apologize for the misunderstanding (whatever that was) and leave.
Instead you opted for the inappropriate option. His arms flexed with muscles, strength hidden under a layer of softness that made you want to touch him. Water was running down his chest, soaking the hairy trail leading to where he was squeezing his thick girth. How in the world could a cock be beautiful? He was long, thick – thicker than anything you had seen before – and the mushroom tip had a little drop of precome on it that made you want to sink to your knees.
His fingers squeezed his base and you could see the hint of his knot forming. He was close. He was so close and you were just a step away. Fuck, would it be an option to just ask him nicely if you could join him?
You wanted nothing more than to wash away the panic and anxiety and the racing thoughts and focus on something pleasant. Something warm. Like another body. Another pair of hands. Another pair of lips that would whisper sweet and filthy nothings into your ear until you were no longer the failed daughter of a media giant but instead the desired omega who did such a good job taking this big co-
Spooked by your own thoughts, you suddenly realized what you were doing. You were standing in a team bathroom – a room where you had no business being in the first place – and had walked in on the coach, naked. And instead of leaving him in peace, you were looking at his cock like your mouth was begging to have him between your lips. That was at least 25 HR violations.
Oh, you were so fired.
“Sorry, alpha,” you squeaked out and then finally your body moved, turning around and hurrying out of the bathroom, down the hallway, out of the arena, and straight to your apartment.
*
“So how big is he?”
“I am sorry I just told you my father is the CEO of one of the biggest companies in the country and most likely bought this team just to spite me and you ask about the coach’s dick?”
“Well yes,” Maudii shrugged, picking up another piece of pasta from her plate. You had needed to sniff the pesto to see whether it was still good but both of you had determined that the sauce was still edible. “Because you also told me you saw the Boba Fett naked and jerking off. So forgive a girl for focussing on the really important things.”
You had focussed on them more than you’d like to admit but you didn’t tell her that.
“He was … adequate.”
“Adequate?” she raised her eyebrows, “I don’t believe a word you say. You have a crush on that man ever since he was introduced this season. Hell, you’re even the one who volunteered to discuss which player we send to the press before each home game. A job so hated, they usually pull straws for it!”
“I don’t have a crush,” you mumbled, your fork scraping over your plate, “And he is not that bad. Just …. Strict. Focussed, I guess. And today I was just … surprised.”
“You didn’t even tell me why you were down there in the first place.”
You shifted on the loveseat you were currently sharing. One day maybe you were in a position to get a bigger couch or squeeze an armchair into your cramped living room. “It’s my … safe space.”
“From what?”
“Everything,” you shrugged, feeling the all familiar-shame rise up in you, “Sometimes, things get a bit too much and I need to go somewhere quiet. That bathroom is usually empty.”
“And this time it was too much because ….“
You rolled your eyes, unable to keep your mouth from quirking up. Maudii was the kind of friend who would never let you lie to yourself. In another time, she would have made for a great therapist.
“Because I spent the last four years trying to distance myself from my parents and pay for my own way. And I thought I managed to do that until I found out my dad bought the sports team which means they won’t leave me to my own devices.”
She nodded, washing down her bite of pasta with a sip of soda. “And then you fled to your safe space where you saw your crush buck naked and jerking off and yet all you say about him is that he was” – she drew bunny ears in the air – “adequate …. but okay. I will let you keep your secrets. Now, what are we gonna do about your dad?”
Now that was a question you didn’t have an answer to.
*
Turns out, it didn’t even matter what your answer to that question would have been. Because, like it had happened so often before, your father had already made his move.
The sun was just starting to rise above the city skyline when you set your stuff down on your desk. Your mental to do list was already figured out and your fingers were itching to write it down on a sticky note and make your way through the day, one task at a time.
But as soon as your computer booted up, you were hit with an appointment reminder.
Meeting, Small Conference Room
That was all you needed to see to know that your father had found you. And it was all you needed to see for your day to completely derail. How could you focus on interview prompts and photoshoot schedules when you would meet your father in less than an hour and most likely would have to defend every life choice you ever made?
Before you knew it, you were crossing the threshold to the meeting that had your heart racing. The small conference room wasn’t really that small. It was just smaller but with only two people in it, one of them often described as the land’s most influential man, it felt gigantic. Like an ocean was parting you from one of the people who had known you the longest. Only that the ocean was a long, long table.
“Hi dad.”
“Hi darling,” he pressed a kiss to your cheek, “Long time, no see. Sit.”
You sat down opposite him. It was clear where had set up his office, there were papers strewn across the surface and a few to go coffee cups. You wondered where his assistant, Briggs, had wandered off to. Probably to get more coffee.
“Yeah, I’ve been … busy, you know.”
He just hummed, not really acknowledging what you said. “Your mother worries. You could’ve called.”
“I did,” you reminded him, “Last Christmas. And for your birthdays. And mine.”
“Four phone calls are nothing.”
You weren’t brave enough to point out that they could have called you, too. Sitting opposite him, you felt like you were eight years old again, gathering the courage to tell him that you didn’t care for the riding lessons, you’d much rather join the swimming club. The only difference was that eight-year-old you hadn’t known yet that it didn’t matter what you wanted.
“You knew where I was the entire time, I told you you were welcome to visit me,” you swallowed, “I, uh, I graduated last summer, like I told you.”
They had not showed up for your graduation. A fact that you had spent months preparing yourself for. When the seats you had reserved for them up to the last minute were still empty by the time you received your certificate, your heart still cracked.
“And now we are here,” he sighed like he was already tired of his stint in Mandalore, “What is it you do here anyway?”
This was it. This was your moment to shine. To show him what you had been up to ever since you had left Coruscant behind. To show off the purpose of your work and the happiness your life here brought you.
“I work in the administrative branch of the team,” you explained, your heart swelling with pride, “I am currently doing an internship in the press –“
“Internship,” he scoffed, “You could have had a managing position already with all the bells and whistles that you want.”
“I told you I don’t want –“
“Your refusal to take advantage of the family business is admirable,” he interrupted you again and your jaw clenched, “But you and I both know that the sports world is no place for an omega like yourself. What would our friends think, seeing you working for some mediocre sports team? You’re throwing your life away for some quest for independence that won’t matter in ten years.”
“That’s not true,” you protested quietly, your hands clenching, “We could win the cup this season and I have a lot of fun here and – and I do a good job. My boss told me there is a good chance they will be hiring when my internship is over and –“
“I am the one who decides when and who they will be hiring,” your father snapped. His eyes were hard and you shrunk into your seat. “Your mother is worried, sweetheart, and the sooner you realize that all we want is to see you succeed, the better prepared you will be to return to the capital.”
Tears stung in your eyes. The most frustrating part was that you knew he meant well. Both your parents did everything out of love for you, you knew that, even if that was oftentimes hard to recognize. Yet. it did not take away from the fact that they had no clue what it was you wanted in life. Their definition of success was just that: theirs.
You had spent years of your life coming to that conclusion, would it take just as long for you to finally free yourself from the weight of their judgement?
Pondering just that (and trying to keep the tears at bay), you didn’t notice the door cracking open and another person joining you. Only when the scent of woods and coffee grounds drifted through the air, did you realize that it was none other than –
“This is Coach Fett,” your father smiled like he had not just destroyed your confidence and future plans in one sentence, “I have asked him to join us. Come in, Boba. This is my daughter, I am sure you’ve met.”
Boba Fett was dressed a bit more casual than usual, wearing dark grey slacks and a white button down that glowed bright under the fluorescent lights. His sleeves were rolled up, revealing veiny forearms and you tried to focus on whether or not you could see his tattoo through the fabric of his shirt.
(The answer, sadly, was no.)
“I believe so,” he approached you confidently, a twinkle in his eyes when he held out his large hand for you to shake, “Still, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”
You felt small in his grip, drawing comfort from the warm, solid contact, before he sat down at the head of the table. Right between you and your father.
The universe was laughing at you, you were sure of it.
“So … why am I here?” Boba asked, completely light hearted, “Kept me from putting on a show for the boys downstairs.”
You knew it was meant as a joke. He was talking about the team and practice and hockey, not about the show he had offered to put on for you last week. Stars, had it really only been a week since then? You felt like you had aged at least three years in that time.
He probably hardly remembered. He didn’t spend his sleepless nights thinking about it like you did.
“My daughter is of the opinion that an internship in this team is the best use of her time,” your father’s voice snapped you out of your thoughts. He was looking at the coach intently, almost like they were both in on the same joke. The joke being you.
Boba’s face hardened and you watched as he shifted in his seat, straightening his back. “Why wouldn’t it be?” he asked back, “We’re the most successful team on the West Coast, we have good chances at the Cup this season and the press department has been an excellent starting board for a few sports journalist.”
Silence.
That was all that followed.
You couldn’t remember the last time someone had openly opposed your dad and gotten away with it. Judging from the sour expression on his face, neither did he. But Boba Fett also wasn’t the kind of man you could speak down to like your father spoke to you. They were roughly (maybe?) the same age, successful in their own right and you knew one of the most important things to consider after a takeover was not to antagonize the staff.
“Be that as it may,” your father cleared his throat, “Her time here is short with her internship ending soon.” Your heart started to race again and you looked around, trying to see if there was a glass of water standing around anywhere. “And her mother and I want to make sure that she doesn’t embarrass our good name –“
“I am sure she won’t.”
“– so I would be very grateful if you could keep an eye on her when we can’t.”
You should be used enough to your parents’ antics that nothing should surprise you anymore.
But hiring the Boba Fett to keep an eye on you. That was a new low.
Worse than that was the incredulous expression on his face. He didn’t seem enthusiastic about it at all. And who could possibly blame him? Not only had your father basically degraded him to the job of babysitter, it also implied that you weren’t good at your job.
“Consider it done.”
The words had your shoulders falling and you stared at the woodgrain on the table. You didn’t know what felt worse: That your parents were meddling again, that they involved Boba in it or that Boba seemed to believe them.
Your dad clapped his hands together once, a sign you knew meant that you were dismissed. “That sounds good. Thanks, Fett. Now I will let you both do what it is that you do.”
As you stood up, Boba caught your gaze and your cheeks flushed, feeling completely embarrassed and undermined.
“Goodbye, sweetheart.”
“Bye, dad,” you bent down to press a kiss to his cheek.
“Don’t forget to call.”
“I won’t.”
And with that you and Boba were out in the hallway like you had just been sent out by the principal. It was barely ten in the morning and this was already the worst day of the week. Hell, the worst day of the entire month.
When the alpha next to you didn’t move away but remained standing next to you, you allowed yourself two things. One, to breathe in his scent and let it calm down your racing heart. Maybe you should invest in a coffee scented candle if it helped with your anxiety this much? Two, to actually speak to him.
“I’m – I’m sorry about that,” you started, “My father has a way of getting into people’s business without really meaning to.”
“Well, I meant I wasn’t expecting to get showered with praise,” he winked at you, “But I’ll be thankful that I have an excuse to talk to you more, pretty omega.”
Your eyes widened with realization when he walked away from you. He definitely remembered.
*
The coach’s office was by some considered a small room but compared to your cubicle upstairs it was as spacious as the ice rink itself. With Boba Fett standing in the room, though, it felt like there was no place to stand in which you weren’t in danger of touching him.
Which was bad, if you wanted to be mad at him.
“Okay, this needs to stop.”
“What needs to stop?” He crossed his arms over his chest, leaning back against the edge of his desk. If you weren’t so furious you might have appreciated the way the fabric stretched over his broad chest or how the silver watch on his wrist made his hands look even thicker. His entire game day outfit belonged in the trash, or on the floor. Anywhere but on his body, really.
“You cannot just keep teasing me every time we see each other. This has been going on for weeks now, you making comment about getting or putting on a show or showers or … or anything really!” You threw your hands up, your pulse racing, “This is my place of work and I am tired of people not taking me seriously, including you. Yes, okay, I saw you in the shower and I had no business being there anyway and sure, I might have looked way more than I should have and interrupted you doing something very … intimate. But isn’t it enough that I can barely meet your eyes as is? Do you have to remind of it every single time we see each other? My father ordered you to look out for which I am still very sorry, by the way, but I am trying my best and I cannot do my best if I am constantly reminded of your … your, uh …”
You trailed off, heat rising into your cheeks because why could you not stop thinking about his cock?
Sensing a new opportunity to fluster you, Boba leant forward, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “My what?” he asked, “Go on, say it, pretty ‘mega. Gives me something to think about at night.”
“That! That is what I mean!” you accused him, your finger meeting his chest and he laughed. Your chest rose and fell with strenuous breaths and you felt winded, like a balloon that had been popped. You were just … here. Boba, on the other hand, was still the epitome of smugness.
“That everything, princess?”
You huffed, moving to cross your arms over your chest but he stopped you. As if in slow motion, you watched as one large hand landed on yours, keeping it on his chest. Your fingers flattened and you could feel his heat … and his strong heartbeat.
“What is that supposed to mean?” you glared up at him.
Boba leant back again, still holding you, and you followed until you were standing right between his legs, cradled in by him. Close enough to smell the mix of his aftershave and the coffee scent that haunted your dreams.
“Just wanted to let you get it all out before I bend you over this table.”
You did not know whether to be angry at him or ashamed at the images that immediately flooded your mind at his words. Your body decided on the not-so-secret third option and focussed on the arousal that spread through you, gathering between your legs. “And what in the world would ever make you think that I would let you, Coach Fett?”
Boba rose to his full height, then. Breadth, too. He was a large man and sometimes people forgot about that when they talked about the giants of the team like Paz Vizsla. But right here, right now, it was Boba Fett who just took up every one of your senses. He was all you could see, all you could smell, stars, even all you could taste. You wondered if his taste would be stronger if you were to put your mouth on the scent gland on his neck …
No damnit, you were supposed to be mad at him!
And, in a way, you were mad. Just not about the things you were talking about. You were mad that he looked through you so easily. You were mad that even when you tried to intimidate him, he did not shy away from pulling you closer. You were mad that his proximity, the one he so casually coaxed out of you, made you feel safer and more seen than ever before. And you were mad that you did not even have to tell him that. He already knew.
With one infuriatingly smooth move, he turned you both around. His grip on you tightened and your breath hitched when you felt the edge of the table digging into the back of your thighs.
“Because I can smell you dripping right through those little panties you've got on, sweetheart.”
You bit your lip and watched Boba’s eyes darken at the move. Something flashed in your mind, an idea, a desire, so strong, it would have knocked you off your feet if it had not been for the hand on yours. This was the worst – or possibly best – idea you ever had.
“Who says I am wearing panties?”
“I do, princess.”
“Oh?”
He hummed, the sound reminding you of the groan he had let out in the shower, and suddenly your skin felt too tight for your body. It got even worse when his face got so close, his nose touched yours. “Because if you’re telling me right now that you’re not wearing any panties under that pretty dress of yours, there is no way you’ll leave this office without my come dripping down your thighs.”
Your breath hitched at the image. Was that a promise? Why did you want it to be a promise? Stars, this was game day. His team was outside. You needed to leave, you needed to distance yourself from this man who had snuck his way into your filthiest daydreams. You needed to not ask him any more questions.
“What makes you think I would let you?” you breathed out, searching his eyes for … something. For confirmation, maybe, that this affected him just as much as it affected you.
“Because I think you are used to being in a room where people overlook you,” he rumbled, his scent washing over you, “But I do not overlook you. Nor do I underestimate you. I see you, omega, and I don’t know if you need someone to challenge or pamper you. This is me finding out.”
The raw honesty surprised you. Brain running through option of what you could say without exposing yourself.
Pamper me! Your brain screamed. Take care of me, please!
“We shouldn’t be doing this,” you swallowed heavily, “Somebody – somebody could see.”
“Let them,” he replied easily, his mouth brushing over yours in the lightest of kisses. “Because I think, omega, we absolutely should be doing this.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.” And then he kissed you.
His mouth was on yours and your eyes fluttered shut. Everything in you was tense, a string pulled taut and the only thing that could release you was his touch. You could not remember the last time a kiss had taken you up so completely.
Boba let go off your hand but you still kept in on his chest, feeling his heartbeat speed up under your touch. His hands framed your face, his thumbs brushing over your cheeks so gently, you felt like the most precious thing in the world. When his tongue brushed over your mouth, you opened up for him, letting your tongues meet and revelling in the delicious feeling of his stubbled chin against yours.
The urge to get closer grew stronger and you lifted your hand to the back of his neck, trying to pull him to you.
But Boba Fett was not a man easily moved. If anything, he moved you.
“Up,” he ordered against your mouth, his hips grinding against yours. A shot of electricity ran down your spine when you felt him heard and heavy between your legs. Arching your back, you wiggled up onto his desk and spread your legs.
“Good girl,” he praised you, “Opening her legs for me without having to ask.”
Never in your life did you think a compliment – a filthy one at that – would have your panties wet. Yet here you were, feeling positive that if he were to look now, there was no way he wouldn’t notice the wet patch on the grey fabric.
His hand landed on your thigh, gently pushing it to the side, spreading you even more and you kissed him again. You could spend all day just like this, being touched by this man, kissed by him, thinking of nothing else but how good he felt against you.
A knock on the door made you flinch and Boba pulled away.
“Coach, are you there?” That was Berenson. “Vizsla and I had a question about that play you wanted us to try out.”
“Be there in a minute!” he called out, his voice rough.
Your lips felt swollen and your nipples were aching, rubbing against the inside of your bra and not his chest hair. Had that really happened? Had you really just kissed him?
“Give me your phone,” he said quietly. He took a step away from you and your legs immediately snapped shut. To hide yourself from his gaze or try and get some pressure on your clit, you did not know. What you did know was that you handed him your phone without question and that when your fingers brushed against his, there still was that spark that ran over your skin.
“What are you doing?” you asked,
“Putting my number in,” he explained, his large fingers deftly moving over the screen, “And when this game is won, I want you to text me your favourite coffee place.”
“Why?”
“So that we can meet for coffee,” he said as if it was the most natural thing in the world. Your phone landed back in your hand and your eyes slid to the prominent bulge in his pants. He was hard. You had made him hard. Stars, would he spend the whole game just like that? “And so that I can pamper you the way you need. Because that’s what you need, isn’t it? You need someone on your side, princess, and to take care of you the way you need.”
Blinking, you looked up at him in surprise. How had he –
“See?” he winked at you, “We definitely should be doing this.”
Title Inspired By: Bluest Flame - Selena Gomez, benny blanco
Summary: Meeting your true mate for the first time is supposed to be one of the happiest moments in your life. But what if your true mate turns out to be an asshole and not into you at all?
Pairing: Ice Hockey Player!Alpha!Paz Vizsla x fem!Omega!Reader
Wordcount: 5.1k | Rating: E (18+ only!)
Warnings: unrequited love (or is it?), a little angst, concept of true mates, asshole!Paz vibes, alcohol consumption
I cannot believe that I finally get to share this story with you! Heated Rivarly had (and still has, tbh) me by the throat this past winter and I spent weeks writing this fic and the matching Boba one as well, convinced that you would get to read it by February at the latest. And then life and all its little hurdles came in between. Anyway, I hope you are all doing well and are in the mood for some alpha!Paz! As always, I would love to hear your thoughts on this - what do you think happens next?
masterlist | crossposted on AO3
“I don’t know if this is a good idea,” you muttered to your dark-haired friend next to you.
Chants was wearing a white and dark blue Mandalorian Minotaur jersey, the name Djarin emblazed on the back. “I think it is very sweet,” he assured you with a wide grin, “Din loved that chain I have and it’s even sweeter you got it for his friend, too. It’s like a good luck charm. You wouldn’t believe how superstitious these athletes are.”
Oh, you had no trouble believing that. What you still couldn’t believe was that your friend was dating one of them but you bit your tongue. The day Chants had come home, grinning from ear to ear and waving a scrap of paper with a scrawled number on it, you had not expected it to lead you here, five months later. Right into an empty hallway of the ice hockey rink.
It was time to officially meet Din Djarin, the man your friend called his boyfriend. Secretly, you had questioned whether immediately after a home game was the right moment to be introduced to a strange alpha. Then again, you were pretty sure there was never a “right” moment to meet a strange alpha, especially not one who regularly got into brawls on the ice. But Chants was so happy and despite your TK, you wanted to support your friend.
Besides, you had never been to an ice hockey game before and it was a very fun experience. You had to google most of the rules of the game while it was happening and you had lost sight of the puck more than a few times but the crowd around you was full of energy and you loved to see Chants’ proud smile whenever his boyfriend held the goal.
It had almost let you forget your anxiety about meeting some new people.
“You know when we get married, we are going to many more games,” Chants commented just as you were fiddling with the tiny jewellery bags in your hands.
Oh my stars what?
“I found a ring in his pocket,” he laughed at the shock on your face, “And I think he is getting ready to pop the question.”
Before you could say anything else (such as “Are you sure it’s the right decision to get engaged after five months of dating?”) the door to the locker rooms opened and you were hit with a wave of alpha scents so strong, your eyes started to water. It was not like you had never met an alpha before but you had curated your life to include many good and wonderful friends and sometimes a boyfriend. And none of them happened to an arrogant prick of an alpha who disturbed your peaceful bubble with hope of finding your true mate.
One after another, different hockey players filtered out of the room, freshly showered and wearing some very comfortable looking sweats. They acknowledged you and your friend with a nod but none of them stopped to chat with you and none of them seemed to be the ones you were waiting for. You knew what Din looked like from Chants’ many Instagram posts and you had seen the headshot of player #87 (Vizsla) on the ice today. Yet, as time passed, you grew more and more nervous.
This was important to your friend and if things were progressing as Chants expected, you soon would spend much more time with Din and his friends. So you needed to get off to a good start with both these men and make a good first impression. It did not help that you were a nervous wreck and that you were sure your anxiety was already colouring your scent but you were sure you could put on a nice smile and keep your hands from shaking. That had to be enough-
The door opened again and Din Djarin stepped out. The man was just as handsome as Chants had described him, his dark hair wet from a fresh shower and a serene smile on his face as he spotted his boyfriend.
“Hi, babe.”
Chants practically melted next to you and you could not blame him.
A kiss later, Din’s attention shifted to you and you introduced yourself with a steady voice and a strong smile (you would count this was one of your greater achievements this week). “I, uh, Chants mentioned you liked the chain I gifted him for his birthday so I got a similar one for you.”
You handed him the pouch. “That is very kind, thank you,” he said, the gold jewellery falling into his wide palm. The lady from the small jewellery store around the corner had been overjoyed when you had returned to re-buy the gift you had gotten Chants and you could not wait to tell her that the other two recipients had liked her work as well.
“I got one for your friend, too,” you tacked on, “Chants mentioned that it is some kind of good luck thing for you two?”
“Really? That is awesome. Vizsla, you hear that?”
A tall man – taller than anyone you had ever seen – turned around from where he was talking to another group of players and your breath caught in your throat. This man was nothing compared to the little picture they had shown on the video cube.
Player #87, Paz Vizsla, approached you and it was like your body experienced a glitch. Not only was he incredibly tall. He was broad, too. Would he even fit through a normal doorway? How did he hold his entire body on just some thin skates? That should not be possible.
Words got stuck in your throat as your eyes roamed over his frame. He was wearing grey sweatpants that made your cheeks heat and his black t-shirt was not loose enough to hide how it was straining over his shoulders and there was a shadow of stubble on his jaw and his hair was curling at the ends, still wet from his shower and –
The scent of pinewood slammed into you suddenly, your heart stopped for a second. And then another. And another. In fact, your heart stood still for so long, panic began to creep in that you were having a heart attack. Was that what it felt like? Weren’t you too young to experience a cardiac event like this? It would be so embarrassing to die the moment you were introduced to the new people in Chants’ life.
And then, as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened, your heart started beating again and everything had realigned to be focussed on just him.
Your fingers felt numb. Could it be … was this what your parents had always talked about when they told you about their first meeting? True mates were rarer these days but not unheard of and maybe he had felt it, too, this shift and fuck, was this your alpha?
It certainly felt like it.
Paz Vizsla came to stand in front of you, his face betraying nothing while you could not hide your excitement and nervousness. You wondered whether he had felt it, too, this shifting of the universe and whether your scent was just as tantalizing to him as his was to you. This time, there was no stopping the tremor in your hand as you waved at him.
“Hi,” you smiled shyly, “I am, um, I’m Chant’s friend.”
“You’re my,” he frowned, the slight shake of his head brought drops of water to the strands of his hair, one of them landing on his cheek, “You’re an omega.”
You had never heard someone sound so hostile and your smile froze on your face. “Uh, yeah?” you held oud the little pouch, “I got you the same chain as Din. Chants mentioned it is a superstitious thing?”
The chain tumbled into his large and you caught a glimpse of his tattooed hands. Of course, he had tattooed hands. Of course. His frown deepened as he eyed the simple gold chain. “I only wear silver.”
You hated that your heart cracked a bit at his obvious rejection. “Oh, um, okay. It’s just a gift, you don’t have to wear it, of course. It’s just –“
You were very much aware that you were rambling. But you weren’t prepared for the fact that he would simply turn around mid-sentence and leave you without another word. Shame burned through you and you did not know how to deal with someone so … insultingly hot and rude at the same time.
At this point, the best thing would probably have been to turn around as well and join Din and Chants even though they looked like they were in their own little bubble. But apparently you were a glutton for punishment because you watched Paz Vizsla re-join the group of players.
“Who was that?” another player eyed you, obviously interested, “Your stress relief for the night?”
“Nah,” Vizsla growled, “Just another desperate omega trying to get a sniff. Mind your business, Berenson.”
Your fists clenched and you tried to ignore the burning in your eyes and chest. Never before had you felt this humiliated and it had taken Paz Vizsla just three sentences to make you feel like the stupidest person in the whole wide world.
Shifting your focus to your friend, who seemed ready to leave, you walked away from the alpha and spared him no glance and no more thoughts.
Paz Vizsla was a jackass and you would happily live your life without ever having to talk to him again.
*
Alcohol made you do stupid things.
Like that time you had almost booked one-way tickets to the other end of the world because you and Chants thought you could totally make a life for yourself there.
Or like agreeing to a juvenile game of seven minutes in heaven at a house party of some of Chants’ hockey friends and landing in a small, enclosed space with none other than Paz fucking Vizsla.
The latter being slightly more recent than the former. Like currently happening recent.
You had done a good job avoiding the tall alpha until now and you were pretty sure it was because he put just as much effort in it as you did. But the empty bottle Din had spun to the cheers of what felt like everyone in the house had picked the two of you because, clearly, the universe wanted to test you.
Which was how you found yourself pinned to the wall of the empty closet by none other than Paz Vizsla. His hand was at the base of your throat and there was tension thrumming between the two of you that you really could not explain. The loud bass from outside made your ears hurt and the short hem of your dress itched against your thighs.
“Aw, little omega,” the alpha rumbled and you hated how it made your stomach flutter. How had a simple heated exchange led to this already? “Did you miss me?”
“Never,” you bit out through gritted teeth. Your palms were flat against the wall behind you. Because you liked the cold of the wall, not because you wanted to keep yourself from touching him (or ripping the shirt off his body so you could finally find out whether the tattoos on his knuckles had any companions).
“Tell that to your pussy,” he teased you, the tip of his nose running over your cheek “She’s wet as a fountain. I can smell her from here, omega.”
Other, more mature people, might admit that the grin on his face made him look softer, more handsome, than before. You could only think that he looked evil. Positively menacing.
Which didn’t explain why your pussy clenched at his proximity.
“I despised you the moment I saw you,” you hissed up at him, “And I will never ever grow to like you, Paz Vizsla. Of that you can be sure.”
His eyes blazed and you swallowed heavily. If you did not know any better, you would have said there was reluctance in his movements away from you. That his forehead gently touched yours for a moment before he pulled away. That his fingers brushed over your scent gland and down your chest briefly before his touch left you. That his eyes softened when he took in your heaving chest.
It was all just alcohol-induced imagination, though.
“Good,” he rumbled, “Because if you know what’s best for you, omega, you better stay far away from me.”
*
You told yourself that you didn’t listen to him out of spite and not because some pathetic needy part in you craved his proximity like you weren’t the first omega in history to be rejected by their true mate.
It was like you could neither live with or without him. With wasn’t an option, clearly, with how he glared at you every time he spotted you in the ranks. Without wasn’t an option either because if you went a few days without seeing him, something ached in your chest so strong, you went to the doctors the first few times it had happened.
When the realization sunk in that it was heartache, the humiliation had followed soon after and now you were like an addict, getting your fill of Paz Vizsla every few days even though you knew it was wrong and would only make his rejection hurt more in the long run.
Chants had made it his personal mission to merge his and Din’s social circles and that meant that Paz Vizsla saw you way more often than he wanted to. And he let you know that every time (until Din pulled him away at one dinner and had some very strict words with him from the looks of it) until your heartache was accompanied by a pit of anxiety each game you attended. Your best friend had even started carrying your go-to headache medication "just in case”.
You wanted to say you hated Paz. You wanted to hate him for the glares he sent your way or how he teased you about your “boringly safe” desk job more than once. But the truth was you hated how you could not bring yourself to hate him.
You hated how he never made any attempts to talk to you or how he blocked yours but then grumbled at the waiters when they got your order wrong and you were too shy to say anything. You hated how he mocked you when Chants mentioned you hadn’t expected the ice rink to actually be cold but then a dark blue and white scarf was delivered to the seat you usually occupied.
You hated how when Chants walked into the café you met at for brunch with a raised left hand, showing off his engagement ring, your first thought was that you would get to see more the infuriatingly hot alpha. The other women around you (WAGS, you had learned, wives and (girl)friends) started to squeal excitedly and the other guests looked at the giant group hug that refused to let go off each other.
“Congratulations!” you laughed, sitting back down, everyone’s eyes on him.
“It was the most romantic proposal,” Chants gushed, taking a sip from his mimosa, “He took me out to the restaurant we went to for our first date and I thought for sure that would be the spot.”
“It wasn’t?”
“No! He took me to a museum and I thought at this hour? But turns out he booked the whole thing just for us!”
“Paz told me all about it,” Katrina, a beautiful redheaded figure skater, nodded, “Din kept brainstorming the perfect place for a proposal and Paz suggested the museum, it makes for the best pictures, doesn’t it?”
Do not focus on the pretty woman who is dating your alpha. Do not focus on –
“Hey,” a hand on yours snapped you out of your thoughts and blinked at Chants, “You with me?”
“Uh sorry, what was that?”
“He asked you if you want to be his maid of honour, silly,” Katrina laughed.
Forgotten was the heartbreak and the jealousy and the anxiety. It was all replaced by pure joy at the hopeful look on your best friend’s face and the knowledge that you could help him make the most important day in his life a reality.
“Of course,” you said, feeling tears stinging the back of your eyes, swallowing back the lump in your throat, “Of course I want to, Chants. Thank you for asking me.”
Your friend squeezed your hand, his eyes filled with the love that you felt for him. Everyone around you aww’ed and you could hear Katrina order another round of mimosas. “Here’s to our newest member!”
“Thank you, everyone,” Chants looked around, “Din and I are so happy to share this moment with you. We booked the ice rink for our unofficial engagement party next weekend and I hope you can all make it. We got a few food and drink stands, too, so even you can’t skate, there’s something to do.”
“Can you imagine living in Mandalore and not knowing how to skate?” Katrina threw her head back and laughed, “That would be so embarrassing.”
“Yeah,” you cringed, “So embarrassing.”
*
If there was one thing Chants knew how to do, it was how to throw a party. Your friend worked in event planning, after all, so there was no way that is own wedding festivities would be anything short of amazing. Starting with the engagement party.
Titled as a “lowkey get-together”, your friend and his fiancé had rented out the ice rink of the Mandalorian Minotaurs because of course they had. And to top it all off, it had been transformed into a cosy winter wonderland with lights strung across the ceilings and a little stand that offered hot beverages while music played from the speakers.
It was undoubtedly the most romantic event you had ever been to.
When Joe Berenson, one of Din’s teammates, had asked you out on a date for this exact event, you really could not believe your luck. Sure, he was not really your type and you were pretty sure that you were not his. But he was kind and funny and kept you from having to show up alone when a certain player brought a famous figure skater as his date.
Really, at this point, you were just fighting to not humiliate yourself.
Which might also be the reason why you were not on the ice, but instead on the bench, watching all the couples skate round after round, holding hands and laughing at some of the silly music choices. You could see Din twirling Chants and you smiled. Your friend deserved nothing but happiness and you were so happy to finally see him get it.
Ice flew in front of your face and you flinched as the unmistakable figure of Paz Vizsla came to a stop in front of you. He was wearing dark jeans and a green hoodie that complimented his dark hair. It should be illegal, the way his hair was a bit tousled from how fast he was skating. You wanted to do nothing more than to run your fingers through it.
“What’re you doing here?” he grinned, “Sulking cause I didn’t ask you to be my date?”
This question deserved nothing but an eyeroll. “I don’t care about your pretty ice-skating friend,” you denied, “Not everything in life is about you. Why are you even here anyway?”
“Oh, c’mon now. You can’t blame me for wanting to check on the lonely omega sitting all by herself. My date might think me an unempathetic piece of shit otherwise.”
“You are an unempathetic piece of shit.”
His eyes twinkled and you turned your head away. You didn’t want to see him in a good mood, it made your insides feel all funny despite knowing he hated you.
Praying that he might leave you in peace if you told him the truth, you took a deep breath. “I can’t skate.”
“What?”
You swallowed back the shame and focussed your eyes on his skates. You could not look up and face the obvious judgement that awaited you. Paz Vizsla was not a forgiving man and you had just given him another thing to tease you about. And yet, you repeated your confession. “I can’t skate.”
“Does Berenson know?”
“Course he knows,” you huffed, “That’s why he let me sit here in peace.”
Paz just grunted and when you chanced a glance up at him, his face was unreadable. You tried your hardest not to pay too much attention, to read too much into it, to try to decipher what he was thinking now. Because chances were high that he was thinking something unfavourable and you really were not in the mood to face your own failure.
But all he said was, “Okay then.”
And then he skated off.
You did not know why that left a worse feeling in your stomach than before. Clearly, Paz Vizsla had something that made you dizzy and flustered and warm and shiver-y and –
Shaking your head, you took a sip of your hot chocolate and did your best to forget that whole interaction. Din and Chants skated past you, hand in hand, and you smiled at the happy couple.
For a quick moment, you wondered if maybe you should try to make your way onto the ice but the thought disappeared as soon as it had occurred to you. Everyone was having so much fun and you didn’t want to bother them to get you to teach you how to skate.
Besides, so many people were constantly taking breaks and if they did, they came to join you on the bench for a quick chat. So, it wasn’t as if you were really lonely.
A pair of skates landed in front of your feet and you frowned, looking up at the alpha who had clearly thrown them for you. “What are you doing?”
“Teaching you how to skate, what’s it look like?”
“I don’t need to know how to skate.”
“Maybe you don’t need to but you should know. Part of an ice hockey friend group and not knowing how to skate?” Paz shook his head solemnly, “It’s embarrassing.”
Heat filled your cheeks. It was almost exactly what Katrina had said a few days ago but there was no way he could know that. “Okay,” you muttered, “but don’t laugh at me.”
“Never, sweetheart.”
You did not believe him.
Putting the skates on was embarrassing enough, it felt foreign and the strings were worn with use. It got even worse when Paz fucking Vizsla knelt down on one knee, his hands shooing away yours. “Let me,” he asked, his voice way too gentle for how rough he usually was. You watched silently as he tied the knots for you, checking that they would hold up, before tucking them inside the skate. “Gotta have them out of the way,” he explained, “I don’t want you to fall.”
Oddly enough, there was pure honesty in his voice and when you stood up on shaky legs, he did not shy away when you gripped his forearm. No, his hand even cupped your elbow, supporting your journey to the ice. You took a few steps towards the edge but just as you were about to step on it, Paz stopped you.
“Right foot first.”
You tilted your head. Was this really the right technique to get on the ice? Was there a right technique? Your brows furrowed and you pressed your lips together. You knew you were about to embarrass yourself but you didn’t know you could already do things wrong.
Sensing your confusion, Paz’s hand rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s, uh, it’s for good luck.”
The knowledge that Paz Vizsla had superstitions made your heart flutter. How could a grown alpha like him become cute, all of a sudden?
Before you could ponder whether your face betrayed the affection you felt for him despite knowing better, you were on the ice. Immediately, your legs wobbled and you gripped the edge of the rink tightly. Some might say you were refusing to move. You would like to think you were refusing to fall. Not falling would be the baseline of success today.
But apparently not in Paz’s book.
“One foot after another. C’mon, omega,” he ran his hand through his dark curls, “What are you so terrified off, hm?”
“I am afraid of falling,” you hissed, “I – I don’t want to hit my head. I have seen enough clips of blood all over the ice, I don’t need that to happen to me today of all days, thank you very much.”
That had him silent again. Maybe this was your ticket to finally getting where you could bear his presence without the rejection burning deep in your belly – disarming honesty. If you were already aware of your flaws, it would be harder for him to make fun of you.
Clearly, that was what he was pondering at the moment. The frown on his face could not mean anything other than annoyance at your sudden ability to deal with him. He had not shaved this morning because his stubble was a bit thicker and you wondered if he ever grew it out long enough for it to be soft.
(For it to leave burns on the inside of your thighs.)
Done with whatever he was thinking about, he stretched his arm out. With his palm facing up, you could see that there was a small scar on the side and you bit back the question where he had gotten it from. You could wait out his stretch routine without trying to find out more about this stoic man.
When he did not move, not even to switch arms, you grew restless. People skated past you and he just kept looking at you. Almost as if he wasn’t stretching at all but holding out his hand. To you.
Before you could question your sanity, you reached out and grabbed it. His fingers entwined with yours instantly and you took a deep breath. You could feel the rough callouses on his palm, how his skin was dry and warm and he held on to you so securely, you almost trusted him not to let you fall.
Almost only because as soon as he started to move (and pull you with him) you gripped his hand with both of yours like your life depended on it.
“I got you, ‘mega,” he murmured, his voice warm “Slow and steady, okay?”
That was easier said than done.
But Paz Vizsla was surprisingly patient as he placed himself in front of you, holding both of your hands as he carefully skated backwards. People eyed you in passing but he did not pay them any mind and so you found yourself doing the same.
If Paz Vizsla acted like nothing out of the ordinary was happening, it probably was because nothing out of the ordinary was happening.
Even when he smiled at you encouragingly as you started to mimic the movements the others made around you. Even as his thumb brushed over your scent gland, sending shivers down your spine. Even as you passed Katrina, who looked more offended than anyone, and he did not spare her a single glance.
“I won’t let you fall,” he assured you as you rounded the first corner, his eyes never leaving yours, “Trust me. I will keep you safe.”
I will keep you safe.
Why did that sound like much more than a promise?
“Chants told me you helped with the engagement,” you decided to change the topic and navigate the conversation back to neutral territory, “He was very happy. Thank you.”
“Thanking me for something? Today must be my lucky day.”
You rolled your eyes, an easy smile playing on your lips. By now, you had picked up in speed, though you were still no match to the other guests gliding across the ice with ease. But your amusement at his joke had pulled your focus away from what your feet were doing and before you knew it, you were struggling to keep yourself upright. Your skates were slipping beneath you and your arms flailed in an attempt to catch yourself on the ice.
Strong arms wrapped around your waist like a vice and you came to a standstill right against his chest. Paz Vizsla had pulled you to him, his chest pressed against yours and you could feel the heat of him even through the layers of clothes.
Stars, you hoped he couldn’t feel how fast your heart was beating from shock and from him.
“I got you,” dark eyes jumped all over your face, as if to check you for injuries, “I got you, omega. You’re okay. Breathe for me.”
It was only his instruction that alerted you to the fact that your breath had, in fact, caught in your throat. Your chest expanded as you filled your lungs with air, pressing closer to him, and your nose twitched at his familiar scent.
Being so close to him was dangerous for your heart even if your head knew he couldn’t stand you one bit.
“Good girl,” he rumbled, his hands on your waist tight, “Breathe. You’re okay. You did it, a full lap around the rink and you didn’t fall once.”
His words sunk in with a bit of a delay but when you spotted your abandoned mug of hot chocolate on the bench, you knew he was right. You had done a full round around the rink.
“I did it,” you smiled to yourself and wrapped your arms around him in a hug. Just to thank him, of course, and not because it brought your nose closer to his scent gland. And certainly not because it felt nice to have his arms wrap around you tighter, his face buried in the crook of your neck.
“Hey, alpha,” a smooth voice had you flinch away from him and your cheeks blazed in embarrassment as you spotted his beautiful date for the day, “Can you show me that slapshot thing you did the other game? You promised you’d teach me.”
There was a sexy pout on her face and your embarrassment morphed into something uglier at the pit of your stomach.
“Uh, yeah,” Paz’s voice sounded hoarse and his eyes were still on you, slightly hooded, “Of course.”
She took his hand like it was the most natural thing in the world and your heart cracked a bit again.
“Bye, ‘mega,” he waved at you, looking back even as he was skating away from you.
If you wanna protect AO3 or character ai. Or Wattpad. Or Tumblr. Or discord. Or even the right for undocumented people and minors to use the fucking Internet reblog this I swear to God. Reblog this and reblog as many KOSA posts as you can go on their website and contact your Representatives. Do it. Do it. Do it.
Twilight's fading
Hurry, the moon is waiting @mostly-megan - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
