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pedrito-friskito · 2 years ago

Note

hey kay bb!! hope you're doing well 💖

mando has been on the brain lately so i'm requesting fluffy smut with him pls 🥺😫 (the yearning is *extra* today)

niiiiiiiiik my darling my dear hope you are also well 💗

ok…this got away from me. I blinked and suddenly a plot! exposition! SMUT! (multiple scenes at that) all the things. I’m a slut for Din Djarin and it really jumped out on this one.

(smut below the cut, a full plot, the helmet comes off, a bit of inexperienced!din, reader is kind of a bad ass, descriptions of bodies, unprotected p-in-v sex - wrap ur shit even if ur in space ok)

sleepover saturday

uncharted territory

(word count 9.1k - it REALLY got away from me okay)

gif by @aceofwhump

Then you are a Mandalorian no more.

Din Djarin aches in a way he has never felt before, much more powerful than any injury he could ever sustain. His Creed, demolished. His son, gone. His life, upended. As he staggers out of the Covert, trying to think of where to go next, he cannot shake the feeling of lost that settles around his shoulders like a cloak.

Maybe coming to Glavis was a mistake; maybe he should have stayed back on Nevarro, kept taking jobs from Karga until he finally had enough credits to take the old man’s advice, get himself a camtono full of spice and disappear into the Twi’lek healing baths until he forgot the whole thing.

The truth of it? He knew he could never forget. There wasn’t enough spice in the galaxy to help him forget it all. It wasn’t possible. And the larger part was that Din didn’t want to forget.

His leg aches as he walks. The bacta Paz had sprayed him down with had helped some, but the ache runs deep, and the drills the Armourer had forced him to run with the Darksaber had only made matters worse. He should find a place to lie down, to hide for the night before he decides what he plans to do next, where he plans to go.

Where will he go?

You are a Mandalorian no more.

The echo of the words make his head split, and for a moment, he has half a mind to wrench the helmet off, to launch it off the ring, let space swallow the beskar whole. But he stops himself; it feels as though his armour is all he has left.

His armour, and the Darksaber. The right to the throne of Mandalore.

Maker, he can’t think straight. The ache only worsens, his limp more prominent, and it gets to the point where he can take no more. He falls onto the nearest crate, his injured leg stuck straight out in front of him. His body feels twice as heavy, his head even more so, and he tips it back against the wall to lighten the load. He’ll rest just a moment, he’ll just shut his eyes for one—

“Mando?”

Din pulls his blaster from his holster as his eyes shoot open. There’s the sound of shuffled steps, something metallic hitting the floor, a murmured dank farrik! He hits a button on his vambrace, turns off the thermal setting on his visor.

“Sweets?”

You look exactly the same as he remembers. It’s been ages, but he could never forget your face. He knows what’s underneath your clothes, too, and the memory speeds to the surface of his mind faster than a pod-racer.

Before he had an in with Peli on Tatooine, the Razor Crest routinely parked and tuned up in Hangar 3-5, he had you. You were well-known within the Guild, had more than a few contracts with different gangs and hunters in the galaxy. If something on a ship broke, you were the one to fix it, and you had enough heavily-armed thugs on your side to make anyone think twice about trying to mess with you.

Some called you the Mechanic, simple and descriptive. Others, those you let a little closer, knew you as Sweets, a moniker earned by your penchant for candies and treats. You’d let your favoured clients off easy if they were short a few credits, but had something sweet from the far reaches of the galaxy to offer in lieu of the missing cash.

Din knew he was one of your favoured clients, perhaps your favourite. Or, had been. You’d crowed endlessly about the Crest, desperate to get your hands on it any time he hauled it in for service, whether it actually needed it or not. Sometimes he genuinely needed something fixed, some times he’d found some candy or sweet in a far off corner of the galaxy that he’d brought back just for you.

Other times, he just wanted to see you.

You were sweet in other ways, too. He knew first-hand. And he knew he was the only client you let into your bed. He’d been drawn to you the first time you’d been introduced — a common contact between you and Din sent him your way when the Crest was in serious need of a tune-up, and you were the closest mechanic he could get to without doing more damage to the ship.

Your knowledge astounded him, to start. You were barely into a diagnostic and you knew exactly what needed to be fixed, what parts you had and didn’t, how many credits it was going to cost him. And you hadn’t even set foot on the ship yet. Your competency drove him wild, only spurred on when he brought you aboard the Crest to give the interior a once-over, eager to see if he’d kept everything original, or if you had any modifications to offer that he might be interested in. Din followed you around the ship silently, answering whatever questions you had, mostly just watching you work. It was intriguing beyond belief.

“That’s not much of a bed,” you’d commented, cocking your head to the side when you hit the button that opened the bunk. “When’s the last time you had a new mattress?”

He just shrugged.

“One thing you should know,” you said over your shoulder, descending the Crest’s ramp, heading back towards the entrance to your shop. “I don’t use droids.”

Din nearly fell over. “That’s not a problem.”

“Good,” you replied, tapping at your data pad, your brow scrunching. “It’ll take longer than your usual hangar; I do everything myself.”

“I’m happy to wait,” he said, dipping his helmet, thankful it was hiding the way he was raking his eyes over you. I don’t use droids. Had someone made you in a lab somewhere, on some backwater planet, just for him? “I know she’s in good hands.”

The grin you’d offered him was sweeter than anything he’d ever seen, and you shooed him out a moment later, muttering something about getting back to work.

When he returned three days later to retrieve his ship, he almost didn’t recognize it. You’d repainted most of the outside panels, replaced all the ones that were missing, and the engines were so shiny Din could see his helmet reflected in them. Inside the Crest was another story; you’d outfitted him with a carbonite cell system, top of the line and primed for use. That meant no more mouthy bounties, no more wasting durasteel cuffs and gags when he could just hit a button and have a quiet ride back to the Guild.

And in the bunk, a new mattress, complete with a pillow, and bolted on the wall, a mount for his helmet.

“You don’t sleep with that thing on, do you?”

“The carbonite system,” he nearly sputtered, rubbing a gloved hand over the back of his neck. “I don’t have the credits, I didn’t—”

You poked the toe of his boot with your own. “Call it a gift, Mando. Let’s just say I shouldn’t have had the thing hanging around to begin with.”

“Is that gonna cause me any problems?”

“Nope,” you replied, popping the p. “Wiped all the identification numbers from the system. No one will know where it came from. Except you.”

He stared at you a long moment. “Except me.”

He was sure to pay you in full, plus the candied flowers he’d found at one of the vendors in the markets. You’d smiled again at that, and while Din committed the sight to memory, he also promised himself that he wouldn’t let it be long before he saw your smile again.

And he kept that promise. The next time he landed the Crest in your hangar, it wasn’t because he needed a tune-up or new parts. He’d struck gold at a black market on Coruscant; his bounty had lead him into the belly of a sweet shop, and after the Gungan had been dealt with, Din did some hunting of his own. He took as many boxes as he could carry, trying to take one of each flavour, a few extra of the ones he’d seen on the shelf in your shop.

“What in Maker’s name are you doing here?” you’d called as soon as he landed, stepping out of the shop and into the hangar, your hands on your hips, cocked to one side. “You ruin my handiwork that fast?”

“Not exactly,” he’d replied, walking down the ramp, his arms laden with goodies. Your eyes had gone huge. “I come bearing gifts.”

“For me?” you cried, gasping as you took the boxes from him, tongue poking between your teeth. “Mandalorian, if I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were flirting with me.”

He’d never been so grateful for his helmet at that exact moment. He might have crumbled to dust if you’d seen how red his cheeks were. “I-I owed you,” he stuttered out, “for the carbonite.”

“You didn’t owe me anything,” you quipped, swaying from side to side on your feet, staring down at your treats. “I told you, it was a gift.” You gave him one of those smiles again, and Din felt his stomach twist at the glitter in your eyes. “Why don’t you stay a while? I’ll feed you and everything.”

You disappeared into the shop, and Din paused a moment before following.

He saw you disappear behind a dark curtain that had definitely seen better days, and Din followed your further to discover there was an apartment of sorts attached to the shop. Apartment was perhaps too kind a word; it was one large room, a kitchen to one side, a large futon spread in the middle. Trunks and boxes and crates stacked along the far wall, a few grease-stained jumpsuits littering the floor. You stumbled over your feet trying to pick them up, tossing the offending fabric into a nearby crate, before you turned back to him. “What are you hungry for?”

You served him first. Noodles with dark sauce and some kind of shredded meat you thought was bantha but weren’t quite sure. But, as you stated with a shrug, “it’s good, and it hasn’t killed me yet.” After you slid the bowl across the table to him, you turned back to the stove and stayed that way. After a moment, Din wasn’t sure what to do, but then your head turned slightly, your eyes trained directly to the left, not wandering towards him over your shoulder. “I won’t look. Swear.”

He lifted the helmet just enough to shovel the food into his mouth. You were right, the mystery meat was good, and the sauce you’d made to go with it was even better. He nearly inhaled the food, not wanting to keep you too long, and when the helmet slid back down, the mechanism hissing back into place, your head turned again, still not looking at him.

“You’re safe,” he said, sliding his empty bowl back across the table.

You turned fully, serving yourself, and he expected you to sit across from him, keeping a bit of distance between you, but instead, you rounded the table and plunked yourself down on the stool right beside him. You ate much slower than he had, and Din let his eyes graze over you. The streak of engine grease on your cheek, the scar that split your lower lip, the intricately messy way you wore your hair. A silver chain sat around your throat, strung with a tiny silver ring. It disappeared down the front of your shirt most of the time, but right then it sat awkwardly, the chain caught on your collar, the ring sitting in the hollow of your throat. He resisted the urge to reach out and fix it.

The jumpsuit you wore was nearly identical to the ones you’d hurriedly swiped off the floor. Torn on one knee, zipper unfurling beneath your chest, a symbol he didn’t recognize patched onto your thigh. You’d tied the sleeves around your waist like a belt, a dirty rag tucked in at your hip. The Mechanic, herself. Sweets.

He thought you were beautiful. He had a feeling you’d look beautiful in anything.

Or nothing.

Din was distracted by your thumb at your lips, swiping a drop of sauce from your chin and sucking your finger into your mouth. His flight-suit was tight beneath his beskar to begin with, and you weren’t helping matters. “So,” you said simply, reaching for your food again. “Tell me a story, Mando. A good one. Best bounty you ever caught.”

The conversation filtered between you two easily. You were a good listener, easy to talk to, and Din felt like he couldn’t stop talking to you, telling you about his first kill, his first bounty. His first ship, before the Crest. He couldn’t bring himself to tell you about the before, before the Guild, before he was just the Mandalorian, when he was just Din Djarin. A foundling. Part of him wondered what you think, what your reaction might be to his past, but a larger part forced his mouth shut.

At some point, he turned himself towards you on his stool, one arm braced on the table, the other resting on his thigh. After you finished your food, you leaned heavily on the table, your head pushed into your palm, legs crossed at your ankles, swinging slowly, the toe of your boot tapping his shin every once in a while.

He could see you were tired, the way you started covering your yawns and rubbing at your eyes. “I should go,” he said, starting to get to his feet. “You’re tired, and I don’t want to overstay my welcome.”

Your hand flashed out quick — not quick enough to startle him, though — and wrapped around his wrist. You’d managed to wedge your fingers right into the space where his glove met his vambrace, and he felt you against his pulse, against his bare skin. “You don’t have to leave, Mando.”

Din. He wanted to tell you. My name is Din.

Slowly, his own hand reached out, hovering in the air, shaking more than a vibroblade. He saw your eyes trace its path, watching until it lowered, dropped until the flat of his palm met the curve of your thigh. His gloved fingers wrapped around the meat of your leg, his thumb pressing towards the inside.

He heard you gasp.

He moved forward an inch, and his hand moved higher, thumb riding the seam of your jumpsuit. You hummed, fingered squeezing around his wrist, and Din moved closer, until he had one leg between yours. He let his hand wander higher, listening carefully to the changes in your breathing, the hitch in your throat. The heat between your legs was almost stifling, and something feral in the back of his brain screamed for more.

Whatever snapped in him, it seemed to break in you at exactly the same time. You both shot to your feet together, and Din’s hands moved to your waist, to where your sleeves were knotted at your waist. Yours roamed his chest plate, fingers tapping along beskar until you hooked them in his cloak. He halted his own hands, ready to help you remove the fabric, but you handled it just fine on your own, finding the hidden snaps with ease.

His blood turned to flame when he felt your fingers along his throat, seeking his pulse in another spot. “You should stay,” you breathed out, your voice barely above a murmur. “Please, Mando, I want you to stay.”

He forced himself to nod, his mind now preoccupied with ripping his gloves from his hands. He needed to feel you, no barriers in between.

He needed to see you, something in him screamed, no barriers in between.

He silenced that voice before it could spur him further. Busied himself with diving his hand beneath the waist of the jumpsuit, the broken zipper catching on his wrist. You were even hotter beneath, and he sucked down a breath when he found you wet, slick coating his fingers.

Your body leaned into him, chasing his touches, and he hooked his other hand around your thigh, lifting you up and backwards onto the table. He could feel you watching, your eyes moving from his helmet down his front, to where his hand was jammed beneath the jumpsuit. He crooked one finger, testing, pressing it into you, and grinned beneath his helmet when you moaned.

Din hooked his arm under your waist, lifting you just enough that he could maneuver the jumpsuit over your hips, down your legs. His cock jolted between his legs at the sight of you bare, leaned back on the table, your chest heaving. Even though the visor, he could see how slick you were, the evidence shining on the insides of your thighs.

He wanted to taste you.

He pushed the thought away again. Another time, when he wasn’t smearing the inside of his flight-suit with precum, when you weren’t keening into his touch as he dragged his fingers against the sensitive skin between your legs, when he could turn the lights off and shed his armour, bare himself to you the same way.

You moaned again when his fingers found your clit, drawing a sloppy circle that had your muscles tensing against his hand, knees closing against his hips. “F-fuck, Mando,” you ground out, tipping your head back on your shoulders. “You’re good with those hands.” Another stuttered breath as he twisted his wrist, curling two fingers just inside your entrance, thumb stretching up to swipe over your clit. “Really good.”

He was grinning beneath the helmet again, eyes glued to your face as he pressed further, fingers threading deeper into you. He could feel everything, the twitch of your thighs, the clench of your cunt. You reached out with one hand, using the other to balance yourself, and closed it around his elbow, your fingers digging into the thick fabric so hard he was shocked your nails didn’t bite right through.

“How do you like it, Sweets?” he asked, leaning forward until he was nearly hovering over you. Your hand moved from his elbow to chest, fingers hooked in his armour. “Tell me what you need.”

Your hand moved again, this time moving straight down his front, past his waist, right between his legs. His cock throbbed as you palmed him, a cat-like grin on your lips as you tilted your head level with the visor. You leaned up slightly, pressed your lips to the beskar edge that mirrored his jaw. Another squeeze, and the slow pace of his fingers faltered, his head nearly smacking into yours. “I need this.”

Din couldn’t hold back anymore. Something in the way you stared up at him, eyes tracing over the helmet, told him you didn’t want him to.

“I like it rough.”

It all happened in one fluid motion. He pulled you closer, right off the edge of the table, and you spun in his grip, leaning forward over the table, planting your hands flat. The jumpsuit slid further towards your ankles and you arched your back, your ass grinding against his hardness, and Din groaned audibly, tilting his head towards the ceiling. Your legs spread as much as the jumpsuit would allow, and Din worked his own zipper down, freeing himself from the flight-suit. You made the most delicious noise as the tip of his cock smacked against your ass, the tip dripping with precum.

Your head turned as he took himself in hand, tapping your ass with his cock again. “Maker,” you breathed out, your eyes widening. “I knew you’d be big.”

Beneath the helmet, Din turned crimson.

He planted his other hand between your shoulders, tipping you forward. You went willingly, eyes rolling back as he pushed his hips against your ass. He could see how wet you were as you bent, slick still dripping down your thighs.

There was nothing stopping him from dropping to his knees right then and there, lifting the helmet just enough to drag his tongue through your cunt. The thought alone made his cock pulse.

But then your hand reached back, twisting in the fabric covering his hip, and he couldn’t wait any longer. He bent his knees slightly, notching himself at your entrance, and pushed inside.

The noise you let out was nearly enough to make him cum right then and there. He knew he wasn’t gonna last, and judging by the sounds you continued to make and the way you were bearing down on him, hands clenched into fists on the tabletop, he didn’t think you were either. He set a fast pace, the space filling with the slick sound of him driving in and out of you, your moans echoing each move. Din’s gaze dropped, trained on the sight of his cock disappearing to you. Your hand flapped at his hip, scrabbling for purchase, and he wrapped his fingers around your forearm, groaning when you did the same.

He was right; you didn’t last long, and neither did he. Your entire body clenched as you came, one hand slamming against the table, nails digging deep into his wrist. It spurred his own orgasm, that coil at the base of his spine snapping, and he pulled out, cumming hard across the curve of your ass.

Silence settled over the both of you as you caught your breath. Din couldn’t help himself, rubbing his bare fingers over the expanse of your back, tracing over your spine. You arched a bit into his touch, making a satisfied noise before you lifted yourself off the table. You turned to him, leaned up to press a hot kiss to his bare throat. It made him shiver.

“Think we could do that again?” you murmured, lifting a finger and dragging it along the edge of his helmet. “Maybe you take all the metal off.”

Din cleared his throat, trying to ignore the way his cock twitched, already wanting a second round. “Helmet stays on.”

You stared at him a long moment, smile on your lips. “Helmet stays on.”

He kept close to you after that night. He rarely took bounties that took him to further reaches of the galaxy, loathe to admit that he was always within a few parsecs of your hangar. He brought you a long-distance commlink so he could tell you when he was coming back, so you could contact him if you ever needed him. He didn’t worry about you, per se; you were more than capable of taking care of yourself, and he knew for a fact you knew how to shoot the blaster you kept holstered on your thigh when he wasn’t around.

But then the comm went quiet. He called, you didn’t answer. A lead weight formed in his stomach, and he pushed the Crest’s engines are fast as they’d go. Carefully, though — he wouldn’t dare ruin any of your handiwork.

When he landed in the hangar, the lights were all off. It didn’t help his worry, and it only grew worse as he sprinted off the Crest, heading straight for the shop door.

It was locked, but the lock was no match for his vibroblade and a bit of brute force. Inside, the space was empty. no trace of you left inside. There was no sign of a struggle, no blood smeared on the floor or the wall, but it didn’t ease his mind any. What if someone had come for you, spirited you away in the dead of night to some backwater planet? Dank farrik, what if someone had put out a bounty on you? His mind reeled, raced, chewed him up and spit him out.

He never meant to get so attached to you.

Din switched the settings on his visor, finally determining that all the footprints he could make out on the floor were your own. Then he saw it, sitting on the edge of one of the shelves in the kitchen. The commlink, perched precariously, just enough out of sight that no one else would think twice, but not Din.

He thumbed through the screen, saw the icon flashing with a recorded message. Your face lit up the screen instantly, and he stifled the way his stomach clenched. You looked…scared. Not hurt, not injured, but scared.

“Someone sold me out,” you said, your voice distorted and warped. “I can’t give you details. I can’t really tell you anything. Just know I’m going somewhere safe, and I’ll miss you, Mandalorian. Take care of yourself.”

Your eye were shiny as you reached out to cut the recording, and Din’s heart sank into his toes.

He put the commlink in his pocket, and returned to his ship.

He’d watched the message so many times the words were engraved into his brain. The change in your voice, the way you’d blinked harder the more you spoke. The way you paused in the middle, glanced over your shoulder with a shock of fear in your eyes.

And now here you are, standing in front of him, a pile of metal spilling out of a crate tucked beneath your arm, that same streak of fear in those big eyes. Eyes that have haunted him all these years. You nearly drop the crate as you crouch, your gaze zeroing in on the wound on his leg. “Maker, Mando, what the hell did you do?”

“Long story,” he groans out, wincing as you adjust his leg slightly, leaning to the side so you can get a better look. “What are you doing here?”

“I live here,” you reply, getting back to your feet, retrieving your crate of parts. “C’mon, let me clean you up. You look like hell.”

Din goes willingly, not sure what else to do, his mind racing from the combination of the Covert and you appearing out of nowhere. He lets you pull him slowly to his feet, tuck yourself under his arm. “Sweets,” he starts to protest, but you drag his arm around your shoulders.

“Shush,” you whisper, glancing around as you start to lead him in the opposite direction he’d been going. “Lean your weight on me.” He does as you say, nearly crumbling with relief. “There you go.”

The ache only worsens as you go, Din resisting the urge to lean his head against yours. When you finally turn him towards the door, he thinks he may topple over completely, but you’re quicker, producing a remote from your pocket. The door slides open, revealing the inside of a hangar, and you all but carry him through, discarding the crate of parts the moment you’re through, hitting the button again once you’re inside. The door slides shut, and Din lifts his head enough to look around. It looks nearly identical to your old hangar.

Then he hears a curious little beep, and looks down to see a tiny droid scurrying towards you. A BD-1 unit; he recognizes it from Peli’s, though yours is a little more rusty around the edges, the cleaner bits of metal painted grey and yellow. “Not now, Shrimp,” you grit, waving at the droid. It beeps loudly back at you, like an arguing child, and Din stifles his laugh.

“I thought you didn’t use droids,” he mumbles.

“He came with the hangar,” you reply, moving him across the hangar. Shrimp follows a few more steps before darting off, disappearing into a pile of crates. “Couldn’t bring myself to scrap him. Besides, not like he’s much help; tiny thing can’t even lift a socket wrench.”

He laughs out loud this time, and when you pull him into the shop, he laughs again, despite himself.

There’s a shelf of sweets above the workbench.

There’s no curtain between the shop and the apartment, instead another sliding door, another remote. Din lets out a low hum when he sees the apartment beyond. More than one room, furnished with actual furniture. It’s…nice. It’s really nice.

You deposit him on the couch, propping his leg up on the table in front of it. “Wait here,” you mumble, pointing a finger at him before disappearing into another room.

He doesn’t move, but hooks his fingers into the edge of his helmet and yanks it off, depositing it on the couch beside him. He sucks down a breath of unfiltered air.

You gasp as you walk back into the room, nearly dropping the silver case in your hand. “Mando, you—”

“Din,” he says instantly, reaching down, tugging his gloves off, tossing them onto the helmet. “My name is Din Djarin.”

“Din,” you repeat, slowly, like you’re tasting his name on your tongue. The corner of your mouth quirks. “Din…Djarin.”

He just nods. You approach him carefully, like you’re walking towards an injured animal instead of a man, the silver case clutched against your chest.

“Your helmet,” you start, gesturing vaguely. A memory sparks. He told you before — not in so many words — about his Creed, his upbringing. You’d asked, and he’d answered. It wasn’t information he gave willingly. The second time he had you, when you were sprawled out completely naked on that old futon, writhing and moaning beneath him, when he’d shed almost all his beskar, felt the warmth of your body pressed up against all of him. Afterward, when you’d both been sated for the time being, you’d peered up at him from your place on his chest. “Do you ever take it off?” you asked, your voice laced with sleep.

And he’d answered.

“It doesn’t matter,” he says now, eyes darting towards the curve of silver. “I’m not a Mandalorian anymore.”

“What?” you ask, your brow furrowing. He wants to reach out, let his thumb ride the space between your eyebrows, feel it smooth over as he kisses the spot. “What does that mean?”

“It means…” He trails off. Loaded question. What does it mean? Truly? “My name is Din Djarin.”

There’s still confusion etched into your features, but you don’t question him further. Your brow doesn’t loosen, and you perch on the table.

“What’s in the case?” he asks, jutting his chin towards the silver case still in your hands.

You look at him for a long moment, eyes sweeping over his face, over his features. Like you’re committing him to memory. He’s doing the same, almost scrutinizing your face, trying to remember what it looks like without the filter of his visor, what you truly look like, with no barriers in between.

He could taste you easily now.

The thought catches him off guard, the throb between his legs a welcome change to the pulsing of the wound on his thigh. The bacta the Covert had given him has worn off almost completely, and the pain is climbing.

“B-bacta shot,” you stutter out, shaking your head slightly as you flipped open the case. Your eyes moved to the wound on his leg, peering at the plates of beskar, the flight-suit, the discarded helmet on the couch. “That needs to be cleaned.”

Din just nods.

“Think you can walk to the bedroom?” you ask, shoving the silver case into the chest pocket of your jumpsuit. He recognizes it — the tear in the knee, the patch on your thigh. You fixed the zipper. “It’ll be easier.”

It’s slow-going, getting him back to his feet, shuffling carefully to the bedroom. You ask him if he wants to bring the helmet; he just shakes his head.

What does that mean?

Your bed is unmade, but Din barely notices. The scent of you is amplified in here, and he’s sucking down breaths like he’s been deprived of oxygen. You help him lower to the edge of the bed, and he starts on the armour. You sink to your knees in front of him, setting the bacta shot on the mattress beside him. He removes a pauldron with shaking fingers, and you’re right there to take it from him, your movements sure, setting the metal carefully onto the floor, waiting for the next piece.

“You disappeared,” he says, after more pieces of beskar have been removed, when you’ve moved onto his boots, setting them both carefully at your side.

Your brow had just smoothed out, and it pinches again. “I had to. I left you a message.”

Din pulls the zipper on his flight-suit, reaches into the pocket sewn into the lining, and produces the commlink. “I know.”

Your lips part as you look at the piece of metal, dwarfed by his hand. “You found it.”

“I did.”

Bottom lip caught between your teeth, you look back up at him through your lashes. “It wasn’t safe.”

“You’re safe now,” he says, and you reach for the bacta shot. “Tell me.”

“It doesn’t matter now,” you reply, your voice bordering on stern. “Somebody sold me out.”

“I knew that much,” Din mumbles, and you shoot him a glare.

You sigh. “Let’s just say, there were some parts in the hangar that shouldn’t have been there, someone wasn’t happy with some work I did, and then next thing I knew, there were Imps on my tail. So I disappeared.”

“You could have told me where you were going.”

You shake your head. “They were listening. Tracking every message I sent out. I couldn’t let you get roped into it too.”

“You could have gone to the Guild,” he says. He’s too distracted to notice you pull the syringe out of the case. He doesn’t see the needle until you’re pushing it into his muscle above the wound. He grits his teeth audibly, hands curling hard around the edge of the mattress. “Dank farrik.”

“Sorry.”

“I would have come for you,” he says, breath hitching in his throat as you push the plunger down. It feels like his body has been flooded with ice water, his teeth chattering for a moment before the cold turns to a woozy sort of warmth that spreads through his chest like Corellian fire whiskey. He blinks hard, slow, one eye than the other.

“Can you stand?” He nods. Or thinks he does. “The bacta will help, but I need to put a bandage on that wound, at least.” More nodding. He’s vaguely aware of you draping his arms around your neck, your arms sliding around his waist to haul him up. He plants his feet beneath him, forces his weight over his ankles. His movements are slow, languid, like he’s moving through water. You manoeuvre one arm out of his flight-suit, pushing the fabric down his shoulders, until it settles around his hips. The metallic sound of the zipper seems to echo through his brain, and he knows you’re touching his waist, moving the fabric slowly over his injured thigh. But it doesn’t hurt.

All he can feel is you.

You sit him down again, work on pulling the suit off completely. Your hands are warm, soft, gentle against his bare legs, and he nearly buries his nose in the crown of your head when you bend down. Once the flight-suit has been removed, leaving him in his boxers and undershirt, you disappear again, and Din’s not sure if it’s thirty seconds or thirty minutes.

Something cold presses against his thigh, and he flinches. “Does it hurt?” you ask instantly, and your voice is clear, then muffled, then clear again. “It shouldn’t.”

“Nuh-uh,” he slurs out. He hears you laugh, and the sound is like tinkling bells. He wants to hear it again. “Sweets.”

“Yes, Din?” Clear, muffled. His name is a song on your lips.

“You’re beautiful.”

“So are you.”

“Mesh’la,” he mumbles, and then his eyes fall shut, his body slumps back, and he thinks you laugh again. He’s not quite sure; sleep is too busy yanking him under.

Din wakes to the sound of running water.

He’s disoriented, confused, not sure where he is until he pushes up on his elbows, looks around, drinks in the sight of your bedroom. The memory floods back; the Covert, then the hangar, taking the helmet off, the bacta shot that knocked him out.

But more importantly: you.

He rubs the sleep from his eyes. How long was he out? He can’t be sure; there’s a window on the far side of the room, but time on Glavis is different, artificial nighttime and starlight instead of sun. His armour has been moved from the floor, neatly piled on a dresser against the wall, his boots on the floor underneath. His flight-suit is spread out on a worktable in the middle of the room, and he can see from his spot that you’ve tried to mend it, patching the spot the Darksaber had cut open with a square of fabric. It’s looks to be the same kind of material, but the colour is darker. Beneath the sheets, his leg is wrapped in cotton bandages, and there’s no sign of blood seeping to the surface.

His head turns in the direction of the noise of the water, and he pauses, waits for some kind of pain to prick through his body, but it never comes. He feels…good. Well-rested. His eyes follow the sound, and then he sees it.

The door to your bathroom is wide open, and from his spot on your bed, he can see directly into the shower. You’re inside, steam pouring over the top of the glass wall, and Din’s whole body jerks. He never forgot what you looked like naked, and it’s been a long time, but somehow it still feels like the first time. He can feel the blood rushing south, and his hands clench in the bedsheets.

He just stares, watching the water move over you, cascading down your spine, rolling in rivulets over your curves, following the lines of your body. He wants to follow them too, wants to read you like a map only he knows the key to.

Dank farrik, he’s missed you. He hadn’t realized how much.

The water shuts off, and he sees you reach for a towel, wiping your face first. He sinks back down on the bed, wondering if he should feign sleep, feeling like a kid caught doing something he’s not supposed to. But before he can— “You’re awake,” he hears you call, and looks back just as you wrap the towel around your middle. “I thought you’d be out for the night.”

Din coughs, shifting the blankets, trying to hide the tent that’s formed in his boxers. “You don’t close the door?” He doesn’t know what else to say.

You laugh. “I live alone,” you say, stepping out of the bathroom, walking towards the dresser his armour sits upon. “Force of habit.”

He clears his throat. Loudly. Pauses. “…it’s a nice view.”

Your tongue peeks between your lips as you walk over to him, still in just the towel. Your hair is still dripping, water droplets dotting your shoulders. You sink slowly onto the edge of the bed. “How do you feel?”

“G-good,” he spits out, adjusting himself, making more room for you. “Really good.”

The corner of your mouth quirks. “I’m glad. You scared me, Man—” You catch yourself. “Din.”

A drop of water splashes down from your hair, starts a path down your upper arm, and Din reaches out, catching it on his finger. You watch his hand, lips softly parted, and he continues the path, drawing his hand up and down your skin, the backs of his knuckles against your bicep.

“I wondered where you were, all these years,” you whisper. There’s longing in your voice, he notices; the same feeling sits like a weight on his chest. “I never stopped wondering.”

“I’ll tell you sometime,” he whispers back. There’s something forming in the air between you, thick like the steam that still foams from the open bathroom. Din can almost taste it, and the thought he’d had in your living room resurfaces, making him twitch beneath the sheets. He could taste you so easily now. “It’s a long story.”

The corner of your mouth quirks. “I got nothing but time.”

So does he, he realizes. He’s without a ship, without his son, without anything anchoring him to one planet or another, to any sort of path. He’d been wandering already, trying to find the Covert, and now he is unmoored once more, yet somehow managed to find his way back to your hangar.

To your bed.

His hand stops chasing water droplets, and he sees your teeth sink into your lower lip. He lowers his palm until it rests on your bare thigh, and he can feel how your skin is still hot from the shower. “I never kissed you,” he rasps. “Before.”

Your head shakes slowly, and you turn towards him more fully. The towel is loose around your chest, your hand holding it in place, and he reaches for it, slowly uncurling your fingers from the fabric, until your grip falls slack, and the towel goes with it. “You should fix that,” you murmur.

“I’m out of practice.”

Your lips twitch again. “How bad?”

“Few decades,” he says softly. “Since before I swore the Creed.”

“You were a child.”

“It was a childish kiss.” He pauses, moves his hand again, brushes dripping locks of hair from your face. “I don’t want to kiss you like that.”

“Just…” Din leans in slightly, tilts his head to the side. “Do what feels natural.” You mirror his movement, and his eyes are glued to your mouth, to the way your lips stay parted even when you’re done speaking, the way your collar lifts with shuddered breaths. He sees your hands move the towel out of the corner of his eye, pulling the fabric away from your body completely until you’re bared to him, head to toe.

You’re just as beautiful as he remembers. If not more.

The tip of his nose drags along the slope of yours, and his hand slides from your thigh to your hip. “I need you closer, Sweets,” he murmurs, and you nod against him, your foreheads tapping together. There’s a bit of shuffling, the blankets moved back, his tented boxers exposed but barely acknowledged as you climb into his lap. He revels in the way you look above him, your knees pressed either side of his hips. You’re hesitant to lower your weight onto his leg, and he guides you slow, giving you a quiet it’s okay as you settle onto him.

He doesn’t feel any pain; he just feels you.

Once you’re comfortable, your hands clutching at his shoulders, he adjusts his grip on you, palms skimming up your spine, mapping out your ribs and the curve of your ass. You make a quiet noise when he squeezes one cheek, the movement propelling you forward, making your hips roll into his, your core pushed against his hard cock. It makes him hiss with pleasure, and he slides one hand up to your hair, knotting his fingers in it and dragging your mouth down to his.

It’s not artful; he’s sure it doesn’t look pretty from the outside. There’s a lot of teeth and tongue, the fumble of hands as he tries to get you even closer. He’s sure you’ve been kissed better than this, and it makes his cheeks heat, makes him pull away, tucking his chin towards his chest. “I’m sorry, I—”

“Hey,” you say softly, your hands moving to cup his cheeks, tilting his face back up towards you. “It’s okay. Just…follow my lead?” You say it like a question, your thumbs swiping over his face, through the smatter of facial hair along his jaw. “I got you.”

Din nods, lets his lips part as you cock your head to the side, leaning in slow. You kiss his top lip and then his bottom one, giving him just enough teeth that he wants more, wants it harder. He grips your hips as you move, but your kiss stays tender, slow, your tongue a wet heat against his own. He’d dreamed of this, of kissing you, and this one — albeit the second attempt — is everything he ever imagined.

Finally, your mouth grows more insistent. He’s hard as steel between his legs, and he can feel how hot you are, your wetness spreading across his boxers with every roll of your hips. Your mouth is sweet, almost sugary, and he finds himself chuckling against your lips, still trying to get you closer. Your stomach presses to his as you wrap your arms around his neck, kissing him harder, your tongue licking into his mouth.

“Sweets,” he grinds out when you start pulling at his undershirt, insistent to get it over his head. He lets you, and when you lower your head again, your mouth moves to his throat instead, and it makes him moan. “Mesh’la, wait, please, I need—”

You pull back instantly, your eyes bright with worry. “What is it? Are you okay?”

“I want…” His eyes drop, tracing a path down your body, his throat growing dry when they land on the apex of your thighs, the glistening wetness he knows he’s caused. He lets one hand follow the path his eyes made, rubs his thumb over your clit. Your whole body shivers. “I want to taste you.”

Your eyes go big, pupils blown with lust, and Din uses your momentary shock to his advantage. He’s stronger than you, perks of the bounty hunting lifestyle, and he flips you easily with one arm around your waist, his other hand hitching your thigh over his hip. You squeak as your head hits the pillows, clinging to him until you’re laid out beneath him.

It’s his turn to kiss his way down your throat, and he does, laving his tongue against your pulse as he makes his way down your body. He pauses at your chest, moves to the side to close his lips around your nipple. It makes your back arch, a high-pitched noise falling from your mouth, and he grins against you, giving you just the edge of his teeth before he’s wandering across your chest to give the other the same attention.

You’re a writhing mess by the time he’s settled between your thighs. He can’t keep his eyes still, raking over every inch of you, trying to remember every part. He can see the muscles in your legs jump as he traces his fingers over them, the more sensitive parts of your skin making you keen.

With your legs spread, he can see everything, and his mouth waters at the sight of your wet cunt, walls fluttering around nothing as he teases you with his fingers, collecting your wetness on the tips before drawing them to his mouth.

He moans at the taste. Of course, you’re sweet. Deliciously so.

“Din,” you groan out, propping yourself up on your elbows. He can feel you watching, and his gaze flicks up to yours as he drops his jaw, lowers his mouth to you. Your eyes roll back for a moment, one hand moving to knot in his hair, and Din moans into you. His tongue explodes with the taste of you, sending shocks down his spine, making his hips rolls into the mattress, seeking relief.

Just do what feels natural, your words echo in his head. So he does. He licks into you, wide stripes with the flat of his tongue, smaller kitten licks to your clit. He can’t get enough of your taste, hooking his hands around your thighs, pulling himself deeper into you. And you guide him some, your hand in his hair an anchor of sorts, tugging slightly to get him right where you need him, a gasped oh fuck, right there! reaching his ears.

It’s not before long that you’re smacking at his shoulder, muffled moans on your lips with your teeth sunk into your lower one. He detaches from you, gets one more good look and lick in before he’s following your grip, kissing every inch of you he can reach as he makes his way back up your body.

“I need you inside me,” you slur, your hands reaching down, pushing at his boxers. His cock springs up against his stomach and he groans, the sound growing louder when you wrap your fingers around him. “Please, Din, I want to cum on your cock.”

It’s a miracle he doesn’t cum right then and there, hearing your words turn filthy. And filthier still as he hauls himself over you, plants one elbow beside your head, looks between you, reaches down to line himself up and—

Freezes.

He can feel your eyes on his face, features pinched with anticipation. Your hands have found homes along his ribs, fingers tapping out rhythmless patterns. Hips lifting, you must see something in his expression, because you move a hand to his chin, lifting his eyes to yours again. “Din,” you say, and a shiver shoots down his spine again at the way his name sounds on your lips. “It’s okay. We can stop, if you need to.”

“No!” he nearly shouts, and feels himself flush, lowering himself slightly, careful not to drop all his weight on you. “No, that’s not what I…I don’t…”

“Don’t what?” you murmur. Your voice is quiet, understanding. You give a soft laugh. “I know you’re not a virgin, but if you don’t want to, it’s okay, I won’t say any—”

“It’s not that,” he cuts you off, petting his hand over your still-damp hair. “I want to. I want you. It’s just that…” He chews at his lip. “No one’s ever seen my face, while we…when I…”

Realization slides through your features. “Oh.”

“Yes.”

“I don’t have to look,” you say quickly, skimming your knuckles along his cheek. “I can turn over, if you like, if that’s easier than—”

“No,” he says, not a shout this time, but firmer. “I want you to see, Sweets.” He drops his chin, emboldened by your softness, your understanding. He kisses you soundly. “I want to kiss you while you cum.” His words pull a silky noise from your throat.

He breaks the kiss as he takes himself in hand, pushes into your dripping cunt. You’re hot, clenching down on him instantly, arms draped around his neck as he lowers himself further, latches his lips to yours. He hitches one of your legs high on his hip, drives into you deep. He had you close on his tongue already, and he rolls his hips hard, catching something deep inside that makes your entire body seize.

“Yes, Din, please, oh gods, please, please, please,” you’re babbling against his lips, one hand pressed flat between his shoulders, the other knotted in the back of his hair. “Yes!”

Just as he said, he kisses you while you cum. He feels it pulse through your body, your limbs taut and then lax, still holding him close. Your hips chase his, cunt clenching tight as a vice, and Din’s not far behind you, pleasure lighting a fuse down his spine.

You pull your lips from his just as he starts to spill in you. Your hand moves to grip his chin, and you force his gaze to yours. He gasps and your mouth mirrors his, lips parted in a soft o, turning to a grin as he grinds into you, painting your insides as deep as he can go. It feels like an implosion, his bones rattled in his body, but then set on the softest bed of silk as he collapses into your chest. You hold him close, petting one hand through his hair, breathing deep and slow until his own evens out, matches yours, until your heartbeat syncs with his.

“Mesh’la?” he calls after a moment, cheek still pressed to your sternum.

“Yes, Din?” you reply, your voice scratchy as your nails start to drag along his scalp. His eyes are heavy.

“I missed you.”

He can hear the smile in your voice. “I missed you too.”

Din wakes alone in your bed again.

He thinks it’s the next morning — the rest of what he assume to be evening was spent in your bed, both of you naked and wrapped in each other. Again and again and again, he pulled pleasure from your body, let you pull it from his, found your bliss together. By the time you were both too tired to move, sprawled on the mattress, your head on his shoulder, you’d whispered, “You’re a good kisser, Din Djarin.” And then you were asleep, Din not too far behind.

He dresses quickly, boxers pulled back on, undershirt in his hand as he pads out of the room. He finds you standing in the kitchen, a steaming cup of caf in your hands. The droid — Shrimp, he dimly recalls — is perched on the table, beeping out a message to you. You’re nodding along, blowing the steam off the top of your caf, and your eyes flick to him as he steps into the kitchen.

“You know Peli Motto?”

Din’s brow crinkles with confusion. “You know Peli?”

You scoff. “That woman taught me everything I know.”

“You’re joking.”

“Swear on my hangar.”

Din just laughs, walking around the table. He slides an arm around your waist once he’s close enough, leans into kiss the side of your head. You lean into him. “Why are we talking about Peli?”

“She sent me a message,” you say, offering him your caf. He takes a sip, only feeling more confused. “Asking if I had any spare ships laying around my hangar. A replacement for her Mandalorian friend.”

Din balks. He hasn’t told you about the Crest. “Sweets…”

You step away from him, pressing a hand to his chest as your eyes go wide with realization. “Din Djarin, what did you do to that ship?”

“I didn’t—”

“Din.”

“It was Imps,” he says, trying to reach for your hip. “It wasn’t—”

“Where is the Razor Crest?”

He sighs heavily, and reaches out to take the cup of caf from you again. “Now it’s nothing but a scorch mark on the planet Tython. It was the Imps. They took my son.” The words are out before he can stop them.

Your eyes go so wide he’s worried they might pop out of your skull. “Your son?”

“It’s a long story.”

You pluck the caf out of his hands, walk around the table, pull out a chair and sink into it. “I got nothing but time.”

#sleepover saturday #my fics #din djarin #the mandalorian #the mandalorian fic #din djarin fic #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian x reader #din djarin smut #din djarin fluff #din djarin headcanon #din djarin fanfiction #the mandalorian smut #the mandalorian fluff #the mandalorian headcanon #the mandalorian fanfiction

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meadowscarlet · 4 months ago

Text

SECRET’S OUT | HF39.

✩ — summary: you and hector are in a relationship that you both decided to keep private in order to protect yourself and him from fanatical fans and media scrutiny… that is until you are shipped with his teammate which sends him to do something impulsive: post you in public.

✩ — héctor fort x fem!reader

✩ — author’s note: not back i did this for funsies nd in honor for 24/25 sznnnn starting next month also i dont speak spanish i used google translate soz if there’s some mistakes 🫶🏼

liked by hctorforrt_, marcguiu9, pablogavi and 89,567 more

youruser italy was a dreaaaam 🇮🇹♥️🥲 !!!!!! will miss it here sm pero extraño más mi hogar (but i miss my home more)

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friend CHICA HERMOSA TE EXTRAÑO 😍 (beautiful girl i miss you)

youruser 🥹 gracias amiga (thank you friend)

marcguiu9 será mejor que me traigas algún recuerdo (you better bring me some souvenir)

lamineyamal yo también 😎 (me too)

youruser déjame en paz 🙄🙄🙄 (leave me alone)

pablogavi 😍❤️

* ♥ by author

random OMFGGGG THE BARCA BOYS?????

random she’s friends with marc and lamine?? who is this girl

random probably gavi’s gf? he commented a heart eyes emoji and she liked it

random GAVI NOOOOOOOO

random hector in her likes too stop

random i dont blame him she’s fine asf 😭😭😭

random im gonna kms

liked by hctorforrt_, pablogavi, daniwashington_ and 104,778 more

youruser 💐 volver a casa :) (back home)

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random as if she couldn’t get hotter ofc she’s a culer im in love

random hala madrid

random fuck off

friend stunning!!!!!

random she’s so unreal

random waiting for gavi to reply 🤓

random hector and gavi in the likes this is insane

pablogavi ❤️

random BITCHH

random I SHIPPPPP they look so cute together

random you’re delusional go back to sleep 🤣

hctorforrt_ bienvenido de nuevo (welcome back)

youruser :)

random NAHHHHHHHH FUCK OFF

random HECTOR WHAT

random SHE REPLIED HOLD ON

random wait what about gavi????

liked by youruser, marcguiu9, lamineyamal and 234,897 more

hctorforrt_ contento (contented)

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random THE SECOND SLIDE????? it’s so over

random the soft launch 😭 congrats 😭 whoever 😭 she 😭 is 😭

marcguiu9 vamos hermano ❤️❤️ (let’s gooo brother)

lamineyamal eres tan caliente 😫 (you are so hot)

random LMFAO LAMINE

marcbernal_ hermanoooo ❤️ (brother)

pablogavi vamonoooos 😍 (let’s goooooo)

random oh my god did anyone else noticed the similarities between y/n’s post and hector’s?

random YEAH i thought i was the only one 😭 the matching camera pose???

random but isn’t she gavi’s gf?

random nothing is confirmed

random i like her better with gavi

random girl boo

joaofelix79 hector con novia 😮 (hector with girlfriend)

lamineyamal él debería esconderse (he should hide)

joaofelix79 demasiado tarde 😂 (too late)

random SPILL IT WHAT THE HELL

liked by hctorforrt_, pablogavi, _ferminlopez and 113,767 more

youruser visca barca!!!!! 💙❤️ estoy muy orgulloso y feliz, el partido fue increíble! 🥹 (i am very proud and happy, the match was incredible)

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friend bonita! 😘 (pretty)

youruser gracias linda! 🥲🥲🩷 (thank you pretty)

random i was sitting behind her 😭 can confirm she’s absolutely gorgeous and veryyyyyy kind

random who’s kit was she wearing???

random she was wearing hector’s kit! she cheered so loud when he got an assist w fermin’s goal it was amazing 🤩🤩🤩

random SHUT THE FRONT DOOR. WAR IS OVER.

random i saw her wave hello to gavi?????

random man im fucking confused now

random cant let the gang know i fw y/n gavi hector issue

_ferminlopez 🤩❤️

* ♥ by author

hctorforrt_ tuve suerte 😁 (i was lucky)

youruser me pregunto porque 🤔 (i wonder why)

random ok it’s so obvious alr im crying

liked by youruser, paucubarsi, _ferminlopez and 237,889 more

hctorforrt_ @/fcbarcelona 🔥💯

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youruser chica orgullosa aquí 🙋🏻‍♀️ (proud girl here)

random she forgot the friend

hctorforrt_ hice lo mejor que pude para alguien especial 😉 (i did the best i could for someone special)

random rip gavi 🕊️

pablogavi ¿por qué estoy muerto? (why am i dead?)

random ICBBBBBBBB 😭😭😭😭😭

_ferminlopez 🍬🍬

marcguiu9 orgulloso de tí hermano 🥰 (proud of you brother)

random HOTTTTT

random VAMOS BARCA 💙❤️ (let’s go)

random finally had minutes and u delivered BLESS U HECTOR

liked by youruser, fcbarcelona, pablogavi, marcguiu9 and 457,899 more

hctorforrt_ mi amuleto de la suerte ❤️ @youruser (my lucky charm)

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fcbarcelona 💯🔥❤️

youruser 🥲 mi chico favorito (my favorite boy)

hctorforrt_ te amo niña bonita (i love you pretty girl)

pablogavi FINALMENTE (finally)

hctorforrt_ finalmente 😌 (finally)

pablogavi jaja ustedes chicos 🤦🏻‍♂️❤️ (haha you guys)

lamineyamal MAMÁ Y PAPÁ (mom and dad)

youruser sólo somos un año mayores que tú 😒 (we are only a year older than you)

marcguiu9 😍😍😍 hermosa pareja (beautiful couple)

* ♥ by author

random this is so adorable 😭

random I KNEW IT

random such a hot couple im dying

random they’re perfect i shed tears

random oh my days

random she’s so beautiful 😭🫶🏼

* ♥ by author

alejandrobalde 🔥

random so i can still have gavi 😍

random brother eugh

#fc barcelona #football x reader #hector fort #barcelona x reader #hector fort x reader #hector fort x you #pablo gavi #marc guiu #lamine yamal #pau cubarsi #joao felix

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bruhnze · 2 months ago

Text

Quiero un beso,

But there's an ocean of distance between us.

ONA BATLLE x LUCY BRONZE

For the Brasil anon! i love these songs, great idea. This is soft, but maybe not exactly what you meant.. hope u still like it.

Below are my favourite lines from both of the songs :)

"Beso" by Rosalia: Estar lejos de ti e' el Infierno (Being away from you is hell) Tar cerca de ti e' mi paz (Being close to you is my peace)

"Ocean" by Karol G: Y aunque lo intentara no podría sin ti (And even if I tried I couldn't without you) Toda mi felicidad es gracias a ti (All my happiness is thanks to you)

Warnings: bit of angst, bit of fluff, idk i was in my feels, teeny tiny bit suggetive things so still 18+ only pls. Hurt/comfort.

Wordcount: 3k

Three weeks. It had been three weeks since Ona last kissed her girlfriend. She realized this as she scrolled through her calendar app on her iPhone. Another stretch of days where they hadn't touched, laughed face-to-face, or shared the simplest of intimacies.

Tonight, like every night, they’d see each other on FaceTime again, an anchor in the storm of their long-distance relationship. They had already spoken twice today. First thing in the morning and again this afternoon. Ona chuckled to herself, recalling how this morning’s call had begun. They’d fallen asleep on the phone. Her alarm had woken Lucy, eventhough Lucy had another hour before she had to get up.

Lucy hadn’t minded, but Ona had kept apologizing until Lucy, with a cheeky grin, had suggested she’d ‘make it up’ with a front-row view of her shower.

Ona had laughed. Lately, Lucy had become more and more...needy. Not that Ona minded, in fact, she found it cute that Lucy missed every part of her. Lucy had even asked for a risqué picture the other day, a first since moving back to England two months ago. It was endearing how Lucy missed her in that way, but for Ona, it wasn’t just about that. It was the physical closeness she missed, the warmth.

She missed waking up beside Lucy. Every morning she woke up cuddling the pillow that was still holding the faintest trace of Lucy’s scent. During the day she’d randomly pull Coco onto her lap just for some form of comfort. But her dog wasn’t quite the same as her girlfriend. Sometimes in the shower, Ona would close her eyes, letting the warmth of the water surround her, but it could never replace the feeling of Lucy’s touch.

Suddenly, the familiar tone of an incoming FaceTime call broke her thoughts.

"Hi babyyyyy!" Lucy’s voice chimed through, full of energy and excitement the moment Ona’s face appeared on screen.

Ona chuckled softly, amused by Lucy’s bubbly tone. "Hey, babe."

"I love you," Lucy said with a beaming smile, her eyes crinkling at the edges. "One more week and two days, and we’ll have a few days together again." She was counting down, as she did on every call.

Ona nodded, her throat tightening as the familiar wave of longing washed over her. "I miss you," she whispered, her voice more fragile than she intended.

Lucy’s bright expression shifted. Concern filled her eyes as she leaned closer to the screen, sensing the sadness in Ona’s voice. Normally, they tried to keep things light, both agreeing that these two years apart would pass quicker if they kept their focus forward, holding their chins up.

"Are you okay?" Lucy asked softly, trying to filter the worry out of her tone but failing.

"No," Ona admitted, her pout deepening. "I haven’t kissed you in so long, I don’t even remember what you taste like."

She fell back onto the couch, the iPad slipping slightly as she disappeared out of the frame.

"Ona?" Lucy’s voice was gentle.

Ona whimpered softly. "Your pillow doesn’t smell like you anymore," she said, almost accusingly, as if it was somehow Lucy’s fault that her scent had faded.

"Baby," Lucy whispered, biting her lip, her eyes filled with sorrow. She wanted nothing more than to pull Ona into her arms and hold her tight. "Can you show me your face again?"

Ona wiped at her teary eyes and sat up, facing the screen once more.

Lucy gave her a sad, knowing smile, taking in the sight of Ona’s messy hair and red, puffy eyes. "What did you have for dinner?" she asked, trying to lighten the mood, knowing full well that no amount of casual conversation could replace what they both needed.

"I’m not playing tomorrow," Ona blurted out, ignoring Lucy’s question. "I’m going to book a flight."

Lucy’s heart twisted. She knew that feeling all to well herself, the urge to throw everything aside and run to the one she loved. But Ona couldn’t abandon her commitments, not like this. It would affect her career, Lucy couldn’t let that happen, no matter how much she wanted to be with her.

"I’ll come,"

A flicker of hope flashed in Ona’s eyes, but it faded just as quickly. "You can’t, Luce," Ona replied, her gaze drifting to Coco, who was busy tearing apart a tennis ball. "You’ve got a game too."

"I’ll come," Lucy repeated, her voice more determined now. She’d play her morning match and then fly straight to Ona, no matter what. Her knee could hurt, her body could ache - it didn’t matter. For Ona, she’d do it.

"You’ve got a game," Ona insisted, "and I have a game in the evening. We won’t even have time to call."

"I’ll play," Lucy said, more firmly this time. "Then I’ll come home and wait for you."

Ona let out a small laugh, though tears were still brimming in her eyes. "And recovery?"

"I’ll wear those stupid tights under my jeans," Lucy replied, rolling her eyes with a smile.

That got a genuine chuckle out of Ona. "You know that’s not the same as a proper recovery, right?"

"I know," Lucy said softly. "But I want to see you. I think you need a hug."

"I need a kiss," Ona corrected, her voice trembling as tears began to well up again. "And bring me one of your pillows. You can take mine."

Lucy chuckled. "Okay, I’ll do that baby. Anything else?"

"Tell me about your day," Ona murmured, laying back down on the couch and pulling the iPad onto her chest.

Lucy laughed, shaking her head. "I already told you everything this afternoon, and nothing’s happened since. I was just at home, walking Narla, cooking food, you know, laid in bed for a bit."

"In bed? Why? Are you getting sick?" Ona asked, suddenly concerned. Lucy rarely stayed in bed, especially without Ona there beside her.

"No," Lucy chuckled. "I was... I was missing you. I just looked at some photos of you."

Ona’s brow lifted in amusement, finally catching on to what Lucy meant. "Ohhh, I see.’’ She shook her head, ‘’We really are so different," she teased, laughing lightly. "You do that every day, don’t you?"

Lucy blushed. "Yeah... I just miss you so much."

"Sí, but for me, it’s different," Ona admitted. "I haven’t... well, you know."

"Really?" Lucy asked, genuinely surprised. "Nothing?"

Ona chuckled, shaking her head again. "No, not really. I’m just not in the mood. I miss you too much."

Lucy’s voice softened, a bit seductive. "What if I’m there tomorrow?"

Ona’s smiled. "Then I want kisses and cuddles. Muchos besos."

Lucy smirked. "Mhm, you’ll get all the kisses and cuddles you want."

"And maybe more," Ona teased, her voice dropping just a little.

Lucy chuckled, trying to sound casual. "We’ll see."

Ona playfully rolled her eyes. "Now you’re acting like you’re not dying for it."

"I want to do whatever you want to do," Lucy replied.

Ona let out a dramatic sigh. "Sometimes you’re so sweet that it actually annoys me."

Lucy’s brow furrowed in confusion. "What?"

"It’s like a form of cuteness aggression," Ona explained like she was giving a lecture. "But like, sweetness agitation."

Lucy burst into laughter, shaking her head in disbelief. "You are something else."

"Is that why you love me?" Ona asked smiling mischievously, she loved asking Lucy this question because she always got an answer.

Lucy chuckled, her voice full of affection. "Mhm, I love you because of how your brain works, I love everything about you."

Ona hurried off the field, skipping the post-match rituals entirely. She tossed everything into her bag in a rush, taking just enough time to swap her boots for her regular shoes. Jogging to her car and driving off.

Her parking job was more crooked than usual, but she couldn’t have cared less. It was all worth it as she spotted Lucy’s shoes when she opened the front door.

Kicking her own shoes off hastily, Ona dropped her bag in the hallway and darted inside. The moment she saw Lucy lounging casually on the couch, the flood of emotion overwhelmed her. Sobbing, she threw herself into Lucy’s arms.

"Heyy," Lucy murmured softly, immediately wrapping her arms around Ona’s trembling frame. "It’s okay, bub. I’m right here."

Ona’s small body shook as she buried her tear-streaked face into the crook of Lucy’s neck. Her tears soaked Lucy’s skin, but Lucy didn’t mind. She gently rubbed Ona’s back, whispering comfort.

"Shh... it’s okay, honey. We’re together now."

Ona took a few deep breaths, inhaling the familiar scent she had missed so deeply. Her lips pressed a soft, tearful kiss to Lucy’s neck, lingering there for a moment. Lucy’s hold tightened around her, cradling her closer as she carefully sat them both up.

"You’re home early," Lucy chuckled lightly, pulling a few damp strands of hair from Ona’s flushed face. "Didn’t even shower at the club?"

Ona shook her head, not lifting her face from Lucy’s neck. She shifted, wrapping her legs around Lucy and clinging even tighter, as if afraid to let go. Lucy’s brow furrowed slightly in concern, this was different. She hadn’t seen Ona like this before. Ona had always been the positive one, encouraging Lucy, insisting she take the opportunity with Chelsea while she still could.

Lucy’s voice softened as she slipped her hands beneath Ona’s game-worn, sweat-soaked shirt. "I love you," she whispered, her touch gentle and reassuring. "How about we go for a shower, huh?"

Ona shook her head again, pressing herself further into Lucy’s embrace.

"I can join you," Lucy offered with a small, playful smile, hoping to lift Ona’s mood.

But Ona shook her head once more, her silent refusal a testament to how overwhelmed she was. Lucy’s heart clenched at the vulnerability in her usually strong, cheerful girlfriend.

"Can you even still talk?" Lucy teased softly, poking at Ona’s sides in an attempt to draw out even the smallest response.

"No," came a small, muffled voice, barely audible against Lucy’s skin.

Lucy turned her head slightly, pressing gentle kisses to the side of Ona’s head. One kiss, then another, until finally Ona lifted her tearful face to look at Lucy.

Lucy smiled tenderly, brushing her thumb across Ona’s cheek, her eyes filled with understanding. "I know, baby," Lucy whispered.

Ona sighed deeply, her hands finding their way to Lucy’s face. She traced her thumb along Lucy’s lips, as if memorizing the touch she had missed so much. Then, slowly, she leaned in, her lips softly capturing Lucy’s in a kiss. It was gentle, unhurried, filled with the longing of weeks apart, savoring the taste of the person she had craved for so long.

Lucy responded to the kiss with the same gentle, measured pace as Ona, their lips moving softly, carefully, like they were discovering each other all over again. It was almost like a first kiss. Though their actual first kiss had been anything but slow and delicate.

But this moment wasn’t about passion. It was about something deeper, something more intimate. Right now, Ona needed this. Maybe they both did. It was a chance to reconnect, to ground themselves in each other’s presence, to imprint the familiar taste and feel of one another into their minds, knowing it had to last until the next time they could be together again.

Lucy’s hand moved to cradle the back of Ona’s head, her thumb lightly tracing the curve of her neck. She kissed her as though this moment could mend all the days and nights they’d spent apart, hoping that somehow, it could.

As their lips parted, Ona rested her forehead against Lucy’s. Her breath a little uneven. The tension slowly ebbing away. Lucy kept her arms around her, brushing a stray tear from Ona’s cheek.

"You feel a little better now?" Lucy asked softly.

Ona nodded. "A little," she whispered.

Lucy kissed her forehead gently, then shifted slightly beneath her. "I think we both need a shower, though," she said with a small chuckle, the warmth of her touch still lingering on Ona’s skin.

Ona groaned, her head dropping onto Lucy’s shoulder as if just the thought of moving was already too much. "Nooo," she mumbled, her voice muffled against Lucy’s neck. "Don’t wanna move."

"Come on, baby," Lucy chuckled, her tone light and teasing. "You skipped your shower after the game and I’ve been traveling. We’re both a bit… stinky." She said, secretly more so revering to Ona.

Ona pouted, finally lifting her head to meet Lucy’s gaze. "But I just got you back."

Lucy smiled lovingly and brushed her fingers through Ona’s hair. "I’m not going anywhere, promise. We can shower together, okay?"

Ona hesitated, then reluctantly loosened her grip around Lucy. "Okay," she muttered, her lips forming into a reluctant smile.

Lucy kissed her again, brief but tender, before gently pulling her thighter against her so she could go stand. "Let’s go wash you off then, you dirty girl" she teased, holding Ona as she walked her towards the bathroom.

As they entered the bathroom, Lucy stood her girldfriend back on the ground. She reached into the shower and turned on the water, letting it heat up. Ona clung to Lucy’s side, still not ready to let go. Lucy smiled at her girlfriend’s neediness.

"Come here," Lucy said softly, pulling Ona into her arms. She kissed the top of her head, holding her close. "Let’s get you cleaned up, baby."

Ona let out a soft hum, her fingers lazily tracing circles on Lucy’s back. She felt safe here, in Lucy’s arms.

Slowly, Lucy reached for the hem of Ona’s shirt, gently tugging it upwards. She didn’t rush, didn’t push. Just a quiet, unspoken understanding between them as Ona let her pull the sweat-soaked fabric over her head before tossing it aside.

Ona sighed, her body relaxing as Lucy’s hands moved over her bare skin, the cool air of the bathroom a contrast to the warmth that lingered between them.

"Better?" Lucy asked, her voice low and soothing, as she kissed Ona’s shoulder, her fingers brushing the waistband of her shorts.

Ona nodded, leaning into the touch. Her hands found Lucy’s shirt, and with the same quiet reverence, she helped Lucy lift it over her head, revealing the toned muscles that had become so familiar to her. Lucy shivered slightly as Ona’s fingers brushed her skin, her lips curving into a smile.

"Your turn," Ona whispered, her voice barely audible, her eyes flicking up to meet Lucy’s.

Lucy grinned, helping Ona take off the sportsbra. She knew Ona always dreaded to take the tight fabric off of her, especially when it was drained with sweat and annoyingly stuck to her skin.

As each layer of clothing fell away, Ona got more and more peacefull. An unspoken barrier breaking down with every touch, every glance they shared.

When they were both down to nothing but skin, Lucy took Ona’s hand and gently guided her into the shower, the hot water cascading over them. The warmth surounded them both, and Lucy smiled as Ona stepped back into her arms.

"You good?" Lucy asked, her voice soft as she kissed the top of Ona’s head.

"Mhm," Ona hummed, her body finally relaxing into Lucy’s. ''Better''.

They stood there for a while, letting the water wash away the sweat, the tears and the time spent apart. There was no rush.

Lucy moved slowly, tenderly, as she had taken some soap on her hands, her fingers tracing over Ona’s skin with even more care then she usually already had.

"Missed this," Ona murmured, her eyes closing as Lucy’s hands moved across her back.

"Me too," Lucy whispered back, her voice thick with emotion.

For a while, they said nothing, the only sounds filling the room were the steady stream of water and their quiet breaths. Lucy gently washed Ona’s body, her hands moving slowly, deliberately, like she wanted to memorize every inch of her all over again.

When it was Ona’s turn, she took just as much care, her fingers trailing softly over Lucy’s arms, her shoulders, her chest. There was something sacred about this moment. Like they were rebuilding something that distance had tried to take away.

After what felt like an eternity standing together beneath the stream of warm water, their bodies still entwined, Lucy leaned down, her lips brushing against Ona’s forehead in a soft, tender kiss.

Her movements were unhurried as she let her lips linger before trailing down to place a small peck on the tip of Ona’s nose. Ona smiled at the gentle touch, her eyes fluttering closed, surrendering to the intimacy. Lucy continued her slow, affectionate journey, planting soft kisses around Ona’s face.

Finally, Lucy’s lips hovered millimeters away from Ona’s, the space between them so small it felt electric. She paused, her breath mixing with Ona’s as she whispered, "I love you."

Then, softly, she closed the gap, capturing Ona’s lips in a kiss.

"You feel better now?" Lucy asked breaking away from their kiss after a few moments, brushing a strand of wet hair out of Ona’s face.

"Yeah," Ona whispered, her voice barely audible, but smiling genuinly. "Much better."

---

Thanks to @pinkygirl28 :) she helped me with the ending

#Did i write this while i should be doing uni work #yes #but ok i guess #lucy bronze smut #woso smut #woso fanfics #lucy bronze #lucy bronze x ona batlle #woso #woso imagine #ona batlle smut #ona batlle

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theuntoldstorythatneedsawriter · 3 months ago

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Disappointed 💣💧

Misa Rodriguez x reader

warning: angst 💣💔 (good ending ❤️‍🩹)

(my first language isn't english nor spanish, sorry for any grammar or spelling mistakes)

Summary :

Disappointed after a lost, Misa redirects unintentionally her anger on you and realises what she's done, only once you're gone.

These past few weeks were tense, to say the least, Misa had been training hard for her future game against Barca. Anxiety had been eating her up, and you could see right through her, how her shoulders were tense even sleeping, the sour mood she put up. You, of course, tried to help her relax, but all your tentatives were stopped by rude "leave me alone." You understood why she was so distance but that didn't stop it from hurting you.

As the final whistle blows, you could see her face filled with disappointment. 3 Goals had gone past her and you could feel how angry she is with herself. Misa ran straight into the changing rooms after a small talk with Mapi, visibly angry and disappointed.

Waiting for her in the parking lot, like you usually did, you saw Olga, one of her teammate, run towards you. You knew her cordially but never built a friendship, not seeing her really often outside of Misa training. Out of breath, she breafly explained how she absolutely needed you come take care of Misa. Panicked about what could be happening to her, you followed Olga into the stadium.

Head in her hands, sniffing, body shaking. This sight of your girlfriend made your heart ache. You were used to seeing her disappointed after a lost game, but never to this point.

My love ?

Your voice fulled of worry, you took her hands in yours, allowing you to see her face covered with tears. You softly kissed her head, putting your forehead against hers, whispering praises. Only to get pushed forcefully away of her, her eyes full of anger.

Déjame en paz, eres inútil.

Leave me alone, you're useless

You knew she didn't mean it or at least hoped she didn't, but after weeks of suffering through her attitude, it was just too much. You got up quietly, Misa face reflected a mixed of confusion and anger. You turned away from her and walked to the exit, stopping by the door, you let out a soft, almost whisper,

Te dejaré en paz si eso es lo que quieres. Me voy a Alexia a pasar la noche.

I will leave you alone if that's what you want. Im going to Alexia for the night.

Before closing it after you, you took a deep breath before going back to the parking, calling Alexia to come and get you. Alexia and you have been pretty close ever since Misa introduced you to each other, having many points in the comment. Misa would often joke about you leaving her for Alexia, which wouldn't be possible either way since you loved Misa to much and Alexia already had Olga and wasn't up for sharing her with anyone.

Alexia knew something went wrong, your face was red from tears, you talked the less possible, responding with yes or no. You went directly to bed, not eating dinner, which worried the woman even more.

By the time you woke up the next morning, your phone was fulled with missed calls and text from Misa. Knowing you couldn't escape the situation for eternity, you quickly left after breakfast, thanking Alexia and Olga for the hospitality of giving you a bed for the night and a delicious breakfast.

Your appartement door in front of you, though spiralling about if you should go in or not. You were cut off by the door slowly opening in front of you, Misa was looking down at the ground, tears on her cheek.

Alexia me llamó, lo siento muchísimo. Sé que no debí haber sido tan grosera contigo. Lo siento, mi amor, lo siento muchísimo. Te amo tanto que no puedo perderte, por favor, mi vida, haré lo que sea.

Alexia called me, i am so so sorry. I know i shouldn't have been so rude to you. I'm sorry, my love, im so sorry. I love you so much i can't lose you, please my live, i will do anything.

The only thing you could do was hug her and cry with her, her body against yours, ears filled with sniffled apologise as you comforted her.

She made it a point to show you how sorry she was for the next couple of days, preparing you breakfast, lunch, dinner, making all the house chores, taking you shopping, watching your favorite show 7 time in a row.

She wasn't perfect, but she tried, and that was more then enough for you.

#misa rodriguez x reader #barca femeni #barca femini x reader #barca x reader #fc barcelona #woso x reader #misa rodriguez

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604to647 · 15 days ago

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Safest with You (The Epilogue)

3.2K / Modern AU Retired Mob Enforcer!Din Djarin x fem!reader

Summary: You and Din welcome a new member to your family.

Warnings: All fluff - just the way we started this series! Established relationship, nicknames as usual (Pretty bird, baby).

A/N: A cute little glimpse into the lives of our happy couple around two years after the series finale. 112 Carlota Galgos is a real Galgo rescue in Spain! I won't go into the circumstances that make the rescue work they do so important, but many of you know that I have a greyhound, and the plight of the Galgo is well known in the sighthound community. These dogs deserve the world!! If you have an opportunity to check out organizations that aid Spanish Galgos or even help - I promise these gentle giants deserve it. Lisette is a real galgo I knew! She passed last year and this epilogue is dedicated to her (cute pics included at the end!)

I’m posting this on the one year anniversary of Chapter 1!! I can’t believe it’s been a whole year of writing these bbs 🥹 Thank you thank you everyone who has supported and followed along with this series - you are all as dear to me as Pretty Bird's garlic knots are to Mayfeld 🥹🥰 (I still plan on publishing that recipe!)

Dividers by @saradika-graphics as always! 🥰 / Series Masterlist

Just before your finger is about to press down the call button on the outside of the closed metal gate, you retract your hand and look questioningly at Din.

“How many am I allowed to get again?”

Din stares at you for a second to ascertain if you’re kidding and when he sees you’re not, a little panic sets in on his face, “One, pretty bird. Just one.”

“But…”

“We only made arrangements with the airline for one, baby.”

You pout a little, but know Din’s right, “Okay. Fine. One.”

Somewhat dejectedly you press the button, though the chorus of barks and yelps from the other side of the gate resulting from the chime of the bell perk you up immediately, and by the time the gate is buzzed open with a loud brrrrzzzt, you’re giddy with excitement again.

This is the last planned destination of the European trip you and Din have been on for the last three weeks, both of you looking forward to flying home in just a few days.

The vacation has been an absolute dream. You and Din have eaten your way through Amsterdam (Stroopwafels! Bitterballen!), then Paris (Steak frites! Macarons! Croissants! One, sometimes two baguettes a day!), followed by Rome (Gelato! Pasta until you exploded!), and then finally Barcelona (Paella! Bombas!) before ending up where you are now: Andalucia, Spain, outside the gates of the 112 Carlota Galgos dog rescue.

The happy and excited woofs from the still unseen pups remind you so much of Alfredo. Gosh, you miss your best guy so much – although, if the daily photos and videos you’ve been receiving are to be believed, he might be hard pressed to leave Paz’s when you get back. By now a minor celebrity in Din and Paz’s neighbourhood, you’re happy to see that Al’s been making the rounds at the local shops (and accepting generous samples everywhere he goes), enjoying fun road trips to nearby hiking trails, and most importantly, helping Paz cement his image as an attractive, eligible bachelor about town. You’re sure if you were to peek at Paz’s dating app profile, you’d see it updated with copious pictures of him fawning over your dog.

Originally, you had been hesitant to have Paz take Al to his place for three whole weeks, wondering if it was better if instead, Paz could come and dog-sit at your and Din’s place – but Al does seem to be adjusting to being away from home just fine. Though Alfredo is generally super easy going and adaptable, you nevertheless recognized that it had been quite a year of transition and multiple upheavals for your pup and worried about how he might cope with yet another change in scenery.

Nearly a year ago, you and Din moved in together and Al had been uprooted from the only home he’s ever known. Though it wasn’t without some understandable disinclination that you left your beautiful and much-loved apartment, both of you agreed it made perfect sense for you to move into Din’s place above Mando’s. Of course you loved your old place – you had poured so much of your heart and soul into making it your refuge and the perfect home for you and Al, but you couldn’t find it within yourself to regret leaving – Din is your home now, as you are his. The only safe haven you need is the one with him, and though you’re sure he would have moved without hesitation if you had asked, the idea of Din leaving a residence right above his place of work, in a building he already owned, was too silly to even entertain.

To try and make the adjustment as smooth as possible for his pretty bird, Din had given you free reign to redecorate, bring in your furniture, and make whatever changes you wanted in order to make his, now your, apartment feel more like home. The third floor of Mando’s would always hold his most cherished memories of his childhood and father – he didn’t need it to look a certain way or have it maintained as some kind of physical shrine in order for that to be true; Din was ready to make a home and new memories with you. It was sweet and you appreciated the gesture prodigiously, but aside from adding your own bookshelves and swapping out a couch, the only thing you had asked for was a bigger kitchen. Din had readily agreed and even suggested he build you an expanded closet and turn the second bedroom into a home office-dog den for you and Al. Din’s enthusiasm and eagerness for the project was enough to have you agreeing to his considerate suggestions.

What had followed was seven months of renovation chaos, living out of and tripping over boxes as a slew of tradespeople and workmen paraded in and out of what was supposed to be your new sanctuary.

You love Din with all your heart, and one of the things you love most and find endlessly attractive is just how good he is at the things he does: taking care of you and Al, supporting the community, running Mando’s – to say nothing of the skill and prowess he displays in his work in and out of the ring; just the sight of Din running drills with his boxers or deftly commanding the Mandos gets you weak in the knees.

But elaborate home improvements and remodelling? Unfortunately, not part of Din’s impressive skill set. Nor any of the Mandos for that matter. For two weeks, every Mando on payroll seemed to be over at your place “helping” with measurements and the demolition of the kitchen and the wall between the two bedrooms. Only after a burst pipe and the subsequent three weeks of living with drying fans running 24/7, did Din concede it was time to call in professionals. Then came a parade of contractors and their respective plumbers, cabinet guys, drywall, tile and marble contacts, electricians, etc. – who all seemed to owe some kind of “favour” to Boba. The good thing about that was they were committed to doing a good job; the bad thing was that no one was particularly dedicated to doing a fast job. For the next five months, you, Din and Al lived in a construction zone of various partially started and finished projects with different strangers coming in and out of your place at all hours of the day – it had stressed Al out endlessly.

A little over half a year after moving in with Din, you hit a breaking point and, with Din’s encouragement, packed a suitcase and took Al to stay at Bea’s until a firm completion deadline could be negotiated with the various contractors. Din had insisted on staying behind to lead the "negotiations" and "supervise" the follow through; lo and behold, everything had been completed to perfection and cleaned up thoroughly two weeks after. Upon seeing the beautiful finished space, you finally felt at home – though frustrated, you hadn’t ever been terribly mad about the whole situation, but it had been a very confusing time for your pup.

Din had felt awful – this wasn’t the symbolic big step and storybook start to your lives together that he had envisioned. You either, if you were being honest, but it genuinely mattered very little in the grand scheme of things; you reminded Din, as the two of you christened every surface of your brand new kitchen, that your lives together had really started a year before moving in together, when he had taken his own big step and shown up outside of your office, making you the promise to be open and honest about everything.

And he had. Din had forgiven himself and won you back, and these last two years have been the happiest of your lives, even with the renovations.

In that time a lot’s happened. Jimmy won another two division championships and moved up a weight class. Cass announced that her and Rikard were expecting. Rory’s bridal boutique expanded to a second even more successful location and to her chagrin, she was promoted to manager. The second book in Bea’s series came out to amazing reviews and the anticipation and hype for the third (due out later this year) was through the roof. Poe decided to pursue and then successfully obtained his pilot license. You went up in his Cessna just once – the views had been unforgettable, Lisa getting sick in your lap no lesser so. Katie guest starred on Law and Order – twice (two different characters). You met the Mods. And Al finally settled into his new home, overseeing his new kingdom from the plush and cozy dog den that his dad lovingly built for him.

And now you and Din are about to take another big step together.

Greeted enthusiastically by one of the women who runs the Spanish hunting dog haven with whom you’ve been conversing with over the past few months about adoption, you and Din take a tour of the facility before being led out back to meet the dogs.

Per Elenna’s guidance, you sit in a chair near the water bowls and let the galgos come to you on their own terms. Some, understandably, are shy and timid, wary of strangers – tentatively, they come and investigate you with their snoots, eventually accepting your gentle pats and scritches once they feel comfortable enough. Others have no such hesitation - tails wagging, curious and excited, they enthusiastically crowd you, nosing in for pets and try to sniff out the treats you have in your pocket. Your chest expands, heart nearly tripling in size to see these dogs get to be dogs again, as you rub their little faces and coo endless words of deserved praise at them for their bravery.

Maybe the plane will have room for another crate, you think, or two? You can’t stop giggling as your face is licked and poked with wet noses, or when those same noses goose your tummy and legs, competing for the attention of your busy hands – you’re in heaven, nearly overwhelmed by all this furry cuteness. Surely Din cannot possibly expect you to limit yourself to one! Knowing the marshmallow squish that resides beneath his hard and steely frame, you’re willing to bet that Din has already softened his stance on taking home multiple pups. You crane your neck to see over the dogs, looking around the property to see if you can locate your boyfriend.

To your surprise, you find him not being surrounded by enthusiastic, bounding galgos, but alone - crouching near the ground and gently scratching a smaller fawn coloured dog who’s laying on her side, her slender head lifted just slightly off the ground to lean into Din’s hand.

“That’s Lisette,” Elenna says when she notices you looking at Din and the fawn girl, “she’s just come to us after this last hunting season - we found her in the street with a broken leg. She’s all healed up now but is still quite skittish, especially around men. This is actually the first time I’ve ever seen her let a man touch her, never mind a stranger. Your husband must have a very calming touch.”

“Oh, he’s not my husb-” your voice trails off as you watch Lisette continue to happily receive Din’s attention. Walking over, you hear him speaking quietly to her in Spanish.

“What are you telling her, Din?”

Din looks up, eyes soft and shiny, “Just telling her what a good girl she is. That’s she so brave and sweet. And that she doesn’t have anything to be afraid of anymore. She’s safe now.”

There is no question as to which (one) dog you’ll be adopting today.

Lisette settles in quickly when you and Din get her back home, especially with Al immediately taking up his role as big brother. Lisette falls into the easy comfort of following his lead, regularly looking to Alfredo for guidance – he never leads her astray and the two of them become inseparable. With growing pride, you watch Lisette tentatively explore her new environment and slowly over the next few months, becomes more and more comfortable in her forever home: first your and Din’s apartment, then the gym, whose enthusiastic occupants always greet her like the princess she is, and eventually the entire neighbourhood where she’s never without her protective brother by her side. When she’s ready, you and Din take her and Al out on further away adventures: to your and Din’s favourite farmers’ market, Poe and Lisa’s (where you learn in their pool that Lisette can swim!) or to Boba and Fennec’s where she can run and play with Mochi and the other Daimyo Dogs. Your heart positively kvells as Lisette’s confidence grows and she becomes the happy pup she deserves to be, putting her less than ideal start to life behind her.

The only thing you wish you could change, though you would never push, is that Lisette won’t cuddle with you - she only ever cuddles with Din. You know she loves you, but she’s very much a daddy’s girl and he’s the only one with whom she feels safe enough to have in such close proximity while sleeping or relaxing. You don’t begrudge Lisette at all for feeling this way; Din is her protector, she trusts him to keep her safe - you understand the comfort of that feeling better than anyone.

And in truth, you love watching them together – seeing your sweet girl so at ease and your strong, formidable warrior melt into a puddle of goo when she burrows into the warmth of his lap. Din talks to Lisette in Spanish all the time, repeating what he told her back in Andalucia: she’s safe now, she doesn’t have to be scared anymore - this is her home.

Your home feels complete now – there’s nowhere you would rather be than cuddled up on the couch with Din, each respectively loving on the pups that have curled up against you: you, Al and Din, Lisette.

Then one day, you’re on the couch tapping away on your laptop when Lisette saunters up to you. You rub her little head and give her a little smooch on her snoot as she walks by, fully expecting her to wander away but she surprises you to no end when she hops up on the couch and curls up by your feet. Terribly delighted but not wanting to spook her, you pretend like it’s no big deal – your heart, however, is doing jumping jacks; looking up with a big smile you see Din nodding encouragingly at the both of you.

And then she does it again. And again. At first still staying arms length from you, she inches closer and closer, little by little. Though your chest is exploding and you want to shout with joy, you always remain calm and give Lisette copious amounts of quiet praise after she’s settled. To celebrate this progress, Din will eventually come over to shower Lisette with additional treats and Spanish words of adulation that she happily accepts. Sometimes you even catch him encouraging her before she comes over to you or see her looking back at him for reassurance before she climbs onto the bed or couch to sit with you. Always her protector, her safe space.

It's slow going, but worth it.

Today, you’re on the couch having just finished a book, funnily enough it’s the most recent in the fantasy series that Din had bought you and your friends on that first day you met nearly four years ago, when you see Lisette moseying on over to you. You swing your legs off the couch and pat the spot next to you, and to your delight, she hops up and starts to do her little nesting circles, prepping for her laydown spot. When she finally settles, she lays her little head in your lap and you think your heart might burst. You look up and see Din, handsome and relaxed, leaning against one of the bookshelves looking at the both of you with an adoring expression on his face. You beam back - yep, the two of you are his girls. The ones he takes care of. Looks after. Loves.

Lisette nuzzles her furry little face deeper into your thigh and you can’t help but giggle at the sensation. “Okay, okay,” you chuckle, as if you needed any invitation to pet and love on her. Dispensing gentle scritches all over her head and little ear rubs, you notice that your sweet girl has an extra collar on. Normally Lisette wears just a martingale and sometimes nothing at all when she’s at home, but today, she’s got a thin rope collar encircling her neck as well. Rubbing it between your fingers, you say to Din, “This is pretty! When did she get this house collar?”

“Got it for her a while ago, but thought I’d wait for the right moment to put it on. Do you like it?”

Lisette lifts her head and you take the opportunity to take a closer look at the pretty pink collar; admiring the delicate metalware and the luxurious feeling fibres of the rope, you run your fingers over the collar until you get to the small clasp in the front and feel something you don’t expect. Rotating the collar around Lisette’s slender neck so you can get a better look at the thin object, you gasp when it comes into view.

A diamond ring.

Din, with Al by his side, starts to walk towards you, the look in his eyes clear and so easy to read: Devotion. Adoration. Love.

“Pretty bird…” he starts. Din has an entire speech planned. He needs to thank you for coming into his life and showing him what true strength and power is. Grace, honesty, and compassion have been your gifts to him, and he’s a better man, a stronger man, for your kindness and generosity. He wants to promise you that your faith in him will never be misplace – that he will cherish you and your heart to the very last beat of his own and beyond. He loves you, admires you, trusts you, is in awe of you, and remains forever grateful for you. Grateful for every smile you throw his way, every laugh you pull from him and allow him to draw from you, thankful for all the ways you’ve woven yourself into his life and made it better. And above all, grateful for your acceptance and love for him and all that he is, was, and ever will be. He needs to ask you if you will allow him the honour of spending the remainder of his days showing you his gratitude and loving you the way you deserve.

Din’s heart is overflowing and he has so much he wishes to express; he’s not entirely sure he’s going to be able to make any sense. But Din’s not nervous - the radiant smile on your beautiful face as he approaches already telling him everything he needs to know.

Real life Lisette!! 🥰🥰

Very last tag for this series!! Thank you all forever for your support 🥹😘

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wrathkitty · 25 days ago

Text

Short Debts Make Long Friends - another Ch 23 snippet because the plot gremlins are cooperating at the WORST POSSIBLE TIME

“Training or playtime?” Din inquires once the children are assembled before him.

Nobody answers. He attributes the nervous silence to Paz’s looming presence, but all seven helmets are looking straight at you – or rather, your hair.

“I know I’m new, but am I missing something?” you ask, perplexed.

Din’s mouth twitches into a faint smile.

“It’s your hair.” It is in its usual state at the end of the day, framing you in a half-mad riot of curls.

You automatically reach up to tug the elastic band from your ponytail. “Is it that bad?”

“No,” he answers hastily. “But it’s probably been awhile since some of them have seen anything like it.”

You are already halfway through the process of retying your hair into a slightly tidier arrangement.

“Oh." You blink. "Okay.”

The fraying elastic goes around your wrist instead, and the next moment you are kneeling to sit on the ground, masses of hair spilling down over both shoulders.

“It’s okay,” you say earnestly, inviting the children closer. “My hair doesn’t bite. I bite,” you add conversationally, “but only if someone does it first.”

Your teasing remark draws a snicker or two, but Paz plants his between you and the foundlings, quelling their curiosity.

“She is aruetii,” he admonishes, looming over them. “Keep away.”

“I thought she was a guest,” one little girl objects; the child beside her pipes up with another, “Is that what’s wrong with her eye?”

“She is my guest,” Din says firmly. “The Armorer decreed it. She must be treated as such”

The girl sends you a hopeful look. “So we can talk to her?”

“Yes –” “No –” both men say simultaneously.

“What’s wrong with her eye?”

“She has not taken the Creed, and wears no helmet,” Paz snarls at Din, speaking through clenched teeth.

“But she honors it,” Din insists.

“Honoring it with dalgaana in your bed doesn’t count,” Paz spits back.

Din’s face darkens to stone, but the tug at his cloak stops him from taking aim straight at Paz’s skull. He glances down, momentarily distracted.

A child has materialized out of nowhere.

“What’s a dalgaana?” she wants to know, tilting her head up to talk to him.

“Prostitute,” another youngster helpfully supplies.

Din looks accusingly back at Paz.

“WHAT’S WRONG WITH HER EYE?”

pleasepleasepleasedonthateme i just had an idea and 23 won’t be as good if I don’t put it in 😭

Link to main fic: Short Debts Make Long Friends - An over-educated, underpaid millennial finally gets to go on her first adventure.

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tarjapearce · 1 year ago

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soccer family Miguel meeting wife’s family for the first time and vice versa?

Oh dear. What a bumpy ride. 🙃

Bit of angst in the end. (Will do her meeting his family later, don't worry ~)

Pt 2 here

Teeth pulled at the inner soft skin on your lips, chewing and biting away the waves of raw anxiety that washed over you.

"Stop that. You'll hurt yourself."

Miguel mumbled as he drove to your family's home. It was an unsettling surprise for you to know that your family wanted to meet him. But what truly surprised you was the fact that they knew.

Ever since you moved out from your family's home at 18, many things stopped happening. Fights, verbal and emotional abuse that went both ways, the constant comparison to your other same age family members and you, and of course, you being pushed around and invalidated.

College was a different kind of freedom for you. And the start of a new life without them. You barely visited them, even skipped the most important holidays to be away from them. In a way, it was thanks to that that you met Jessica. She had been a wonderful support on your life.

"I know... just-"

His large hand covered yours to then give a kiss on the back of your palm

"You'll be fine. And if you don't feel comfortable enough, we can go."

"I'm uncomfortable already and we haven't even arrived yet."

"They can't be that bad"

You deadpanned and sighed.

"Corazón, look. I know family's difficult. I really do, but a couple of hours won't kill you. It's a good chance to prove them wrong."

"I've got nothing to prove them, Miguel."

"Right. Still, won't be a bad idea for them to see you doing fine. Talvez asi se callan el hocico y te dejan en paz" (Maybe that way they'll shut the fuck up and leave you alone)

You giggled at his words.

In truth was that you told him everything, it was sort of sad yet amusing that you bonded over trauma sharing. It was a mutual catharsis that somehow ended up strengthening your relationship. He didn't know them, but for the things you had shared with him, he knew he'd be curt and polite.

You'd warn him about their modus operandi. They'd present themselves as kind and welcoming, but bit by bit the snide and passive aggressive remarks and comments would show up. You had hope that after years of barely visiting they'd change.

Something you were about to find out as he parked outside the colonial looking home.

"No matter what, stay away from the Horchata. My auntie thinks she is good at it but... it's yuck."

He chuckled and soon, you'd get out the car. Miguel rubbed your shoulders soothingly in an attempt to ease your restless nerves.

----

"Buenas gente" (Hey, People)

One of your elder aunts, the only one you truly liked and always supported you back in college came to greet you with a loving hug, "Mija!"

"Hola tía" (Hey auntie)

You hugged her back and mumbled a quick 'I missed you' before letting Miguel come into view.

"Tía, This is Miguel. My boyfriend."

Auntie gasped at the sheer size of him but gave him a gentle smile.

"Nice to meet you, mijo."

"El gusto es mío, madrecita" (The pleasure is mine)

"Oh! He speaks Spanish!"

The two shared a brief laugh as auntie invited you further. With a hand Miguel held a small present, a bottle of your dad's favorite rum and bunch of roses for your mother. and the other one he held your hand.

It seemed like a regular carneada for him, except that this time there wasn't meats to roast, but soup. Your mom's special seafood soup that was only done in special occasions. You could tell it would be difficult to leave emotionally unscathed when your mom and dad, three aunties, two cousins, and your brother were there.

Upon you making an appearance before all of them, the world stopped for a second, your breath was caught in your throat as you mentally prepared for the game of pretense.

"Mi niña! Come here!"

Your dad followed by your brother made the first ones in making an approach. The size difference sure was shocking for them all. Your father and brother had to crane his head up to see Miguel.

"¿Qué tal? Un gusto conocerte." (How's it going? Nice to meet you)

Miguel shook his hand with him firmly, something your dad approved. And then Miguel handed the packaged rum to him.

He had explained how you'd told him about his favorite drink. Your dad invited you and introduced Miguel to the whole family.

Some of your cousins oggled him shamelessly. Earning a frown from you.

However the biggest challenge laid ahead. Your mother had been watching both from afar, tending to the food with some of your aunties.

And when it was her time to be greeted, you held tighter on his hand. His thumb rubbing on your skin, reassuring.

You'll be fine.

"Mamá" You mumbled and her so ever deep stare settled on Miguel. Not even in you first, but Miguel.

"Fo you, Ma'am" Miguel gave her the roses which she took with a strained smile.

"Thank you very much. Miguel was it, right?"

"Así es." (Correct)

"Are you hungry? Made your favorite soup."

Her stalking gaze shifted between Miguel and you.

"Thanks. A bit would be nice."

"Hm. Go sit, Miguel. We'll tend to this."

Her gaze returned to the food and you nodded at him. He wasn't comfortable with the idea to just sit and watch. But by the things you had told him, it was better to not create unnecessary drama for you.

-----

Everyone seemed at the expectance of something happening between you and your mother. Your brother was trying to make casual conversation with Miguel, but his curt and simple answers made him desist. Plus, it didn't help his mahogany eyes seemed lighter.

If they were nervous about him looking so big with deep red eyes, they'd surely freak out by his fangs. It instantly made your stomach churn, you knew Miguel didn't appreciate people pointing at his insecurities so brazenly, even worse without knowing him.

Everyone sat down, a little blessing before anything and soon the feast begun.

Of course, eyes were settled on both of you and your interactions. Miguel followed your instructions to then help you break the crab.

One of your aunties smiled at it.

"So, Miguel, where do you work?"

Here we go

"Lab Manager at Alchemax."

Your brother whistled and nodded approvingly, just like your father.

Your relationships with him sure was strained, but at least he seemed to have a bit more self criterion than the rest when it came to pick sides. You'd rather him neutral. Just like your dad.

"Wow, you surely outdid yourself this time, cariño."

That cariño sat sickly fake in your stomach. She was the one that always instigated the fights further when you thought everything would calm down. You didn't smile, just ate.

Miguel was given a beer, a round of collective gasps as he tried to open the beer with his fangs. Your other auntie made a cross sign on herself and your mother's eyes widened.

A custom you still couldn't get out of him.

"Do they hurt?"

"How does one get those? They look so cool!"

"Are they comfortable?"

Your eyes caught the glimpse of him tightening his grip on the spoon.

"Ya pues!" (Knock it off!)

"There is no need to yell"

Silence immediately came to the table as your gaze and your mother's clashed.

"Disculpa eso, Miguel." (Im sorry for that, Miguel)

your dad shook his head at your cousins.

"Do you plan on having kids?"

You couldn't help but hide your face in your palm.

"Mamá, stop."

"What? I just wanna know! You're getting old enough to have kids. And Emanuel is always asking about you."

"We haven't discussed it yet." Miguel cleaned his hands with lemon, rinsing away the fishy smell out of his fingers. The coldness in his voice only matched your mom's icy stare.

"Oh."

"But do you want to have kids, Miguel?"

"Dios mío, ma! Ya basta." (My god, Mom! Enough.)

"Why are you so mad over a question?"

Miguel's jaw clenched. It made sense for him why you didn't visit. The way you rolled your eyes, made the ones that had finished already to stand up and leave. Their cue to leave things unfold.

Your elder auntie seized your mom with a glare. Your dad only recoiled to himself and your brother sighed.

"Ma, eso no se pregunta." The only attempt of him to calm the boiling tension between the two. (Mom, you don't ask such things)

Miguel gave you a 'do you wanna go now' stare. And you shook your head. Leaving would only make things worse. But you found the perfect excuse to leave the table.

"Need help, mi amor?"

"Sure."

He was perceptive to pick up your cues, the both cleared up the table and took the dishes to the sink.

---

"I'm so sorry you had to put up with it." You mumbled as you washed and he dried. The kitchen felt tiny for him.

"S'fine."

"Are you mad?"

"A bit uncomfortable. But no, not mad."

"We're leaving after we're done here." a deep sigh escaped your lips, "This is exactly why I don't come here."

"Whose Emanuel?" You groaned and shook your head.

"A man mom thought it was fun to pair me with a long time ago. I never indulged him but he never got the memo ever since I left this place"

"Sounds like he never got over you."

"Yeah, cause mom kept feeding his hopes of me getting with him together."

"Is that why you moved out?"

"One of the reasons, yeah."

You finished the dishes and Miguel excused himself to the bathroom.

He could hear the voices from the other side. One of your aunts surely and your mom.

"I give them a year."

"Did you see his... fangs? I've never seen something like that! And his eyes too!"

"Esta niña... Me va a sacar canas verdes. From all The guys she could pick, she gets one that is twice her size. Why she can't pick up normal guys?" (This girl, will get me green hairs)

Miguel's eyes turned apprehensive as his mouth settled in a straight line.

He had to hunch over the sink to take a look of himself in the mirror. He looked pretty normal, by any standards, until of course, he smiled. Pointy canines bigger than the average people stood out the most. His eyes were a different shade of brown. That was all.

He was fine.

He was normal.

He knew things like this would happen, he expected a bit of trouble. Not this.

His head felt heavy. Sudden spiral thoughts plagued his mind, corrupting the good things he held dear in his mind.

"As long as he's rich, don't care."

"Emanuel's surely richer than him"

That was the final straw. He knew you weren't that type of woman. Hell, you had invited him multiple times, knowing that you'd get broke for a couple of weeks. And still did it anyways. You loved to pamper him.

Why?

His steps guided him back to you. You were stressed and surely would cry at night. But so far you were keeping it together.

Your heart sunk a bit when looking at him. Neither of the both could stand being a second longer in the house. He followed you as you said your goodbyes. You didn't hug none but your elder aunt, and your dad, though the latter got an awkward hug.

You went back home. Neither of you said much during the trip back.

#miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #atsv miguel #soccer family ⚽🕷️#t writes✨#Pre Soccer Family ⚽🕷️

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