#and they had the nerve to have me swing by and try delivering to a business that's closed today

[cool-fancier]

Kissed by Stardust

Jennie Kim x Female Reader

Synopsis: A blind date with global K-pop star Jennie Kim leads to an unexpected, magical connection—one kiss turning a surreal night into the beginning of something unforgettable.

Word Count:4.8K

You've always been one to pride yourself on your ability to keep calm under pressure. It's one of the many reasons you were able to succeed as an actress—calm, collected, composed. You could step onto any set, deliver any line, and face any high-stakes scene with the assurance that you would own the moment.

But tonight? Tonight, all of that composure is nowhere to be found.

Instead, you find yourself sitting at a candlelit table in one of LA's trendiest restaurants, staring blankly at the flickering flame as your nerves take over. There's an awkward tension buzzing inside of you, a mix of excitement and dread, and the more you try to suppress it, the more it builds, twisting your stomach into knots.

A blind date. That's what you've agreed to.

Your friends, Simi and Haze, had convinced you it was time to put yourself out there again. "You've been working too much," Simi had said, waving a hand dismissively when you tried to protest. "You never make time for fun."

"I have fun," you'd replied, though even you didn't believe it. The truth was, ever since your acting career had taken off, your personal life had taken a backseat. Sure, there had been a few flings here and there—brief, fleeting, but nothing serious. You were so busy traveling, attending press events, living on set for months on end, that the idea of getting to know someone felt... daunting. It was easier to focus on your work, to disappear into the roles you played on screen.

"You're going on this date, no excuses," Haze had chimed in, backing her twin up with a mischievous grin. "Trust us, Y/N. It's going to be amazing."

So here you are, nerves thrumming beneath your skin as you wait for your date to arrive, hoping against hope that tonight won't be a total disaster.

"You're going to love her," Simi had teased when she dropped you off. "Just trust me."

That's what worries you most. Simi and Haze are notorious for pulling pranks and dragging you into chaotic situations. You could only imagine what kind of person they'd chosen to set you up with.

The seconds tick by, each one stretching into what feels like an eternity. You glance around the restaurant, hoping the low light hides the anxious look on your face. It's a cozy spot, not overly fancy but still high-end enough to make you feel like you're underdressed, even though you'd spent a good hour fretting over what to wear. You settled on something simple—a sleek, black jumpsuit with a delicate silver necklace. Elegant but not over the top. Casual, yet sophisticated.

At least, you hope it's sophisticated.

Just as you're about to pull out your phone and distract yourself from the nerves that are gnawing at you, the door swings open, and you freeze.

Because standing in the doorway, casually glancing around the room with an air of confidence that only comes with fame, is none other than Jennie Kim.

Yes, that Jennie Kim.

Your breath catches in your throat.

No. No, this can't be right.

Your mind races, trying to make sense of what you're seeing. Jennie Kim, the global K-pop superstar, is not supposed to be your blind date tonight. This has to be some sort of mistake. Maybe she's just here for dinner with someone else. Maybe you've been set up at the wrong table, and any moment now, someone completely different will show up.

But as Jennie's gaze sweeps the room, it lands on you. Her eyes widen just slightly in recognition, and before you can even begin to process what's happening, she's making her way toward your table, a soft, knowing smile curving her lips.

Nope. This is real.

Your brain struggles to catch up with the situation as Jennie reaches your table, effortlessly slipping into the seat across from you like she belongs there.

"Hi," she says, her voice smooth and confident, like this is the most natural thing in the world. "You must be Y/N."

Your mouth opens, but no sound comes out. You're too stunned to respond, your thoughts still scrambling to understand how this could possibly be happening. Jennie Kim? Your blind date? How? Why?

Jennie tilts her head slightly, her smile turning playful as she notices your stunned expression. "Simi and Haze didn't tell you, did they?"

You blink, finally finding your voice, though it comes out a little shaky. "N-no. They, uh, left out a few details."

Jennie chuckles softly, her eyes sparkling with amusement. "They have a habit of doing that. I should've known they'd surprise you."

You manage a weak smile, though your heart is still racing. "I guess they thought it'd be funny to leave me in the dark."

"Well, I hope you're not too disappointed," Jennie says, her smile turning a little more tentative, almost as if she's unsure of herself for a moment. "I know this is... probably not what you expected."

Disappointed? How could you be disappointed? You're sitting across from one of the most famous women in the world. You've followed her career, admired her from afar, but you never in your wildest dreams thought you'd be in this situation. Yet here she is, sitting across from you, looking just as human, just as vulnerable as anyone else.

"No, not disappointed," you say quickly, shaking your head. "Just... surprised."

Jennie seems to relax at that, her shoulders dropping slightly as she leans back in her chair. "Good. I was hoping this wouldn't be too awkward."

You let out a soft laugh, some of the tension in your body easing as you meet her gaze. "Honestly, I think I'm the one making it awkward. I just wasn't expecting... well, *you*."

Jennie grins at that, her eyes twinkling with humor. "I get that a lot."

You smile, feeling the ice between you two beginning to thaw. There's a moment of silence, but it's not uncomfortable—more like the calm after the initial storm of nerves. You take a deep breath, finally letting yourself settle into the moment.

This is happening. You're on a date with Jennie Kim. Might as well make the best of it.

"So," you say, trying to steer the conversation into safer waters. "How do you know Simi and Haze?"

Jennie's smile brightens at the mention of the twins. "We've been friends for a few years now. I met them through mutual friends in the fashion world. We just clicked right away."

"That sounds about right," you reply, your lips quirking into a fond smile as you think of your two chaotic friends. "They're great at making friends."

Jennie nods, her expression softening. "They are. They've been like family to me, honestly. Whenever I'm in LA, they always take care of me."

You can hear the genuine affection in Jennie's voice, and it strikes you just how grounded she seems, despite the larger-than-life persona the world knows her for. There's something so... normal about the way she talks about her friendships, the way she carries herself. It's disarming, in the best possible way.

"Well, they certainly took care of me by setting this up," you say, a little smile tugging at the corner of your lips. "I mean, I wasn't sure about the whole blind date thing, but... this is turning out better than I expected."

Jennie laughs, her eyes crinkling at the edges. "I'll take that as a compliment."

"It is," you reply, feeling a little bolder now that the initial shock is wearing off. "I just... I never thought I'd be sitting across from Jennie Kim on a blind date. It's kind of surreal."

Jennie's smile softens, her gaze flickering down to the table for a moment before she looks back at you. "I get that. It's kind of surreal for me too, sometimes. But, you know, at the end of the day, I'm just a person. I like meeting new people, just like anyone else."

Her honesty catches you off guard, and you find yourself smiling. "I guess that's true. But still... you're Jennie."

Jennie grins, leaning forward slightly, her voice dropping into a playful tone. "And you're Y/N. I've heard a lot about you, you know."

Your eyebrows shoot up in surprise. "You have?"

Jennie nods, her smile turning a little more secretive. "Simi and Haze are big fans of your work. They're always talking about how talented you are."

Your cheeks flush at the unexpected compliment, and you find yourself momentarily speechless. You hadn't expected Jennie to know anything about you beyond the basics, let alone that your friends had been talking you up to her.

"Well, I hope I live up to the hype," you manage to say, trying to play it cool even though your heart is doing somersaults in your chest.

Jennie's gaze softens as she looks at you, and there's something almost... warm in her eyes, something that makes your pulse quicken in a way that has nothing to do with nerves. "I'm sure you will."

For a moment, the two of you just sit there, gazing at each other across the table, and you can't help but feel like something's shifted. It's subtle, but it's there—a spark of connection that wasn't there before.

You're not sure how long the silence stretches between you, but it's comfortable, warm even, and for the first time since Jennie walked through the door, you find yourself relaxing fully into the moment. Her smile, soft yet mischievous, lingers, and the air around you feels lighter, as if the world outside the restaurant has momentarily faded away.

"So," Jennie says, breaking the silence with a teasing tilt to her voice. "Tell me, Y/N, what's it like being a rising star in Hollywood? Simi and Haze made it sound like you're the next big thing."

You let out a small laugh, shaking your head. "I wouldn't say that. I've been lucky with some good roles, but the whole 'rising star' thing? That feels a little exaggerated."

Jennie arches an eyebrow, resting her chin on her hand as she leans in, clearly intrigued. "Don't be modest. I saw you in that series everyone's talking about—what was it called again?"

You blink, surprised. "You watched that?"

"Of course," Jennie replies with a smirk. "You were incredible. I mean, I wasn't exactly expecting it, but you really pulled me in. The emotion, the way you carry yourself on screen—it's impressive."

You stare at her for a second, caught off guard by how genuine her praise sounds. It's one thing to hear compliments from fans or even critics, but coming from Jennie Kim, someone who understands the pressures of performing on a global stage, it hits differently.

"Thank you," you say, and despite your attempt to stay cool, you can feel the heat creeping up your neck. "That means a lot coming from you. I guess I've just been really focused on my work lately, trying to make the most of the opportunities I've been given."

Jennie nods, her eyes reflecting understanding. "I get that. It's hard to find balance when you're so driven by what you love, right? There's always something else to achieve, something more to prove."

You nod, feeling a deep resonance with her words. "Exactly. Sometimes it feels like there's this constant pressure to be 'on' all the time, like you have to keep pushing or you'll lose momentum."

Jennie's expression softens, and she leans back in her chair, her eyes thoughtful. "That's one of the hardest parts for me too. Being in the public eye, there's this expectation to always be perfect. But no one can live up to that, not really. It's exhausting."

Her words hit you harder than you expect. It's easy to forget that someone like Jennie, with her perfect image and worldwide fame, might feel the same way you do—caught between passion and pressure, driven yet sometimes drained. There's a vulnerability in her voice that makes her feel more real, more grounded than the polished idol the world knows her as.

You decide to follow her lead, dropping your own guard just a little. "Yeah, I can relate to that. It's like, no matter what you do, there's always this feeling that you have to do more. And on the days when it gets to be too much, it's hard to take a step back without feeling like you're letting people down."

Jennie nods slowly, her gaze locked with yours. "Exactly. It's like... sometimes I wish I could just turn it all off, you know? Take a break from being 'Jennie' and just... be."

You can't help but smile at that. "I'm pretty sure you've earned the right to take a break."

Jennie grins, her eyes twinkling again. "Maybe. But then Simi and Haze would probably drag me into something else."

You both laugh, and the tension that had lingered at the beginning of the night dissipates entirely. The conversation starts to flow naturally, easily, like you've known each other far longer than the hour you've spent together. You talk about your shared love for travel, the challenges of maintaining privacy in the entertainment world, and the tiny moments of joy that help keep you both grounded amidst the chaos of your careers.

As you chat, Jennie becomes more animated, her laughter spilling out freely as she shares funny anecdotes from her time as a trainee and stories about her bandmates. You find yourself relaxing more with every passing minute, captivated not just by her beauty—though it's hard not to be—but by the way she listens, really listens, and how she speaks with such genuine interest.

At one point, she leans forward conspiratorially, her eyes twinkling with mischief. "Okay, so you have to tell me... worst audition story."

You groan dramatically, burying your face in your hands. "Oh no, you're going to make me relive my trauma?"

Jennie laughs, a full, bright sound that makes your heart do a funny little flip. "Come on! I bet it's not as bad as you think."

You sigh, knowing you can't back out now. "Alright, fine. So, this was a few years ago when I was still trying to break into the industry. I got called in for this small role in an indie film—nothing big, but I was excited because it was one of my first real auditions."

Jennie nods, her eyes wide with anticipation, clearly enjoying where this is going.

"I walk into the audition room, ready to give it my all," you continue, gesturing for effect. "And I'm halfway through this really emotional monologue, right? Tears in my eyes, pouring my heart out. I'm thinking, 'This is it, I'm nailing it.' And then... I notice the casting director is on his phone."

Jennie gasps dramatically, her hand flying to her mouth. "No way."

"Way," you say, grinning at her reaction. "I froze. Completely forgot my lines. And the guy didn't even notice because he was too busy scrolling through Instagram."

Jennie bursts out laughing, shaking her head in disbelief. "That's awful! I'm so sorry, but that's hilarious."

You can't help but laugh too, even though it had been a mortifying experience at the time. "Yeah, it wasn't funny back then, but now I can laugh about it."

Jennie wipes a tear from her eye, still giggling. "Well, I'm sure you showed them after that. Look at you now."

You shrug playfully. "I'd like to think so."

The conversation continues well into the night, and before you know it, you're both finishing dessert—a shared chocolate lava cake that Jennie insisted you try. There's a contentment between you now, a warmth that feels... easy. Natural. Like this is exactly where you're supposed to be, sitting across from her, trading stories and smiles.

— — — —

As the evening winds down, you find yourself not wanting it to end. You've enjoyed every moment with Jennie, from the initial nerves to the laughter and everything in between. She's more than just a superstar—she's funny, smart, kind, and down-to-earth in ways you never would've expected.

Jennie looks up from her plate, catching your eye, and there's something in her gaze that makes your heart skip a beat. It's soft, almost shy, and it takes you by surprise because up until now, she's been so confident, so self-assured. But in this moment, she seems a little... uncertain.

"I had a really good time tonight, Y/N," she says quietly, her voice sincere. "I didn't know what to expect, but... this has been nice. Really nice."

You smile, your heart swelling at her words. "I had a great time too. Honestly, I'm glad Simi and Haze dragged me into this."

Jennie laughs softly, nodding. "Yeah, they're good at that."

For a moment, neither of you speaks, the air between you charged with something unspoken. It's not awkward, but there's a tension there—a kind of anticipation that hangs in the space between you.

And then, without really thinking, you say, "Do you want to take a walk? It's still early, and I'm not ready for the night to end just yet."

Jennie looks up, surprised, but then her expression softens into a smile. "I'd like that."

You both stand up from the table, and as you exit the restaurant together, stepping out into the cool night air, you can't help but feel a flutter of excitement in your chest. The streets are quieter now, the city settling into a calm lull, and the moon hangs low in the sky, casting a soft glow over everything.

Jennie walks beside you, her hands tucked into the pockets of her coat, and for a few moments, neither of you speaks. It's a comfortable silence, though, and you're content to just be in her presence, enjoying the quiet rhythm of your footsteps on the pavement.

After a while, Jennie glances over at you, her lips curving into a small, playful smile. "So... what do you usually do after a date?"

The question catches you off guard, and you feel a blush creeping up your neck. "Uh, I don't know. I don't go on a lot of dates, to be honest."

Jennie laughs softly, her gaze flicking up to the stars. "Yeah, me neither."

There's a pause, and then she adds, "But if I did, I think I'd want to end it on a high note. Something memorable."

You turn to look at her, intrigued. "Like what?"

Jennie stops walking for a moment, her eyes meeting yours with a spark of mischief. "Something like this."

Before you can Before you can fully process what's happening, Jennie steps closer, closing the distance between you in one smooth, deliberate motion. The soft glow of the streetlights casts a gentle light on her face, and for a split second, time seems to slow. Her eyes flick down to your lips and back up to meet your gaze, silently asking a question.

Your heart pounds in your chest as you feel the tension between you build, an electric current that hums in the air. It's not rushed or forced—it feels like the natural culmination of everything that's happened tonight. Every laugh, every shared story, every glance has led to this moment. And before you even have a chance to overthink it, you find yourself nodding ever so slightly, giving her the answer she was waiting for.

Jennie smiles, a barely-there curve of her lips, before she closes the final gap between you. Her lips press softly against yours, and it's like the world falls away, leaving just the two of you in this bubble of quiet intimacy. The kiss is gentle at first, almost hesitant, as if she's testing the waters, but it's enough to send a warm thrill coursing through you.

You respond instinctively, leaning in just a little more, your hand finding its way to her arm as you deepen the kiss ever so slightly. Jennie's hand comes up to cradle your cheek, her touch soft and reassuring, and in that moment, everything feels right. There's no pressure, no expectations—just the sweetness of this unexpected moment, the soft brush of her lips against yours.

When Jennie finally pulls back, it's slow and unhurried, her forehead resting against yours for a brief moment before she steps back slightly, her eyes still half-closed as if savoring the moment. You both stand there, breathing softly, the cool night air swirling around you, but neither of you says anything at first. There's no need for words right now.

Jennie's eyes flutter open, and when she looks at you, there's a soft glow in her expression—a quiet joy that mirrors what you're feeling. "That," she whispers, her voice barely above a breath, "felt like a high note."

The warmth of Jennie's lips still lingers as she steps back, her breath mingling with yours in the cool night air. The kiss was soft, tender—unexpected in all the best ways. For a moment, neither of you speaks, the silence not awkward but charged, as if you're both savoring what just happened.

Jennie looks at you with a quiet smile, her eyes glowing beneath the streetlights, her hand still resting lightly on your arm. "That was..." she trails off, her voice soft and full of emotion she doesn't seem to have the words for.

You grin, feeling giddy, your heart still pounding from the kiss. "Yeah... that was something."

Jennie laughs, a light, carefree sound that fills the quiet street. She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, looking almost bashful for the first time tonight. "I'm glad Simi and Haze set this up. I didn't expect to have such a good time."

"Same," you reply, your voice coming out a little breathless. "Honestly, this whole thing has been kind of surreal."

Jennie tilts her head, her gaze softening. "Surreal can be good, though. Sometimes you just have to go with it." Her lips quirk up into a smile, and you feel a rush of warmth spread through you.

Before you can respond, Jennie glances down the street, her expression shifting slightly. "My manager should be here any minute," she says, her tone almost apologetic. "Duty calls, unfortunately."

Your stomach dips a little, not quite ready for the night to end, but you nod, understanding. She's Jennie Kim, after all—idol, global sensation. She doesn't get to slip away unnoticed like the rest of the world.

Jennie seems to sense your hesitation, and she reaches out, her fingers brushing yours for just a second longer than necessary. "But," she says, her voice lowering conspiratorially, "this doesn't have to be goodbye forever, you know."

Your heart skips a beat at her words. "Oh?"

Jennie leans in slightly, her eyes twinkling mischievously. "I think we should do this again. Soon."

Your breath catches in your throat, and all you can manage is a wide-eyed nod. "I'd really like that."

Jennie's smile widens, and just then, a sleek black car pulls up to the curb, the back door opening as her manager steps out. Jennie glances at the car, then back at you, her eyes lingering on yours for a beat longer than expected.

"Well," she says with a playful sigh, "I guess this is where I make my dramatic exit."

You chuckle, trying to keep the moment light, though your pulse quickens as you realize it's really happening—she's leaving. But before you can get too caught up in that thought, Jennie does something that makes your heart nearly stop.

She blows you a kiss. It's casual, light, but there's something about the way she does it—her eyes sparkling with mischief, her lips curling up just so—that makes it feel intimate, as if the two of you are sharing a private joke that no one else in the world could understand.

"Don't forget me," she says, her tone playful, but there's an underlying sincerity in her voice that catches you off guard.

You laugh, shaking your head as your heart does a little flip. "Trust me, I couldn't if I tried."

With one last smile, Jennie gives you a little wave before turning and slipping into the backseat of the car. The door closes behind her with a soft click, and you watch, rooted to the spot, as the car pulls away from the curb and disappears down the street.

For a moment, you just stand there, blinking in the quiet night, trying to process what just happened. Then, all at once, the excitement hits you like a tidal wave.

"Oh my God," you mutter under your breath, your hands coming up to cover your face as a wide grin breaks across your lips. "Oh my God."

You can't help it—you start bouncing on your toes, your whole body buzzing with an energy you can't contain. The cool night air feels electric against your skin, and before you even realize what you're doing, you're literally jumping up and down in the middle of the sidewalk like some giddy schoolgirl.

Did you just kiss Jennie Kim? Yes. Yes, you did.

You let out a breathless laugh, your heart pounding in your chest as you pull out your phone, immediately dialing Simi. The line rings once, then twice, before she picks up, her voice full of curiosity.

"Hey, Y/N! How'd it go? Are you still alive, or do I need to come scrape you off the floor?"

You can hardly get the words out, your voice spilling over with excitement. "Simi. I just... I just kissed Jennie Kim."

There's a brief pause on the other end of the line, and then—

"WHAT?"

You can practically hear the shock and excitement in Simi's voice, and it only makes you giggle harder, the joy bubbling up inside of you like champagne.

"I'm not joking!" you say, your voice full of breathless disbelief. "We kissed! Right there on the sidewalk, just now! And it was... amazing. Oh my God, Simi, she's so... she's perfect."

Simi lets out a loud, gleeful squeal, and you have to pull the phone away from your ear for a second as her excitement blasts through the speaker. "I TOLD YOU!" she shrieks, her voice barely containing her joy. "I told you it would be amazing! Oh my God, Y/N, I can't believe this! Haze is going to freak out when I tell her."

You're still grinning like a fool, your heart racing as you try to piece together everything that's just happened. "She blew me a kiss as she left," you add, unable to keep the giggles out of your voice. "Like, a literal kiss in the air. Who even does that?"

"Jennie Kim, that's who!" Simi shouts through the phone, her voice full of pride. "Oh my God, I knew she'd like you. I knew it. You're going to be the next power couple, I swear!"

Your face heats up at the thought, but you can't deny the thrill that rushes through you at her words. You bite your lip, trying to keep from getting too carried away, but the way Jennie had looked at you, the softness in her smile, the kiss—it all felt so real, so full of potential.

"Simi," you say, still catching your breath from both the excitement and the kiss, "I don't even know how to process this. I mean, I went into this thinking it was going to be awkward and weird, but... she was so easy to talk to. Like, we really connected."

Simi lets out a dreamy sigh on the other end. "You're totally smitten, aren't you?"

You laugh, running a hand through your hair. "Maybe just a little."

"Good," Simi says, her voice full of satisfaction. "Because I think Jennie's smitten too."

You feel your heart skip at the thought, remembering the way Jennie had smiled at you, the way she'd leaned in for that kiss. You can't help but wonder if maybe, just maybe, Simi is right.

"Well," you say with a grin, "I guess we'll see."

Simi giggles, clearly as thrilled as you are. "I'm so proud of you, Y/N. Seriously. You deserve this."

You can't stop smiling, your excitement and nerves still buzzing under your skin as you stand on the sidewalk, the city quiet around you. "Thanks, Simi. Really. This was... honestly, one of the best nights I've had in a long time."

"And it's only the beginning," Simi says, her voice full of promise. "I can feel it."

You hang up the phone, still grinning from ear to ear, and for a moment, you just stand there, staring up at the sky. The stars are twinkling above you, the city sounds distant and far away, and all you can think about is Jennie—her smile, her kiss, her soft laughter.

You don't know where this is going, but for the first time in a long time, you feel like something special is just beginning. And you can't wait to see what happens next.

[sleepy-steve]

@steddieangstyaugust 01/08 // second chance

wc: 2.7k // rating: M // cw: mild language, references to sexual content // tags: angst with a hopeful ending, miscommunication, eddie makes some questionable (bad) decisions, post-s4 but vecna died, protective robin buckley

divider credits @steddiecameraroll-graphics

“Woah, hey, no. Absolutely not.”

Eddie is being shoved in the chest by someone before he can even register the sharp anger in their voice.

“Wait, wait, Rob, just—”

“No!” Robin smacks him on the chest after successfully pushing him back out the door of Family Video. “You do not get to see him.”

“Robin, please—”

The bell jingles as the door swings shut, and Robin is still pushing him off the curb and into the parking lot. “No, Eddie. You’ve hurt him enough, I’m not letting you do it again.”

There’s a fire in her eyes that lets Eddie know she’s more than serious, and willing to do a lot more than just shove him out the door. He holds his hands up and steps back in surrender, no doubt looking as pathetic as he feels. “Okay, okay, okay, I’m not coming in! I just…”

“Just what?” Robin crosses her arms across her chest, looking at Eddie like he’s the scum of the earth. Maybe he is. He feels like it.

Eddie sighs and anxiously pulls at his hair. His stomach rolls with nerves. “I just wanna talk to him.”

Robin scoffs and looks off to the side, understandably skeptical of his intentions.

“I know! I know, I fucked up!”

“You—” Robin cuts herself off, her sharp gaze returning to him. He flinches at the anger in it. “Do you? Do you actually know?”

“I…” Eddie had only assumed, by the way his last conversation with Steve had ended, the way all his calls had been avoided, minus the one where Robin had answered and swiftly delivered the message to never contact her best friend ever again. He had only assumed it was bad bad. “I… didn’t know.” He finishes weakly.

“And the fact that he told you—”

“I was scared!” Eddie cuts her off. “Can you blame me?”

“Yeah, I can, actually.” Robin’s tone is harsh. Eddie knows he deserves it. “After everything you’ve been through with him, after everything you know, and to just run off like that?”

Her words sting, and Eddie can’t help but hang his head in shame. “I know, Robin. But I was wrong!”

Robin scoffs again, eyes narrowed. “And it only took you, what, a week to figure that out?”

“No! No. I regretted it as soon as I left, but I…” Eddie exhales heavily. “I still—I was still scared.” The venom in Robin’s expression doesn’t change. “Please, Rob, I wanna be with him. He’s gotta give me another chance.”

“Okay, let’s get a couple of things straight.” Robin raises a finger. “One, Steve doesn’t have to do anything.” She raises another. “Two, if, and that’s a big if, he decides to give you another chance, you better be for real, Munson. I will kill you myself if you hurt him again.”

“I am! Rob, I swear, I wouldn’t’ve come back if I wasn’t. I…” Eddie hesitates for a second. Pulls on his hair again. His heart pounds wildly in his chest. “I love him, Robin.”

Robin assesses him, eyes narrowed, trying to see if he’s serious. Eddie tries to hold her gaze, hoping she sees his sincerity. Whether she sees that, or the bags under his eyes from not having slept at all the past week, or the fact that he’s begging with everything he has in him, she seems to accept it.

“Fine. But you will not do this during work. At least let him finish his shift in peace before you come and blow everything up.” Robin turns swiftly and starts walking back to the shop, not waiting to hear anything more from him.

Eddie fumbles for his cigarettes and lighter, fingers trembling as he walks back to his van. That could've gone better, he thinks. Could've gone worse too. Taking a couple deep drags, smoke filtering out with the shudder of his breath, he wills his heart to settle down. He had time to kill now. If he had to wait until the end of Steve’s shift, he would wait.

“I love you, Eddie.”

Steve’s soft voice came from above where Eddie was resting on Steve’s chest. It made him freeze, hand idly playing with Steve’s chest hair stilled. It sounded like Steve said… but no. That couldn’t be right. This… thing, this friendship, Eddie guessed he would call it, that he and Steve had been doing since all the end-of-the-world stuff, had definitely turned into something different. Yes, Eddie had very recently had Steve’s cock in his mouth. But they were still just friends, right?

The first couple of months were average enough, as far as trauma bonding friendships went. Just being there for each other, working through nightmares and panic attacks and pain flare ups. But as they healed and moved on, Eddie found himself and Steve hanging out just for the sake of hanging out.

And then there was the flirting. Eddie started it, he knows he did. A little call back to the “big boy” comment from the RV. He’d watched as Steve’s cheeks flushed a faint pink at the pet name, and found himself wanting to see it more and more. To his surprise, Steve started flirting back, catching Eddie off guard and having him hide behind his hair, cheeky smile peeking through the curls. It just seemed to be a… thing they did. It was normal to flirt with your friends.

It culminated in a night where, after sharing a joint and drinking some beers, Steve leaned over and pressed a soft kiss to Eddie’s lips. Sweet, slow, romantic. Eddie reciprocated with heat and desire. Steve had laughed into the kiss, wrapping his arms around Eddie’s waist and pulling him into his lap. They ended the night asleep in Steve’s bed, wrapped up in each other, exhausted after the bliss of touching and tasting each other. Eddie left the morning after with a shy wave from Steve. It happened again and again, the taste of Steve’s skin, the warmth of his hands on Eddie’s waist, the feeling of his chest hair between Eddie’s fingers, finding pleasure in each other’s touch, all becoming familiar.

Eddie thought he knew what this was. He thought they were just messing around, just having fun. The idea of being with Steve, in any capacity beyond this, was so laughable to Eddie, he refused to even think about it. There were moments where Eddie almost thought Steve liked him as more than a friend, but he quickly shoved them down. Pushed them deep into the recesses of his mind where he wouldn’t have to think about it. He knew Steve was just an affectionate guy. And it would never happen, so why even think about it? Eddie would just enjoy what they had. It was enough. He told himself over and over. It was enough.

But then Steve said…

“Wh-what?” Eddie managed to stutter, still frozen in shock.

Steve’s hand trailed down Eddie’s spine. “I know that it’s early, and you don’t—you don’t have to say it back. But I don’t wanna waste time. Almost lost you once. I wanna be with you, Eddie. I love you.”

Eddie’s mind sluggishly takes in what he’s hearing. When it finally catches up, he sits up so swiftly, Steve jerks back on reflex. Eddie sees the soft concern in Steve’s eyes, and suddenly his heart is pounding in his ears and he feels like he can’t breathe. Steve reaches out, back of his hand about to caress Eddie’s jaw.

“No! No, no, no, no, no.” Eddie jumps up, very aware of his own nudity.

“Woah, woah, hey,” Steve sits up, hands out like he’s placating a wild animal. “It’s okay, it’s okay.”

“No, it’s not!” Eddie can feel himself panicking, but can’t seem to stop it. “You just said you love me?” He can’t help the incredulity in his tone, the very idea so insane to him.

Steve’s confusion seeps into his voice. “I… I do?”

“No, you don’t,” Eddie argues instantly.

“What are you…? Eddie, what is this?” Steve’s eyes are widened with hurt, head shaking slightly. Eddie can see that he wants to reach out, but is holding back.

Frantically looking for his clothes, Eddie’s hands shake. “You—you’re just confused.” He finds his pants and yanks them on, not looking at Steve. “You don’t love me, you’re just… this is just…” Eddie trails off, looking for his shirt.

“Eddie, Eddie, look at me,” Steve pleads, fear starting to lace into the concern. “This is real, I do love you.”

Eddie refuses to look at him as he quickly pulls on his shirt, searching for his boots. “No, no, you don’t. I can’t Steve, I can’t…”

“Can’t what?” Steve finally stands up, trying to catch his eye.

Exhaling heavily, Eddie squeezes his eyes shut, before looking up at Steve and seeing the pain in his. “I can’t let myself believe that.”

Steve takes a step back, looking as though Eddie had pushed him. He sees the shutdown happen, the way Steve is suddenly closed off, pulling away, grief barely concealed as he averts his gaze. Unable to stand the expression on Steve’s face anymore, Eddie grabs his boots and runs out the door. He keeps running until he gets to his van, throwing himself inside and slamming on the accelerator, not daring to look back.

He doesn’t ease up until he’s halfway back to the trailer park and feeling like his chest might explode with the quick, panicked breaths he’s taking. Eddie pulls the van off to the side of the road and hits the brakes, body jolting with the force of the stop. The conversation with Steve replays in his mind on a loop. He forces himself to take a deep breath but the look on Steve’s face in his mind’s eye makes him choke on it. Eddie finally calms down enough to stare blankly through the windshield, and he asks himself what the hell he just did.

Sitting in the driver’s seat of his van, Eddie’s hands tap on the steering wheel, jittery with anxiety. The clouds grow dark overhead. Steve’s shift ends in a couple of hours, but Eddie didn’t want to leave in case he left early. He couldn’t help but feel guilty about cornering Steve at work, but he wouldn’t take his calls, and he was sure that if Steve didn’t intend to hear him out, Buckley would have come to tell him by now.

With half an hour left of Steve’s shift, Eddie opens the door to his van and swings his legs out, his last cigarette in hand. Keeping his eyes trained on the door, he waits for the last few customers to file out. He sees Buckley flip the door sign to ‘Closed’, catch his eye, roll hers, and disappear back into the store. Eddie’s heart was in his throat, waiting to see if Steve would appear, or if Buckley would come out to tell him to piss off for good.

After several agonising minutes, the door swings open slowly and Steve steps out. Eddie had never seen him look so… wary. So closed off. Not since they’d been friends. Steve catches his gaze, and Eddie watches the hurt flash briefly in his eyes before being quickly hidden. Buried deep down somewhere Eddie wouldn’t be able to see it. An impassive mask taking its place.

“Hey…” Eddie starts softly. “Can we talk?”

Steve only raises his brows and gestures vaguely between them. Eddie figures it’s as much approval as he was going to get. He tosses the butt of his cigarette to the ground, stepping on it as he hops down from the van seat, shutting the door behind him. He takes a few slow steps towards Steve, who still only regards him with caution. Eddie rubs his hands down his jeans, trying to still the trembling. Tries to swallow around the lump in his throat. Finally, he decides to sit on the curb a few steps away from Steve. He looks out and takes in the grey sky. Weirdly fitting. After a few moments, Steve sighs and sits down, leaving a bit of space between them.

Eddie, hunched over his knees, turns his head to look over at him. Steve looks straight ahead, but Eddie could see the darkness under his eyes, the overall flatness of his expression. It made Eddie ache to realise he caused it. He couldn’t decide if it was better or worse that Steve wouldn’t look at him.

“I’m… so sorry, Steve.”

Steve scoffs, still not looking at him. Still unreadable.

“I mean it, Steve, really.” Eddie continues to stare, hoping (and scared) that Steve might turn his head. “I just—I panicked. I didn’t think you’d ever—”

“I get it,” Steve cuts him off sharply. “You thought we were just messing around. It’s fine. I don’t, y’know, need to hear your reasoning. For why you don’t feel the same way.”

“No! That’s not it at all.” Eddie tries to keep his voice calm, but the wobble gives him away. “I mean, yeah, I did think we were just messing around but I… I thought the idea of you wanting more than that was, y’know… crazy.” His hands continue to shake as he gestures vaguely.

Steve finally turns to him, only to give him a look that was equal parts hurt, confused, and honestly quite harsh. “What? Because King Steve could never be capable of love?”

“No, Steve, of course you’re capable of love, I’ve seen it, I’ve felt it.” It takes everything in Eddie not to reach out and take Steve’s hands in his. “I just. I didn’t think you’d ever love me.”

The silence sits heavy between them for several long moments.

Steve closes his eyes, his tone is measured. “I told you I loved you—”

“I know, and I didn’t believe you.”

“And you ran away.” Steve continues as though Eddie hasn’t spoken, looking back to him. “You told me I was confused.” The hurt returns with full force in Steve’s eyes, the slight green in them shining with it. “You said you couldn’t let yourself believe it. That I could love you.”

“I’m sorry, Steve.” Eddie’s voice cracks. “I’m so, so sorry. For all of it. I hurt you, and I wish I could take it all back. I was just… scared. Terrified. To believe it. I thought I was protecting myself. That if I let myself believe you, it would hurt too much when the rug was pulled out from under me. But I was wrong. So wrong. Nothing hurts more than knowing I hurt you, and I know you wouldn’t say it if you didn’t mean it, and…”

Steve just waits, tears shining in his eyes but not spilling over. It breaks Eddie’s heart all over again to see how much pain he’s caused. He meets Steve’s gaze with as much bravery as he can muster.

“And… I love you, Steve. I do, I love you so much. I don’t wanna be without you.”

Steve closes his eyes at Eddie’s words, turning away from him, brow furrowed. Tears trail down his cheek and settle at his jawline. “I don’t… think I can trust you.” Steve’s words are slow and thick. Measured.

Eddie feels the knife twist in his heart. He takes a deep, shuddering breath before he continues. “I… I get it. I do. But I’m asking—begging you to give me another chance. Please, Steve. I’ll spend every single day proving it to you, until you can trust me again.”

Steve peeks over at him, wary. “Every single day?”

“For the rest of my life, if that’s what it takes,” Eddie promises. “I swear it. I love you, Steve.”

Eddie holds his breath, throat tight, and blinks away his own tears. Expression unreadable, Steve looks at him for a long moment, carefully considering Eddie’s words. Tentatively, Eddie reaches out towards Steve’s hand, leaving enough distance for him to decide. Steve slowly takes his hand and grips it tightly. He lets their joined hands hang between them, before finally whispering, “Okay.”

[okasuka]

Conner kent x batfam!reader - patrol partners.

ps. sorry about the random part labeling part i messed it up and couldn’t fully get rid of it……..

Behind her, the sound of a boot scuffing against the rooftop grated on her nerves.

“You always this dramatic, or is this just for show?” Conner Kent’s smug voice broke the silence.

Y/N didn’t bother to turn around. “Some of us actually focus on the mission,” she said coolly.

Conner leaned casually against the antenna at the center of the rooftop, his leather jacket slung open over his S-shield shirt, the red and black colors popping against the dark backdrop of the city. The sunglasses perched on his nose, even at night, gave him the infuriating aura of someone who didn’t take anything seriously.

“Relax, Bat-lite,” he said with a lazy grin. “Clark’s golden boy is here to save the day. No need to brood yourself into an early grave.”

Her jaw tightened. “Don’t call me that.”

“What? Bat-lite? Fine. Broody McPunch-a-Lot, then?”

Y/N finally turned to glare at him. “You’re not funny.”

“Debatable,” he replied, tilting his sunglasses down to meet her eyes. “But we’re partners tonight, so maybe try to enjoy my company for once. I’m a delight.”

She snorted softly, turning back to the streets. “Bruce thinks I can learn to ‘lighten up’ from you. That’s laughable.”

“Guessing that means you’re here to teach me how to scowl harder?”

“Something like that.”

The radio crackled in their earpieces before Conner could fire back. Clark’s calm voice came through.

“Y/N, Conner. Report of a break-in on Fifth and Pine. Two suspects. Armed. Proceed with caution.”

“On it,” Y/N said crisply, already stepping off the ledge and firing a grappling hook toward the neighboring building. She moved with practiced ease, her cape trailing behind her like a shadow.

“Wait up!” Conner called, hovering briefly before zipping after her. He caught up quickly, his flight speed more than compensating for her head start.

“Show-off,” she muttered as he floated beside her mid-swing.

“Just keeping up,” he said with a cocky smirk.

They landed on the roof of a pawn shop overlooking the intersection. Below, two masked figures were shoving what looked like jewelry and cash into a duffel bag.

“Stay here,” Y/N whispered, already angling for the fire escape.

Conner raised an eyebrow. “You’re kidding, right?”

“This requires stealth. Something you know nothing about,” she snapped.

“Hey, I can be stealthy,” he insisted, crossing his arms.

She shot him a pointed look. “You’re wearing a bright red ‘S’ on your chest and sunglasses at night.”

“Touché.”

Ignoring him, Y/N crept silently down the fire escape, her footsteps light and calculated. Conner, to his credit, stayed behind—though he leaned casually over the edge of the roof, watching her with obvious amusement.

One of the suspects turned just as Y/N landed softly behind them. Before he could react, she delivered a swift kick to his knee, sending him crashing to the ground. His partner spun around, pulling a gun from his waistband—only to have it yanked out of his hands by an unseen force.

“Uh-uh,” Conner said from above, the gun floating into his hand. He crushed it effortlessly, his grin widening. “Let’s not make this harder than it has to be.”

The second suspect tried to run, but Y/N cut him off, twisting his arm behind his back and forcing him to the ground.

“You’re welcome,” Conner said as he floated down to her level.

“I had it under control,” she replied, her voice icy.

“Sure you did,” he said, tossing the remains of the gun to the side. “I’m just here to make your life easier.”

Part 2

Y/N didn’t bother responding. She zip-tied the second suspect’s wrists with practiced precision before standing and looking up at Conner. He stood there like a statue, hands on his hips and that smug smirk plastered across his face.

“You’re in my way,” she said, stepping past him to retrieve the duffel bag.

Conner didn’t move. “I think you mean, ‘Thanks, Conner, for being awesome and saving my life.’”

She froze mid-step, her head turning slowly toward him. “I didn’t need saving.”

He gave a low whistle, holding his hands up. “Wow, you’re fun. You always this warm, or do I bring it out in you?”

“Are you always this insufferable, or is tonight special?” she shot back, hoisting the duffel over her shoulder.

“Depends on who you ask,” he replied with a wink, trailing after her as she moved toward the street.

By the time the cops arrived to take the suspects into custody, Y/N was already giving a report to Clark over comms. Conner leaned casually against a lamppost nearby, occasionally tossing glances her way as she talked.

“She’s a bundle of sunshine, isn’t she?” he muttered to himself.

“I heard that,” Y/N said without looking up.

Conner chuckled, pushing off the lamppost and stepping closer. “So, what’s next, boss? Or do you need a break to recharge all that brooding energy?”

Her hands clenched into fists, but she forced herself to stay calm. “There’s another report on Tenth and Broadway. If you’re done standing around, maybe you can actually do something useful.”

“Lead the way,” he said with a sweeping gesture, sunglasses flashing under the streetlights.

They moved in silence this time, Y/N swinging between buildings with her grappling hook while Conner soared above her like an overconfident hawk. Every so often, she’d catch him glancing at her from the corner of her eye, and it only irritated her more.

When they reached the next scene—a group of gang members looting a storefront—Y/N landed on the roof first, crouching low as she surveyed the area.

“Okay,” she whispered. “Here’s the plan—”

“No need for a plan,” Conner interrupted, cracking his knuckles. “I’ve got this.”

“Wait—” she started, but it was too late.

Conner shot toward the gang like a bullet, landing right in the middle of them with a loud thud. Glass crunched under his boots as he straightened up, grinning.

“Hey, guys,” he said, his tone casual. “Mind putting that stuff back?”

The gang members froze for a moment, their eyes widening at the sight of him. Then, as if on cue, one of them pulled a knife and lunged.

Conner didn’t even flinch. The blade snapped against his chest, and he raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

Before the guy could react, Conner grabbed him by the back of his jacket and tossed him into a dumpster a few feet away.

The rest of the gang scattered, but Y/N was already in motion, intercepting two of them before they could escape. She took them down with a series of swift, calculated strikes, her movements efficient and precise.

By the time she was done, Conner had rounded up the rest, piling them together like a heap of laundry.

“You’re welcome,” he said again, brushing his hands off as he floated back toward her.

Y/N’s glare could’ve melted steel. “You didn’t follow the plan.”

“What plan?” he said, genuinely confused. “Your plan was probably ‘brood and punch,’ anyway.”

Her jaw tightened. “You’re reckless. You could’ve gotten someone hurt.”

“Relax,” he said, holding his hands up. “They’re fine. You’re fine. Everyone’s fine.”

“That’s not the point,” she snapped, stepping closer. “If you keep rushing in without thinking, someone will get hurt. And I won’t let that happen on my watch.”

Conner stared at her for a moment, his cocky grin fading slightly. “Wow,” he said softly. “You’re serious about this, huh?”

She crossed her arms. “Unlike you, I take this job seriously.”

“Hey,” he said, frowning. “I take it seriously too. I just don’t let it turn me into… you.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning you’re so focused on the mission, you forget there’s more to life than crime-fighting. You ever hear of fun?”

She turned away, shaking her head. “This isn’t about fun. It’s about doing what needs to be done.”

“Spoken like a true Bat,” Conner muttered under his breath.

Y/N ignored him, her attention already back on her comms as she reported the situation. But his words lingered in her mind longer than she cared to admit.

Part 3

The night stretched on, with crime reports coming in one after another. As the duo tackled each incident, the tension between them grew. Y/N’s sharp commands and meticulous strategies clashed with Conner’s impulsive, devil-may-care approach at every turn.

At a small electronics store on Twelfth Street, Y/N disarmed a group of tech thieves with precision, while Conner smashed through the back wall to corner their getaway vehicle. The crash startled the remaining culprits, giving Y/N the upper hand but drawing her ire.

“Are you trying to give me a heart attack?” she snapped as the last thief was cuffed.

“I call it improvisation,” Conner replied, dusting brick fragments off his jacket.

“I call it reckless,” she shot back.

“Recklessly awesome, maybe,” he said with a grin.

By the time they reached their final stop—a warehouse filled with suspected smuggled weapons—Y/N’s patience was threadbare. She crouched on a high beam inside, mapping out their approach as Conner hovered beside her, arms crossed.

“This one’s serious,” she whispered. “We go in quietly, disable the security systems, and—”

“Or,” Conner interrupted, “I can just smash the guns and call it a night.”

Her glare could’ve pierced his invulnerability. “This isn’t a joke. If these are high-tech weapons, one wrong move could trigger an explosion.”

“Got it,” he said with mock seriousness. “No smashing. Light tapping only.”

“Do you ever stop talking?”

“Nope,” he said, popping the “p.” “Pretty sure it’s part of my charm.”

Y/N pinched the bridge of her nose, muttering under her breath. “Why me, Bruce? Why me?”

“What was that?” Conner asked, leaning closer with a teasing smile.

“Nothing,” she hissed, dropping silently to the ground below.

Conner followed, his boots hitting the floor with significantly less stealth. Y/N winced at the sound but pressed on, her focus sharp.

Inside, they found rows of crates stacked high, each marked with the logo of a prominent defense contractor. Y/N pulled out a small device to scan for hidden traps while Conner wandered over to one of the crates, giving it a curious knock.

“What are you doing?” she whispered harshly.

“Checking for bad guys,” he whispered back, tapping his ear. “Super-hearing, remember?”

“Could you at least pretend to take this seriously?”

“I am serious,” he said, straightening up. “There’s no one here except us.”

Before she could reply, the lights suddenly flickered on, and the sound of guns cocking filled the room. Y/N spun around to see a dozen armed men stepping out from the shadows, their weapons trained on her and Conner.

“Nice going,” she muttered.

“Hey,” he said, holding his hands up as if surrendering. “At least we don’t have to look for them now.”

Y/N glared at him before turning her attention back to the gunmen. “I’ll take the left,” she said through gritted teeth.

“Cool. I’ll take the other eleven,” Conner said with a smirk, cracking his knuckles.

Before she could stop him, he was already moving. Bullets ricocheted harmlessly off his chest as he plowed through the gunmen, disarming them with almost comical ease. Meanwhile, Y/N darted between crates, using shadows and cover to take out her targets one by one.

As the last man hit the ground, Conner dusted his hands off and turned to Y/N. “And that’s how you clear a room.”

“You’re impossible,” she muttered, scanning the crates for any signs of a self-destruct mechanism.

“And you’re welcome,” he replied, leaning casually against a crate. “You know, if you’d just let yourself have a little fun, you might not hate me so much.”

“I don’t hate you,” she said without looking up.

“Could’ve fooled me.”

She sighed, closing the scanner. “You’re just… distracting.”

He grinned. “That’s the nicest thing you’ve said to me all night.”

Y/N shook her head, already heading for the exit. “Let’s just finish this and go home.”

As they stepped out into the cool night air, Conner fell into step beside her, his sunglasses tilted back onto his forehead.

“You know,” he said after a moment, “we actually make a pretty good team.”

She glanced at him, her expression unreadable. “Don’t push it.”

He chuckled, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets. “Whatever you say, Bat-lite.”

“Conner,” she warned.

“Fine, fine. Y/N,” he said, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “But admit it—you had some fun tonight.”

She didn’t answer, her gaze fixed ahead. But for the first time all night, the corners of her mouth twitched—just barely—into something resembling a smile.

Part 4

The ride back to the Watchtower was quiet—at least for a moment. Y/N sat rigid in the passenger seat of the sleek transport pod, arms crossed, her gaze fixed on the distant stars through the window. Conner sat beside her, tapping his fingers on the console with a rhythm she suspected was deliberately designed to annoy her.

“Can you stop?” she snapped, glaring at him.

“Stop what?” he asked, clearly feigning innocence.

“That,” she said, gesturing to his tapping hand.

He grinned. “Oh, sorry. I didn’t realize my natural charisma was so distracting.”

She let out a slow, measured breath and turned away. “I’m trying to debrief in my head. You should try it sometime.”

“Why bother?” he said, leaning back in his chair. “We stopped a bunch of crimes, caught the bad guys, and no one got hurt. That’s a win in my book.”

“You’re so cavalier about everything,” she muttered.

“And you’re so intense about everything,” he shot back, his grin softening into something more sincere. “It’s okay to ease up, you know. You’re allowed to breathe.”

Y/N didn’t reply. Her mind was already cycling through every moment of the night, analyzing what could have gone better, what she could have done differently.

Conner watched her for a moment, his usual cockiness giving way to a flicker of curiosity. “Why do you do that?”

“Do what?” she asked without looking at him.

“Beat yourself up over stuff that went fine,” he said, his voice less teasing and more genuine.

“Because it’s my job to make sure it always goes fine,” she replied. “If I don’t analyze every detail, someone could get hurt next time.”

“You know you can’t control everything, right?” he said, leaning forward slightly. “You’re good—great, even—but you’re not perfect. None of us are.”

She stiffened at his words, her jaw tightening. “I don’t have the luxury of failure.”

Conner raised an eyebrow. “And who put that kind of pressure on you? Bruce?”

She didn’t answer, but her silence spoke volumes.

“Figures,” he muttered. “Look, I get it. I do. Clark can be a bit of a perfectionist, too, but he doesn’t expect me to kill myself trying to live up to some impossible standard.”

“That’s because you don’t take it seriously,” she said, turning to face him fully for the first time.

“That’s not true,” he said, his tone sharper now. “I care just as much as you do. I just don’t let it crush me.”

“Maybe you should,” she shot back. “Maybe then you’d understand what’s at stake.”

He leaned closer, his blue eyes meeting hers with unexpected intensity. “And maybe you should realize that you’re allowed to be human, Y/N. You’re not some machine built to fix the world all by yourself.”

Her breath caught for a moment, his words hitting closer to home than she wanted to admit.

Before she could respond, the pod docked at the Watchtower, and the hatch hissed open. Y/N was the first to step out, her boots echoing against the metallic floor as she headed for the debriefing room.

Conner followed a few steps behind, watching her with a mix of admiration and exasperation. “You’re a tough nut to crack, you know that?”

“I don’t need cracking,” she replied curtly, not breaking stride.

“Right,” he said, stuffing his hands into his jacket pockets. “Because you’ve got it all figured out.”

Part 5

She paused at the door to the debriefing room and glanced back at him, her expression unreadable. “You don’t know anything about me, Conner.”

His eyebrows lifted slightly. “Maybe not. But I know what it’s like to feel like the weight of the world’s on your shoulders.”

She hesitated, caught off guard by the sincerity in his tone. Before she could respond, the door slid open, and the familiar figures of Bruce and Clark stood waiting inside.

“Report,” Bruce said, his voice low and firm.

Y/N straightened immediately, slipping into the role of soldier. “We stopped multiple crimes across Metropolis, dismantled a weapons-smuggling operation, and secured all suspects without casualties.”

“Efficient,” Bruce said with a curt nod. “Any challenges?”

“No,” she replied quickly, though her jaw tightened.

Conner tilted his head, his sunglasses now hanging from his jacket collar. “Well, unless you count her trying to control everything and me saving the day when she overthought it.”

Y/N’s glare shot to him instantly. “That’s not what happened.”

“Pretty sure it is,” Conner said, leaning against the wall with a smirk.

Bruce’s sharp gaze darted between them. “Is there a problem I need to be aware of?”

“No,” Y/N said firmly.

“Not unless you consider her being allergic to fun a problem,” Conner quipped.

“Conner,” Clark said, his tone a mix of warning and exasperation.

Y/N folded her arms, her glare locked on Conner. “Maybe if he took anything seriously, we’d actually be a functional team.”

“We stopped every bad guy we ran into,” Conner countered, his smirk fading slightly. “Sounds functional to me.”

Bruce stepped forward, his imposing presence silencing both of them. “The point of pairing you was to address these exact flaws. Y/N, your tendency to overanalyze can lead to delays in decision-making. Conner’s impulsiveness creates unnecessary risks. You’re supposed to balance each other.”

“Great. Mission accomplished,” Conner said, raising his hands in mock celebration. “We survived without killing each other.”

“For now,” Y/N muttered under her breath.

Clark stepped in, his voice gentler. “What Bruce is saying is that you both have something to learn from this partnership. Y/N, Conner’s right that not every situation can be controlled. And, Conner, Y/N’s discipline and planning are qualities you could stand to adopt.”

Conner crossed his arms, glancing at Y/N. “Fine. I’ll try to plan a little more.”

Y/N sighed. “And I’ll… try to adapt on the fly.”

“Good,” Bruce said, his tone final. “Because you’re not done yet.”

Y/N blinked. “We’re not?”

“You’re being assigned another week of joint patrols,” Clark said, though his smile was more apologetic.

“A week?” she repeated, her frustration bubbling to the surface.

“Come on, it’ll be fun,” Conner said with a grin, nudging her shoulder. “You’ll get to spend more quality time with me.”

Y/N stared at him, her expression a mix of exhaustion and irritation. “I’d rather patrol Gotham during a Joker breakout.”

“Ouch,” Conner said, clutching his chest dramatically. “That hurt, Bat-lite. Really.”

Bruce and Clark exchanged a glance, the smallest flicker of amusement passing between them.

“Dismissed,” Bruce said, turning back to the console.

Y/N turned on her heel and stalked out of the room, her cape billowing behind her. Conner followed a moment later, still grinning.

“So,” he said as they walked down the corridor, “what’s the plan for tomorrow, partner?”

“Don’t call me that,” she muttered.

“You’re gonna miss me when this week’s over,” he teased.

“Doubtful,” she shot back.

As they reached the elevator, Conner pressed the button and leaned casually against the wall. “You know, I think this could be good for us.”

She raised an eyebrow. “How?”

“Because by the end of this, I’ll teach you how to have fun, and you’ll teach me how to stop annoying you.”

Part 6

“That’s impossible,” she said, stepping into the elevator and crossing her arms.

“Nothing’s impossible,” Conner replied, following her inside. “You’re stuck with me for a week. Plenty of time for miracles.”

The doors slid shut, and the elevator hummed softly as it began its ascent. Y/N fixed her gaze on the glowing floor numbers, pretending not to notice Conner’s lopsided grin as he leaned casually against the wall.

“Do you always have to talk?” she asked, breaking the silence.

“It’s one of my best qualities,” he said.

“Debatable.”

He chuckled, watching her out of the corner of his eye. “You know, I’ve never met anyone who can brood as much as Bruce. Congrats on being his heir apparent.”

She shot him a sharp look. “And I’ve never met anyone who can be this obnoxious without even trying.”

“See?” he said, pointing at her. “That was almost a joke. You’re learning.”

The elevator dinged, and the doors opened to reveal the living quarters. Y/N stepped out first, eager to escape the conversation.

“Where are you going?” Conner called after her.

“To my room,” she said without turning around.

“Cool, I’ll walk you there,” he said, falling into step beside her.

She stopped abruptly, fixing him with a glare. “Why?”

“Because I’m a gentleman,” he said, flashing his signature grin.

“More like a menace,” she muttered, continuing down the corridor.

They reached her door, and she placed her hand on the biometric scanner. The panel beeped, and the door slid open.

“Goodnight, Conner,” she said firmly, stepping inside and starting to close the door.

“Sweet dreams, Y/N,” he replied, his grin widening.

Before she could retort, the door slid shut, leaving her alone in the quiet of her quarters. She let out a long breath, running a hand through her hair as she moved to her desk.

Sitting down, she opened her laptop and began reviewing the night’s patrol log. But her focus kept slipping, her mind wandering back to Conner’s words.

“Maybe you should realize that you’re allowed to be human.”

She shook her head, closing the laptop with more force than necessary. “He doesn’t get it,” she muttered to herself.

But deep down, a small, annoying voice whispered that maybe—just maybe—he did.

The next night came all too quickly.

Y/N stood on the roof of a high-rise building in Gotham, the cool wind tugging at her cape. Conner hovered a few feet away, his hands shoved into his jacket pockets as he surveyed the city below.

“Gotham, huh?” he said, breaking the silence. “Didn’t think you’d want me here.”

“I don’t,” she replied flatly.

“Then why bring me along?”

“Because Bruce assigned us to work together,” she said, adjusting her gauntlet. “And unlike you, I follow orders.”

“Fair enough,” he said with a shrug.

She glanced at him, surprised by his lack of a snarky comeback. “What? No witty retort?”

“Not in the mood,” he said, his tone uncharacteristically serious.

She frowned, studying him for a moment. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” he said quickly, but the tension in his jaw said otherwise.

“Conner,” she said, her voice softening just slightly. “What is it?”

He hesitated, then sighed. “It’s just… this place. It’s heavier than Metropolis, you know? Like the city’s carrying all this darkness, and it’s seeping into everyone who lives here.”

“That’s Gotham,” she said quietly.

“Yeah,” he said, his gaze distant. “Guess I’m just not used to it.”

She studied him for a moment, her gaze softened.

Later that night, Y/N sat at her desk in her sleeping quarters, her room dimly lit by the soft glow of the desk lamp. She’d intended to review the patrol routes for tomorrow, but her mind refused to focus. Instead, her pen moved aimlessly across the edge of a scrap of paper, creating a swirling pattern of lines and shapes.

She leaned back in her chair, rubbing her eyes. It was late, but sleep felt impossible. The events of the day replayed in her mind—Conner’s comments, his sudden seriousness in Gotham, and the way he managed to both infuriate and intrigue her in equal measure.

A faint noise broke her thoughts—a barely perceptible shift in the air behind her.

Her instincts kicked in immediately. She dropped the pen and spun out of the chair in one fluid motion, grabbing the intruder’s arm and twisting it behind their back. Using her weight for leverage, she slammed them against the wall.

“Who are you, and what do you—” she stopped mid-sentence as her eyes landed on the grinning face of Conner Kent.

“Hey,” he said casually, despite being pinned. “Nice reflexes.”

She released him instantly, stepping back with a scowl. “What are you doing in my room?”

“Relax,” he said, straightening his jacket. “I knocked. You didn’t answer.”

“That doesn’t mean you can break in!” she snapped.

He held up his hands. “Technically, I didn’t break anything. Your door doesn’t exactly stop someone with super strength.”

She crossed her arms, glaring at him. “Why are you here?”

“I was bored,” he said simply, leaning casually against the wall as if this were perfectly normal.

“So you decided to sneak up on me in the middle of the night?”

“Well,” he said, tilting his head, “I wasn’t sneaking. I just didn’t want to startle you.”

“You failed,” she said dryly, sitting back down at her desk and picking up her pen again.

He stepped closer, peering at the paper. “What’s that?”

“Nothing,” she said, quickly turning it over.

“Looked like doodles,” he said, a smirk tugging at his lips.

“It’s nothing,” she repeated firmly.

“Come on, let me see,” he said, reaching for the paper.

She swatted his hand away. “Don’t you have somewhere else to be?”

“Not really,” he said, pulling up the spare chair and plopping into it.

Y/N sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “You’re insufferable.”

“And yet, here we are,” he said with a grin, leaning back in the chair. “So, what’s keeping you up?”

“Work,” she said curtly, gesturing vaguely to her desk.

“Liar,” he said, his grin softening. “You’re doodling. That’s not work.”

She shot him a look but didn’t argue.

“See?” he said, sitting forward. “Even you need a break sometimes.”

“This isn’t a break,” she said defensively. “It’s just… something to clear my head.”

“Exactly,” he said, leaning on the desk. “So why not do more of that instead of stressing yourself out all the time?”

She stared at him, caught off guard by the earnestness in his voice. “Why do you care?”

He shrugged, his usual cocky demeanor replaced by something softer. “Because I know what it’s like to feel like you’ve got to prove something all the time. And trust me, it sucks.”

For a moment, she didn’t reply, the weight of his words settling over the room.

Finally, she sighed, picking up the pen again. “You’re not as dumb as you look, you know that?”

“Thanks,” he said with a lopsided grin. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

She shook her head, but this time, there was the faintest hint of a smile on her lips.

They sat in companionable silence for a while, the tension between them easing just a little. And for the first time in a long time, Y/N didn’t feel entirely alone.

part 7

The next morning, Y/N woke up early, as always. The Watchtower was quiet at this hour, and she relished the stillness. After a quick routine workout, she returned to her quarters, showered, and sat at her desk with her headphones on. Music had always been one of the few things that helped her center herself before the day started.

She leaned back in her chair, closing her eyes as the soft, melancholic notes of “Don’t Dream It’s Over” by Crowded House filled her ears.

The moment was short-lived.

The sharp knock at her door made her sigh. She ignored it, hoping whoever it was would leave. Instead, the door slid open, and Conner strolled in, looking entirely too awake and chipper.

“Morning, sunshine,” he said with a grin.

Y/N pulled off her headphones, glaring at him. “Do you not understand boundaries?”

“Not when it comes to my favorite patrol buddy,” he replied, flopping onto the couch in her room like he owned the place. “What are you listening to?”

“None of your business,” she said, putting the headphones back on.

“Oh, come on,” he said, leaning forward. “Let me hear. I bet it’s something intense and broody, like symphonic metal or darkwave.”

She ignored him, turning the volume up.

“Please?” he said, dragging out the word like a child begging for candy.

She finally yanked the headphones off and glared at him. “Why do you care so much?”

“Because music says a lot about a person,” he said, grinning. “It’s like a window into your soul. I mean, if you have one.”

She rolled her eyes but picked up her phone, scrolling to the track. “Fine. If it’ll shut you up.”

She tapped play, and “Don’t Dream It’s Over” began to play through the room’s speakers. Conner blinked in surprise at the opening notes.

“No way,” he said, sitting up straighter.

“What?” she asked, narrowing her eyes.

“I love this song,” he said, his grin widening. “And this band. I didn’t think you’d be into music from the ’80s.”

“I didn’t say I was,” she replied quickly, though the faintest hint of color touched her cheeks. “I just like this song.”

“Sure,” he said, smirking. “You’re secretly an ’80s music fan. Admit it.”

“I’m not,” she said firmly, though her lips twitched.

“Come on,” he teased, leaning forward. “Crowded House is a classic. The lyrics, the melody—this is the kind of song you play when you’re driving with the windows down, just vibing with life.”

“Not everyone’s life is a constant road trip, Conner,” she said dryly, but her tone lacked its usual edge.

He leaned back, putting his hands behind his head. “Still, you’ve got taste. I respect that.”

For a moment, they sat in silence, the music filling the room. Y/N watched him out of the corner of her eye. He was completely at ease, nodding along to the beat with a contented smile on his face.

“It’s a good song,” she admitted quietly.

Conner turned to her, his grin softening into something more genuine. “Yeah. It is.”

She looked away, but not before he caught the faintest smile tugging at her lips.

For once, she didn’t mind his presence so much.

Later that morning, Y/N and Conner met in the Watchtower’s training room for a scheduled sparring session. Y/N was already stretching when Conner sauntered in, still wearing his leather jacket and sunglasses despite being indoors.

“Are you seriously going to spar in that?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

He grinned and shrugged off the jacket, tossing it onto a bench. “What? Didn’t want to make you feel underdressed.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, finishing her stretches. “I hope you’re ready to get knocked on your ass.”

“Big words,” he said, stepping into the ring. “Let’s see if you can back them up, Bat-lite.”

The sparring started with Y/N darting forward, quick and calculated. She aimed a kick at his ribs, which he blocked effortlessly, grinning the whole time.

“You’re fast,” he said, dodging her next attack.

“And you’re predictable,” she shot back, sweeping his legs out from under him.

Conner hit the mat but rolled back onto his feet almost instantly. “Okay, okay. That was good.”

Y/N smirked, her confidence building. “Want me to slow down for you?”

“Oh, you’re gonna regret that,” he said, lunging at her.

The fight escalated quickly, with Conner clearly holding back his full strength but still using enough power to keep her on edge. Y/N was agile, landing sharp punches and kicks, but every time she thought she had him, Conner countered with almost lazy ease.

Finally, he decided to use his powers to tip the scales. He feigned a stumble, then surged forward with super speed, grabbing her wrist and spinning her into a pin. In less than a second, Y/N found herself on the mat, her arms pinned above her head by one of his hands while he crouched over her, smirking down at her.

“Gotcha,” he said, clearly pleased with himself.

Her face flushed with a mix of frustration and embarrassment. “You cheated.”

“I used my resources,” he corrected, his grin widening.

“Get off me,” she snapped, squirming under his grip.

“Not until you admit I won.”

“Never,” she hissed, her glare sharp enough to cut steel.

“Suit yourself,” he said, settling in like he was perfectly comfortable. “I can stay here all day.”

Before she could retort—or flip him off the mat, which was her next plan—a voice interrupted.

“What’s going on here?”

Both of their heads whipped toward the door, where Bruce and Clark stood side by side, their expressions varying degrees of disapproval and surprise.

Conner immediately let go and scrambled to his feet, his usual confidence faltering. “Uh, sparring. Just sparring.”

Y/N sat up, brushing herself off and avoiding Bruce’s scrutinizing gaze. “He was cheating,” she muttered.

Clark raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms. “Using your powers in a sparring match, Conner?”

Conner rubbed the back of his neck, trying to play it cool. “Hey, I wasn’t using all of them. Just a little speed. For fun.”

Bruce’s gaze shifted to Y/N, who was still glaring daggers at Conner. “You let him pin you?”

Her face turned an even deeper shade of red. “I didn’t let him. He cheated.”

“Cheated is a strong word,” Conner said, holding up his hands defensively. “I’d call it improvising.”

Bruce’s expression remained unreadable as he turned to Clark. “They’re making progress, at least.”

Clark chuckled softly. “If that’s what you want to call it.”

Meanwhile, Y/N and Conner exchanged a quick, flustered glance before looking away in opposite directions, both pretending not to notice the faint blush on each other’s cheeks.

Bruce’s voice cut through the tension. “Since you’re both so eager to test your skills, why don’t you suit up? You’re patrolling together tonight.”

Y/N groaned inwardly, while Conner perked up. “Sweet. Team Bat-Kent rides again.”

“Don’t call it that,” Y/N muttered, her embarrassment quickly replaced by annoyance.

Clark clapped Conner on the shoulder as they walked out. “Try not to annoy her too much tonight.”

“No promises,” Conner replied with a grin, earning another glare from Y/N as they headed to the locker rooms.

After their sparring session, Y/N decided to cool off—both literally and figuratively—with a shower in the Watchtower’s communal facilities. The shower room was empty, and she relished the rare solitude as she stood under the warm water, letting it wash away the tension from the match (and her residual irritation with Conner).

She sighed, running her fingers through her wet hair. “Cheater,” she muttered under her breath, her thoughts drifting back to the smug grin on Conner’s face when he had her pinned.

The sound of the shower drowned out the faint click of the door opening.

Conner strolled in, rubbing the back of his neck. He’d taken his jacket off again and was grumbling to himself. “Where’s the stupid—oh, here we go,” he muttered, stepping further into the room.

Y/N froze, her ears catching the familiar voice even over the rush of water. She peered around the edge of the shower stall, her eyes widening in disbelief.

“Conner?!”

He stopped mid-step, his eyes darting to where her voice came from. For a moment, he looked genuinely confused—then realization hit him like a freight train.

“Oh, crap.”

“What are you doing in here?!” Y/N snapped, ducking further behind the frosted glass of the stall.

“I thought—this is the men’s, isn’t it?” he stammered, his face turning red as he shielded his eyes with his hand.

“No, it’s not! Get out!”

“Right, okay, I’m going—sorry!” Conner said quickly, spinning on his heel. But in his haste, he tripped over the edge of the tile, stumbling before catching himself on the wall.

“Are you kidding me?” Y/N groaned, her voice somewhere between exasperation and mortification.

“I’m leaving, I swear!” he called, fumbling for the door. “Didn’t see anything—didn’t want to see anything!”

“Good!”

Finally, he managed to escape, the door sliding shut behind him with an audible whoosh.

Y/N pressed her hands to her face, her cheeks burning. “Unbelievable,” she muttered, shaking her head as she tried to calm the swirl of embarrassment and frustration.

Meanwhile, outside, Conner leaned against the hallway wall, still red-faced and muttering to himself.

“Smooth, Kent. Real smooth.”

He glanced back at the door, half expecting Y/N to storm out and throttle him. When she didn’t, he exhaled, running a hand through his hair. “Great. Now she’s going to murder me before the next patrol.”

And for once, he couldn’t even blame her.

A few minutes later, Y/N stepped out of the shower, wrapped in a towel, still feeling the sting of embarrassment from the unfortunate incident. She quickly dried her hair and dressed in her usual tight-fitting combat gear, taking extra care to avoid thinking too much about the awkwardness that still lingered from her encounter with Conner.

As she stepped out into the main area of the Watchtower, she spotted Diana—Wonder Woman—talking with Bruce, their voices low but animated. Diana’s presence always had a way of calming Y/N, and she appreciated the brief moment of peace as she made her way over to the conversation.

“Morning,” Y/N greeted, joining them with a slight smile.

“Good morning, Y/N,” Diana said warmly, her gaze friendly and inviting. “How’s the day going?”

“Could be better,” Y/N muttered, rolling her eyes.

“Trouble with the sparring session?” Bruce asked, his tone more neutral than curious.

Y/N didn’t answer immediately, choosing instead to take a seat at one of the nearby workstations. She didn’t feel like elaborating on the situation—especially since she was still trying to shake off the awkwardness.

Meanwhile, across the room, Conner was talking animatedly to Bruce, his words flying in a frantic stream of consciousness. He was pacing in front of Bruce and Diana, eyes wide as he babbled.

“You wouldn’t believe it, Bruce! I was just trying to go into the men’s shower, right? And then I—I walked in on her! Y/N! She was in there, and I didn’t even notice until—”

“Conner,” Bruce interrupted, his voice dangerously calm. “Can we keep it down? You’re not exactly helping your case here.”

Conner blinked, finally noticing how loudly he was speaking. He turned to Diana for reassurance. “I mean, I didn’t see anything, but I definitely scared her. You know, she was probably already mad about the sparring and—”

Y/N’s eyes flicked to him, catching his expression in the middle of his rambling.

And then, as their eyes met across the room, she gave him the coldest, most unimpressed stare she could muster.

Conner froze mid-sentence, the reality of the situation hitting him like a ton of bricks. He gave her an awkward, half-hearted wave, but Y/N didn’t flinch. Instead, she took a slow, deliberate sip from her water bottle, as if she had all the time in the world to watch him squirm.

For a long moment, there was an eerie silence, broken only by the sound of Conner shifting uncomfortably in place. He knew what was coming.

Bruce, who had been watching the exchange quietly, finally cracked a small smile, clearly enjoying Conner’s discomfort. Diana, too, looked at Bruce, her lips curling into a knowing smirk.

“Looks like someone’s in trouble,” Diana teased, her voice light with amusement.

Bruce raised an eyebrow, the faintest of smiles playing at the corners of his lips. “Couldn’t have happened to a more deserving guy.”

Diana smirked back at him, her eyes gleaming with playful insight. “Is it just me, or do you two always end up in situations like this?”

Bruce didn’t answer, but the subtle tension in his expression was enough to suggest that the idea wasn’t entirely unwelcome.

Meanwhile, Conner was still trying to figure out how to get himself out of the mess he’d made. “I—look, I’m sorry, okay?” he said to Y/N, his voice much softer now that they were face-to-face. “It was an honest mistake. I didn’t mean to walk in on you. Really.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow, staring him down with that same unimpressed expression. “You better hope I’m not stuck patrolling with you tonight.”

“I—I promise, I won’t do it again,” he said quickly, though his sincerity was laced with a bit of nervousness.

Diana glanced at Bruce, catching his subtle shift in demeanor. She leaned closer, lowering her voice so only he could hear. “What do you think, Bruce? Are we witnessing a different kind of training session here?”

Bruce didn’t respond at first, but his smile lingered, just long enough for Diana to catch the glint of amusement in his eyes.

“It’s complicated,” Bruce said in his usual gruff tone, though it lacked its typical edge.

Diana leaned back, raising her eyebrows as she caught his eye. “Complicated… or maybe just interesting?”

Bruce’s smirk deepened, though he remained silent. He glanced at Conner, who was still trying to salvage the situation. “You’re lucky she’s not in the mood to throw you off the Watchtower, Conner.”

Conner shot a nervous glance at Y/N. “Right. Got it. Noted.”

“Good,” she replied flatly, her tone dropping into a comfortable finality.

Conner sighed in relief. It wasn’t as bad as it could’ve been—at least she wasn’t about to choke him out. But he knew one thing for sure: he was going to have to earn back a lot of good will if he didn’t want to spend the entire patrol in the doghouse.

Y/N stood up then, looking between Diana and Bruce with a brief smile. “Well, I’ll leave you two to continue your little chat. I’m going to go grab my gear.”

As she turned to leave, she shot one final, pointed glance at Conner. “And just so you know, I’m not forgetting this.”

Conner gulped, watching her walk away, before looking back at Bruce and Diana.

Bruce’s smile turned into a small, knowing smirk. “You’re in trouble, kid.”

“Yeah, no kidding,” Conner said, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly.

Diana chuckled lightly, her eyes glinting with amusement. “I’d say she’s got a fire in her, Conner. You should be careful.”

Conner just groaned, rubbing his face in frustration. “I’ve got no chance, do I?”

“No,” Bruce answered, deadpan. “Not really.”

Diana grinned, her gaze flicking to Bruce again before meeting Conner’s eyes. “Looks like you’re both in for a very interesting patrol.”

And with that, the tension in the room lightened just enough for them all to know that something was simmering beneath the surface.

Later that evening, Y/N and Conner set out on their patrol across a quieter part of Metropolis. The streets were busier now, filled with people heading home after work or out to enjoy the night. Conner, in his usual black leather jacket, had his hands shoved into his pockets as they perched atop a building, looking out over the city. Y/N, ever the stoic one, stood next to him, scanning the area below for any signs of trouble.

The night was still, but they both knew better than to think it would stay that way.

“Keep your eyes peeled,” Y/N said, her voice low but steady.

“Always,” Conner replied, though his eyes were more distracted than focused. “So, uh, you’re still mad at me?”

Y/N glanced at him, raising an eyebrow. “For walking in on me in the shower?”

He winced at the reminder. “Yeah. That.”

Y/N shrugged, still scanning the area. “I’m not mad, just… annoyed. It was an accident. You don’t need to keep apologizing.”

“Yeah, but I feel like I need to make up for it,” Conner said, his voice dropping in a rare moment of awkwardness. He shifted uncomfortably, his gaze lingering on the dark skyline. “I didn’t mean to make it weird. It’s just… you know… I didn’t think anyone was in there.”

She turned to look at him now, her face unreadable, but there was a faint smirk tugging at the corners of her lips. “It’s fine, Conner,” she said with a casual wave of her hand, as if it were no big deal.

“I—I know, but it’s just…” Conner trailed off, unsure how to finish the thought. He was so used to joking around, to being the guy who could easily brush things off, but Y/N wasn’t like everyone else. She didn’t let things slide that easily, and now he found himself stumbling over his words.

Y/N could sense his discomfort, but she wasn’t about to make it easy for him. “You’re really making a big deal out of this, aren’t you?”

He sighed, hanging his head. “I just don’t want you to think I’m some kind of jerk. You know I respect you, right?”

She paused, considering him for a long moment before a flicker of amusement crossed her face. “Yeah, yeah. I know.”

Conner blinked, clearly caught off guard by her lack of a sharp retort. For once, she wasn’t being cold or distant. There was something almost… warm in the way she said it.

“Good,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. “Anyway, I’ll stop bringing it up. I’ll just focus on keeping Metropolis safe. No more… accidental walk-ins.”

Y/N smirked, clearly enjoying his awkwardness. “Yeah, that’s probably for the best.”

They both turned back to the streets below, their conversation drifting into comfortable silence as they resumed their watch.

The night passed uneventfully at first. They stopped a few petty crimes—some muggings, a car break-in, and a couple of minor robberies. Each time, Conner’s usual swagger returned as he easily handled the culprits, using his powers with ease and tossing criminals around like ragdolls. Y/N, ever the tactician, made quick work of the situations, apprehending the criminals with precision. Despite their contrasting styles, they were a solid team in action.

By the time they found themselves on top of another building, the adrenaline from the previous encounters had begun to settle, and they were once again standing side by side, the quiet hum of the city below the only sound.

Y/N crossed her arms and glanced at Conner, her tone light but her gaze serious. “You know, I’ve got to admit… you’re not terrible at this hero thing.”

Conner grinned at her, the compliment clearly hitting the mark. “You too, Bat-lite. I mean, it’s not like I ever doubted you.”

Y/N rolled her eyes but couldn’t hide the faint smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “Well, I’m glad to know you didn’t.”

“Yeah, well,” Conner started, his voice turning a little more serious again, “I just wanted to say… thanks. For, you know… not making a bigger deal out of earlier. I was just trying to be a good teammate, but I didn’t think you’d be so… I don’t know, forgiving about it.”

Y/N paused, glancing at him as if she were weighing her words carefully. “You think I’m mad about a mistake?” she asked, her voice almost teasing. “I’ve got bigger things to worry about than your accidental shower incident, Conner.”

Conner opened his mouth, then closed it again, unsure how to respond to that. “Right, sure. Gotcha.”

“Good,” Y/N said with a small smirk. She let the silence stretch on before speaking again. “Now, let’s finish up here. I don’t feel like staying on this rooftop all night.”

Conner nodded eagerly, clearly relieved that the tension had finally broken. “Agreed. But hey, at least we’re getting the job done.”

Y/N just nodded, her focus shifting to the next area they had to cover. As the night wore on, they patrolled side by side, each of them comfortable with the presence of the other, the earlier awkwardness slipping away as they worked together to keep Metropolis safe.

The quiet banter between them, the shared understanding of the mission, and the sense of unspoken camaraderie made it clear that, despite their differences, they made a pretty good team.

And, maybe—just maybe—they were starting to understand each other a little better too.

Later that evening, after a long and eventful patrol, Y/N and Conner made their way back to the Watchtower. The quiet hum of the station seemed to contrast sharply with the intensity of their patrol, but there was a certain sense of satisfaction in the air. Both of them had been working well together, and despite their earlier tension, the night had gone smoother than either expected.

As they entered the locker room to change out of their gear, Conner tossed his leather jacket onto the bench, feeling the weight of the night lift off his shoulders. He was still trying to process everything from their patrol and the little moments that had been a bit… different. Y/N had been more relaxed with him, less guarded than she usually was. But he wasn’t about to get ahead of himself.

Y/N was already in the middle of taking off her utility belt, her expression neutral as always. The awkwardness from earlier seemed to be fading with each passing second, and for once, Conner wasn’t sure what to say to her. He hadn’t exactly expected the patrol to go the way it had.

“Hey,” Conner finally spoke, breaking the silence. “Can I ask you something?”

Y/N glanced over at him, raising an eyebrow, but she didn’t respond immediately. Instead, she finished unzipping her jacket and shrugged it off. “You’re going to ask me about the shower incident again, aren’t you?”

“No, no!” Conner immediately shot down the idea, his face flushing slightly. “Not that. I mean, maybe a little, but… no, that’s not the point.” He hesitated for a second, trying to find the right words. “I just—uh, I’m kind of… I don’t know, in over my head here.”

Y/N narrowed her eyes slightly, sensing his unease. “In over your head?”

He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. “Look, I’ve been thinking. I know we’ve been kind of… at odds, and you’ve got your walls up, and I get it. But, uh…”

Y/N gave him an unreadable look. “But what?”

Conner hesitated again, his mind racing with everything he wanted to say, but it all felt so complicated. Finally, he just blurted out, “I want to ask you out. Like, on a date. But I have no idea how to get past those walls you keep up.”

There was a long silence between them. Y/N stopped mid-motion, her fingers stilling as she stared at him. Her face remained carefully neutral, but Conner could feel the tension in the air.

He started rambling, clearly flustered. “I mean, not that I’m expecting you to say yes, it’s just—well, I wanted to ask. I’ve never really… done this before, and you’re always so… you know.” He waved his hand vaguely in her direction. “Distant, cold, stoic—”

“I’m not cold,” she interrupted, her tone sharper than usual.

“Right, not cold,” Conner mumbled, his face turning even redder. “But, you know, I’m trying to figure out how to, I don’t know, get through to you. And I thought—maybe a date? I mean, it’s just a thought. But I’ve been thinking about it a lot.”

Y/N stood there, still processing his words. She didn’t answer immediately, and Conner’s nerves started to get the better of him. He let out a long breath, his shoulders sagging slightly. “Forget it. I shouldn’t have said anything. I just thought—”

But Y/N’s voice cut through his rambling. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”

Conner blinked, taken aback by her calm tone. “Well, yeah. I’m not messing around.”

For a long, drawn-out second, Y/N just stared at him. But then, much to his surprise, her lips curled into a small, amused smirk. “Alright, fine. I’ll go with you.”

Conner froze. “Wait—what?”

She smirked a little more, crossing her arms. “You asked. I said yes. How hard can it be?”

Conner’s heart nearly skipped a beat. “You’re saying yes?”

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “Did you expect me to say no?”

“Uh… yeah, kind of,” Conner admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. “You’re not exactly the type to go out for a casual dinner.”

“I’m not that much of a robot, Conner,” she replied, rolling her eyes. “I can go out for food.”

He stood there for a moment, still processing what she’d just said. His voice was a little incredulous. “Wait, are you sure about this? Because you’re not exactly the… dating type, either.”

Y/N gave a small shrug. “I’m not. But I guess there’s a first time for everything.”

Conner’s grin spread across his face. “Alright, alright! We’re going to get food. And it’s not going to be weird. It’s just… food.” He said that last part like he was convincing himself just as much as he was trying to convince her.

Y/N didn’t respond immediately, but her expression softened just slightly. “Don’t get ahead of yourself, Conner. I said yes, but I didn’t say I’m going to make this easy for you.”

He laughed nervously, the excitement of her agreement mixing with the familiar anxiety he always seemed to feel around her. “I can handle that. No problem.”

She gave him a sharp, pointed look. “Just so we’re clear—I’m not one of those girls who gets swept off her feet easily. Don’t expect any grand romantic gestures.”

Conner nodded eagerly. “Totally. I’m not into that either. Just… dinner. That’s it.”

“Well, you’d better make sure the food’s good,” Y/N added with a smirk, before turning back to finish removing her gear.

Conner stood there for a moment, stunned but thrilled. “You actually said yes.”

“Don’t get too excited,” she muttered without turning around. “You haven’t earned anything yet.”

Conner grinned to himself, his heart racing. He wasn’t sure what to expect from their date, but if tonight was any indication, maybe—just maybe—he was finally starting to crack through the walls Y/N had built around herself.

The diner was small but cozy, tucked into a quieter corner of Metropolis, far enough from the hustle and bustle of the city center to offer a bit of peace. The neon lights buzzed softly outside, casting a gentle glow on the interior. The hum of conversation and the clink of dishes filled the air, but it was calm—a far cry from the intensity of their usual patrols.

Y/N sat at the booth across from Conner, savoring the first bite of her burger. The thick, juicy patty, the crisp lettuce, the melted cheese—it was simple but satisfying, exactly what she needed after a long night of action. She’d been anticipating the meal all evening, and now that she had it in front of her, she dug in with gusto, enjoying every bite.

Conner, on the other hand, sat back a little, watching her with a subtle, almost awestruck look on his face. He couldn’t help it. She was so focused on the burger, her brow furrowing slightly as she took each bite, and the satisfaction on her face was… honestly, kind of adorable. The way she fully immersed herself in the experience was something he hadn’t quite expected.

It wasn’t like he’d never seen someone eat before, but there was something different about the way she did it. It was as if the world around her faded away for a moment, and all that mattered was the food.

He couldn’t tear his gaze away, and before he knew it, he was openly admiring the way she devoured her meal, oblivious to the fact that he was staring.

After a few moments, Y/N suddenly paused mid-bite, her eyes locking with his across the table. Conner froze, caught in the act, and for a split second, he wasn’t sure how to respond.

Y/N raised an eyebrow, her expression amused but knowing. “What?” she asked dryly.

Conner blinked rapidly, his face flushing instantly. “Uh, nothing. Just… nothing.”

She smirked, leaning back slightly and crossing her arms as she took another bite of her burger, clearly enjoying the way he was fidgeting. “You’re staring at me, Conner.”

He sputtered, trying to brush it off. “I wasn’t—well, I mean, I guess I was. But not in a weird way! I was just… uh… admiring how you, uh, eat?”

Y/N’s smirk deepened, clearly enjoying the effect she had on him. “You’re really bad at this whole not staring thing, aren’t you?”

“I’m just trying to, uh, make sure you’re enjoying your food!” he said, flustered but determined.

“I’m definitely enjoying it,” Y/N replied, her tone dripping with mild sarcasm as she chewed another bite. “But it’s not like I need someone to watch me eat.”

Conner shifted uncomfortably, his face a deep shade of red. “Right, sorry. I’ll, uh… look away now.” He turned his gaze toward the window, trying to act casual, but the warm glow of the diner seemed to highlight just how flustered he was.

Y/N chuckled quietly to herself before taking another satisfying bite of her burger, her eyes flicking back to him. “It’s fine, Conner. I’m just messing with you.”

He couldn’t help but glance back at her, his expression sheepish but unable to hide the lingering admiration. “You’re just… you’re really into your food, huh?”

Y/N raised an eyebrow again, this time taking a sip of her soda. “What can I say? I don’t waste time on anything I don’t enjoy.” She pointed her straw at him playfully. “But if you want to watch me eat, I’m not going to stop you.”

Conner’s eyes widened in surprise, and his face turned a few shades redder. “I—uh—no, no! I’m good, I’m good.” He cleared his throat, trying to regain some composure. “Just… you’re… you’re really focused. I respect that.”

Y/N’s smirk softened into a small smile, and for the briefest moment, the walls she usually kept up around her seemed to fall just a little. “Well, you might as well learn something from me, then.”

Conner couldn’t help but grin, despite his nervousness. “I’m trying. I really am.”

The conversation shifted as Y/N finished off her burger and turned her attention to the two large orders of fries sitting in front of her. She wasn’t sure how long they had been sitting there, but as soon as she noticed them, it was as if they were the only thing that mattered. Without a second thought, she reached for a handful and dipped them into the ketchup, savoring the taste.

Conner watched her again, though he tried to keep his focus on his own meal this time. It was hard, though—especially when Y/N was so unapologetically comfortable in her own skin, doing something as simple as eating fries.

“Are you always like this?” Conner finally asked, his curiosity getting the better of him.

Y/N paused mid-dip, glancing up at him with a raised eyebrow. “Like what?”

“Like… not caring about what anyone thinks? You’re just, like, fully yourself.”

She shrugged nonchalantly, as if it were no big deal. “I don’t have time for pretense, Conner. Life’s too short. You might as well enjoy the things you actually like.”

Conner smiled a little, clearly impressed by her no-nonsense attitude. “I think I could learn something from you.”

“You probably could,” she said with a faint, almost imperceptible smile of her own. “But don’t get any ideas. I’m not here to be your role model.”

He laughed, the sound more genuine than before. “I don’t need a role model, but… yeah, I could definitely use some of your confidence.”

Y/N took another bite of her fries, a small smile still tugging at the corners of her lips. “Confidence doesn’t come easy. But it does come. Eventually.”

Conner nodded, his admiration for her growing in ways he wasn’t sure how to articulate. This wasn’t the person he had expected when they first met—she was sharper, stronger, and far more intriguing than he had ever imagined. And even though he knew she wasn’t the type to wear her heart on her sleeve, he couldn’t help but feel like she was showing him a side of herself that not many people got to see.

Y/N caught him staring again, but this time, she didn’t comment. Instead, she gave him a small, almost imperceptible nod, as if silently acknowledging the shift in their dynamic.

And as the night wore on, with the laughter and conversation flowing more freely between them, Conner realized something—this wasn’t just a date. This was a glimpse into a side of Y/N he had never thought he’d get to see, and it felt like the beginning of something… unexpected.

Something real.

After their meal, Conner and Y/N decided to take a walk around Metropolis. The sun was beginning to set, casting a warm orange glow across the skyline. The city was alive with the sounds of the evening rush, but there was a quiet intimacy to the moment as they walked side by side, the distance between them shrinking with each step.

Conner couldn’t help but notice how comfortable the silence felt between them. It wasn’t awkward or forced—just… easy. But that didn’t stop his brain from working overtime. He was still trying to figure out what was going on between them. He couldn’t quite wrap his head around the way Y/N had agreed to go out with him in the first place, or how she didn’t seem to mind the fact that he was obviously getting way too flustered by everything she did.

But he didn’t want to overthink it. He wanted to be honest, even if it made him sound like an idiot.

“So…” Conner started, breaking the silence. “I know you probably think I’m annoying, and you probably hate being around me, but… I’m gonna be real with you.”

Y/N glanced at him sideways, an eyebrow quirking up at his sudden admission. She kept walking but didn’t respond immediately.

“I like you, Y/N,” he continued, rambling. “I mean, I’ve liked you for a while now, but, you know, you’re all… brooding and intense, and I didn’t think you’d ever even—well, I didn’t think you’d go out with me, honestly. But you did, and now I’m just trying to figure out if this is real or if it’s just some weird… what do you call it? ‘Hero bonding’ thing. You know?”

Y/N’s steps slowed slightly, and she glanced over at him, her expression unreadable. “What are you saying, Conner?”

He took a breath, realizing just how ridiculous he must sound. “I don’t know, it’s just… I think you might despise me sometimes, but I really, really like you. Like, really like you, and I don’t know what to do with that. It’s, like, the most frustrating thing in the world because you keep pushing me away and… God, I sound like an idiot.” He ran a hand through his hair, feeling embarrassed.

Y/N stopped walking entirely and turned to face him, her gaze softer than usual. She looked at him for a long moment, as if deciding whether to say something or let him keep rambling.

Conner, still flustered, took a step back, running his hand through his hair again. “I just thought… maybe I should be honest with you for once. You know, instead of trying to play it all cool and detached.”

Before he could finish, Y/N moved. In one smooth motion, she grabbed him by the collar of his leather jacket, pulling him toward her. Conner didn’t have time to react before her lips crashed into his.

It was sudden, surprising, and completely out of nowhere, but as soon as it happened, Conner’s entire body froze. He was barely able to process what was going on, but his mind went completely blank as he kissed her back, not caring about anything else in the world. The whole city seemed to fade away around them.

When they finally pulled away, both of them were breathless, and Conner’s heart was racing. He blinked a few times, his hands still gripping the edges of her jacket, completely stunned.

Y/N just stood there, a small smirk playing at the corners of her lips. “That better be the last time you ramble on about how much you like me,” she said, her voice calm but with a hint of amusement.

Conner, still recovering from the shock, blinked a few more times, trying to gather his thoughts. “I—I didn’t know… I didn’t expect—”

Y/N tilted her head slightly, her smirk widening. “Well, you’ve been talking about it long enough. Thought I’d make you shut up.”

Conner finally found his voice. “You—you really kissed me.”

“I did,” she said matter-of-factly, as if it were no big deal. “And now you know. You’re welcome.”

Conner stood there for a moment, unable to wipe the goofy grin off his face. He was absolutely floored by what had just happened.

Meanwhile, unbeknownst to them, high up on a nearby skyscraper, two very familiar figures were watching the whole scene unfold.

Clark Kent and Bruce Wayne stood side by side, observing the couple below with a sort of knowing amusement.

“I told you they’d kiss,” Clark said with a grin, crossing his arms over his chest.

Bruce didn’t look at him but gave a small nod. “I’m surprised you didn’t bet more. You should have bet ten.”

Clark chuckled, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a crumpled five-dollar bill. He handed it to Bruce. “Five bucks is good enough for me. I figured it would happen sooner or later.”

stoic demeanor. “This is going to be interesting, isn’t it?”

Clark raised an eyebrow, a knowing look on his face. “You could say that. I think they might actually work.”

Bruce just grunted in response, looking back down at Conner and Y/N. “We’ll see how long it lasts. But I’ve seen enough to know that they’re… different.”

“Different is good,” Clark said with a smile. “Sometimes, it’s exactly what they need.”

Bruce didn’t respond immediately, but there was a subtle shift in his posture, as if something had occurred to him. He watched as Conner and Y/N continued walking down the street, the tension between them melting away. Maybe Clark was right. Maybe the two of them did have something special.

After a few moments, Bruce turned to leave. “You’re still paying for dinner next time,” he muttered.

Clark just grinned. “Deal.”

[venuzasmuse]

𝐁𝐨𝐫𝐧 𝐓𝐨 𝐃𝐢𝐞, 𝐣. 𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫 (dbf! joel)

author’s note: i wrote this high as balls & depressed because it’s loosely based off of my situationship LOL. anyways hope yall like reading my misery as much as i loved writing it. <333

he was the worst man you’ve ever met.

not just in the sense of morality; his compass split down the middle of north and south, interceding the blurred lines of need and desire.

he’s everything cathartic personified. the kind of feeling that could snap you in half if you bended back enough.

but, you’ve always been keen of broken toys and your knees bent at the want to be their savior.

he was the worst man you’ve ever met but you were worse for wanting to be loved by him even more.

the lingering taste of marlboro reds sat on the tip of your tongue and your throat burned at the sight of him.

the back of your mouth lit aflame with all of the vituperative words you want to say. they beat against the cage of your chest as he downs yet another whiskey neat and smoked like a chimney all night.

boisterous laughter filled the hot, arid atmosphere. the wind slapped against the bare of your back as the rope from the tire rippled and divided, swinging from the weeping tree.

you snap out of your july induced daze when you hear your name be called.

“can you go fetch us another pack of corona?” drunkenness dripped from your father’s voice and you could tell you’d probably be up all night cleaning up after him.

familiar hazel eyes pay homage to your face and your nerves plea against your dignity to save itself by looking anywhere but where his gaze followed.

you comply with a simple nod, not wanting to deal with the back and forth of cutting your father off from another drink. you walk past joel close enough for him to smell the floral lotion spread across the skin of your calves.

once you were far enough to sneakily steal glances outside, you opened the refrigerator door and grabbed another pack of beer.

how could he just sit there?

he hadn’t said anything to you since he arrived— or more so since you’ve come back from college and the desperation to simply be acknowledged skinned you raw.

you were angry, hands hot with the urge to slam the beer against that stupid, glass table he’d built for your father.

you wanted him to feel a lick of what you did that summer: abandoned and left high and dry.

your slide open the back patio door, placing down the beer in front of the two men. only one “thank you” in response and it’d been from your father.

from him? nothing. he’s cold as ice as if you were simply a servant there to deliver his wants.

the night went on just like that until your father groaned out his resignation to drinking and trudged upstairs yelling a simple “lock the door when you leave” to joel.

you sigh as you bend down to grab yet another empty beer bottle, tossing it into the trash bag. each clink just overstimulating you even more.

joel was still here with a half empty bottle in his hand. when he chugged up the remaining remnants, he stood up and stalked towards you.

“you want some help, sweetheart?” he offered.

you wanted to take that bottle and chuck it at him— you had too many questions and knew he didn’t have enough answers he cared to muster up to relieve you.

instead, you simply snatched it from him and chucked it into the bag carelessly.

“thanks but no thanks” you mutter, shrugging past him to collect another pile of trash. “if you wanna make yourself useful, you could start by goin’ home for the night, mr. miller.”

he chuckles lowly.

“what ever happened to southern hospitality? your generation lost their sense of manners, already?” he pulls out another pack of those deathly marlboro reds, lifts a stick up to his lips, lighting the end of it until it was cherry red.

you whip your head around and furrow your brows.

“manners? you’re trying to tell me about manners?” you drop the bag and not even the clashing of glass could slice the tension. “don’t give me that shit, joel.”

he doesn’t dare to utter a word and he only stares back at you with indifference. yet, even the lack of condescension in his expression, still managed to tick you off. not because you wanted that reaction out of him, but because it reminded you of how much he didn’t care.

“you don’t know a shit or two of what manners look like on a woman.”

stupid, old man. he never cared about anything other than himself and his filthy inhibitions.

“you’re hurting my feelings, baby.” your feet are planted on the ground and your knees almost buckle at the way the word slid off his tongue.

so carelessly unaware of the cruelty of what he does to you.

you search his eyes for meaning and drag them down to his chapped, ghastly merlot lips. you remember the way they felt tracing the dip of your spine and you want to break.

after a couple more seconds of a silent, knowing exchange of stares “i’m sorry i didn’t call you.” he finally says.

you dreamt over and over about the moment he finally said those words. you fantasized about shoving them back down his throat with a cold remark about he could fuck himself with them.

you imagined the anger of what his regret would finally feel like that over time, leading up to this moment, all you felt was sadness.

sadness for the time lost and sadness for the disappointment of knowing you’d still be his, even if you held up a mirror of his worst qualities to him.

an apology from joel miller felt like prolonged grief that you run from until it finds you on a sunny day.

your lip quivers and he pulls you into his rugged arms at the sight of your distressed state.

you wanted to hit him, kick him where the sun didn’t shine— do anything but enjoy his embrace. but all of the anger began to dissipate as his hands ran over your back, soothing you from the pain he illicit.

“i hate you for what you did to me. for making me love you, even when you knew, you’re no man i should ever love.”

a tear slipped from your eye and he kept holding you.

“i hate you, joel.”

“i know.”

“i hate you for ruining me the way you do.”

“i know, baby.”

he pulls you away by your forearms. he wipes away your tears, lightly smearing your mascara in the tracks of his thumbs.

“you know why.” he states seriously. “you deserve better.”

and you did. you knew you deserved better but you didn’t want better. you wanted him. to consume him: to swallow his transgressions and sins.

your bring your hand up to his scruff, caressing it with the pad of your thumb.

“i deserve better.” you repeat. “but tonight, i want you for whatever you are.” you walk closer to him until you could feel the heat radiating off of his clothed body. you lean in and pause. you search for any hesitation in his eyes and when you couldn’t detect any, you leaned in planting an open mouth kiss on the left corner of his mouth.

“you can pretend, right? just for tonight.”

“pretend what?”

“pretend that i’m the one for you.” you place another kiss on the right corner. “tell me all the things i wanna hear. make it feel real just for tonight and after this, i’ll find a nice, respectable man my age who i don’t have to pretend with.”

you step back a half and inch, bringing up his callused hand to your lips, kissing his fingertips as if they were something sacred.

he watched you with dire eyes that felt like you were the last drop of water he needed in a yearning drought.

he leans in and kisses you. he’s surprisingly gentle and you melt into him. you deepen the kiss with hunger, pressing your body against his as if you were trying to merge your soul with his.

manicured hands tangle themselves into his tousled hair, ever so slightly pulling at the roots as he kissed you.

what you missed the most about joel, was the way he kissed you. he drank you in like wine and held you like a woman. every-time he kisses you, it feels like a threat. like he knows the way he does, will ruin your life.

and it can. it absolutely can and it has.

he grips your hips hard enough to leave purple in its wake and you sigh into the kiss. “you’re the worst man i’ve ever met.” you pull away to whisper just to melt back into him.

he abruptly pulls away, breathing heavily. “not here. your father could walk in any minute.”

“you scared your best friend is gonna know what you do this daughter?” you bite back, a ghost of a teasing smile tugging at the corners of your mouth.

he rolls his eyes, grabbing your wrist and pulling you towards the direction he began to walk in. when ya’ll get to his ford bronco he says, “come on, get in the truck.” he opens the truck door, ushering you to hop in.

you do and scoot back far enough that your back hits the other car door. he climbs in right after you, snaking his body over yours.

his hand finds your neck, tilting it up to litter kisses all over the skin of your throat.

you softly moan at the change of tempo in his kiss, stretching your neck out for easier access. disrespectful hands roam over your thighs, pushing up your sundress to play with the band of your underwear. his pointer fingers dip inside of them and your breathing speeds up with anticipation.

he pulls them down and wriggle them off for him, lifting up your legs so he could slip them off. he pushes your dress up to your stomach and kisses your navel. you writhe into the pressure of his kiss, begging for more of it with the arch of your back.

he wetly kisses your skin and his hands push your legs up by the backs of your knees until your kneecaps met your breast.

“missed her just as much as i missed you.” he says looking up at you while planting a reverent kiss on the mound of your pubic bone. you almost wince at the closeness of his lips, heating radiating off of your cunt.

he licks a stripe up from your entrance to your clit and your breath hitches in your throat.

as much as you hated most words that came out of joel miller’s mouth, god, did you love what he could do with it, too.

your hands find his hair, tugging on it as if you had no safe common ground and the only thing you could use to level yourself was him.

he responded to your breathy moans with enthusiasm, drinking each one in as he lapped you up with a flattened tongue. his hands found your lifting hips, pushing them back down by placing his forearm over your lower stomach to gravitate you back to earth.

“fuck” you cry out shakily, your tone mimicking a sob. his lips suction around your clit and you’re sent over the edge. your eyes are screwed shut as the backs of your eyelids fade into white from how tightly closed they were. your legs tighten around his head and he rips them back apart, ignoring the shake of them. the high is short lived as your back falls back into the seat.

he meets you where you are, placing a sloppy kiss onto your lips. you taste yourself on his tongue and shackle your arms around his neck, pulling him impossibly closer to you.

“you alright?” he asks.

how cute.

you offer him a lazy nod and kissing your burning cheek before telling you to turn around. you oblige, shifting your weight around to face your reflection in his foggy car window. joel slides himself in between your legs, maneuvering you to accommodate to his stature.

“you want me to put it in?” he awaits for consent and you turn your face to kiss him again to which he captures your lips in his again fervently. his finger finds your clit, playing with it.

“don’t make me beg, joel. please. waited so long for this.”

“wanna know you want it just as bad as me, sweetheart.”

“i want you, joel.” he kisses the crown of your spine and undoes his belt. you whimper when you feel him tease your entrance with his tip back and forth before finally pushing in.

your mouth falls agape and both of you moan simultaneously at the protrusion. he begins to slide in and out of you and it feels so good, tears begin to well up in your bambi eyes.

“i missed my favorite girl.” he groans out, pushing your hair out of the way to plant a kiss on your shoulder blade.

you let out a shrill moan. it’s light as a feather and you press yourself into him with each thrust, wanting him deeper. one one of his rough hands finds your breasts, roughly tugging at it.

the both of you felt it, in this space how much you missed each other. the intimacy had you veering for more than what he could offer, and joel felt like three more strokes in were enough to send his him flying over the edge.

he pulled all the way out, drew you in by throwing arm over the front of your shoulders, and plunged himself back in at brutal pace. you yelped out a moan, cursing yourself for allowing this to happen again but it felt too good to be wrong in the moment.

you’d vow to cry about this later— bloody mary eyes— but right now, you were fully immersed in a fucked out daze.

“fuck, i don’t wanna come yet.” he groans but he’s unrelenting. “come on, pretty girl. show me just how much you missed me.”

“joel— fuck!”

“come on, show me. let me see what i made out of you.” he drags out his, urging you to show him just the mess he made out of your sanity over the course of the summer.

“tell me you love me.” he doesn’t reply and you look back at him with pleading eyes. “tell me. i won’t hold you to it.”

he kisses you again. “i love you.”

you press your cheek against his as he repeats it, over and over and over again. he snakes a hand in between your cunt to play with your throbbing clit. your head falls limp as you come around him with a tight spasm, your body launching forward as the pleasure washed over your fucked out face.

he spares a couple more strokes before he empties out his cum inside of your cunt with a guttural moan.

the two of you pant, and you turn around to lay back your sweaty body back against the seat.

the night is still humid and the clouds have spread out to reveal the stars that hid behind them.

you’re silent as he walks you back to your door, pulling down your dress down a bit more to smooth the fabric.

your chest feels heavy and it feels like the other shoe has already dropped. you cursed yourself mentally, the aftermath of your own actions hitting you like a truck.

you didn’t expect the regret to wash up against the surface so bad and you felt your heart strings tug with each step you made.

you look back at him to see a cigarette hanging lazily out of his mouth, smoke leaking out through the seams of his cracked lips.

the two of you don’t exchange any other words and your heart feels as if it’s going to fall out your chest.

didn’t you want this?

you crack open the door quietly to slither back inside of the comfort of your home, back into reality where “i love you’s” and one night stands clashed.

“see ya’ kid.” he bids his goodbye and ruffles your hair. your heart clenches at the way he couldn’t bring himself to care— to not see anything past himself and you wanted to cry at the thought that you could never change his mind.

honeysuckle lips with strings of excuses as to why he couldn’t love you the way you want, why he couldn’t let you keep him.

joel miller was the worst man you’ve ever met— casually cruel and noncommittal— but at least you had a bit of him to call yours and maybe that made you worse.

[grandpeachpersona]

It's A Man's World

Chapter 5 (Batter up)

a/n: To clarify, I do not own the rights to any pictures or names used in this story, except for Sierra Riley. All other rights and names belong to the NFL and MLB. Additionally, some characters are inspired by the game MLB The Show 24, which includes fictional characters. The title of the book is inspired by the song "It's a Man's World" by James Brown and Betty Jean Newsome, for which I also do not own the rights. All rights are held by Warner-Tamerlane Publishing Corp. and Unichappell Music, Inc. Enjoy!

If you had told me 10 years ago that I would be playing for the Atlanta Braves, I would have told you. You're lying, but here I am. After the draft, I had to fly to Florida for spring training, and then when that was over, I flew to Atlanta to sign my rookie contract, which is $380k for my first year plus a 2 million signing bonus. Then fly to Cincinnati for my first game for the season. Safe to say I've had a crazy couple of weeks. 

Oh and how fitting that Joe is throwing out the first pitch since its Reds opening day.  So it's really true what they say. It does come full circle. 

I walked out from the clubhouse into the away dugout. I noticed Joe in the batter's box swinging a bat at baseballs as they fired out the shooter and must I say he looked damn good while doing it too. 

Ok, time I come clean about something. Do I have a crush on my best friend Joe Burrow? Yes. Am I scared to tell him? Yes. Why? because if I do I'm going to make a complete fool of myself and I just do not want to risk that and possibly losing a friend.  

But friends don't text each other every day for random things or have late-night phone conversions like they used to when they were in LSU together. To sum it up over the last couple of months Joe and I have slipped back into our old ways and not that I'm complaining I just wish we were more. 

I noticed Joe had finished and might as well say hello. I walked out towards home plate catching the tail end of his conversation “I'm so proud of her…to watch her play in college I knew she was big league bound and now she's here.” I heard Joe tell my teammate Austin Riley, a third baseman. 

“There's the woman of the hour!” I hear Ja’marr call out as I make my way toward the group, my heart racing with a mix of excitement and nerves.

I shake my head, feeling a bit overwhelmed. “Stop! I'm done crying for today,” I reply, my voice tinged with a slight whine, reflecting the emotional rollercoaster I've been on.

Ja’marr looks at me with a supportive smile. “How do you feel? Are you ready for this?” he asks, his eyes filled with genuine concern. I nod slowly, trying to muster a confident expression despite my jitters. “I feel ready; I’m just trying not to overthink everything,” I admit, forcing a nervous smile.

“Sis, you’ve got this in the bag!” Ja’marr encourages, his voice steady and reassuring. “Don’t let them cloud your mind—just play your heart out, like you do every time.” His words resonate with me, pushing back the self-doubt that threatens to creep in.

“Ri, you’ve worked your ass off for this moment,” Joe chimes in, giving me a playful nudge on my shoulder. “You’re going to absolutely kill it today! And we just happen to have front-row seats to witness your brilliance.” His enthusiasm and belief in me fill me with warmth and motivation.

Nodding, I accept their words with a grateful smile, feeling a rush of confidence. “Thanks, you guys! That really helps. But now I have to ask: what the hell is this?” I say, gesturing pointedly at the Cincinnati jerseys they are both proudly wearing. They burst into laughter, clearly thinking they could charm their way out of my noticing their blatant team allegiance.

“Hey it was a gift from them but believe me I would wore yours if I could” Ja'marr gives his excuse. I turn to Joe waiting for his.

“I'm from Ohio.” he gives the most obvious answer—typical Joe.

------

Against all odds, Joe delivered a flawless pitch after the pregame festivities and the stirring national anthem. I could feel the excitement coursing through me—this was my moment, my MLB debut.

As they called my name, I heard Joe and Ja’marr erupting with cheers from their private suite through the crowd their support only boosted my confidence and set the stage for what was about to happen.

I locked in my focus, ready to face the pitcher. He glanced at the runner on first, then turned his gaze to me and wound up for the throw.

The pitch came rushing straight at me! I instinctively jumped back, narrowly avoiding it. “One ball, no strikes.” But that wasn’t a mistake; he wanted to rattle me. Too bad for him—I’m not easily shaken. 

I reset myself, gripping the bat firmly, ready for the next challenge. The pitcher checked the runner again and delivered another pitch.

This time, he made a crucial misstep—an offspeed pitch! I saw it coming, and without hesitation, I swung with all my power. The crack of the bat was electric, and I sent that ball soaring out of the park. A home run on my very first hit! 2-0, baby! Now that’s how you make an unforgettable debut. 

-------

We won only by the skin of our teeth 5-4. I had just changed out of my away uniform into some sweets and a hoodie when I heard a knock on my locker room door. 

“It's open” I shout, not feeling like walking to the door. 

The door opens and Joe pops his head in “Hey can I come in?” 

I waved my hand “Yeah come on” 

 He steps in closing the door behind him “Getting ready to head out just wanted to say you looked great out there today” he compliments. 

“Thanks, I had to show off a bit, you know. Oh! I meant to give this back to you, but everything just happened so fast,” I said, remembering his chain that he gave to me to wear on Daft Night. But I never did give it back to him. If I remember right, I was in my gym bag. Bingo pulled it right out. 

I went to hand it back to him be he stopped me “Keep it Ri” 

 “Huh?” I said making sure I heard him right. This boy is crazy.

Joe cracked a little smile “Keep it...believe me I've got plenty”  

I looked at him to make sure he wasn't joking “You sure cause this is worth more than my signing bonus” I joked nervously.

He smiled and nodded his head “Yeah I'm sure think of it as an ‘I knew you would make it’s gift”.

I smiled “Ok no take takebacks Burrow,” I said putting back in my bag. 

“What are you doing when you leave here?” Joe asked suddenly. I shrugged my shoulders. “It's still early so I'm not really tired. Might just chill back at the hotel. Why what's up?” I answered taking a seat on the bench.

He looks at me for a second then slightly shakes his head. “Some friends of mine wanted to go out to eat and all but Ja'marr had to leave soo…” 

“You want me to go in his place?” I finished the sentence for him. 

This is not anything new. I went to a lot of Joe's events as his plus one back in LSU. And he did the same thing for me. 

“Yeah but if you want to call it a day I understand” he quickly says.

I shake my head with a laugh “No I'll go with you, Joe. Plus it would be nice to get a breather before tomorrow's game” I said, opening up my suitcase. 

“Give me a few to get changed and I'll be right out”

Joe raised his eyebrows “You really could go in what you have on” he said nonchalantly 

Is this boy out of his mind? “Joe I'm not hanging out around people I don't know in a hoodie and sweatpants,” I said looking at him all upside his head.

“Yes, you can cause one where only going to Texas Roadhouse. Two you just finished a hell of a baseball game and have a right to wear this. And if someone has a problem with it then we can go and have our own dinner” he says the confidence just flows out as he says it.

My stomach should have not tightened up but I just love how protective this man is. Biting my lip not knowing what to say except “Alright let's go”

-------

Joe was walking me up to my room after that impromptu hangout session with his friends which by the way all amazing. 

“Yeah I'm definitely paying for this tomorrow,” I said feeling like I was ready to pop. 

Joe gives out a small chuckle “Yeah that makes two of us”  

I give him this funny look “You got time to burn it off, Joe. I on the other hand have to play a game tomorrow” I said pulling out my keycard for my room. “Fair point Far point,” Joe said not disagreeing with me

Stopping in front of my room “This is me” I said turning to Joe “Thanks again for inviting me” I said suddenly nervous as I looked at him and his features pretty blue eyes, dirty blonde hair so silky you could run your fingers through it and not get tangled. To some it up this boy was fine. 

His voice knocked me out of my thoughts “No thank you for coming. I owe you one for this Ri” 

Yeah, a date.

“What’d you say” I saw Joe's eyebrows raise..Did I say that out loud could have sworn I said that in my head. 

“I didn't say anything,” I said quickly shaking my head trying to avoid this conversation at all costs.

“Nah, Nah you said something. What did you say?” he asked stepping a little closer. Looking the other way with a blush on my cheeks “I said a date” I repeat my words still not looking a him. 

He stood there with the biggest smirk on his face “I still didn't hear what you said say it again and this time” he paused to gently grab my chin “Look at me” 

Soaked absolutely Soked straight through.

Unable to move I said it again looking straight dead in his eyes “A date. You owe me a date” 

Joe nodded his head and let my chin go “That's what I thought you said” he said stepping away from me. “Ok, how about this. If you get to the World Series which I know you will I'll take you on a date” he said proposing a challenge or more like a bet. “Ok and if I don’t,” I said waiting for the catch no pun intended. 

“Then I still take you on the date’

[oldiesstationlover11607]

hihiiii tis i the one and only soupiie!!

okay, i LOVED that domestic tyler fic with the xmas livestream and was wondering if you'd make fluffy josh x reader where she's seen by fans at a concert and take pics with them and then while josh is running to his b stage drumkit, he kisses her and the fans take pics. then maybe after the concert some fluff with josh and tyler.

love love loooveee your writing, please never stop, its one of the few things keeping me sane rn 🧡🧡🧡

Barrier Kisses - Josh Dun x Reader

Warnings: Nothing hehe

Word Count: 1087

A/N: RAHH LOVE THIS SO MUCH! Hello soupiiiie!! Thank you for requesting something! I'm so glad you're enjoying my writing. It's kinda hard to keep it up considering how my requests have been fewer and fewer but I'm trying :) Please request another piece!!

The energy in the arena was nothing short of magical. I could feel it in my chest, the heavy thrum of bass and the sea of voices singing along with Tyler as the show reached its halfway point. The Clancy Tour was in full swing, and the fans were louder than ever — their excitement so infectious, I found myself smiling without even realizing it.

I stood tucked off to the side of the stage, close enough to watch Josh's every move but far enough to stay out of the spotlight. Tyler was on the main stage, delivering one of his iconic speeches, hyping the crowd up before Routines in the Night. Meanwhile, Josh was preparing for his run to the B-stage, ready for the song to start while Tyler stood under the stage with Mark.

I couldn’t help but feel a little thrill every time I saw Josh on stage, the way his presence just filled the entire arena. It wasn’t just the drumming, though that was always mesmerizing — it was the way he connected with the fans, like each beat he hit meant something to them. And to me.

Lost in the moment, I barely noticed the small group of fans standing near the barrier who had spotted me. I wasn’t exactly trying to keep a low profile, but I didn’t expect them to recognize me. Their eyes went wide, and then one of the girls waved me over, excitement practically bursting from her.

“Are you Josh’s girlfriend?” she asked, voice high-pitched with nerves but sweet as ever.

I felt my face flush, but I smiled. “Yeah, I am.”

Immediately, phones were pulled out and I laughed softly, shaking my head. I wasn’t exactly used to the attention, but it was kind of cute how excited they were. They asked for a few pictures, and I couldn’t say no. The girls were so kind, gushing about how much they loved Josh, and it made me proud to know that he had fans like them.

“Can we get a picture with you?” another girl asked.

“Of course!” I agreed, stepping over closer to the barrier and posing with them.

We chatted a bit about the tour, their favorite songs, and how long they’d been following the band. I could tell how much the show meant to them, and it made my heart swell knowing Josh and Tyler could bring that kind of joy into people’s lives.

“Do you think we could get a picture of you and Josh?” one of them asked with wide, hopeful eyes.

I laughed, feeling my face heat up again. “I think he’s a little busy for that right now,” I said, glancing back toward the stage where Tyler was winding down his speech. Josh was waiting in the wings, just a few feet away, already prepared to make his sprint toward the B-stage.

Right on cue, the lights shifted, casting everything in deep reds and golds, the perfect backdrop for his run. I turned to see Josh glance over at me, that unmistakable smile on his face. My heart skipped a beat. It always did when he looked at me like that — like I was the only person in the room.

And then, without warning, he started jogging over.  The fans around us squealed in surprise, and my eyes widened as he came closer.

He didn’t stop running, just slowed enough to lean in and press a quick kiss to my lips. It was so fast but so sweet, leaving me blushing as the fans around us erupted into excited cheers.

The sound of phones clicking and capturing the moment filled the air, and I was half-laughing, half-shocked by how casual Josh had made it all seem. He just flashed me another grin and took off again, heading toward the B-stage to continue the show as if nothing had happened.

My heart raced as I turned back toward the fans, who were all wide-eyed and giggling, holding up their phones like trophies.

“Did you see that?” one of them gasped. “That was so cute!”

I just laughed, feeling giddy myself. “Yeah, he's… kind of perfect, huh?”

The rest of the concert felt like a blur. Every time Josh’s drum beats echoed through the arena, I could feel the memory of that quick kiss lingering in my mind. And from the way the fans nearby kept sneaking glances at me, I knew they'd be talking about it for weeks.

After the show, the backstage area was quieter, though still buzzing with the after-show energy that always seemed to linger. I made my way through the halls, weaving past crew members and friends until I found Josh in the green room, towel around his neck, sweat still glistening on his skin from the performance. Tyler was with him, lounging on the couch, scrolling through his phone.

“There she is!” Josh beamed, pushing off the arm of the couch to meet me halfway. He pulled me into a warm, post-show hug, the kind that always made me feel like home.

“You really kissed me in front of everyone?” I teased, poking him in the chest as I looked up at him, but I couldn’t hide the smile on my face.

Josh chuckled, his hand coming up to brush a stray hair from my face. “Couldn’t help it,” he said, eyes soft. “I saw you there, and I just… had to.”

Tyler snorted from the couch. “Real smooth, Josh.”

Josh rolled his eyes, still grinning. “You’re just jealous because Jenna’s not here tonight.”

Tyler held up his hands in mock defense. “Hey, I’m just saying — it was pretty bold, man. Risky move, but I respect it.”

I laughed, leaning into Josh’s side, his arm wrapping around me protectively. “Well, the fans loved it,” I said, thinking back to all the excited faces and cameras. “They were snapping pictures like crazy.”

Josh leaned down and kissed the top of my head, softer this time, a little more private. “Good,” he murmured. “Maybe I’ll make it a habit.”

Tyler groaned dramatically. “Please, spare us.”

Josh just grinned wider, pulling me closer as we all sank into the easy, comfortable feeling that came after a successful show. It was moments like this — the quiet in the storm, the laughter and love we shared — that made everything worth it.

And as I rested my head against Josh’s shoulder, I couldn’t help but think that this life, this wild, crazy life with him, was more than I could’ve ever dreamed of.

//

REQUESTS OPEN

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Carpe Noctem 3

Warnings: dark elements, noncon, age gap, other dark elements. Proceed with caution. (short!reader)

Note: Please let me know what you think as it helps me a lot with ideas and I love interacting with you all.

Part of The Club AU

You wad up the napkins and turn to stand. As you do, you feel a firm grope on your ass. You nearly yipe as you tear away and spin to face Lloyd. He sways as he sits forward with a sneer, licking his lips as he reaches for you again. You toss the balled up fabric in his face but it hardly deters him.

“Hey, stop,” you swat away his hand, “what is wrong with you?”

“Come on, baby, it's my turn to take care of you,” he slides forward on the cushion, swallowing a hiccup as he grins at you like a doofus.

He swipes his hand between your thighs and you barely keep him from reaching your pelvis. You swing his arm away from you and his other grasps onto the top of your jeans. You grab onto his wrist as you try to untangle yourself.

“Listen, you creep, get off–”

He pulls you forward and buries his face in the front of your jeans. You gasp and smack his crown as hard as you can. He recoils and touches his skull as he sits back with a pout. You can’t help but deliver another blow, right across his cheek as you growl in disgust.

“Ugh, you’re awful,” you step away, palm tingling from the slap, “I… I was being nice, you jackass.”

“And I’m being nice. Come on, I just want a taste–”

“Shut up,” you snatch your purse off the couch, “good luck.”

You turn on your heel and stomp off, letting yourself out with nothing short of slamming the door. That’s the last time the twins do this to you. You are too old for this. You have a relationship and you don’t relish spending your nights out with jerks instead of your boyfriend. Johnny doesn’t appreciate it much either.

🎀

You get home to the glare of the television, colours changing over the sleeping silhouette of your boyfriend. You lock the door and dump your purse on the chair as you pass it. You sit on the edge of the couch and rub Johnny’s shoulder as he snores, the simulated explosions of the action moving bursting from the speakers.

“Hey, hon,” you squeeze gently, “I’m home.”

“Grmmmp,” he snorts himself away, smiling at you as his lashes flutter dreamily, “hey, babe.”

“Come on, let’s get you to bed,” you coo and bend over, kissing his temple.

He grumbles and throws his arm over his head, hiding under it as he refuses to move. You huff and grab his arm, forcing him to sit up.

“It’s not that far,” you haul him up and he groggily gurgles, resistantly hobbling with you to the bedroom.

You get him on the mattress and he flops across it with a grunt. You pull the blanket over him as he hugs his pillow with one arm. You go back into the living room and shut off the television. You tidy up the empty chip bag and cans of beer from the coffee table, sure to wipe off the crumbs before you shut off the light.

You wash off your make-up, moisturize, brush your teeth, and go through your nightly routine. It’s just little things that help you unwind. After the night you had, you need the mindless habit to calm your nerves.

You go into the bedroom and undress a piece at a time, dumping each into the hamper. You pull on a tank top and pair of sleep shorts before rolling in next to Johnny. He slings his arm over you and nuzzles your neck. He inhales and gives a growl.

“You smell like cologne…” he mutters.

“Do I?” You wonder.

“Yeah,” he sniffs and draws back, laying flat on his back, “you were dancing with some dude, weren’t you?”

“No,” you turn over and prop yourself up on your elbow, “you know I’m not into that.”

“But you were with some guy, weren’t you?” His voice croaks as the grit of sleep slowly fades, “I told you not to go out with those two sluts.”

“Hey, they’re my friends.”

“And I’m your boyfriend. You shouldn’t be hitting up the club when you got a man at home.”

His anger seethes into you. You chew your lip and reach to rub his chest. He smacks your hand away and turns his back to you.

“You know I wouldn’t do anything, Johnny,” you murmur, “I love you…”

“So you go out dancing and leave me alone,” he scoffs, “you shoulda left me on the fucking couch. I can’t even lay next to you right now.”

“You don’t… you don’t think–”

“You smell like someone else, what am I supposed to think?”

Johnny’s fatal flaw has always been his jealousy. It’s as much as you expected but it still throws you off guard. You hoped he’d be too tired to have the same old argument. But you know how to break through his iciness.

You touch his shoulder daintily, laying a kiss on it, “J, you know I don’t want anyone else, don’t you,” you slide your hand down his arm, “you’re the only man… the only one for me. You know that.”

He says nothing. He’s tense as stone beneath your touch. You lean forward, pressing against his back as you kiss his short hair.

“Johnny,” you soften your voice, “please, let me make it up to you…”

He exhales and you feel him ease, just a little. You lay in the frozen silence. These nights end in two ways; he goes out on the couch or he stays and you… make him happy.

He rolls onto his back, surrendering. He catches your hand and pulls it across his chest. He plays with your fingers.

“Make it up… how?” He slowly guides your palm down his stomach.

Relief washes over you, even as your nerves stir. The night weighs on your eyelids and you can barely keep the yawns from breaking free, but you know you won’t sleep with him mad at you. Besides, it won’t take that long.

“Whatever you want, hon,” you tickle his lower stomach.

He purrs and reaches up to caress the top of your head. He spreads his large hand across your skull and urges you down.

“You know what I like, baby,” he forces you to curl around and you shift as you pull up his ribbed shirt, kissing his stomach as your fingertips dance on the hair that trims his hard stomach, “mmmm, yeah, that’s it, baby. Show me I’m the only one.”

[obislittleone]

House Of Memories (10/?)

Obi-Wan Kenobi x Padawan!reader

Warnings: very few tbh... it's just- it's really long.

Summary: Senator Amidala is given three jedi bodyguards after her life is sought after again. Obi-Wan, You, and Anakin must protect her, and figure out why her life is constantly in danger.

A/n: 22 hours from now i will be watching the next episode, and someone said they suspected we were gonna get a shirtless obi-wan (fingers fkn crossed). also thank you guys so much for your feedback, it means the world to me and I love seeing how everyone is enjoying the story! if there's anything specific you'd like to see in this series, please let me know, because I only have so many ideas tbh (although i still have a general plot following the next 12 years oop-)

Words: 4.1k

"Try to contain yourself, Anakin, it's just another mission," Obi-Wan sat down after delivering the news of your three's next assignment.

"Yes, but master, it's a mission with a pretty girl," You smirked across the room, earning a glare from your fellow padawan.

Anakin used the force to make the water you took a sip of flow faster, so you nearly choked on it. You set the cup down, throwing one of the pillows beside you in his direction. He looked so upset that you would possibly tease him about his nerves.

"You've never met her before, she's unlike anyone I know, and I haven't seen her since I was young."

"You still are young, Anakin," Obi-Wan wasn't really paying that much attention to the conversation anymore, as he'd picked up his holopad to check the schedule.

"You know what I mean. I was only a boy at the time," He corrected his earlier statement, standing up and beginning to pace around the room.

"So, what does that make you, now?" You chided, earning the return of the pillow that you'd launched at him. "Don't worry, Anakin. I'm sure the senator will think you are a man's man."

Your valiant attempt at poking fun at him was cut short when your master stood to his feet as well, walking between you both before a worse quarrel could commence in the living space.

"If you both are quite done, we're supposed to report to the senator and her team of security within the hour," He held out a hand to help you to your feet, and let you walk in front of him as you all made your way to the door.

It had been about two months since the kidnapping on Ryloth and the rescue from Hoth, and though it was a traumatic experience for all of you, it didn't take long to fall back into the swing of things.

There were however a few small gestures that had changed, knownst to you, yet somehow unmeaningful. The way Obi-Wan would keep his hand at the small of your back as you would walk through small corridors, the way he would pick up your hand in his and give it a gentle squeeze if he sensed you were anxious.

You dreamt the day he rescued you that he'd been so happy you were in his arms again that he kissed you, only once, and never again. It felt so much more real than your other dreams, but you chalked that up to the fact that he was actually there that time.

You thought about it often, how he could be so relieved to see you that he would go against the jedi code and make such an action of endearment, breaking the law of attachment completely. You knew he never would, so you quietly disregarded those thoughts, leaving them to the back of your mind for only the end of the day.

Obi-Wan thought about it often, too. Although he was ashamed of what he'd done in the moment, the longer he thought about it, the more he craved more actions such as those. He craved something more than a mentorship, and though it felt wrong in the presence of others, there were times, like when he would read to you in the library, when he could contemplate it being the best thing in the world. He knew that someday you would outgrow his teachings and become a knighted Jedi. He knew that at some point you wouldn't be so close to him as you were now, but if there was just the slightest chance that you felt the same way about him, he wanted to give you subtle hints. So subtle that perhaps they might go unseen, but enough to let you know he liked being that close to you, liked holding your hand or placing his hand at your waist when a stranger walked by.

He even helped wrap you in your cloak on the way out of the apartment just now, leading the way, but still making sure you walked next to him, not behind him. Anakin, bless him, in his state of current anxiety, was all too happy to bring up the rear.

The speeder ride to the senator's living accommodations was rather short, and though no one said anything, Anakin's presence left a thick tension in the air, even though you hadn't quite arrived at the real destination.

As soon as you all stepped into the elevator, Obi-Wan could feel how tight the space had become, and all because of Anakin and his worries. Though you teased him about it, you were very intrigued to know of this mystery woman that had him under such a predicament.

"You seem a little on edge," Obi-Wan said, and you snorted at his choice of words. 'A little' didn't even begin to compare.

"Not at all."

Standing on the other side of Anakin, you felt the need to soothe him, if only for the fact that you felt bad about your jokes before. You placed a hand at his shoulder, gripping it softly before letting it fall back to your side.

"I haven't seen you this tense since we fell into that nest of Gundarks," Obi-Wan continued. Surely, he knew what the trouble was, but as aforementioned, he hadn't really been paying attention until now.

"You were the ones who fell into that nightmare, master... And I rescued you, remember?"

Yes, you remembered it well. Although it was Obi-Wan who had clumsily fallen in, and you only slid after him because you lost your balance trying to grab him out of the way. You shuddered at the memory of mud caking your clothes and hands. You hated the feeling.

"Oh, yes," He chuckled under his breath, turning to see Anakin with his jaw and fists tightly clenched. "You're sweating. Relax, take a deep breath."

"I haven't seen her in ten years, Master."

Why did it matter so much to Anakin what this senator thought of him after ten years? He was an adult now and hadn't been when they met. Surely, she wouldn't still look at him as a small child, that would be completely foolish and ridiculous to believe.

"Here, let me help," you raised your hand to the back of his head, closing your eyes and focusing quickly, knowing there was little time before you would step out of the elevator. You detected the nerves, and how they rippled along his signature, causing bouts of fear to arise in him over the small build ups. You grabbed hold of a few of them, not sure if you could carry them all, and pulled them away from his mind, as always, leaving only good things that surrounded them instead.

"That's better, thank you."

You were greeted by the loud and obnoxious voice of Jar Jar Binks as soon as the doors opened. You had only met him once before, for diplomacy reasons, and always thought of him as a rambunctious fella. He was always great for a good laugh whenever in anyone's presence, you could surely say that.

He led you all into the main room, where a group of people surrounded one lovely woman, the senator. You were certain it was her, because even you were captivated by her beauty almost instantly. You well understood what Anakin had been fearing all this time. He feared rejection. He had to have. She was so lovely, and if he felt for her the way you thought he did, it meant he didn't want to lose favor in her sight.

"It's lovely to see you again, malady," Obi-Wan greeted, and you were sure that when you looked over at him, he would be enraptured by her as well. He... wasn't. How strange.

"It's been far too long, Master Kenobi," she smiled, and oh how her eyes shined like stars when she did. "...Ani? My goodness you've grown."

"So have you," Anakin replied, stepping forward with a look on his face you knew all too well. He was trying to be smooth... oh no. "Far more beautiful I mean..."

You raised your eyebrows and widened your eyes in surprise. He was so nervous only a minute ago, he never would have said anything like that. You mentally thanked yourself for helping him in the elevator, seeming that you also helped yourself to be entertained.

"Well, for a senator I mean."

???

What did he think that was going to fix? He certainly hadn't rehearsed his words to her, which was a bit strange, because you remember when he had a crush on another padawan a few years back, and he practiced talking to her in the refresher mirror. He was upset that you caught him, hence the schedule that Obi-Wan had promptly put in place.

The senator seemed to be amused by his antics, as were you, and everyone else in the room.

"Ani, you'll always be that little boy I knew on Tatooine."

Oh man. Oh man. Did she just-?

Well now you felt bad for him. He had clearly been excited to see her again, albeit nervous, and she just shot him down as if he were an enemy fighter ship.

"I'm sorry if I don't recognize you, but have we met before?" She asked, turning to you, and you were quick to forget about Anakin and offer her a kind smile.

"I believe I have never had the pleasure, Malady. I am Master Obi-Wan's second padawan, I've been training with Anakin for the past several years," you bowed to her with respect, but she wasn't one for formalities, you could tell. You sensed it in her.

"How wonderful to hear, I didn't know a Jedi Master could obtain more than a single padawan at once," She seemed a bit confused, and for good reason, but Obi-Wan was quick to step in and clear it up for her.

"She was my designated padawan before Anakin had come to the order, so the council was gracious enough to allow me the honor or training them both."

The way he spoke was always so entrancing. The way he worded his sentences and made them flow like poetry every time he talked. You let your eyes linger on him a bit too long, and it was only when his turned back to you that you broke out of it. Everyone's eyes landed on you again, and it appeared you had missed a question.

"I'm sorry, I missed that," your face became red with embarrassment, and you waited for whoever it was to repeat the question again.

"I was wondering about your Jedi class. Are you a guardian like Master Obi-Wan and Anakin?" The senator asked with a gentle a patient look on her face. You could tell she was a kind leader, and probably beloved by all... except those who were trying to kill her.

"Oh, I'm a consular, although I sense I have some guardian tendencies," you answered, and when you glanced back at Obi-Wan, he was still looking at you with a proud smile. You loved that smile, dammit.

"How exciting, I'm sure everyone in the order is proud to have two such promising future Jedi," she commented, leading everyone into the sitting area to discuss the terms of this assignment.

Not everyone, you thought, knowing that practically the entire council, outside of Master Yoda were not in your favor.

The conversation from this point forward bored you to no end. Running security was not your forte, you much preferred diplomatic missions, where you got to converse on specific topics that otherwise would be forbidden in the order. It was frowned upon that any Jedi have a political opinion, or at least a public stance on one. You weren't exactly into politics, but you enjoyed including yourself in debates when it came to rather intellectual company. Obi-Wan could definitely attest to the fact that you were good at arguing, as well as Anakin, too.

At one point in the discussion, Anakin spoke out about how useless your three's presence was, on account of local security already being there. He was looking into more of an investigation type of assignment, and apparently, this was not what he was hoping for. To be fair, you would much rather be on the hunt for the person that was in charge of initiating these assassination attacks, but you were also looking forward to getting to know the senator. She seemed to be a kind and intelligent woman, whom you would very much enjoy the company of.

"Perhaps with merely your presence, the mystery surrounding this threat will be revealed," she finished the conversation gracefully, standing to her feet and excusing herself to retire.

You and Obi-Wan were following along with the security officer in charge of the senator's day to day travels, making sure you were clear on what the plans for tonight were, but you both overheard Anakin talking about the senator, Padme, as he had called her.

"You're focusing on the negative Anakin, be mindful of your thoughts... She was pleased to see us," Obi-Wan encouraged his distraught padawan, and you couldn't help but smile at the way Anakin had behaved on her behalf. He had it bad. "Now, let's check the security."

-

You were sleeping soundly, laid on the couch in the middle of the night when Obi-Wan returned upstairs.

Anakin had assured you he was fine to take first watch, or any watch for that matter, and knowing how he presumably felt for the senator, you knew you could entrust her into his capable hands while you caught a bit of sleep.

"Has she been out long?" Obi-Wan asked, sitting down beside you for only a moment, resting the back of his hand against the skin of your cheek, before running two fingers through the unruly strands of your hair.

"Only about a half hour or so," Anakin responded, pacing the room with an ounce of boredom clouding his mind.

After Anakin explained to Obi-Wan that Padme had suggested to use herself as bait, Obi-Wan grew a bit more tense with his padawan's decision to allow it.

"I can sense everything going on in that room," he promised, showing his master his confidence in a situation of danger. It scared Obi-Wan, if only slightly, that he wasn't showing as much restraint in this mission as he was supposed to. "Trust me."

Obi-Wan wanted to trust him, really, he did. He wanted to be able to say he was ready for something like this. Normally, he would be considered so, but due to the special circumstances concerning Padme, and Anakin's ever-growing arrogance, Obi-Wan simply couldn't let him take the lead on this one.

Later in the night, Obi-Wan took watch, but Anakin never laid to rest. When he was questioned of it, it was revealed that he was suffering yet again with bad dreams. Ones of his mother.

"Dreams pass in time," was Obi-Wan's response, but it was hardly the truth. He knew the extent of what his and your dreams normally went to, and they never just stopped, but more so got worse as they went on.

"She's been good to help me all this time, I can't bring myself to ask any more of her," Anakin nodded to you, sleeping soundly, dreaming of a specific pair of cerulean blue eyes whilst you snored softly.

"She cares for you more than she will admit," Obi-Wan smiled with a shake of his head. He loved it when you teased Anakin, because it kept him somewhat grounded. You had always been rather humble about your abilities, though in comparison to others, there was so much you could do, including help Anakin with the nightmares.

"She has them too, doesn't she?" Anakin asked, almost certain he knew the answer. He'd heard you next door to him a couple times and had heard Obi-Wan leave his room to tend to you.

"Sometimes," he confessed. He didn't want to expose you, but he knew there was no harm in letting him know he wasn't alone in his struggle.

"Does she ever tell you what they're about?"

Obi-Wan remembered one of the nights you awoke, crying and clinging to him, as you often did in that state of panic. He remembered asking you what happened, and you were very quick to comply. You'd told him that talking about it in the open air always helped ease your mind. Telling him of the things you knew weren't real as he held you, so that you could get it off your chest.

"Us, mostly."

Anakin furrowed his brows and turned his head to you. You had rolled over, and your hair was now falling in mops off the cushion of the couch. You were like his sister, and he cared for you deeply, and he didn't like the idea of you worrying over him in your dreams.

"Sometimes the only thing that can help her sleep again is to feel our signatures near her own."

Anakin thought about that sentence for a moment. He was almost comforted in his own dismay at the fact that you sought comfort in his and Obi-Wan's force presence.

"I don't mean this as a slight to you Anakin, but perhaps you could learn something from her. She keeps herself centered, and shuts out the distractions," Obi-Wan said, unaware that he himself were the biggest distraction you had ever faced. It would do you well to know that he hadn't noticed it, or rather, was ignoring that it could even be a possibility.

"I'm sure I could learn much from her, she's gifted with the force in ways the council does not recognize."

Obi-Wan soon after had changed the subject, unwilling to discuss your constant problems with the council, or rather, the constant problems they seemed to pick with you. It went on for several minutes more before both heads snapped towards the room, and you sat up from your slumber, startled by a riff in the force.

"I sense it, too," Obi-Wan said, and they both lunged for the room immediately.

Upon entry, Anakin jumped onto the bed, killing two small creatures who were being used to do immense harm to the senator, who had also been startled awake by all the commotion.

You were late to run into the room, and barely caught sight of Obi-Wan as he jumped out the window, grabbing hold of the droid that seemed to be a culprit in delivering the death trap.

"Stay here with the senator, I'll go get him," Anakin told you, running out of the room soon after he came. You were in a mess of confusion, still hazy from just waking up, and went over to Padme to see if there was anything she needed. Her lady maids were by her side, so you stood at the edge of the bed to ask:

"Are you alright?"

She seemed to be calming down from a rush of adrenaline, and you could sense her heart beating rapidly, even now, when the threat had initially been disposed of.

"Yes, I am," she answered, her hand over her chest, but she didn't sound convincing. She kept looking around the room, as if she was subconsciously searching for something.

You nodded anyway, stepping back until she dismissed the others away, claiming that you would be fine enough to protect her until the others returned.

"I thank you for your confidence in me, Malady," you sat on the bench that was near her bed, looking out the broken glass window and watching everything with an attuned sense.

"Anyone trained by Master Kenobi must be fit to protect me," she offered, noticing the awkward way you sat and patted the space beside her for you to join.

You did so thankfully, nodding your respects and getting comfortable.

"I'm happy to be in your service, and I hope to be of aid to you in this whole mess," you said, chuckling with your words to hopefully put her at ease. You had stretched your force presence around her as well, hopefully making a difference in her ongoing speedy heartrate.

"I'm very grateful to you all, I know you would probably have other, more exciting assignments right now if it wasn't for me."

"On the contrary, I am thrilled to have a chance to get to know a senator," you smiled, pausing to decide whether or not you should test the waters of her thoughts of your colleague. "I presume Anakin is on cloud nine just being able to see you again. He seems to admire you."

"I suppose he does... I remember when we first met, he asked me if I was an angel," she said, laughing slightly at the memory. You rolled your eyes, because that was absolutely something Anakin would do, even as a boy. "He said I was beautiful."

"I suppose you still think of him as that little boy you met," you were being sneaky, or at least you thought you were. She didn't exactly know where you were headed, but by now had figured out that you were acting on Anakin's interest.

"I'm not sure. He's definitely changed... he's much taller now," she joked, and even you were a bit surprised. Here she was, senator of Naboo, having just survived an assassination attempt, and she was laughing about your fellow padawan, which just so happened to be your favorite past-time.

"As someone who has had to share a living space with him for ten years, I can assure you the only thing that has changed was his height."

She was so easy to talk to, and you could already feel yourself allowing a connection to her, something you did with very few people. Not because you didn't trust them, but often times because they couldn't seem to trust you. You wondered why she was so quick to address you so plainly, as if you had been friends all your lives. You supposed she was just kind that way.

It was nearing sunrise before you had finally been able to tire her out enough that she felt safe to sleep again. It was also the time that Obi-Wan and Anakin had returned.

"Where have you been? What happened?" You approached them with a certain tone of voice, they knew not to beat around the bush. You weren't demanding, but direct, and the look on your face was stern.

"We chased the assassin into a bar in the city. We tried to interrogate, but she was shot by a bounty hunter, whom we think is responsible for all the attempts on senator Amidala's life."

"Do you know where the bounty hunter left to?" You put the pieces together rather fast, and given that said hunter was not in their capture, you knew it was likely that he got away.

"We're not sure, but he left us a clue. I have a friend I can speak with about it, but until then, we need to only worry about getting the senator off world," Obi-Wan said, stepping past you and going to speak with Padme's head officer.

Anakin seemed distraught, and when he sat down on the couch behind him, his shoulders sank.

"Hey lover boy," you quickly regretted the choice of words for the glare you soon received after they were uttered. "Calm down, I have good news."

"No, you don't," he gave you a second look you knew all too well. He was annoyed and preparing for you to tell him something that was meant as a prank.

"Yes, actually. I do," you sat across from him and smiled cheekily. Now he was really afraid. You were up to something, that much he could tell. "I spoke with Padme."

"She asked you to call her Padme?" he asked with a certain jealousy that was completely unwarranted.

"That's not the point. We spoke about you," you watched to see if he would connect the dots, but he only looked at you, an inquisition upon his features. "I think, and I could be wrong, but she gave me strong reason to believe that she might find interest in you now that you're grown."

"You're playing games with me again," his face dropped, and he moved to stand up, but you pushed him back in his seat, looking at him completely serious, now.

"I am not, I promise."

Well, you were good for your word, and he knew because you'd always kept your promises to him before, however small. You felt it was a good part of character to be a woman of your word. This changed things, and Anakin smiled widely, soon letting you mirror him.

"Well then I guess I will be acquiring your help," he said, standing and offering you a hand to your feet as well.

"Help with what?" You mused, following him into the next room.

"Winning over the lovely senator."

-

Tags:

@spencerrxids @sawendel @fandomstanner24 @i-shall-abide @officialjellydoughnut @whatshxrname @darkened-writer @superavengerpotter @cutiepoo16 @hypnoash @softlymellow @howlerwolfmax @mephistominion @honestlywtfisgoingon @anakinskywalkerog @mandiiellen @je--a-n @guyinachair27

[no-droids]

Whenever You Want

Part Fourteen of the Rough Day Series

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 11.2K

Warnings: Listen there is some dirty smut in this one yall okay like I was blushing when I wrote it, it has a very stark beginning and theres a pagebreak afterwards if you would prefer to skip over it. Smut includes oral sex (female receiving) rough sex, sensory deprivation, butt stuff (ass to mouth, anal fingering/penetration) so PLEASE LOOK OUT FOR IT PLEASE. Also there is jealous/possessive mando in this, season 1 Karga makes another appearance, and some angst/fluff towards the end

A/N: Nothing much today yoditos just love you all

***

Din said he’d meet you here.

You’re currently sitting across from Greef Karga in a cantina on Nevarro, a closed shield next to you and a blaster tucked into the back of your waistband, hidden underneath your shirt.  You’re barely even looking at him, though—your eyes are attached to the door by an invisible string, forcing your gaze back to it no matter how much it bounces around the room.

You don’t know where Din is, you haven’t seen him in hours.  But you do know that when he left, he was moving slower than you’re used to.  You don’t think anyone else would notice, but you sure did.  Not that he was obvious about it—you only picked up on very subtle hints.  Leaning up against things just a bit more than he usually does.  Taking slightly longer exiting the ramp of the Crest than his normal strides would carry him.

He didn’t say what he was going to do—just that he needed to find someone before meeting with Karga, and you accepted it.  But truthfully, you didn’t want to.  You were worried about him—still are, actually.  But for all intents and purposes, he was speaking and acting like himself, showing no real signs of exhaustion other than the smallest instances you described before, so you didn’t really have a leg to stand on.  He’s been through way worse, and you know it.  You just… find yourself worrying about him so much more than you used to, and you need to learn how to gain some control over that part of you.

The kid was still passed out from healing him and you remember Din carefully setting four pucks down in the sleeping baby’s sphere and giving his ears a gentle rub between leather fingers.  He turned back to you and told you to meet him at the cantina in three hours, but if it ended up taking him too long for any reason, to try your best to see if Karga will let you exchange on his behalf.

Admittedly, he didn’t sound too confident about it—the instructions were delivered with a tone that implied a doubtful, just-in-case scenario he wasn’t foreseeing happening.  Or maybe he just doubted the likelihood of Karga agreeing to do business with you, you’re not entirely sure.  All you know is that when he left, you were almost certain he wouldn’t be late, but you also took the time to grab the smallest blaster from his armory before heading out just in case.

Yet—here you are, three and a half hours later, eyes flicking between the door and Karga as you attempt to keep up polite conversation.  After turning down his offer of alcohol for the fifth time and still not seeing any glimpse of beskar coming to your rescue, you figure this may be as good a time as any to start the exchange.

During an extended break in the small talk, you slowly reach over to the corner of your booth and press a button on the face of the kid’s shield.  It hisses open and you completely miss the way Karga’s hand raises while three of his guards automatically reach for their hips.  The little green monster is still snoozing comfortably while you pull out the four glowing pucks Din left you and set them on the table one by one.

They scrape along the top of it as you slowly push them over to him, before sitting back in the booth and clearing your throat, flicking your eyes between Karga and his guards.  To you, nobody appears to have moved, so you muster a polite smile at him.

Karga smiles back, but makes no move to gather or inspect the offerings in front of him.

“Um…” you say after a moment, suddenly feeling your heart start to beat a little faster.  “Mando… Mando gave me permission to exchange on his behalf.”

“I believe you,” he drawls out in response, but the pucks still sit untouched in front of him as he leans back in the booth and studies you.  “Mando has always had a… let’s say, a frustrating penchant for disregarding the pillars of our code.  My apologies, young lady, but I’m afraid that I cannot accept these from you.”

Your voice comes out quieter than you’d like it to sound.  “Why not?”

“It is… unlawful,” he answers after a moment.  “Our organization operates under strict rules.”

Does it?  You blink.  No, it doesn’t.  You’re nothing to the Guild and you’ve sat next to Din quite a few times while Karga talked, listening to him drunkenly boast about return rates and out members by name.  You’re not sure why he’s barring you like this, but you’re also not self-assured enough to put practically any spine into it whatsoever.  “I’m… afraid I don’t understand.”

“I cannot legally do guild business with individuals not recognized as members in an official capacity,” he sighs, sounding grave and almost apologetic about it, but you don’t know him well enough to know if he’s a good actor or not.  “There’s nothing I can do for you besides provide you with my company, not until Mando decides to show.”

Well now that doesn’t make any sense, and you’re starting to worry that for some reason or another, he isn’t going to show.  Though it was incredibly well concealed, you’re well aware that Din was still lingering in the final recovery stages when he left the Crest earlier and all you have to go on is his word that he’d be here.  Something could’ve happened.  Something could be happening right now, you need to push.

“People pick up bounties for extra credits all the time,” you mumble, still way too fucking quiet about it.  Maker, you’re not even sure if he could hear that over the sound of the cantina.  Speak up, speak up.

“Yes, but those quarry are listed on the New Republic’s most wanted database,” Karga acknowledges diplomatically, educating more than he is arguing, before uncorking the bottle of glowing blue alcohol in front of him and beginning to pour himself another shot.  “They’re fodder.  Up for grabs—names, last known locations, and biometrics published for the entire galaxy to read.”  He tilts his head down at the four metal pucks on the table without removing his gaze from the gradually filling glass.  “Those pucks are different, they’re commissions.  Tied specifically to Guild contracts.”  Karga clunks the bottle back down again and corks it, pinning you with a stare.  “For all I know, you could’ve murdered a member of our ranks and come to collect payment for his bounties.  Can’t have that.”

Your blood suddenly turns to ice at the implication, eyes wide and your heartbeat rocketing as you look from Karga to the three guards casually stationed behind him.  “You—You think I murdered Mando?”

“No,” he says, easily and in the very same breath, before throwing the shot back and wiping his mouth with a grimace.  “Not sure I’d care too much if you did.  It’s not my rule, but I am required to follow it or risk losing my position in the Guild.”

Shit.  Shit.  What do you do?

You’re blank, left quiet and feeling increasingly unsure of how to proceed.  Karga, however, seems completely unbothered and even appears to be enjoying himself and your company.  He gives you another smile, this one a lot friendlier and more genuine than the one earlier, before setting his elbows on the table and leaning forward.

“Look, I want to help you,” he admits, keeping his tone light, “but my hands are tied.  Just relax and share a drink with me until he gets here, it’s not a problem.”

Fuck, you don’t like this, and a quick look around brings another reminder of Din’s continued absence.  Your chest feels tight, the anxiety starting to compound and make you jumpy.  It’s been too long—it’s been at least forty minutes or so of waiting by now and something just feels wrong about this.  Not having him next to you feels wrong enough on its own, but when he specifically told you he’d be here?

You clench your jaw and try to work up your nerve.  Karga is a nice guy, right?  He knows you by name, he knows who you are to Mando.  And while you never really thought about the bounty hunter’s omnipresent protection as being anything other than metaphorical, you suddenly realize that… it might be literal, too.  How much sway do you actually have here, you wonder?  You’re not stupid, you’re not going to try anything stupid, but maybe just another question won’t hurt?

“Well, um… how do you become a member, then?”  You ask him, and you watch as he leans back in the booth, raising both eyebrows at you.

“Excuse me?”  He asks, though there’s a genuine amusement in his voice.  Stunned that you’d even say the words aloud.

“I have four bodies,” you tell him shortly.  You’re still quiet about it, but his thoroughly entertained astonishment is beginning to rub you the wrong way.  You don’t want to be part of the Guild, you don’t want to be here, you’re doing this out of growing necessity.  “One of which I dragged through a blizzard on Hoth by its ankles and put into carbonite myself, so please just tell me what I have to do to get you to take them.”

“I can’t,” he repeats, shaking his head like you’re just not getting it.  “New members are only accepted if they bring in an S-level criminal from the database or if they complete a commission that was granted to them by someone of my station—neither of which apply to you.  If you cannot present me with any sort of reasonable argument for which they could, then I’m afraid this is not a favor I can swing.”

“I was sitting right here,” you return, suddenly finding your voice.  If Karga wants an argument from you to get this to happen, then you’ll do it.  You just need to finish this exchange, go back to the Crest, and scan around for Din’s signal.  “When you first gave the pucks to Mando, I sat right here and you pushed them over to this side of the table—I was present for the commission and now I’m here to complete it.”

He shakes his head.  “But I didn’t give them to you, I gave them to Mando—”

“Yes, but you only wanted to give him three,” you immediately point out.  “The last one, the one I told you I put into carbonite—you said you threw it in because you liked me, it could’ve been for me.”

Karga suddenly stops and blinks at you for a few seconds, and you bite your lip, wondering if the logic will hold.  It’s flimsy as fuck and you know he could very easily rip it apart if he wanted to.  It could’ve been for you but it wasn’t, he gave it to Mando.  You also purposefully leave out the fact that you’re also the reason Mando only gave him three bodies in the first place; your only goal here is to complete this transaction as quickly as possible and leave.  You don’t like the fact that it’s taking Din so long, and you also don’t like the fact that Karga seems so keen on keeping you here with him, no matter how many reassurances he provides.  He said he wants to help you?  This can be his chance to prove it.

After a few extended moments of consideration, Karga finally shrugs like he really couldn’t care less before reaching across the table for the pucks and beginning to stack them in his palm.

“What is your last name?”  He asks, turning behind him to gesture for one of his men with a jerk of his head.  The bodyguard exits the cantina without another word and your eyes flick back to Karga’s.

“Why does it matter?”  You ask uncertainly, watching another guard approach with a holopad as he shrugs once more.

“It doesn’t, but we need something for our records,” Karga explains, grabbing the device as it’s tapped against his shoulder without removing his gaze from yours.  “I can just use Doe if you don’t feel like sharing—most of our members tend to prefer anonymity, including your companion.”

Your eyebrows furrow even as your heart continues to pound, wondering how they can afford to be so lax about some things but take others so seriously.  “You have him down as John Doe?”

“First name Man,” Karga grunts in response, finally breaking eye contact to begin navigating through pages on the holopad.

“Ah,” you say shortly, knowing you’d probably find the joke funny in other circumstances.  You’re not out of the trenches yet, you still feel the worry tugging hard at your chest.

“Very well,” Karga announces with a sigh, pocketing the pucks in his leather overcoat and then handing the holopad back to one of the men flanking him after a moment.  “Someone is collecting the carbonite plaques from your vessel as we speak.”

You give him a nod, taking a deep breath that you hope is slow and subtle enough to not give your anxiety away.  He helped you out, you’re halfway through this.  Now comes the exchange.  Now it’s his turn to give you the credits and four more pucks, that’s how this should go.

Only, Karga leans back in his seat and cocks his head at you.  “Unfortunately, I believe we have found ourselves in the midst of yet another predicament.”

Your heart continues to slam, praying you haven’t somehow majorly fucked things up by getting this far.  Din still isn’t here, why is he so fucking late?  He nearly froze to death and you handled a dead body just to make this meeting on time, where the fuck is he?

You raise an eyebrow at him, willing the building panic not to show on your face.  “Have we?”

“You’re lucky credits are attached to commissions instead of rank within the Guild,” he prefaces, pulling out a large handful of them to begin counting, and your eyes flick around the cantina while you know he isn’t looking, “or else you’d be getting about half of what I’d normally give him.”

Heart galloping when you still don’t see any sign of him, you just decide to keep extra quiet as you watch Karga divvy out a sizable stack of credits, hoping your prolonged silence will protect you somehow.

“The question now becomes…” he lifts an eyebrow at you while sliding them across the table to you, “how many pucks do I give you in return, hm?”

Fuck, you don’t like this, you’re trying to make it crystal fucking clear that your intentions do not extend beyond the perimeter of this table.  There’s no you to be found in this deal, you’re just an emergency proxy in Din’s absence and you only inserted yourself in the situation to accomplish that task.  “I told you I’m only here to exchange on Mando’s behalf, that’s it.”

“Be that as it may…”  Karga glances around the cantina like he’s thinking extra hard about it.  This is a made-up problem, you both know there’s no predicament here.  He knows you didn’t kill Mando, he knows there’s no real reason to be giving you such a hard time about this, and you clench your jaw as he still seems to take his time considering it.  “Tell you what, young lady,” he finally turns back to you.  “Do me the honor of sharing one sip of this fine spotchka with me and I’ll give you four pucks to pass along to Mando.”

Okay.  Okay, you can do that, if he really cares that much.  Karga gestures for the closest droid to come by with a glass for you, but you just grab the bottle in front of him and uncork it without thinking too much, balancing the glowing blue liquid with two hands and diligently taking a small sip of it before setting it down again.  Appearing satisfied with your demonstration of upholding your end of the bargain, Karga grins and reaches into another pocket.

“Four for Mando,” he pushes four pucks across the table, “same rate and return as last time, as promised.”  You nearly deflate in relief as you quickly gather them up and begin dropping them into the snoozing baby’s shield along with the credits, but then Karga reaches back and pulls out another puck, pushing it over to you.  “And one for you.”

You blink at him, frozen in place.

“Lowest level, lowest pay.  Not even a criminal by New Republic standards, just a missing person,” he goes on to say, but then quite suddenly… 

Quite suddenly you’re absolutely fucking horrified.

You don’t want it.  Everything inside you surges up to scream that you do not want that puck.  It’s a waste of time, even if it’s an extra job—it’s too much trouble, too much fuel for such a small reward.  You already know good and well that Din won’t want to bother, getting this extra puck would be considered a detriment to him.

“What if I don’t want it?”  You ask, sounding nervous and vaguely out of breath as you look down at it.

Karga scoffs.  “Of course you don’t.  Nobody wants these, why do you think I’m trying so hard to pawn one off on you?”

Shit.  This is not at all how you expected any of this would go.  You know he’s not really asking, even if his tone and continued courtesy implies it’s only a request.  There’s an expectation attached to this, and it appears you take too long pondering an offer that isn’t actually voluntary.  Karga stares at you and your clear apprehension for just a few seconds more, before finally giving you an ultimatum.  “You said you’re here on his behalf.  You either take all five pucks now or Mando only gets three next time, your choice.”

Oh.  Oh, no.  This is a lose-lose; three pucks means more fuel and less credits, five pucks means more fuel and less credits.  It’s not like you have any real bargaining power here—almost everything he’s done for you today has been a favor of some sort and you’re well aware that things can always get worse.

Still, you take a deep breath and try your best to throw around whatever weight you have left in one final agreement.

“Give me your word you’ll go back to giving him four from now on, no more hassling or hard time constraints and we’ll take it just this once,” you tell him, trying to conjure and put power behind your words even though you’re unsure if they’ll stick.

“Deal,” Karga readily agrees with a smile, reaching his hand across the table.  You have no choice but to meet him in the middle and clasp it, unable to feel anywhere close to good about your performance here.  It was clunky and insecure and even though you just barely succeeded in making the exchange overall, you’re massively disappointed in the specifics.

But then Karga’s eyes quickly flick over your shoulder.

“Ah, Mando!”  He suddenly calls out, and your hand nearly snatches away from his while your body goes rigid.

Oh, this isn’t good, this is not good.  Well, it’s good that he’s here but it also really fucking isn’t.  You don’t even turn your head; you sit completely straight and still while the cantina falls to a hush and heavy footsteps begin to approach behind you.  You fucked up—you fucked up, you didn’t wait long enough and you feel the sharp regret instantly twist in your stomach.  He said he’d be here, why didn’t you trust him?  Your anxiety and stress compounded and spurned you to act too quickly, you made the deal a few fucking seconds before he showed up.

And, as Din eventually comes into your peripheral, taking his time leaning his rifle up against the table, you immediately realize that you should not have worried.  Recovery isn’t even a word in his vocabulary right now—he’s more intimidating than he’s ever been, more powerful and certain and dangerous while he lowers himself into the seat next to you than he’s ever felt to you before.  Everything is so quiet now that he’s here; you feel like even just swallowing against the sudden dryness in your throat turns into an audible gulp.  The man sitting across from you may own this cantina and every material good under its roof, but the one sitting by your side feels like he steals the literal air from the room just by walking inside it.

Yet, in spite of the daunting presence of the Mandalorian, Karga beams and tips his glass at him.  “I believe you’ve arrived just in time for your favorite part of the conversation, friend.  The farewells.”

You stare wide-eyed down at the table as Din leans back into the booth and very slowly extends his arm behind your shoulders, saying nothing at all to him.

The testosterone is radiating from him to the point of near suffocation, you can taste the alpha in the air.  Your heart slams in your chest at the unspoken claim he just made with a subtle movement, and though you’ve never been one for masculine displays, this one weirdly feels… good right now.  You know it’s primitive and crude and you’re not a piece of meat to be fought over, but it doesn’t feel like that at all.  It’s the immediate feeling of security that serves to heat your cheeks, the fact that you’ve been a nervous mess trying to be extra brave this whole interaction and then suddenly you have the backup of an entire army contained within one single suit of armor next to you.

If you weren’t internally panicking at how badly you screwed this shit up, you’d probably be going fucking feral for him right now.

Karga says your name and your gaze snaps to his, feeling like you can’t breathe.  “My associate has collected the plaques, nothing keeps you here any longer.  It was a pleasure doing business with you.”

Still, nobody at the table moves.

After a moment, you carefully glance up and to the side at the sharp, metallic profile of his helmet.  Maker, you can’t explain it—it’s like you feel terrified but not really for yourself, if that makes sense.  You’re upset with yourself for not having enough trust in his word, absolutely, but something in Din’s demeanor tells you that he’s going to be considerably less understanding of how Karga handled this situation than the way you did.

The helmet slowly turns down to look at you, and you bite your lip while carefully placing your hand on his thigh brace under the table, letting him feel your fingers brush against the bend of his knee.

He turns back to Karga after a few seconds, still not saying a single word, until eventually Din’s arm is lifted from behind your shoulders and you feel his leather fingers gently clasp your hand, before he starts to rise from the booth and pull you along next to him.  You both stand, and he silently presses a button on his vambrace without dropping your grip, urging the kid’s shield to follow along behind him.

“Um, goodbye,” you just barely remember to tell Karga as Din begins leading you away, apparently not waiting for the polite farewells he arrived in time for.

“Wait!”  A voice calls out just before you can make your exit, and Din pauses just in time for Karga to extend that damned fifth puck out for you to grab.  Right in fucking front of him.  “Can’t forget this!”

Fuck.  Great.  Thanks.

Blood rushes to your face while you go to reach for it, taking the puck and then placing it in the open shield along with four others in a way that you hope is casual but you know isn’t.  You close the lid on it and then squeeze Din’s hand slightly, but he stays rooted to the spot for a few more seconds, having watched the entire exchange play out.  Though you obviously wouldn’t be able to read his facial expressions even if you could lift your head to look up at him, you can’t will yourself to do so right now.  You’re too disappointed in yourself and nervous—you just stand there silently as he looks back at Karga, staring at your feet and praying he doesn’t do anything brash.

After too many moments of uncertainty, you squeeze his hand again and slowly begin to pull on it.  Without needing much pressure at all, he goes where you go, and you end up being the one to lead Din out of the cantina by the hand still tangled with yours.

*** 

The walk back to the Crest lasts an eternity.

Neither one of you say anything at all to each other the entire way there, and you know he’s not mad at you yet, but you’re worried.  You feel incredibly self-critical right now and it’s really not helping that he seems even quieter and more wound up than usual.  You don’t know if it’s because he already figured out that you just handed him extra work or if it’s because whatever made him late to the cantina also altered his mood, hit a reset button and reminded him of the way he used to be, the armor he’s wearing.  Was there a confrontation, you wonder?  Is he okay?  He seems like he’s… extra Mandalorian right now, there’s not really a better way to describe it.

He doesn’t drop your hand, though.  As you pass through the markets and shanty huts lining the streets, Din holds onto you.  Shoulders tense and strides heavy, but his fingers stay tangled in yours.

Regardless, you keep your mouth shut and eventually the Crest comes into view.  The ramp drops to the ground and the three of you make your way up, and you have enough foresight to carefully drop Din’s hand and lead the baby’s shield over to the unused cot built into the hull walls, closing him in a safe quiet place to sleep and continue building up his strength again.

You turn around to see Din press another button on his vambrace.  He stays with his back to you as the ramp slowly closes, but as soon as it latches up against the hull and locks into place, he nearly whips around and suddenly he’s right in front of you, gloves cupping your face.

“What happened?”  He asks sharply, the helmet looking you up and down.  “Are you alright?  Why did you look so scared?”

You reach up to rest your hands on his, blinking up at him and not knowing what to say.  How are you going to tell him?  He’s gotta waste extra fuel and time on a bullshit quarry because of you, what are you going to say?  You don’t even know if it’s last known location is nearby; he might have to fly to some remote, desolate corner of the galaxy just for a handful of credits because you couldn’t wait a fucking hour for him.

“I, uh…  I-I’m sorry, I just…”  But it’s nearly impossible to form a coherent thought when he’s this close to you and sounding fucking sincere, genuinely concerned about you while you’re stuck worrying about how to break the bad news to him.  “Oh, stars, um…”

“Did Karga fuck with you?”  He asks in that same sharp tone when you don’t finish your thought, but you’re so absorbed in your own conflict that you barely even hear him.  “Because I can go back right now, the cantina is just—”

“Okay wait, please—” You suddenly speak up, “before I tell you, just… please keep in mind that I did save your life two days ago, so…”

“Sweet girl,” Din rumbles slowly, a subtle warning for you to hurry up and spit it out.  His fingers tighten just slightly on your cheeks, still so gentle but needing you to communicate with him right now.

Tell him, you just need to tell him.  If he gets mad, then he gets mad, but at least he’ll know at that point and you won’t just be springing it on him out of nowhere.

“I fucked up,” you breathe out, eyebrows pulling up in the middle as you tighten your own grip on his hands.  “I’m so sorry, I fucked up and you were late and I got nervous and I didn’t wait long enough and I tried to make the exchange like you asked me to but then I had to take a fifth puck and I didn’t want to but Karga threatened to short change you next time around unless I agreed to take an extra one for the lowest pay just this once and I didn’t have any bargaining power and you showed up right after I agreed to the deal and I’m so so sorry—”

You cut yourself off with your own ragged gasp, not having paused once to breathe throughout the entire thing while your expression twisted up with regret more and more the longer he allowed you to speak.

Din stands there in front of you and doesn’t move, hands still attached to your face.

“Okay,” he eventually tells you.  Stunted words, like he’s trying extra hard to find them when yours just fell out of your mouth in a complete mess.  “It’s okay.  You did… good.”

The silence is tense and you’re becoming more and more anxious the longer he takes to speak.  He’s lying for your benefit, he must be.  When he drops his hands from your face and takes a full step back, you take the gesture as symbolic and nearly launch into panic.

“Maker, I’m so sorry I didn’t wait for—”  You start to say, but Din cuts you off.

“Did he make you…”  His back suddenly goes a little straighter, voice finding a quiet edge through the modulator as his fingers subtly twitch at his sides, “…Uncomfortable?”

You pull back at the sudden change in subject and furrow your eyebrows.

“Who, Karga?”  You have to think about it.  Did he make you uncomfortable, or were you just uncomfortable already?  You might’ve just been scared because you were making it scarier than it really was, you can admit that’s a valid possibility.  “Um… no?  I don’t know, not… not really, I don’t think.”

“No?”  He asks, taking a small step forward.  “You don’t know?  Or not really… you don’t think?”

You know you can only see the blade of his visor, but something makes you feel like you’re looking right in his eyes.  You even go back and forth between where you’re pretty confident each one is, trying to read his intentions right now.  It’s like he’s purposefully trying to keep space between you even though he looks like he wants to move closer, fisting his hands at his sides when he looks like he wants to touch you.

“No, he just… lowballed me towards the end of it and I got intimidated, but I’m also not…”  Your expression narrows in concentration while you try to find the words to explain yourself, wanting to be as honest as possible with him.  “I don’t know, I’m not like you.  I’m not that strong, but I’m trying to get better.  I think he was probably just being normal.  He did offer me alcohol a bunch, but I’m pretty sure he also did that last time, so—”

“And I didn’t like it the last time he did it,” Din says quietly, taking another small step forward.

You blink up at him, completely dumb.  This is what’s bothering him?  Is he really not upset with you at all for giving him more work?  It’s like the major fuckup on your behalf just went in one side of the helmet and out the other, he barely even acknowledged it other than the role Karga played.  He said it’s okay and you did good, which are like… five of the most common words in Galactic Basic, a Wookiee could probably find a way to say them.  How are you supposed to take that?  Were you just overthinking this whole thing from the very beginning?  You know anxiety tends to be irrational by definition, but has none of your panic from the past hour been justified whatsoever?

“Why were you so late?”  You ask him, but it’s not accusatory in the slightest.  It’s… concerned, worried about his well-being without having a real reason.  He’s clearly more than fine right now, he’s like a hurricane enclosed in metal and holding still in front of you.  Too much potential energy just waiting for a reason to be released, too much tension held tight and ready to snap.

“I’m sorry.”  He quickly reaches out to grab your hand and squeeze it, before dropping it just as quickly.  Fucking lightning quick, you’ll never understand how he can be so damn quick with all that extra weight strapped to him.  “It took longer than I thought it would and she’s not really someone you can rush.”  His response, ironically, feels very rushed, like he’s trying to address the tangent but also keep things on track, but something in the answer he gives catches your direct attention.  “Did he flirt with you?”

“Who is she and what can’t be rushed?”  You blurt at the same time, not even taking a split second to think about it.

Din stops short at the blunt question, staring at you in a silence that feels like it’s vaguely taken aback.

After a few moments of that… strangeness, of the two of you realizing that you’re both feeling slightly possessive over each other for absolutely no reason whatsoever, you start to feel… warm.  In another weirdly stupid, primitive way.  You know that letting those kinds of thoughts have their day in a relationship isn’t a good thing, but you can’t explain it.  Some deep-seated, prehistoric instinct inside you just goes fucking nuts whenever he gets in either provider or protector mode.  Now you understand exactly why he wanted to get you alone after you admitted to being jealous once before.  You totally fucking get it, you’re right there with him right now.  He hasn’t said anything, but you think he feels it, too.

“She makes things,” Din finally answers you, careful with his words and somehow managing to address your question while also sidestepping it, leaving you with only the smallest bit of information to go off of.  “Did he flirt with you?”

“I don’t know,” you tell him honestly.  “Maybe.  He could’ve just been trying to be friendly.  What did she make for you?”

“She made it for you,” he responds, again not really answering the question but continuing to juggle two separate conversations for your benefit.  “Did he scare you?”

“For me?”  You ask, eyebrows shooting upwards.  Provider, that stupid cavewoman DNA whispers to your lower body, making your voice go a little breathless.  “You asked her to make something for me?”

“Did he scare you?”  Din repeats sternly, grabbing your hand and giving it a firm squeeze.  “Because I can go back, I swear—”

Protector, it whispers this time, and your knees nearly buckle.

“Everything is scary when I don’t know where you are,” you admit to him, knowing it’s the truth regardless of how self-deprecating it sounds.  The only times you’ve ever truly been brave was because of him or the kid.  Stabbing a Corellian and then immediately flying the Crest out to him afterwards, walking through a pitch black forest believing a dangerous criminal was hiding in it, dragging a dead body through snow and shoving it into carbonite, standing up for yourself and pushing a deal through when odds were stacked against you.  Though it’s nothing to him, it’s nothing, it’s leaps for you.  You’re slowly learning to find a backbone, and he’s the one inspiring it.

Din holds there for a moment, unmoving with his hand still clutching yours.  You can’t get a read on him but you know how you feel right now.  Achy.  Hot.  Needy.  Wanting him to come closer.

“Will you do something for me?”  He asks you after a prolonged silence.  His voice is quiet, but… incredibly restrained.  Controlled chaos—his body is rigid and he’s flexing muscles that aren’t necessary for just standing, feeling like a sprinter holding still on the starting blocks.

“Of course,” you breathe out.

Din lets go of your hand and tilts his helmet over at the corner of the hull behind you.  “Go turn around and face that wall.”

You freeze, immediately recognizing the undertone in his voice.  Heat ladles deep into the pit of your tummy, sends warmth pooling downwards.  He wants to do this here?  Right now?

“We’re—” you look around the enclosed hull, “Mando, we’re not in hyperspace, we haven’t even left the surface yet…”

He looks around too, taking a second to blankly take in his stagnant surroundings like he had absolutely fucking no idea, before turning back to you and not saying a word.  Maker, everything below your waist is already stirring, twisting hot and deep inside, but you’re trying to be the voice of reason for a second.

“What if somebody hears us?”  You whisper, and Din cocks his head to the other side.

“I can help you stay quiet,” he murmurs, and… fuck.  You don’t know what it means, but you immediately imagine his hand held tight over your mouth while he takes some of this stress out on you and you already feel yourself wilting at the thought.  Okay.

“Okay,” you breathe without needing anything else at all, before spinning around and standing exactly where he told you to.  It’s just a corner near the back of the hull, nothing else here to look at besides two metal panels meeting at a right angle, but that’s admittedly what makes your heart start beating quicker.  You can’t see him come up behind you but you can feel it.  Slow, measured, but so restrained.

But then he stops almost immediately, before the back of your shirt is suddenly being yanked upwards and you remember at the very last second.

Din carefully grips his blaster and then eases it out of your waistband, the metal sliding warm along your skin from pressing against it for so long.  You never told him you took it with you, and he’s so fucking quiet behind you.  You have no idea how he’s reacting to that piece of information you originally didn’t think twice about.

“Do you like carrying my gun around?”  Din’s voice murmurs soft through the modulator to you, but then the blaster is tossed uselessly to the side, skittering loudly across the floor of the hull.

“Yes,” you reply, beginning to shyly turn your head back to look at him, hoping to gauge his response.

“Don’t turn around,” he quickly interrupts you, pushing your shoulder back into position and keeping you facing the corner.  You blink at the metal walls in a bit of a daze but follow instructions regardless, feeling your heart pound at the sudden display of dominance from him.  He has a very valid reason for it and you don’t realize what it is until a few seconds later, but even if he didn’t and he was just telling you what to do for the fun of it… you’d still like it.

But then his helmet is carefully being lowered over your head and you shudder as your vision is replaced with a familiar black abyss.  Fuck, his helmet, why does he like it so much when you wear this?  Admittedly, you don’t have much time to contemplate—as soon as it’s fitted and secure, he spins you around and you have to just do your best to maintain your balance, not having any visual to help.

“Can you hear me?”  Din asks, and your clothes start to be ripped off of you.  Your shoulders tip sideways with how quick he is about it, feeling him pull the fabric off and hearing the soft sound it makes landing on the floor.

“Yes,” you tell him, but he doesn’t respond, continuing to strip you completely naked in the hull.  Once your upper body is bare and he’s yanking your pants and underwear down your legs, you try saying it again as you step out of them, louder for him this time.

“I can’t hear you,” his voice grunts after a moment.  You know he’s in front of you but you can’t really tell where, now that he’s not touching you.  “Scream.”

You take a second, not having hard evidence anymore but still very well aware that you’re parked close to a marketplace on Nevarro and multiple people are nearby while you’re wearing his helmet.  This is dangerous for him, and not sure if you should, but then an arm is wrapping around your back and a large leather palm rests directly over your chest.  Din repeats his last word very slowly and clearly for you, waiting to feel it under his hands.

Your sternum lifts while it rises with your deep breath and then collapses as you diligently yell as loud as you can into the helmet, feeling like you might deafen yourself with the trapped sound.

“Good,” he growls, suddenly spinning you around and pushing you back into the metal paneling.  “I can’t hear you, be as loud as you need.  Hit me or something, put up a fight if you want me to stop, alright?”

Arousal rockets through you and you let out a moan already, taking advantage of the noise suppression and beyond turned on at this point.  You feel like you’re buzzing with it, lit up with excitement and wondering with bated breath what he’s planning to do to you.

“Alright?”  Comes his voice from behind you once more, and you quickly jerk the heavy helmet in a nod for him.  You can put up a fight and you know he’ll stop, you don’t have any problem with that and the fact that he specifically made sure to wait until he knew you understood him makes you start to pant inside the hollow beskar.

But then you feel him flick a small switch at the base of the helmet and then everything abruptly cuts out and goes dead silent.

Nothing.  Nothing.  You’re standing in a pitch black room where no other sound exists besides your own labored breathing.  Just like the waterfall on Naboo, but you can’t speak this time.  Temporarily making you blind, deaf, and putting a proverbial gag over your mouth all with one powerful piece of armor.

You shudder and he kicks your legs apart before you can do much else, yanking your hips back while you just try your best to cling to the wall for stability.  You don’t know what he’s going to do, you’re completely isolated in here and the only way you can even tell he dropped to his knees is the hot glide of his tongue through your pussy from behind.

Oh fuck—you arch into position as best you can while hands wrap around your ankles to pull them apart, trying to make the angle better.  His tongue licks softly over your clit and each time is like an electric shock jolting through your body, making you twitch back and up for him, stretching and begging him to do it again.  You can’t see anything right now so your mind readily imagines the visuals instead, providing you with a third party view.  Din, fully clothed and face shielded by your thighs, eating you out from behind while you brace yourself against the wall, completely naked and at his mercy, head tilted down from the weight of his helmet and living for the moments he decides to drag his tongue across your clit.

Without warning, a sudden burst of sensation ripples along your backside and causes you to lift the beskar in surprise, but without being able to hear anything, it takes you a second to figure out that he just smacked your ass.  The realization comes more or less at the exact time he decides to flatten his tongue and follow the curve of you back and up.

You gasp into the pitch black and there’s a moment where you just hold utterly still for him, experiencing and processing the sensation for the very first time.  His mouth is soft and warm as he tastes you here, his fingers digging into the swell of your cheeks to spread you open.  You’re glad your face is hidden so he can’t see the shock in your expression, the way your mouth drops and your eyes close as you let him explore you this way.

His gloved hands leave you for just a moment while he continues gliding his tongue against you, along every single bit of skin he can reach, and then you feel a bare hand reach up between your legs and begin to rub slow circles around your clit.  His other arm pushes against your lower back and you’re forced into the corner even more, your naked breasts pressing hard against cool metal and feeling his hot mouth and strong fingers work you closer to the edge from behind.

You’re panting into the helmet, your hips arching back to feel that stimulation on your clit better, and as his fingers move over it slow and strong, you feel a soft vibration against your skin and you realize he’s moaning into you.  The knowledge sparks a different kind of heat through you and makes you suddenly go still and tense right here.  If he stays just like this for even just a few more seconds, you’re going to cum.

“Din, I’m gonna cum,” your voice warbles inside the enclosed steel—just as his touch decides to abandon your body.  You groan loudly in distress, completely alone without his hands or mouth on you anymore, but all he likely hears is the silence of the hull and the way your palm smacks against the wall with it.  You were so close, everything feels like it’s pulled up so tight and painful and it hurts—

A hand clutches your hip and then a thick cock is suddenly pushing up against your soaking wet entrance, going to alleviate that twisting discomfort.  Your eyes roll back and your whole body goes limp as he slowly eases forward and breaks you open, fitting himself deep inside where you love to feel him most.  Your hands claw down the walls with a swell of bliss as he pulls out and then starts thrusting—and fuck, you love this.  You love the way he’s trapping you up against the corner and making you see stars at the same time, the way he’s supporting your weight but crushing down into you, too.  It makes you go boneless and want to riot simultaneously, groaning loud into the quiet abyss as he gives you what you both desperately needed.

One of his hands sinks down between your legs to play with your clit again, while a slick finger presses up against your ass and you gasp as he slowly penetrates you there, too.  Din’s hips work steady and powerful behind you, pushing you into the wall with every desperate thrust, using the arm shoved between your legs to support you as well as stimulate, and you just feel yourself move into a different place.  You don’t have a name for it but it feels like hyperspace.  Silence so loud it feels suppressing, faster than anything light can touch, nowhere and everywhere, hurtling towards something you can’t see but know lies in the distance.  You can tell he’s still fucking the tension out of his body, you can feel him working another wet finger inside you and stretching the virgin muscles back there, but every sensation begins to slowly blur together in a wicked uprising of ecstasy.

You don’t know where you are anymore, just that his fingers keep rubbing your clit and you think he's trying to ease a third into you when your destination abruptly arrives.

You nearly collapse when you cum, contracting so hard around his cock and fingers that you cry out unexpectedly—and because of the helmet, you think it’s just as unexpected for him.  He stops moving—everything stops moving besides you.  Your hips stutter backwards into his stationary body, dragging your clit back and forth against the tips of his unmoving fingers and fucking him as best you can.  It shatters white hot and goes straight through to your soul, wringing pleasure and wetness between your legs in waves.

Your knees are knocking against each other when Din pulls out, his cock still deliciously hard and now soaking wet with your cum, and then they just suddenly decide to give up without warning.  You don’t fall necessarily, but you do slowly slide down the wall like a slug and Din follows you to the floor instead of holding you up any longer.  His sternum moves quick and heavy against your back as he breathes and then suddenly the same switch at the base of his helmet is flicked, and sound bursts into existence all at once.

He’s panting.  Harsh breaths behind you that match the rapid pace of his chest, and the ambient noise of the rest of the hull.

“Can you hear me?”  He gasps, sounding fucking wrecked, and you nod the helmet against the wall while gravity and exhaustion and his beskar chestplate squishes you into it.  “P-Put up a fight if you want me t-to stop, p-please—” he rasps out, almost the entire thing air and so close to cumming, and then his knees lift just slightly and the blunt head of his cock presses against your other entrance.

And, if you wanted, you absolutely could.  He’s got you boxed into the corner but he’s not constricting your movements, he’s given you every ability to struggle.  You could easily throw an elbow back against his side, push against the wall to shove him away, smack at his arms or even just flail against his body in panic—you could do one or all of those things to signal him to stop and you know he’d do it immediately, he’s asking you to.  You could struggle.  If you wanted.

Instead, you just grab hold of the beskar strapped to his thigh and drop the helmet to your chest, nearly vibrating with the thrill and preparing yourself for it.  You know he’s gotta be inches away from orgasm, you know from the tone of his voice that he’s right there on the edge and it’s not like it’s going to last a long time.  Thanks to him, you also feel like you’re just as slick and wet back there as you are between your legs, stretched open by his fingers while you came all over him.  You want nothing more than to give this to him, to let him be the only person in the universe that knows how you feel this way.

When you pointedly do not put up a fight and even go so far as to arch your lower back for him in presentation, Din curses and his fingers begin jerking back and forth over your sensitive clit once more.  It might normally be too much for you, but your body is sparking with lust and quickly acclimates to the stimulation, learning to burn and ache for it, too.  Fuck, it feels so good, you tense and melt into it at the same time, letting him ease you back up to that peak once more.

He pushes up against the tight ring of skin and you can’t fucking explain it—his fingers keep rubbing your clit and he’s slowly pushing into your ass and—

“I—I think I’m—” you suddenly lift the helmet to gasp out in surprise, forgetting he can’t hear you, “ngh—D-Din, I think I’m gonna c—”

He’s just barely able to breach the tight entrance and fit the head inside before he freezes—and even though everything happens consecutively, it’s all so rapid that it feels simultaneous.

Your hips could go forward, but they don’t.  Your body decides to send you backwards into him, pushing him inside nearly halfway all at once as your muscles lock down and just fucking strangle his cock.  Your piercing scream gets trapped in the silence of his helmet as you cum once more—painfully, madly and with every fucking part of you for him.  There’s maybe one or two mind shattering pulses of ecstasy before the rest of your body catches up and starts convulsing, and by then Din is already gasping and fumbling behind you, suddenly realizing what’s happening without hearing the sound of your ragged warnings and then ripping himself away just in time.

He punches out your name when he cums like you just fucking snapped him in half—his body hunches and the beskar digs hard into your back as warmth starts splattering along your skin.  You crumple while he shoves his hips up against your spine, riding and working the orgasm out of himself while yours just fucking obliterates you.  You think you whine his name—or a curse word or something, but it gets strained and your lungs lose air every time his powerful armored body humps you into the wall of his ship.

Finally he eases up and you just lay there and listen to the ringing in your ears.  Blissfully empty, still pulsing from cumming so hard and feeling like your bones just decided to stop existing and the rest of you was okay with it since you were already on the floor anyways.  You feel him shudder and twitch behind you, letting go of that last bit of tension until he too allows gravity to slouch his heavy torso over onto you.

You both stay like that for a while, until your eyes close and your everything below your waist goes numb.  Eventually you feel him shift and your head bobbles as the helmet is slowly removed, but a large palm cradles your chin to stop your face from slamming into the wall in exhaustion once it’s off.  You just continue to melt into the paneling like you’re nothing more than goo of a human being while he trades it back to its rightful place on his shoulders and tucks his cock back into his pants, before wrapping his arms around you and lifting you both up.  The floor and metal walls, once feeling like you and them were one, suddenly decide to disappear entirely as you’re hauled up into Din’s powerful arms.

He slowly carries your naked, fucked senseless body over to the fresher, and you squint your eyes open over his shoulder to see… he’s still got his rifle slung around his back while his cum is dripping down yours.  Not a single thing on him is out of place and you’re, well… a mess is a word that works.  Limp and doll-like, carried like your weight is practically nothing to him after years of having the densest armor known to the galaxy strapped to his body.

Setting you down is a mess, too.  At some point you think he just gives up and decides to return you to your humble floor abode with a patience and care unexpected from someone who just defiled you so thoroughly.  You hear the fresher door open and the faucet squeak, before he turns back around and crouches to your level.

“Stay here,” Din tells you lowly, his modulated voice coming gentle and warm through the sounds of water raining down against metal.  You don’t feel his touch directly, but your hair moves away from your face.  “I’ll be right back, okay—just stay here.”

Can do.  Easy.  He waits until you murmur a soft mhm to him before he leaves the tiny compartment, and then you soon hear his heavy footsteps ascending the ladder to the cockpit.

***

You don’t think you fall asleep, but the powering up of the Crest’s thrusters make you realize your eyes were closed.  Opening them barely qualifies as a squint though; you look around to see steam slowly filling the fresher, the water already running hot and welcoming in the small room.

You know you need to shower but you’re so fucking exhausted, you feel like you can’t even move your body.  You also know you can just do the same exact thing in there as you’re doing in here, you just need to muster up the energy necessary to get inside it and then fall back asleep.  He set you down in the small little space outside the shower door and then got everything set up for you, you can at least stand up and take a few steps.

Unfortunately, you might pick just about the worst time possible to plant your hands on the ground and work to struggle upright on all fours like a newborn animal.  The steady rise through Nevarro’s atmosphere pushes gravity down harder than you’re expecting—is he trying to fly quickly or are you just that dead-limbed?—and then of course, by the time you do manage to fight it and successfully get on two wobbly legs to hold yourself up, the subtle shift of the hyperdrive kicking in nearly knocks you back down again.  You stumble and grab the walls, bracing yourself against them and looking down at your knees in exasperation.  Come on, work.  Move forward.  Come on.

You’re glad he’s not here to witness this monstrosity, honestly.  Just opening the door and taking a few steps into the fresher is a feat—while you’re not in any pain and he didn’t leave any marks on you, you just feel… steamrolled.  Ran over by a truck.  Only having the strength to keep your feet beneath you as you finally move under the water and close the door behind you.

Oh, but this is wonderful.  This was such a good idea, he’s so fucking smart.  The shower falls warm and lovely against your body, wetting your hair and immediately heating you down to your bones.  You don’t move really at all—you kinda just stand there and slouch, closing your eyes against the spray and slowly breathing the mist into your lungs.  It feels so nice—not really restorative even though you like that word, it would imply the water provides you with any energy whatsoever.  It just feels like a comfort, a relief and sedative for your already wildly fatigued body.

You haven’t been in here for more than a minute or two when knuckles tap gently against the metal walls of the fresher, before the natural bass of Din’s unmodulated voice murmurs from somewhere beyond it.  “Hey.  Keep your eyes closed.”

How did he know?  You figured you’d be way ahead of him.  You’re standing but slumped over, wanting nothing more than to just say fuck gravity and pass out right here.  The walls are too cold to lean against now that you’re all toasty from the heat and steam, so you’re just unconsciously swaying on your feet, trying to balance the precedence of sleeping versus not falling over.  You don’t even comprehend the sudden flip of the light switch overhead beyond the fact that it makes it easier to snooze without being so bright behind your eyelids.

The door eventually opens at the very same time you realize you never answered him, but you just commit to the silence at this point.  It’s easy, you like it.  Soon you feel warm hands touch your shoulders, slowly spinning you around while you follow and hang your head, your neck not wanting to support it any longer, and then suddenly a bare chest is pressing up against you and powerful arms are wrapping around your body, and you can just lean all of your weight into him while your head rests right here on his shoulder.

He holds you without moving for a long time, keeping you just like this—your ear pressed against his skin while water rains hot and comfortable down your back.  Knowing you’re facing one of the walls, you crack your heavy lids just the slightest bit and finally notice the tiny compartment is dim and shrouded—the only light source is a single one coming from somewhere in the hull beyond the partially closed doorway.  It’s dark and quiet and you can barely see anything besides the metallic fresher walls and unfocused droplets chasing each other down Din’s naked skin.  Just you and him, flowing water with a sheet metal backdrop.

You think you spend an eternity like that and yet you still find yourself wanting another when he finally shifts, reaching over you to grab a bar of his generic soap but making sure to use the arm whose shoulder you’re not currently resting against.

It glides slow and hypnotic down your back, dragging up over your sides and then back down the curve of your spine.  He’s so sturdy and he doesn’t say a word while he does it, lathering it along your body and rubbing it into your skin.  His bar of soap, not yours.  They started out almost the same since you picked them up at the same vendor, but there’s just a slightly bolder and sharper scent to his that you recognize.  How the bar is far larger than yours because of how often he’s gone away.

Your eyes droop and you feel the water trail over your lips, dripping down your chin and pooling the dip of his collarbone.  The only other time you two shared this fresher was terrifying and he’s rewriting the memories right now, whether consciously or not.  Hot water, not freezing cold.  Standing upright and supporting you.  Heart beating strong under your ear, taking care of you this time until you can care for yourself.

You… you just worry so much more now, it’s becoming an issue.  You didn’t realize how much until you nearly lost him, and you know in your heart that he’s just going to go away again.  Throw himself into more danger, tempt death as always, risk his life for mere credits while all you can provide in return is this.  Skin to skin contact.  Someone to hold.  Someone who knows him, who knows the way he struggles between reaching out for a softness that life has always denied him and clinging to what is rough and familiar.  Someone to remind him that there’s still gentle and forgiving things in this galaxy that won’t disappear when he’s gone, and that he can always come home to them, as long as he can manage to find his way back.

Something sad tugs hard at your chest.  You want to tell him not to leave.  Again, again—you want nothing more than to beg him to stay.  You don’t have anything better to offer instead; if he asked you how it would work, how you imagine your lives would go if he wasn’t hunting quarry on a constant timetable, you’d be hard-pressed.  You don’t know.  But you know what you want to say, because it’s two words you shouldn’t say but always find yourself needing to say regardless.  

Don’t go.

But, instead of two words, you give him three.

Instead of asking him not to leave you again… in the haze and comfort of his arms, you think you just tell him that you love him.

And… you also don’t think the water falling down on the two of you is loud enough to cover it up this time.

It’s not ideal, you know.  You know.  From his point of view, he just got finished releasing all sorts of pent up tension on you, overwhelming your body with the strength and power of his in a way that normal people wouldn’t take as an expression of affection.  But you know him.  You know that he finds it much easier to express the things he feels in a physical way, which is why there’s a bar of soap against your back right now instead of his voice in your ear, telling you all the things you’ve always wanted to hear from him in return.  You know that sex is how this all began and it’s likely just the closest link between roughness and sweetness that he can really put his hands on, something that can fit him equally as well as it fits you.  Love is different, it’s thrilling and scary.  Even to someone like him, who lives everyday of his life surrounded by thrilling and scary things, who’s seen more bloodshed and suffering and pain than you can ever even imagine, you know that it’s scary.

Din doesn’t say anything back to your confession, and truthfully, not a single part of you was expecting him to.  It wasn’t said so he could say it back.  It just is.  Some things don’t need explanations, they just are.  You’re okay with that.

But, you eventually come to realize that he always waits until you’re just on the very edges of sleep, holding out until your blurry vision and fading consciousness can trick you into thinking you only imagined it.  You won’t ever figure out if it’s purposeful or if he just needs that long to find what he wants to say.

Another soft, lilting sentence in a language you wouldn’t be able to translate, even if you could pick out a single word.  It sounds so beautiful though, regardless of how mysterious and far away its meaning feels.  There’s something hidden underneath.  You ache to know what it is.

But you’re so tired.  You just whine softly against his shoulder, not being able to transform the thoughts into sentences anymore but hoping he understands regardless.  He can’t just resort to bearing his soul in Mando’a all the time now, especially when you’re always on the verge of sleep when he chooses to do so.

But at some point, his arms subtly tighten around you and the pressure is one of the only things that’s keeping you awake anymore.

“I won’t ever ask you to,” he says to you, the quietness of his baritone getting lost in the gentle spray and your looming slumber.  “I’m…  not allowed to ask.  I can’t.”

Your expression twitches just the slightest bit against his shoulder in confusion, wondering distantly what word or sentence you must’ve missed from before that would make him make sense.  Was that a translation?  Or a continuation?

But then your wet hair is slowly moved away from your nape and his head tilts down, face pressing into your neck and voice lowering until it’s nothing more than a breath against your skin, nothing more than a confession that he couldn’t ever say out loud with his full chest.  It’s a secret he only ever wants you to know, a truth he’s choosing to admit to even though you could ruin him with it.  You have no idea how much, you won’t know for a long time just how much power he’s giving you by telling you this one very simple thing.

“But whenever you want to look,” Din finally whispers, the only version of I love you too that a Mandalorian knows.  “You can.”

[omgreally]

I’ve been reading mandos intergalactic taxi service and UGH✨💕 the pining and fluff with the intimacy smut is just chefs kiss your writing style is amazing🤌🏽✨ I’ve been in such a Din mood lately, could your write like a confession drabble where the reader and din are pining for each other and din is dropping hints but the reader is like really not a hint taker lol pretty please with a cherry on top 😭💕 smut or fluff your choice I know you’d write it so well!!

BLESS YOUR HEART @liltangerineart and thank you! Next chapter of Taxi Service should be up tomorrow I hope!

In the meantime I hope you like this? Not a confession as such and more, uh, top!Mando than I intended, but he is bad at dropping hints. I like to think he would be very...straightforward 😎

Din Djarin/F!Reader - E - 1624 words - Oblivious!Reader, Infatuated!Din, frustrated yearning, angst and, of course, smut.

It's getting ridiculous.

He is a Mandalorian, one of the most fabled, the most feared warriors in the galaxy. Rumour and danger follow him as he charts a path through the galaxy that blazes bright, leaving behind myth and legend - people whispering things like 'I heard he killed a whole troop with his hands tied' and 'I heard he was eight feet tall, made of steel'.

He is a Mandalorian, who has never had to rely on anybody but himself - and yet here he is, sweating beneath his cowl whenever you brush too close, trying too hard to inhale the scent of you through his helmet's filters, memorizing the sound of your laugh.

It's like he's a foundling again - uncertain, insecure, nervous. And they’re not butterflies in the pit of his stomach - they’re bullets from an ancient slugthrower weapon, and he can taste metal at the back of his tongue whenever he tries to talk to you.

“Do you have someone, back home?” A clumsy overture, as obvious as it is stupid; Din winces beneath the helm but you don’t seem to notice - you just shake your head and shrug.

“No. Just me. I wouldn’t have left otherwise.” Loyal, he thinks, and the bullets in his stomach sting just that little bit harder.

He tries asking you more about yourself. How you became a bounty hunter. How many weapons you’ve handled. The different kinds of ships you’ve flown. Places you’ve been. But you never give up anything truly personal about yourself - you’re a cypher.

Maybe that’s why the Mandalorian finds himself strangely drawn to you.

He doesn’t know how to navigate this - not really. He has no experience with this kind of thing. It’s always been about the next quarry, the next job, and then it was about the kid, and now…

And now he’s stuck.

He wants to hit something, break something, feel the impact of his fists against flesh and bone. He settles for balling them up whenever you’re around, biting his tongue, and waiting til later to jerk himself off in pathetic, clench-jawed silence in the refresher.

“You slept late,” you point out the next morning as he emerges, stiff in more than one way, from his bunk.

“Couldn’t sleep last night,” he says, and he’s so tired, so frustrated that he adds, gruffly: “Bed was too empty.”

“Probably need more pillows,” you muse as you wander off to the kitchenette. “Cup of caf?”

“Extra strong,” he grunts as he leans a shoulder to the wall, and you’re oblivious to his glower.

“Coming right up.” A minute later, you press a mug into his hand. “I’ll leave you to it. No need to go hide, I’ll go find a bulkhead to look at while you take your helmet off.”

You grin at him, and he stares at you. You’re just about to turn away when he reaches up, and you go still, your smile slackening in shock as he thumbs the release latch under his chin.

The helm’s pneumatic seal hisses as it lifts, just enough so he can get the rim of his mug up and to his lips. He takes a long, slow pull, and while his vision is eclipsed by the rim of the helmet at the moment, he knows you haven’t left.

As he expects, you’re still there - staring at him as he lowers his helm back into place. Your mouth is even slightly open - lips parted - and he watches the dart of your tongue as you wet them before swallowing hard.

“I’m just...I’m just gonna,” you say, abortingly, and start to back away. You jump as your shoulder hits the hatchway. Din watches as you turn, hesitate, then hurry away, your shoulders squared defensively as if you can feel the force of his gaze on your back.

Alone, the taste of caf hot and bitter on his tongue, Din Djarin grins.

After that, he starts to notice. He starts to notice how tense you are when he’s close.

At first he’s not sure - but then, once, he deliberately brushes your waist as he moves past you in the cockpit to take the pilot’s seat, and you’re still standing there, frozen, when he glances back at you. You brush it off, but it happens again when you bump into him coming out of the fresher. When he reaches over your head in the kitchenette to fetch a ration bar from a compartment. When you lean over his shoulder to point out the coordinates to a refueling station. When he catches you yawning, falling asleep in the passenger’s seat.

“I’m going to hit my bunk,” you say, rising to your feet, your arms stretched above your head. Din turns slowly, and he catches the glimpse of a sliver of flesh as your shirt rides up. The words escape him before he’s even conscious of their existence.

“Want some company?”

Dank farrik, he’s been dropping hints and touches for ages - and he knows you’re affected by his presence, he’s sure of it now. They might be closer to butterflies for you, but his bullets are bouncing around in his gut right now.

“What?” you ask, half-laughing - as if it’s all some grand joke. “You gotta stop with the innuendo, Mando. I might get the wrong idea.”

“And if it’s not innuendo?” He’s flicked the ship to auto-pilot - on his feet - looming towards you. You’re caught in the hatchway, unable to step backwards to fall down the ladder, unwilling to turn your back. "If you've got the right idea?"

“What?” you repeat - licking your lips again. Your eyes are flicking back and forth from his visor to his hands. It’s almost like you're expecting a fight.

“I want to fuck you.”

The words are matter-of-fact but delivered in a low baritone, a gravelly rasp that lifts the hairs on the back of your neck. You stop breathing for a second - he can see it - and your leg twitches, just half a step backward - but then you swing it forward again, swaying towards him. Like he has you in his gravitational pull.

It’s all Din needs. He closes the distance between you, his gloved hands closing around your biceps, the leather worn and warm through your shirt.

He says your name, once, in a digital growl that curls your toes in your boots. And then it’s like an explosion - it all happens so quickly; there are hands and clothes everywhere and then on the deck, and in the aftermath you are in the Mandalorian’s arms, naked, your legs around his waist as he presses you up against the bulkhead.

His chestplate hits the deck - his flak jacket lifted above his head when you let him stop touching you long enough. You barely have time to appreciate the feel of his naked hands on your skin, cupping your breasts in his broad, smooth palms, thumbing your nipples all-too-briefly before he’s sliding down the zipper of his flight suit and baring a V of muscled flesh all the way to his groin.

“Mando,” you gasp as he frees his cock, as he maneuvers the throbbing, purpled head to drag through your slit. He finds you open and wet, lips parted for him, and he groans as he nudges against your fluttering hole. He doesn't hesitate.

He pushes in slow, for he’s a lot to take, thick and hard and the stretch is almost too much. You whine, your voice high and tight in your throat, and he soothes you with soft little noises and praise that makes you feel light-headed.

“Shhh, that’s it,” “You’re so fucking tight-” “Made to take my cock, mesh’la" and other words you don’t recognize. Eventually, he’s all the way inside you, his pelvis flush to yours, the scratch of hair at his pubic bone pressing into your mound.

You pant in his arms, eyes squeezed shut, a thin resin of sweat risen on your brow. “Move,” you order through clenched teeth, and finally you open your eyes to meet his visor and demand, “Fuck me, Mando.”

And he does - withdrawing his hips from the welcoming cradle of yours, his cock dragging back through you, and you can feel every ridge and vein before he’s spearing back in, jarring your back against the bulkhead. It’s a shock right through your system, and you can feel adrenaline flooding your veins, your blood pumping faster like you’re fighting for your life. You might as well be, for he does it again, and again, and soon he’s setting a punishing pace that hits against something soft and devastating deep inside you.

Your orgasm hits you like a blow you fail to dodge - winding you, knocking the air from your lungs - and for a moment all that matters is the blinding flash of pleasure through your nerves, the rolling wave that makes your cunt flutter in rippling spasms around the pulsing rod of his cock. He pins your hips with another vicious rut of his hips and then he’s coming, too, releasing into the impossible grip of your body, groaning with every spurt of spend he fills you with.

“Fuck,” Din summarizes, once you both can catch your breath - once your legs start to loosen, jelly-weak as he pulls out gently, lowering your feet back to the ground. He’s suddenly nervous - worried he’s fucked this up, done the wrong thing, lost patience and paid for it with your scorn.

But your smile is brilliant as you beam up at him - your face radiant - flushed and sweaty. You are beautiful.

“Next time, don't waste time dropping hints,” you tell him, and then you reassure him with a laugh, and the wonderful feeling of your arms around his neck.

For a while, he just holds you close. And for a while, the bullets in his stomach are gone.

[rxspbrrry]

hello :D your writing is amazing!! id like to request clotted cream cookie x reader rivals to lovers.. like both of them are just constantly bickering and trying to be better than the other and both of them could be from different republics as well

e2l anon knows their shit 😔

notes ; clotted cream cookie x gn reader, fluff heeeheeeeee, short fic, mc is a representative from the dark cacao kingdom, spoilers for cookie odyssey, ‘swordsman’ is used in a gender neutral way, e2l plot is so overused but always hits so good when written well but i don’t know if i did this genre justice o(-( summary ; the consul of the creme republic likes to get on your nerves.

a/n: received another request that could work well as a pt 2 to this so this will kind of like be a mini series!!!!!!!!!!!

you regret volunteering yourself when your king asked someone to run an errand for him.

in your defense, king dark cacao cookie did not specify what the errand was. you were certain he had purposefully omitted the consul’s name when he asked one of you to deliver a letter to someone important, and the only reason why he omitted clotted cream cookie’s name was because of a certain event that happened just a day ago.

maybe it was a little too petty to hold a grudge against the creme republic’s consul for enraging your king and attempting to steal his soul jam. maybe it wasn’t petty after all and this hatred towards the consul was deserved. still, nothing changed the fact that you were fooled by your own king to deliver a letter to the subject of your hatred.

okay, maybe you weren’t as petty as your king, for refusing to interact with clotted cream cookie because of something that happened twenty hours ago.

the constant grumbling from you did nothing to hide your nerves as you trudged towards the direction of clotted cream cookie’s office. you respected and adored your king to bits, but just this once, couldn’t he put his bitterness and pride aside to deliver the letter himself so you wouldn’t have to do it? it wasn’t that you were lazy, you just didn’t want to look at the face of the one who upset your king yesterday, and no, this was not you being hypocritical, you just wish you didn’t have to—

“ah, is someone outside? please, come in.” you hadn’t realised that you had already knocked the door in the midst of your internal lament. taking deep breaths, you halfheartedly convince yourself that nothing will go wrong in this short one minute interaction.

you swing the door open and are immediately greeted with the sight of clotted cream’s smirk. you fake a smile in return, all while screaming at him from inside your mind.

today is a good day to bury yourself alive in thick dark chocolate snow.

“if it isn’t king dark cacao’s beloved head swordsman,” if the consul noticed your forced smile, he didn’t comment anything about it. “my, what brings you here, my dear?”

“greetings to the consul of the creme republic,” you bow, movements incredibly stiff. “his highness, king dark cacao has requested for me to send this letter to you. unfortunately, due to certain reasons, my king is unable to deliver this letter to you personally, so i am doing it on his behalf.”

“is it truly an unfortunate thing?” he hums, receiving the indigo coloured envelope with a single hand. “if you see it from my perspective, i am rather lucky to have an incredibly attractive person deliver it to my desk.”

your heart almost skips a beat and you almost wonder if your perception of clotted cream cookie was wrong all along until he adds, “such a pity that this beautiful face works for an uneducated and brash tyrant.”

you feel an eyebrow twitching comically. folding your arms, unamused, you ask, “you are aware that i will relate everything you say about my king to him, aren’t you?”

“that’s the whole point, no?”

gosh, you really wanted to smack that smug smile off his face. you now know that your king was right all along about this… sly, rude and power hungry consul! even so, somehow, you can’t bear to leave just yet. you dismissed it as just your pride screaming at you to defend your king and come up with a comeback.

“i hope you haven’t forgotten who was the ruler who attempted to steal not one, not two, but three of the ancients’ soulstones in broad daylight,” you murmur, “choose your next words wisely, consul. we’ll see who the true uneducated one is.”

“i’m afraid that the uneducated cookie we are talking about is right in front of me.”

“you’re delusional, sir consul.”

“and you’re beautiful,” he whispers, a sly grin spreading on his face. you did not catch what he said. “pardon?”

“i said, you’re prideful,” he sighs and leans back in his chair dramatically. “who would’ve thought that the prideful king would have a disciple more prideful than him?”

“you’re snobbish.”

“rude.”

“unhinged.”

so much for being intellectual. so much for a one minute interaction of just passing a letter and dashing off. this guy knew how to get on your nerves, and was he good at it. your conversation has now shifted from you verbally attacking him and him verbally attacking your king to both of you straight up hurling uncensored insults at each other. you’re smiling. he’s smiling. neither of you should be smiling, yet neither of you want to stop.

you have so much fun in childishly calling the consul names that you forget all professionalism and your initial mission, and you don’t know when you started moving towards the consul’s desk and sitting on it to face him directly. you also forget that you were supposed to hate him.

you finally break out of the trance you are in when he hooks a finger beneath your chin to look him in the eyes. only then do you realise your current suggestive position; seated on the other side of his table, body turned and leaning over him, with faces just an inch away from each other.

rivals do not sit on their rival’s table, nor do they lean across and gaze at them with a charming smirk. flustered, you try to pull away, but clotted cream’s voice calls you back. “has anyone ever told you that you’re so cute it’s annoying?”

you’re still in a flustered daze, so you only hear the last word of his sentence. “have you tried talking to anyone that isn’t a mirror?”

the both of you stare at each other for far too long, way longer than rivals should (is there even a rivalry at this point?). clotted cream cookie is the first to break away from the seemingly infinite eye contact. he clears his throat, straightens his tie, and smile at you again. “i probably shouldn’t hold you back for too long. your beloved king must be worried about you.”

you hate yourself for feeling disappointed when he pulls away. “a-ah, yes,” you stumble on your words, also straightening your outfit. “i will head back to the dark cacao campsite. should there be any other updates, i will make sure to deliver them to you as soon as possible.”

“you must adore me so much to want to be the one always relaying news to me personally,” clotted cream chuckles, and you roll your eyes and walk away. “keep your abandonment issues to yourself, dearest consul.”

when his office door shuts behind you, the silence the instantly envelopes your ears makes you miss the lowkey-flirty bickering that the two of you had. but you remind yourself that he is your king’s least favourite (aside from a certain coffee cookie who was recently exiled) and you share your king’s grudge against him.

still, what was that conversation? surely, the consul wouldn’t have entertained your discreet insults towards him if he didn’t show at least a little interest in you—

wait a minute.

“has anyone ever told you that you’re so cute it’s annoying?”

you hadn’t heard him say the first few words at that time, only paying attention to him supposedly calling you annoying. but now that you thought back about it, you realised that there was something he said that you missed. heat rises to your cheeks when you remember what he said and you slap them to calm yourself down.

did the consul… just call you cute?

[be-ready-when-i-say-go]

Anklets and Necklaces

Inspired by this tweet.

@5-secondsofcolor I’m not sorry.

Female Reader insert. NSFW Content (18+). My smut writing is hella rusty. So I do apologize, whoops.

_______________

Calum plays at the anklet, spinning it around and around her joint as her legs are crossed and resting in his lap. The gold jewellry is hardly ever taken off since he gave it to her. In return, she gifted him a chain with a tiny pendant with her initial etched into the back of it. The front of it is an arrowhead. He wears it so often now, that when it’s off, he feels a little incomplete. It’s an easy gesture to carry her everywhere with him.

“Okay we gotta decide what to eat for lunch like now or I’m going to get hangry,” she states.

Calum glances up from his phone, to see her still scrolling on hers. “Oh no. Not hangry,” he teases. But he knows she means it. Her warnings have about a thirty minute window, just enough for a delivery if they get something simple. Or if they want something more complicated, they need to find a snack now while the main course is cooking. “What do you want? Thai? Mexican?”

“Would you hate me if I said I really just wanted nuggets from McDonalds?”

The pout on her lips makes him laugh, “No, I could never. Usual then?”

“Yes, please.”

Stretching across the length of her, Calum pushes his lips together, trying to ask for a kiss. She laughs in return and squeezes his cheeks. “Be lucky you’re cute,” she states before lifting up slightly to meet his lips. “And squishy.”

“Ain’t nothing on me squishy,” he huffs, straightening back up to put her order into the app.

She sets her phone down on her stomach, gazing up over the sharp line of his jaw that his plump cheeks sit atop. And while it’d be easy to return with a poke and a verbal jab about his cheeks, she just watches him. His fingers deftly work over the screen. The white tank sits as a stark contrast to the depth and glow of his skin. “I think all the right things on you are squishy.”

“Yeah, what are those?”

“Your cheeks. And as much as you and your trainer kick your ass, I know happy weight when I see it.”

Calum grins, a chuckle shaking through him as he sets his phone down on the arm of the couch--the order completed on his end. He pinches at her thighs. “Take that back.”

She shakes her head. “No, I don’t think I will. I like it--just like I like my cookies. Hard on the edges gooey in the middle.”

Standing for just a moment to let her legs fall onto the couch, Calum kneels onto the cushion, hovering above her. Her eyes glitter just a little as she talks and the soft easy smile on her face lets him know that it’s all out of love--what’s she’s saying. The pads of his fingers run along the side of her thigh. “Be lucky I love you.”

“I am already lucky, so say what you gotta say. Roast me, my love. It’s not like we don’t do that anyways.”

And truth be told, Calum had no response. Not when he looks at her, because God all he sees is the person that’s been with him on his bad mental days. She’s been there when Calum was sure there was no lower low or higher high. And what do you say to that person that’s been there, seen all of you that there is to see? With a gentle and chaste kiss, Calum settles for silence.

“Cat got your tongue now, huh?”

This--this Calum can respond too. It’s all too easy. “I know what else my tongue can have.”

“I know something your tongue can have too.”

“Really now?” Calum asks, dragging his fingers over the top of her thigh and tracing the line of her lounge shorts. “Food will be here in fifteen minutes though. So that’s up to you.”

“Not nearly enough time to savor it. Besides,” she starts and takes a pause. Her lips pull into a side smile and Calum knows what that means. One brow quirks in anticipation and Calum watches her. The silence settles for a little too long.

“Besides what?” he prompts again.

“Besides, I need the mail to be delivered first.”

“What did you buy?”

“You’ll see later. I promise. It’s really not even supposed to be used for lingerie. But I’ve wanted these for a long time and I specifically have a set I’m trying to complete.”

There’s the black mesh set that she’s slowly been building out. The main piece came in weeks ago, at this point it might even be months ago that that came in. He was privy to it then and gave it the christening that it deserved. But there wasn’t any other lingerie set that needed expansion. Not at least to his recalling. “Which one is it?”

“I’m not saying.”

“Oh please,” he whines, dropping his head into her neck. His lips softly and slowly seal kisses into her warm skin.

“No, Calum. I’ve been waiting on this package for weeks. It got held up in customs and I-” she sighs at his lips sucking at her skin. Not hard enough to cause a bruise, but just enough to make her spine tingle. “You’re going to have to do better than that.”

Calum pushes up, with a huff, sitting back down on the opposite end of the couch. “This is killing me, you know?”

“Well, you ain’t dead yet. So I think you can tough it out for a little bit longer.”

“Begrudgingly--I want you to know that.”

She sits up, swinging her feet to the floor. “Your sacrifice will be duly noted. The mail will be here before you know it.” The couch releases her weight and Calum watches her pad into the kitchen. “Do you want anything?” she calls.

“I’m good,” he returns, knowing that he will be counting down the seconds until the mail comes. She returns with a glass of water, sitting back down on the couch, but bringing her feet up underneath her as she motions to the TV. “You watching that?”

Calum answers with a shrug. He wasn’t anymore. He originally turned it on mostly for the weather and some news. He found himself bored and flipping through channels before settling on the sports channel while he took care of Duke in the morning. Noise to fill the space since his brain needed the distraction. He hadn’t slept all that great the last few nights, decent sleep. The closer and closer the band got to putting out music the more his nerves kicked in--sometimes they were sneaky. The nerves come up faster than Calum had anticipated. And right now, they won the first round. But Calum was working hard to combat them so he could get about his daily life.

“Go crazy,” he finally verbally responds. And she picks up the remote, changing channels too fast for Calum to even understand how you could process what was on before decking it was a no. She eventually settles for HGTV--not quite caring what show was on. 

The first knock that comes to the door is the food that Calum ordered for the two of them. He answers it, popping up in the hopes it’s the mail. When it’s not, he sighs just a little but places the bag down onto the coffee table. “Your nugs, my queen,” he teases.

“Thank you, my good sir,” she returns with a grin, opening before divvying out what is for who. “You wouldn’t have happened to shot up like a bat outta hell because you wanted that to be the mail?”

Calum feels the heat in his cheeks, but bumps her shoulder gently. “No, why would I ever want that?”

“Oh I don’t know,” she scoffs in return, dunking a nugget into the sweet and sour sauce. They share a soft bout of laughter before turning their gaze back to the TV. Duke’s paws click as he ventures into the kitchen for a drink of water from his bowl. The lapping and splash of his tongue echoing just slightly as the screen goes dark between the show and the commercial break.

Calum lifts his gaze, taking in the soft angle of her jaw. She curls up around the carton of fries, eyes glued to the screen. Does she even have the slightest clue what she does to him? It’s not even the involved things like dressing up for him, or comforting him. It’s just her, when she’s munching on fries. Or when she sleepily walks behind Duke in the mornings. It’s when she hums as she cooks. It’s the dancing she does when she’s cleaning. It’s the pouts when she messes up on something and her brow furrows in as the determination settles onto her face.

It’s when she fucked up a birthday cake for him once--not greasing the sides of the pan enough and then adding a tad too much milk--called him crying about it and then in a minute flat resolved to make him brownies instead. Because she said she’d be damned if she didn’t make him something sweet to nibble on or pass along to the guys. And Calum’s not even that much of a sweets guy, which she knew, so she only settled on giving him half the batch she made. She, of course, saved the other half for her and her friends.

And it’s just the moments that she’s not even trying that makes Calum melt. Like when she paints her nails, she offers to do his first. Or when she lays down next to Duke, and in their shared silence, they seem to communicate everything with each other.

“I love you,” he states.

She turns, eyes widening for a second before grinning around her sip of iced tea. “I love you.” Her brows furrow just a little. “You okay? You’ve hardly touched your food.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m fine.”

“If you didn’t want McDonalds, I could’ve done something else. Literally anything else,” she continues on almost as if she hadn’t heard him.

“It’s not the food,” he giggles. Calum reaches out to caress her cheek. “I’m okay.”

She nods. “Okay.”

“I just love you, that’s all. Wanted to share it with you.”

Her grin is soft as it lifts her lips. “Good because you’re not getting rid of me that easy.”

“I wouldn’t dare dream of getting rid of you.”

Another silence envelopes them. Calum finishes his food and takes the empty containers to the trash. Another episode starts up from the speakers and just above it, he hears the chime of his phone. “Do you want me to screen it for you?”

“Yes please!” If it’s one of the guys, they won’t mind her answering. If it’s someone important, he doesn’t want to miss the call.

“Calum’s phone,” she answers but he can already hear her feet shuffling to him in the kitchen. “Okay, Ash. I’ll keep that in mind.” Her voice comes closer and Calum shakes his hands just a little to get rid of the excess water before drying them. “No, I can’t say what it is without taking a look. Did you use the soil I recommended last time?” Another pause comes from her and when Calum turns, he finds her leaning up the kitchen counter, phone halfway pulled down but not fully away from her ear. “Yeah, I definitely think you should consider changing soils. But I can take a better look tomorrow for you. I’m going to pass along the phone now.”

She hands the phone over. “He said it was important.”

“Thank you,” Calum says in a whisper, pressing a kiss to her forehead and then placing the phone to his ear. “Yeah, Ash?”

Calum’s not even sure how long the conversation goes on. At first, it is important information that Ashton’s trying to confirm--a date and time for a meeting that they had later in the week. He says he wrote it down where he writes down all their meetings but it’s not there. And Ashton’s trying to make sure that he doesn’t miss it. So Calum shuffles to his office and verifies in his calendar the time for the meeting.

But then the conversation diverges--they start talking about everything and anything. So much so, they’re laughing. Calum doesn’t even hear the knock at the front door. But he does notice her scurrying off into the bedroom. The door closes with a soft click. Duke comes trailing after her but notices the closer door and then keeps down the hall to the office. Calum reclines back in his seat trying to get another angle at the door. But it’s closed fully.

“You okay, gramps?” Calum asks Duke.

“Oh fuck off, mate!” Ashton laughs.

“Not you, you fucking egg. Duke--I was talking to Duke.”

“Oh!” Ashton giggles. “Sorry, I thought you was trying to talk shit.”

“I don’t have to try and do that to you.”

“Oi, don’t start something bro.” The two of them laugh and Calum bends down to scratch behind Duke’s ears. “Alright, thanks for confirming that meeting. I’ll see you tomorrow in the studio?”

“Yeah--bright and early. Talk to you later.” The call ends and when Calum spins around in his desk chair, his jaw drops as she steps out from the bedroom. It’s not exactly something new--as in something that she’s never worn before. But it doesn’t mean he ever gets tired of seeing her like this.

The white bustier pushes her breasts up and almost over the cups. And he travels the look down, taking in the baby blue skirt, fishnet knee highs. And he goes back up, taking in a black strap wrapping around her thighs. She notes the lustful gaze and steps right on the line of the threshold to the door.

“So,” Calum starts, trailing his gaze down and then back up to her face. “Not the black lingerie I was anticipating.”

“No, I’m waiting for the heels I want for that lingerie to go on sale. Besides, you didn’t like the collar I liked so I’m still searching.”

“It wasn’t that I didn’t like it. It’s just too similar to one we already bought.”

“You’re right, but still.”

Calum cracks a smile at the reluctant confession. “But enough about that. This--this is a cute outfit.”

She nods, smoothing out the pleated mini skirt. “It’s less about the outfit and more about these,” she says, tapping at the thin black band.

“And those are?” Calum asks. It’s one step closer into the room and Calum think he can make out a heart shaped metal loop in the middle of it. She takes a second step closer and Calum can see clearly it’s some sort of thigh garter--leather or something related as the material. “Oh,” he breathes.

She continues slowly to approach Calum and when she’s just in arms reach, she lifts the skirt up. It goes up inch by inch and Calum’s entranced. Watching more of her thighs revealed to him. And soon it’s black panties--mesh and if Calum remembers correctly crotchless. But wrapped around her waist is another band of leather. Two pieces hook to another metal hoop right on her hip bones and then one trip connects the top piece to the bottom.

“A harness garter belt--what do you think?” she asks in a whisper.

Calum exhales, desire stirring in the pit of his stomach. He reaches out, wrapping his fingers around her thighs and pulling her into him. He kisses in the spaces between the leather, gingerly, lips hardly touching her skin. “I think you look beautiful,” he hums, dropping his head on his neck to look up at her.

Her eyes are still closed and Calum softly runs the tips of his fingers up her thigh, tracing the lines of the harness. With a deep exhale, she finally blinks back to reality. “Not too silly?”

His brows meet in the middle of his face. Why would she think it’s too silly? There’s nothing silly about her standing in front of him, clearly excited about her own purchase. “Angel--I’ll be damned if I ever think this is silly.”

Swinging her leg over and settling onto his lap, she grins. “Thank you, love.”

Calum holds onto her hips, rubbing his palms down to her ass. “So you said this technically isn’t lingerie?”

“No--I don’t think so. But I think they could be--a small accessory to something I already have.”

They share a kiss, much too quick for Calum’s liking so he pulls her back in for more. And her arms wind around his neck as he continues to palm her ass. Here, he doesn’t really care what it is technically or not. She looks absolutely amazing. “I like it. In fact,” Calum starts, moving to grip her thighs before housing them both up and then plopping her down on the desk. “I really like them.”

Calum stands between her legs, nose brushing and bumping against hers. Here, she can feel her core aching as Calum’s fingers trail closer and closer to her heat. It’s feather light--his touch, but it makes her feel electric all the same. “Cal,” she hums.

“Yes baby?”

There’s nothing that comes out of her mouth but a small huff, a rushed and harsh exhale at the feeling of his fingers dancing across her skin. He grins pulling back just a little to see the way her face goes slack, almost as if she’s at peace with him between her legs.

“Was there something you wanted to say, darlin’?” Calum tries again, taking just a half step back away from her.

With her eyes still closed, she smiles. “I want to know,” she starts, exhaling softly to counter the thud of her heart in her chest, “if you’d so kindly want to make love to me?”

Calum can’t help his own small tuft of laughter. “Darlin’, I’d do so happily.” They don’t always wind up in bed like this--but it’s nice, to be comfortable even to be this forward with this and this open.

Calum takes her hand as she hops down from the desk. “Give me a twirl,” he asks. She obliges, turning in a circle for Calum, punctuating the back view by lifting her skirt up. “Silly girl,” Calum laughs, giving a firm but playful tap to her ass.

Facing Calum again, she wraps her arms around his torso. “But you love it.”

“I do. I love you.”

They share another kiss and she slowly walks backwards out of the room. They get lost in each other--Calum in the way she fits against him and her in the way Calum holds her, palms spanning across her back and tight enough that she wonders if he thinks she’s going to disappear but gently enough at the same time that she’d love nothing more than staying here forever in his hold.

Calum finds the zipper to the top and slowly drags it down. The material exhales, slowly falling away from her body and when it falls to the floor, he kisses her neck, down to the swell of her breast. Her moans are soft, just above a hum that makes just enough noise for him to hear. And it goes right to his gut.

Here there's very little need for words. When Calum gives, she takes happily. But when she tugs at his hair, Calum knows to step back, lets her give something to him. Her kisses are soft against his skin, but make him feel like it’s being set on fire. One that he’d happily stay in, let the blaze consume every inch of him, if it meant that she was always the one to take him.

His shirt goes to join hers. Her mouth teases his nipples as she descends further down on him. Calum thinks he sighs, all he can do is just shut his eyes and let go into the feeling of her teasing the cut of his hips beneath the sweatpants. She’s always like this, teasing him. At first, it used to annoy him. But now he loves it, loves just how close she’s willing to push him to the edge, push his buttons but always delivering at the end of it.

Her meticulous work, to watch him jump at every scratch of her nails and nip of her teeth, is enjoyable. But Calum blinks open his eyes to cup her jaw, which stops her. When her gaze lifts, Calum motions for her to stand. “Yes?” she grins standing to her full height.

Calum presses their foreheads together. “I missed you.”

“Well how dare I keep a man like you waiting?” With a slow kiss, tongues just barely dancing, Calum walks the two of them to the bed. The back of her knees hit the edge of it and she buckles just a little. Calum catches her from falling. “Turn around,” he whispers into her ear, “please.”

The instruction is obeyed and she spins to face the bed. Calum finds the zipper to the powder blue skirt and almost doesn’t want to take it off her. In the end, he does-- Calum lets the skirt fall onto a pool at their feet. Without even prompting she falls to her hands, ass grinding against his hips. He traces her spine with the pads of his fingers, following all the way down, over the curve of her ass and down to the opening in the panties. His fingers gather a bit of her arousal.

“Oh,” he groans. “So wet for me,” he hums with approval.

“Always for you,” she sighs. Calum teases her clit--a featherlight touch as he dances over her core. She lets herself fall a little bit more into the mattress--another moan leaving her lips when Calum takes one finger down from her clit to teasing her entrance.

Calum pulls away, bring his wet fingers to his lips and sucking them clean. “Taste just like heaven,” he hums. He gingerly guides her back to standing and uses her hips to get her to face him again.

More kisses are shared before they fall onto the mattress. Calum takes hold of one of the straps around her thigh and tugs her down, closer to him and she laughs. It gets caught off and morphed into a moan as Calum’s tongue licks a wide stripe up her. He’s careful of the mesh material of her panties, but knows that carefulness won’t last long. Not when her arousal coats his tongue. Not when her nails scratch over the muscles of his shoulders or tangle into the curls on his head.

She melts under the work of his mouth. The mattress merely becoming the vessel to hold the mess she’s bound to make and become. The room echoes the moans and slurps. Fingers gripping at the sheet, she chants Calum’s name. His tongue working magic over her core and just when she thinks she couldn’t possibly handle anything more, she notices the stretch at the addition of his fingers.

“Fuck,” she whines, lifiting one leg and he slips in even deeper, curling his fingers and hitting just the right spot.

Calum hungers for her pleasure--the high-pitched whine and groan as she releases. Some days it’s just the sound he needs to ground him. She gives short and breathless huffs, and quivers underneath him. “Gonna be a good girl?” Calum asks, fingers still pumping at her.

“Yes, oh yes, I will.”

“Gonna cum for me?”

“I want to, yes I’ll come for you. Make me your good girl.” Her voice sounds far away, as if she’s not fully cognizant of what she’s saying. Not quite babbling, but definitely talking so fast words bump into each other and slur together.

Calum grins, sucking at her clit again and she groans, head throwing back against the pillows. Her toes are curling--her whole body growing warmer with the passing second. The heat coils in her lower gut and she’s pleading. Though, she’s not sure who she is really meaning to plead to, but she wants to cum so badly.

Then it finally happens, one moment she’s sure she’s nearly in tears and the next, the coil snaps. She squeezes, hips raising off the bed and Calum continues to ride out her orgasm, gently pressing her back down into the bed. She hisses and starts to push at his shoulders, the signal that it’s too much. So Calum places one last kiss to her clit before pulling away from her glistening core.

Beneath him, eyes fluttering close, she looks angelic. Calum holds himself up above her and just watches the way she tries to collect her breath. “You’re beautiful, you know?” he whispers, not wanting to shatter the silence.

“No kidding?” she teases, winding her arms around his neck. The necklace dangles just a little in her face and she takes one hand to trace the chain. Hooking her fingers into it, she tugs Calum down to her. The taste of her arousal on Calum’s tongue makes her head spin. Calum caresses her side and stomach as the kiss deepens. Here is all they need--the soft and deep kisses, the moans that they swallow from each other.

Her hands leave from around his neck and begin to push down his sweatpants and underwear. And he lets her, even pulls back to kneel on his knees as she sits up. Their kiss hardly breaks and she’s quick to tug the cotton material down, hands wrapping around his length.

He groans at the squeeze--nothing too hard just enough pressure to make his whole body ignite. Her hand pumps him, once, then twice slowly and teasing him. “Baby,” he sighs, relishing the feeling of her hands working over him. The stay like that only for a minute or two before Calum pauses her to step down and full disrobe.

When he climbs back onto the bed, he crawls over her. “Welcome back, handsome,” she greets.

“Oh, it’s so good to be back,” he returns, grinning.

She runs her fingers over the tattoos decorating his chest, out of habit, out of something to ground her for a moment. There’s no way he’s real and it shouldn’t ever shock her like this. But sometimes it sneaks up on her and the realization of how madly in love she is with his man hits her all over again.

“What are you thinking about?” Calum asks.

“How much I love you,” she answers softly.

“I love you too,” he returns, bending down to kiss her. It’s soft and sweet--the kiss. For a moment, they just inhale the breaths of the other. It’s a tender moment, one that neither one wants to interrupt, so they let it linger, smiling at each other. She stretches up to kiss him, one hand trailing between their bodies and Calum catches the hint all too quickly when she traces along his length.

“I haven’t forgotten, love,” he exhales in a breathy laugh. “Trust me, I could never forget.” Once lined up, Calum’s slow to sink into her. One, he wants to drag this out, enjoy every inch of him that she grips of him. And two, because he wants to make sure that even in the lull that she’s ready to take him.

Her head falls back, hair pushing into the pillow and neck exposing itself to him. A tempting sight but Calum loses himself in the feeling of her wetness. He’s slow, pulling out just a bit before sinking further back into her. Her sighs and words of encouragement are soft from beneath him but they fuel him.

The pace quickens and both of them groan at the ecstasy. Out of reflex, she lifts one leg to readjust her hip flexor and Calum brings it up, resting her ankle on his shoulder. He kisses over the joint and the anklet, savoring just how much of her he can feel like this.

The chain dangles in her face, brushing in the valley of her breast and she revels in the feeling of Calum reaching the full depths of her body. She digs her nails into his flesh, more curses falling from her lip. But some of them get lost in the groans that win out. “God,” she huffs. “You’re everywhere.” And though it’s a bit of strain to get the words out because Calum’s pace is relentless as he snaps his hips into hers, she pushes the words out.

“You always take me so well,” he praises, watching the way her face contorts. “Oh, so soon, love? You’re going to cum again for me so fucking soon, like a good girl.”

Her whine slips out first but she nods, feeling the coil tightening yet again in her lower abdomen. Her body is hot, and she can already feel the prickle of sweat on her forehead. “Please, baby, please,” she begs.

“As you wish,” he hums, his own orgasm approaching faster than he anticipated. His body humming as the warmth spreads. The bed rocks just a little, hitting the wall and the sounds echo around them as they sigh and moan to each other. But the only thing that really matters to them, is each other.

“Fuck, baby,” he whispers, voice straining as she orgasms. No noise comes from her, but her mouth opens like if she had the breath she’d definitely be screaming his name. This time the quakes last longer, her whole body shaking. “You’re okay, you’re okay,” he hums, bumping his nose against her jaw, still riding through her orgasm.

“Shit, oh my god,” she shudders, wrapping her arms around his neck.

There’s a slight hiss when Calum moves again, and he kisses over her face, starting with her nose and then moving to her cheeks. Another quake takes her and Calum, not anticipating it, groans-- his orgasm now right on the edge. It won’t be much longer, but she nibbles at his earlobe. “Thank you,” she whispers. “Made me feel so fucking good. I want you to cum in me. So fucking deep,” she hums.

And while Calum’s trying to get his own rebuttal to the tip of his tongue, she squeezes around him. “Fuck,” he yelps just a little, his body erupting with his orgasm. His body shudders and he’s so blindsided by the feeling, his slips just a little, more of his weight settling onto her than usual.

She doesn’t say anything, just hums at the feeling of him succumbing to the pleasure. “Oh, that’s what I wanted,” she encourages. It leaves her throat like a purr and Calum shivers again at the sound.

They lay together, for a moment, her nails scratching lightly at the muscles in his back. Calum sinks into her, body going heavy. Her slight shift squeezes around him and he groans, sensitive. “Don’t--I can’t,” he laughs.

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to.” Even her own voice sounds heavy and slurred. She kisses his temple and Calum pushes up. He’s slow to pull out, enjoying the drips that follow of his own release spilling out of her. With one finger he gently scopes it back up and into her. The familiar twinge of desire pulls at his lower gut and it’s almost enough. She even shivers, but Calum watches the way her eyes stay closed.

“You okay?” he asks.

“Sleepy now,” she returns.

“Let’s get cleaned up first and then we can nap.” His voice sounds farther away towards the end of the sentence and she assumes he went to the attached bathroom. The rush of water from the sink confirms it. Something wet and warm presses against her--no doubt Calum with a warm washcloth.

The clean up is swift as both of them share a shower and then under the sheets, they curl up around each other. Calum kisses the top of her head as she nuzzles in closely. “I want pancakes after our nap,” she mutters.

“I think we still have some blueberries.”

She pops up onto her elbow and grins a little. “It’s like you can read my mind.”

Calum laughs. “Maybe just a little bit.”

[father-time-and-baby-new-year]

Would it be to much to ask for a Eren scenario where both he and the reader are both equally toxic, manipulative and possessive over eachother but both just cannot let the other go to the point where even when they reunite when Eren escapes the survey corps he asks her to tell him if anyone else whether it was the army or the jeagerists, if they had touched her even if it was just to escort her which she just nods and refuses to tell him any names cuz she likes to see him riled up by her having been "corrupted" and seeing how with a single act she can have him on edge and he falls for her even more by her devious and selfish wiles to have him get irritated and angry but only to end up wanting more of her charms.

Just some good dark angtsy feels all around🖤

A/N: just a little drabble. i've never done canon-verse stuff for AOT so this was fun to try. thank you sending this ask. i did deviate from your ending a little bit so im sorry <3

Warning: AoT Season 4 Spoilers, extreme possessive behavior, toxic relationship, anger issues, gaslighting/manipulating

Eren can feel himself getting restless. Hange had been getting on his nerves. He was the literally the only reason they had secured their victory against Marley on multiple fronts. She and the rest of the fucking Survey Corps should be bending over backward in gratitude.

He cracks his knuckles although he had no need to, wanting to focus on a physical sensation. His thoughts eventually circle back to you. He misses you sorely.

In Marley, there was this kind child Falco. Eren could say he felt guilty for manipulating the poor boy. But that's not true. He's shed that part of humanity a long time ago. All's fair in war after all.

The fair-haired boy was worried about his friend, didn't want a certain special someone of his to become titanized.

Is this other candidate a girl?

Eren had asked. Because he could relate to the Marelyan child. There was a girl he was trying to protect too, who he'd raise hell over, who he'd destroy the world for.

The dark-haired boy can feel himself grow restless. There are a million things to do. Coups to start. Militia to gather. A brother to manipulate. A world to ruin.

But first, he needs to see you. It's already been so long. He had barked orders to Floch to make sure you were safe and secure. If any hair off your pretty little head was misplaced-well no one wants to witness the rage of the Founding Titan's holder.

CRASH

The ground shakes. Eren closes his eyes and lets the Warhammer titan's power course through his veins. Foolish to think any prison could ever hold him.

He's walking uphill. The sunset bathes the land in vibrant pinks, oranges, and light violets. There is a crowd of people standing tall and at attention, postures rigid, save for one.

You hurl towards him at the speed of light and twice the fury, wrapping your arms around his neck. If Eren wasn't six feet of hard muscle, he would have been knocked off his feet from the vigor of your crushing embrace.

"Eren!" You cry out.

The attack titan vessel is too shocked to respond. He's been anticipating your presence for the longest but to finally feel you in the flesh and to smell your soft pretty scent was sending him into overdrive. He couldn't believe you were tangible and not some hauntingly beautiful apparition.

He wraps his arms around you, enveloping your body in his warmth, and you rest your head in the crook of his neck. He feels your nimble fingers toying with his hair.

"I like this new look. It suits you." You mummer.

"Like me without a shirt too?" Eren teases.

He forgot how easy it was to be himself around you, to joke and laugh like he wasn't planning a global genocide of epic proportions. No, even that's an understatement. His goal was an omnicide, utter annihilation. Only Paradis will be left after the ashes settle. A Paradis with you.

"What are you thinking about?" You ask, eyes wide with an untouched innocence that Eren doesn't know how you still possess. All of that eager wide-eyed optimism had been snuffed out from all of his friends. From him. But you, you don't change like the seasons or winds. You're you.

And that was going to be his ruin.

After the Yeagerists brief him on what happened with Zackley and Zeke Yeager's possible whereabouts, Eren gives into his overwhelming urges to see you.

He approaches your chambers, trying to conceal his impatience with soft knocks. You don't answer which irritates him, so he knocks louder and louder, the sound of his fist banging against the door sounding like thunderclaps.

Where the fuck are you? Were you with someone right now? He knew you were getting a little too friendly with Floch from the way you guys were talking at dinner. It was so obvious. He's been gone, for what, a few months and you're already whor-

The door opens and exposes a sleepy-looking girl whose rubbing one of her eyes. Admittedly, very adorable.

"Eren" Your voice is saccharine, "Do you need anything?"

He lets himself in, and shuts the door behind him, locking it in place.

"I don't usually lock the door," You pout but there's a playfulness in your expression that Eren would have noticed had he not been consumed by rage.

"What? So you let anyone in?" He asks, nearly snarling out the words. as he stares scandalized at your slip of a nightgown. A pale translucent pink that reached the middle of your thighs. He could even make the outline of your nipples poking through.

"No, silly." You giggle, twirling the hem of your dress, "Floch's security measure." You pretended not to notice how Eren's fist clenches.

"Is that so?" Eren said, words spoken between gritted teeth. As long as Eren was here, there need be no concerns over security measures. But he knew Floch. The ginger worshipped the ground Eren walked on and would never make a move on you if he cared about his limbs staying intact.

You sat down on your bed and Eren couldn't help but watch your skimpy dress ride up your creamy thighs.

He stood over you, his form looming over yours as you sat on your bed, feet swinging above the ground.

"I wanted to ask you something."

You look up with those big childlike eyes, "Okay."

"Did. Anyone. Touch. You?" His voice is low and he punctuates each word slowly.

You blink "What do you mean?” But there’s a coy smile tugging at the corner of your lips.

"Quit playing dumb." He growls, anger evident in the crease between his eyebrows.

You're quiet for a still moment, mouth opening and closing. Eren's anxiety increases more each second and it finally boils over when you softly ask, "What kind of touch?"

Like a chess piece topping over, he shoves you down the bed, pinning your wrists with his strong hands.

Usually, Eren was smarter. Quicker to call you on your tricks. But alas, absence makes the heart fonder. You love making him lose his stoic composure, so lost in his lust and desire for you that all he can see crimson. And if the price for that is to play the fragile maiden, it is what it is.

"Ow." You pitifully whine, lightly shaking your right hand. Eren knew he wasn't holding you too hard so he experimentally thumbs over a certain spot on your right wrist, eliciting another small whimper. He brings your wrist closer to him and finds a purple bruise.

"Who touched you? Was is it any of the yeagerists?" His voice is deadly calm but an ice-cold rage simmers in his eyes. You can feel yourself growing excited, heat pooling in the bottom of your stomach. You’re rubbing your legs together for the friction but Eren assumes it a nervous tic to avoid answering any of his questions.

When you avert your gaze and simply look the side, he delicately cradles your cheek: “Was it the scouts?”

The delicate touch turns harsher when you don't respond, forcing your pretty head to look straight at him. He sees your eyes glistening, and when he looks into your dewy irises, he can see himself.

His voice drops a pitch, "Please tell me."

Your breathing is shallower and you can't help but enjoy this so much.

It's been so long since you've seen him-since you begged him not to go but he went anyway, and having him here right now--the pride and joy of the Eldian empire , the holder of the Founding Titan-unravel in your fingertips, well this was the closest to true power you've ever been.

Eren can feel his patience sleeping, anger seeping into his bones at your silence, and the bruise on your delicate wrist only serves to anger him further. He can't even do what he swore to do and that was to keep you safe.

"Are you not telling me who it is because you're protecting them?"

The words are delivered deadly calm with the tension of a brewing storm behind it. You're nervous, exactly aware of what your beau is capable of, but the excited kind of nervous where butterflies are swarming in your stomach.

Maybe you underestimated his anger because within a second, the telltale red lines start to form under his eyes, lightning bright sparks forming between each breath.

Without thinking, you envelop the back of his head with one arm (the other hand rendered useless bu the force of his hold), trying to bring his head into the softness your breasts.

Understanding your gesture, Eren immediately calms down and lets himself be smothered in your chest like a babe being cradled in his mother's warmth.

"There, there" you coo, words soft and melodious on your tongue.

You can feel wet-spots on your nightie, "Eren...are you-" you begin, not sure when to end.

His voice is tightly controlled as if not let his coiled emotions fuse again, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I was about to hurt you." He sounds so broken, and all you can do is stroke his hair.

You press a kiss to his head. You know what the right words to say are. You should be comforting him and assuring him he could never hurt you.

Instead you stay silent, softly exhaling. He can't see the pleased smile on your face.

*

"Your wrist feeling any better?"

You whip up your head to see Floch whose peering down at you in slight concern. You must have looked confused because he elaborated, "The one you accidentally banged against the doorway. Looked like it hurt."

"Oh." You pause, looking down at the fresh set of finger shaper marks overtaking the fading violet.

You laugh airily, "Yeah it's alright."

[sirthisisa-wendys]

Independent Study: Geto Suguru x Fem!Reader

synopsis: Geto Suguru is a star grad student with a lot going for him. And he wants to add you to that list.

wc: 1.9k

tw: NSFW (oral, unprotected sex, light exhibitionism)

“Professor y/n?” The sound of your name makes you look up from the laptop in front of you and into the black orbs of the graduate student everyone was raving about.

“Mr. Geto,” you call out, and stand from the wooden desk, fingertips grazing the surface carefully. “Please, come in. Close the door.” The man comes into your office, sliding the leather messenger bag off his shoulder and onto the floor before shutting the door, then taking a seat in front of you. “I heard you made the Dean’s List for the third time from Professor Yaga; congratulations.”

“Thank you,” Geto smiles sheepishly at you, ducking his head a little. “I’ve been working on a presentation, and I wanted to come to ask you some questions.” He pulls out his laptop and rests it on his knees, placing his glasses over his eyes as he squints at the screen. You can’t help but notice how studious he appears to be at all times.

The staff had gone wild over the man when he first arrived, not only because of his looks but his fully-funded endowment that brought the university over one-hundred thousand dollars in revenue. Here he was, in your office, despite you being in the physics department, and Geto being an engineering student.

“How can I help you?”

He turns the screen to face you, and you see the tell-tale font of a research paper. “I’m having a hard time with this study. Mind taking a look?” You hold your hands out for the device and take it willingly, sliding it across your desk and reading the title: A Study on Intercourse.

“Interesting,” you muse, but as you continue reading, you realize by the second sentence that the paper is anything but peer-reviewed research-based. Your cheeks heat up as you turn the laptop back around, avoiding his gaze. “Um, Mr. Geto, I’m not sure that this is your research paper.”

“Oh?” He squints at the first couple of sentences, then tilts his head. “No, that looks about right.”

“It’s… um… it looks like the beginnings of a personal account of your dealings with… intercourse.”

“That’s right.” He turns the laptop back to you. “You see, I require a sample size of twenty since I only have two variables in this study. I don’t want to parade around campus having sex with twenty girls. Too many unknowns, right?” You stare at him dumbly, anticipating his next words. “So I thought, why I don’t I just ask the most attractive woman on campus if she’d be willing to have sex with me twenty times? And that’s where you come in, Professor.” Have sex… with… Geto Suguru? The thought makes you feel the heat between your legs, but you fumble for your answer.

“I-in Section Fifteen of the employee handbook, it states that I am not allowed to engage in any relations with students on or off-campus. That--”

“Includes sexual relations, illicit drug use, drinking, or parties of any kind.” Geto finishes.

“How do you--”

“I’m employed to study here, Professor y/n. Did you think that hefty endowment couldn’t buy me some leeway?” You gape at the man, mouth slightly ajar. “Besides, being a scientist in residence is part of the endowment.”

“I--”

“If you want to help me, meet me here tomorrow at 12.” He slides you a sticky note with an address scribbled on it. “Your lunch is an hour and a half, right?”

“Yes…” you breathe and he nods, stuffing his laptop back into his bag before standing.

“Great. Oh, and… bring a change of clothes if you do show up.” Geto unlocks the door and leaves you sitting in your chair, dumbfounded.

_____________________________________________________________

Your finger finds the doorbell of the townhome, and as it rings, you look at your watch.

11:58.

You fiddle with the hem of your blouse as you wait for Geto to answer the door, hoping against all hope that he wouldn’t answer and you could go back to work without considering any--

The door swings open, and Geto stands in the doorway, hair falling around his face.The grey shirt he’s wearing matches the joggers, but you dare look no further than the waistline. “Right on time,” he coos, and you enter the abode, looking around at the foyer and dining room. Everything is immaculate, you note, looking up at the crystal chandelier in awe. “Pretty, isn’t it?” You nod, and follow him past the kitchen and into a bedroom that’s twice the size of the one in your apartment. “You want anything? Water, something to eat?” He asks, turning around to face you.

“No, thanks,” you mumble, and he shrugs, shifting papers around on a desk that’s opposite a large bay window. The room is just as clean as the rest of the house: the bed is made, the floor is clean, and a video camera sits on a stand in the corner. “Um, Mr. Geto, I can’t--” Geto follows your line of sight and grunts once.

“I have to record these to gather evidence.” You look over at him, startled, and he holds up a piece of paper with blank spaces on it. “For my dissertation?” The reminder eases your nerves and you slide your purse off of your shoulders, setting it on his dresser. “I need you to sign this.” He walks over to you and hands you the paper with a ballpoint pen.

“What’s this?”

“Just a statement saying you agree to participate in the experiment and be filmed, but I agree to keep these for my viewing pleasure only and it won’t be distributed elsewhere.” You read over the words on the contract and sign below Geto’s name once you’re satisfied. When you finish, he takes the paper back and sits it on his desk before turning on the camera. “Date, ninth of May. Time, twelve o’five. First trial out of twenty.”

“H-how many are we going to do today?” you whisper.

“Just one per day. Though, we can go multiple rounds if you want,” he chuckles, rolling his shirt over his head and revealing his impeccable physique. You’re so focused on the way he looks half-naked that you almost forget why you’re there in the first place. Well, that is until he approaches you with a half-grin on his face. When he cups your chin and tilts your face up, you have no time to prepare for what comes next.

The kiss shared between you two snatches your soul from your body, and you lose all sense of what to do. Sure, you’ve had sex before, but it was always rushed, drunken, and passionless encounters. But the feeling of Geto’s fingers dipping beneath your blouse and to the edge of your pants makes you heady and so…

“I’m going to take my time with you,” he murmurs against your lips. “I want the best results for my research.” You reply by kissing him again, and he finds the zipper to your blouse easily, pulling it down so that you can slide it off without breaking the kiss. When Geto guides you to the bed, you sink back onto the soft sheets, and he leans over you, pulling your hands above your head.

He trails soft kisses down your neck and to your breasts, covered in a lacy pattern you fished out from the bottom of your drawer. You lift up a little so his fingers can fiddle with the clasp, and he undoes that with dexterity and ease, much to your surprise. He flings the item across the room and marvels at the way your body looks beneath him, eyes drifting over your figure with lust.

“I’ve been obsessed with you since my first day,” he admits, and you gasp slightly. “Fuck.” His mouth finds your left breast and tugs at the nipple with his teeth before easing the discomfort with his cool tongue. While he’s giving your chest attention, he’s simultaneously pulling your pants down, exposing your lack of underwear below. Geto notices a moment later, and chuckles again, looking up at you in surprise. “My, my, it looks like we left our underwear at home, huh?” He dips a finger past your folds to see how wet you are and is not met with an unsatisfactory discovery. In response to this, he immediately drops to his knees and pulls you to the edge of the bed. His tongue finds your core and you moan loudly, hoping that the camera would pick up every single sound you utter.

The slurping and hums of appreciation drive you wild, and your hands lace through his hair as he loses himself in eating you out. “Geto…” you breathe, and that drives him to go a little faster, drawing noises out of you that you aren’t used to hearing. He flicks at your clit once, twice, then dives back down to your slit eagerly, attacking your core like someone who hasn’t had a decent meal in ages. When he pulls away, mouth covered in your slick, he licks his lips and raises a brow at you.

“Ready?” You nod in response, and he pulls down his joggers to reveal a raging hard-on. “See? Both of us wore nothing underneath.” You stare at his length, mesmerized by how long and thick and… proportionate it was.

First, Geto was smart, then he’s handsome, and he’s well-endowed? It was virtually impossible, right? He grabs his cock and pumps it a few times, driving the head toward your slit and pressing past your folds with some difficulty.

“Shit,” he mutters, sliding the tip out and trying again. “You haven’t been fucked in a while, have you?”

“Uh-uh,” you respond before hissing at the stretching feeling.

“Fine by me.” He pulls out again to try one more time, and finally, the tip of his cock slides into you fully. He groans and you whimper gently. Geto sinks into you and leans on top to deliver a series of sweet kisses to your mouth as he moves inside of you slowly. “God, this is fucking amazing.”

You clasp an arm around his muscled back, moaning as he rocks his hips back and forth. “G-Geto, please…” Your words encourage him to move a little faster, the sound of your wet pussy slapping against his hips obscene and loud, but you don’t care. All you want is for Geto to fuck you senseless. The bed creaks with his movements, and his hair tickles your face as he watches your expression change from semi-discomfort to enjoyment.

“Mmmm, seems that all you needed was a little bit of stretching out,” he muses, capturing your other breast in his mouth and sucking the skin hard. You cry out, digging your nails into his back, and he hisses, mouth lifting off of your chest. “Shit, y/n.” You buck your hips against him fervently, and Geto’s eyes close as he finds his rhythm again, biting his lower lip.

The way he feels inside of you, stretching you past your limit and yet, caressing your walls with his veiny length - it was all too much. Forget experiments, this was more than that. This was passion.

“Suguru,” you pant. “I… I’m going to cum… I--”

“Cum for me,” Geto whispers in your ear, and you let loose, spasming around his cock while continues to thrust into you. “Mmmm, just like that… Fuck!” Seconds later, he cums as well, grunting as he tosses his head back and drenches your insides with his seed. As you both come down from the feelings of ecstasy, you wind your fingers through his hair and he rests his head in the crook of your neck, sighing contentedly.

“And how many times did you say we’d have to do this?” you wonder, stroking his hair.

“Twenty is the minimum… but I could always use some extra trials… you know, just in case.”

_____________________________________________________________

TAGLIST: @leanne-tamashi @jotazinha

[quirrrky]

01. WRITE FOR YOU 「THE CHARACTERS」

『MASTERLIST』  MOODBOARD • NXT » 

𖧵 1.1k words 𖧵 You asked your childhood best friend, Keiji, to be the editor of your romance novel that was actually...all about him. 𖧵 mutual pining, friends to lovers? unrequited love?

The chimes clinked as you swing the entrance door open. The scent of roasted coffee welcomed you as you searched around the cafe for a specific person.

"Y/N," your best friend of 9 years greeted.

"Keiji," you slipped your bag on the vacant seat next to yours. "Did I keep you waiting?"

"Not really," he stood up and pointed at the counter. "Let me get our order."

You nodded your head in agreement and sat down. Your thumbs circled around each other as you waited and took deep breaths. You thought that doing this in your usual cafe would calm your nerves, but it wasn't working at all. The soothing ambience of warm-toned dim lights and wooden furnitures weren't enough to keep you grounded.

But you have to act normal. Keiji was a very perceptive person. He would know if there's a sudden shift in you. He knew you that well. He knew you so much in a way no other person could.

"Here," he returned with your drinks, placing them on the table. "I added cinnamon in yours, just as how you like it."

See?

"Thanks," you smiled and tried to respond as normal as possible. "You went and tried Onigiri Miya during the Olympics. You didn't even bring me one." You playfully complained before you had a taste of your cinnamon infused coffee.

"I- uh, they were good. We can go there one day so you can try some. You're going to love it."

You let out a light-hearted huff and he chuckled.

Having your warm cup in your hands, you peered outside the window.

Leaves began to turn rustic orange, while some of them colored the ground as they fell. Perfect. You couldn't describe this day other done that. The smell of coffee and old books wafted through the air as the cafe played a calm classical music in the background. In front of you, was your dear best friend. It was a like movie scene as your breath hitched and everything was like in slow motion when he sipped his coffee, his gaze shifting from his cup to you.

In your eyes, he's like a living, breathing art—an art that made you feel like you're drinking your favorite cup of coffee—warm, alive and most especially, bittersweet.

Bittersweet. Today was a bittersweet moment for you. mixed with nervousness, excitement and fear. But you have to do this. This was the only way you know.

"Are you okay?" He took you out from your reverie, sounding concern.

"Oh, uh, yes."

"When you called me, you said that you're going to discuss something important with me."

"Yes, yes, I do."

He placed his cup on the table, folded his leg and gave his undivided attention to you all prepared to listen intently. "Okay, go ahead."

You took in a deep inhale and attempted to swallow whatever's holding you back. "Do you still remember about the writing course I took last year. Well, since I'm about to graduate now, I...I have to deliver what I promised her."

"Mhhhm, the novel?"

"Yes! And..." You took a sip of your coffee. "And I was thinking that maybe you could be my editor?"

Keiji primly laughed, "You don't really have to be nervous. Of course, I can do that. I have time to spare and I think it's also good so I can practice my skills. I really want to help you too. Wai- hold on a sec-" He grabbed a table napkin and reached towards you from across the table, wiping the coffee stain at the corner of your lips like it's the most normal thing in the world. He smiled at you before pulling away and sat back to his seat.

If you're going to be truly honest, you never noticed these little things about him before. Until, one day, it was him your head could ever think of in every book you tried writing. He's the only man you could ever imagine to be in your life, fiction and non-fiction.

Chuckling, he picked up his cup. "That's no big deal at all, Y/N. I'll totally help you out."

"Uhmm, the thing is...it's romance, Keiji."

As expected, he almost spit his coffee halfway from drinking. His expression froze. "What do I know about romance?" He didn't mean to say that out loud, but the words flowed out from his mouth.

As an editor, it's not only his job to double check any technical errors, but he must also assess what could be changed in the story's plot, characterization and the devices used. Romance was never Keiji's specialty. He rarely even read that genre. The only thing he knew was Pride and Prejudice and Jane Eyre, both were classical and something which elements had been repetitively used not just in novels but also in other forms of media.

You saw him drew out a long sigh as he contemplated for a while. His long lashes fluttered just like your eyes at how serious he looked like with his hand perched on his fist, eyes staring holes at his coffee in attempts to figure things out.

Your mind back pedaled into this plan. Perhaps, this wasn't a good idea at all. It would be a lot better for him to reject this offer than reject your feelings for real, right?

"I- you know what, forget about it-" You waved your hand like what you asked was just nothing. "I'll just try to-"

"I'll consider it."

Your eyes widened but he just sat upright entirely confident of his decision, his expression bore no hesitation at all. "What?"

"I'll think about it within the day. Besides," he turned his head slightly away as he rubbed his nape. "I don't think I can really say no, if it's you."

You gulped and was blanked out for a second. Get a grip, you! He said he would just consider and it's not like it meant anything more than that. You were long time friends, of course he would find it hard to reject if you pulled out the friendship card on him. It's just normal. You kept on telling yourself that and shook the sliver of hope away from your brain.

"You have a manuscript or draft ready for this, right?" Keiji asked while he brought the cup back to his lips.

You nodded. "Yup, I'll send it through our chat."

"Okay, hmmm, how about the story? What's it all about?"

You blushed.

"This might sound cheesy but..." You took a brief glance at him and he looked very serious about this, so you didn't beat around the bush. This would really sound like a confession. What if he'd figure this out already? Were you ready for his reaction? His decision? You have nowhere to go though. You finally went through all this. There's no turning back. Taking in a deep breath, "It's about the main character who...falls in love with her best friend."

A/N: hoping this works out here idk anymore ;—; this is v. heartwarming and I just wanted to share this and I know most of y'all want n sfw but here comes some fluff pls TAGLIST: drop the ff emoji on my ask box to be added 🍁

REBLOGS ARE DEEPLY APPRECIATED ♡ Please help me reach other viewers. Thank you so so much!

© quirrrky 2021 - All rights reserved. No work shall be reproduced, reposted, modified, translated in any form or by any means. ✧ DAYDREAM MUSEUM ✧

[helpistolethesecharacters]

Down By The Docks

Bucky Barnes x Male Reader

Word Count: 1810

This is inspired by another request, from an anon this time.

The idea is a '40's AU. I wasn't totally sure if that meant they wanted a story totally set in the 1940's or something that just didn't reference the war, or pretended the war wasn't on/our characters aren't involved in the war, so I just picked one.

Hope this is what you wanted anon!

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

Bucky Barnes was one of the best looking fellas Y/n had ever laid eyes on, of that he was sure. It was only his second day working down on the docks, but he was sure he could happily spend the rest of his life working this menial job if the view never changed.

He was always quick with a smile for a pretty dame or even, Y/n had noticed, a particularly handsome fella.

Y/n had thought for sure he had imagined seeing his 'impressing a pretty dame' smile aimed at the bloke who had delivered a sack of letters to the area they were working in.

He would have written it off as the heat getting to him if not for that very same smile being directed his way later that day while they were all sitting around eating their lunches.

None of the other's seemed to have picked up Bucky's brazen flirting with both genders, or maybe they just didn't care. That last one seemed pretty unlikely though.

Y/n just hiked up a brow at Bucky the second time he shot him that pretty smile. He had no idea what to do with that. It couldn't be helped that it was illegal to be that way, that was just the way of the world.

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

Y/n was sure that Bucky was trying to kill him.

He had shown up to work wearing his standard work wear. Just the worn whites and browns of clothes that had been washed too many times but that you couldn't afford to throw out yet.

It just wasn't fair that the day was particularly warm, so everyone had ended up stripped down to their pants. All those half naked male bodies glimmering with sweat, the noises they made unconsciously as they lifted boxes full of cargo and moved them to where they needed to go.

And right there, in the middle of it all, Bucky Barnes. Poor Y/n had ended up being sent home from being 'affected by the sun'. It wasn't his fault dammit, Bucky had been parading around looking good enough to eat. Y/n was ashamed to find himself literally walking into poles and walls in his preoccupation with the half naked Bucky.

----------

Y/n sighed in relief. Tonight was going to be blessedly free of one Bucky Barnes, perpetual thorn in his gay side.

He was going out to a bar. It was an open secret that this particular bar was a gay bar. The cops in that area were happy to turn a blind eye to it largely because several of them were known regulars there.

That didn't mean you could just go about talking about it, or anything that went on inside it while you weren't there.

It was still illegal after all.

Y/n leaned back into his booth and sighed happily. A nice drink, some eye candy that wouldn't beat the crap out of him just for giving them the eye, and a little dancing ought to make his worries just float away.

Y/n had been looking forward to this all week.

Damn Barnes to hell and back.

Y/n moved over to the bar to order himself something silly. He was feeling the need for some ridiculousness tonight.

He had just taken his first sip of his drink when he spotted him. There he was, standing by the bar just a little ways down from Y/n, seemingly ordering a drink.

Y/n tried valiantly to not spit his mouthful of booze all over the bar. He had paid good money for that drink and he would be damned if he wasted it.

It didn't work very well. Some of it ended up coming out of his nose, and as he hacked up the parts of it that went down the wrong pipe to choke him, the rest dribbled down his chin.

'Well, that was attractive,' Y/n thought drily.

"Oh gosh, are you alright? Here, let me help."

Y/n turned watering eyes on the man addressing him.

He was met with a short blond who looked like a stiff wind could knock him over if he wasn't careful.

He was holding out a handkerchief and looking unsure of himself.

Y/n went to reassure the stranger that he was fine, but some small remaining part of the drink that hadn't been attempting to kill him before chose that moment to do so. Instead of words, he could only hack and cough, trying to get the liquid out of his lungs.

Y/n felt a hand on his back moving in firm circles, trying to help. He looked back over at the man to find him at his side frowning as he rubbed at Y/n's back.

When Y/n could finally speak properly he took the handkerchief, which had once again been offered, to clean his face of tears and spit and snot.

'Who'd have thought that alcohol burned so badly going into a person's nose and lungs?' Y/n thought disgustedly.

When he had cleaned himself up properly and turned back to his savior he suddenly realised he had no idea how to make this situation any less awkward.

The other man apparently had no such reservations.

"I'm Steve by the way. That looked pretty painful. Are you okay now?"

He was so earnest, and it didn't look like he was laughing at Y/n at all, so he could only nod vaguely.

"Yeah, I was just surprised by something. I'm Y/n, just so you know."

Y/n paused, feeling every bit as awkward as he ever had.

"Um, after that bit of excitement, I think I'm gonna call it a night. Murderous drinks aside it was nice meeting you. Can I clean this and bring it back here some time for you Steve?"

Y/n held up the thoroughly soaked handkerchief, cringing internally.

"Oh, don't worry about it, but are you sure you don't want to stay for a little bit longer? I'm here with my friend, but he's never very good company when there's dancing and alcohol involved."

Y/n mulled it over for a second, before manners kicked in.

"Yeah, no worries. I could stay for a bit longer, if only to save you from a lonely evening."

Steve's smile was sweet, but Y/n also couldn't detect anything else behind it. It didn't seem like he was trying to hit on Y/n, just that he didn't want to spend the night alone while his 'friend' danced the night away.

Y/n followed behind Steve as he led him over to the booth that Y/n had originally been sitting in.

Y/n stopped still at the sight of who was sitting across from Steve. Bucky dang-it-all-to-heck Barnes.

At their approach, Bucky turned away from the two women sitting with him in the booth. His handsome face lit up when he registered who it was standing in front of him.

"Stevie, there you are. I was starting to think you ditched me earlier than ever, but look what you found. I should bring you here more often."

Steve just gave Bucky a blank look.

Y/n couldn't blame him. If his 'good friend' had taken him out for a night of fun, he wouldn't have appreciated him looking at other guys that way either. He wasn't exactly backward in letting people know he was interested from the sounds of it.

Y/n stood awkwardly by the booth, not really sure if he should still be there. He had followed Steve to keep him company, but if it were him in Steve's shoes right now, he'd want him to leave.

"Um, I think I should probably head off actually."

Steve turned back to Y/n looking confused.

"Oh, well if you're sure. You don't have to stay if you don't want to of course."

Y/n refused to acknowledge the fact that Bucky was honest to goodness pouting. Was there anything in this world that was fair?

"Well, at least let me walk you out."

There would be no arguing apparently, as Bucky was already out of his seat and herding Y/n to the door.

"It was nice meeting you!" Y/n barely managed to turn to yell to Steve as he was pulled away by the ever insistent Bucky.

Once they made it outside Bucky paused and turned to face Y/n.

"Hey."

Y/n turned to face him.

"Gotta say, I'm gettin' a bit confused here."

Y/n frowned but stayed silent.

"When we met at work I thought you were pretty cute, but you don't hit on people down by the docks if you wanna live to see the next sunrise, you know? But then you were always starin' an I thought, maybe you mighta been interested. Then that day you kept walkin' into things happened and I was pretty dang sure you were."

Y/n was blushing by now.

'Great so he did notice.'

"But then I see you here."

Bucky had moved closer and lowered his voice, speaking softer.

"An, no offense to Stevie, but he's not exactly every guys dream-boat. You know, I don't even think he knows this is a gay bar."

He broke off here to chuckle quietly. He was standing so close, he was practically pressing Y/n up against the wall of the bar.

"But then you're actin' all stand-offish. Like you can't even bare to look at me. So, what's a guy to think?"

Bucky seems to realise how this might be coming across and pulls away to give Y/n some room.

"Do I got a shot with you Y/n?"

Y/n had been floating somewhere dreamy with Bucky pressed up so close to him, but when he pulled away, reality came crashing down. How dare he ask questions like that when Steve was in there waiting for him to get back?

"You got some nerve Barnes. You can't just ask anyone out. Not when you got a fantastic guy like that waiting for you in there!"

"Fantastic guy? What-"

Y/n cut him off before he could sweet talk his way out of this.

"Steve! He's sweet, and kind and probably way too good for someone who flirts with everyone on the block!"

Bucky was laughing, which Y/n thought was way out of line.

"Wha, Y/n, Steve's just a friend. He don't even swing that way."

Y/n's face lit up with the brightest blush he had ever felt. He was sure he was going to actually self-combust before long.

"Oh."

"Yeah. So is that why you looked at me like that?"

He moved closer again, and when he spoke that damned silver tongue was back.

"I would never. When I'm with someone, they're the most important person in the world to me. Besides, how could I ever look my ma in the face again if I treated my partner like that?"

Y/n blushed fiercely.

"So whaddya say? Give me a shot?"

Y/n could only nod, face still a brilliant red.