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rememberwren · 4 months ago

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Practice

About this: certified drabble gone out of hand. best friend!Kyle Gaz Garrick/fem!reader. PIV, fingering, oral (fem receiving). King of your firsts, you ask your best friend Kyle to take your virginity.

Part 1 here.

“Kyle?”

“Hm?”

“Can I talk to you about something?”

He sucks in a breath, like you’ve asked for something painful. “No can do, honey pie. I’m just here to sit in silence.”

You roll your eyes, though his joke breaks through the ice of your nerves and melts that anxious, frozen part inside you. Kyle’s good at that—putting you at ease. He does it in such easy, flippant ways that you aren’t even sure if it’s being done intentionally. Just another excuse added to the grocery-list-length of reasons why you’re here now, asking him for this.

“If I had a favor…a big one. Would you do it?”

He grins, a flash of pale, straight teeth. “That’s totally dependent on the favor. Does it involve burying a body?”

“No.”

“—because my answer is yes—“

“Would you have sex with me? For my first time.” The mirthful expression drops from his face, all teasing fading away. He turns to you—literally angles his body toward you—to give you his full attention. You do your best to meet his eyes. See, you can make eye contact too. You’re to be taken seriously.

He blinks placidly and asks: “Why me?”

“We’ve practiced stuff before,” you begin to recite, though that grocery list of reasons why Kyle would make the perfect party in your brain has suddenly gone frustratingly fuzzy. “You make me feel safe, and I’m—like, really attracted to you.”

His mouth wobbles, threatening to grin. “Yeah?” he asks, playing at unaffected. He runs a hand over his shorn hair and answers for himself: “Yeah.”

“Kyle. Focus.”

“Okay, okay, how’s this for focus: all those things you just said? Those are things you’ll probably feel for someone in the future. A partner. Somebody you really want to give yourself to. So why do it now with me? Why not wait for it to be real?” he asks.

It’s…it’s a good question. With a really good answer. But telling Kyle that this is real for you? That’s not an option. So ignoring the obvious, what’s another good reason you could possibly have for not wanting to wait for Mx. Right?

Kyle’s waiting, watching, brows raised in an smug expression that says, See. I’ve just talked you down from a dangerous ledge. You’re welcome, when you finally settle on the only excuse you can think of.

“Because,” you say, “I wanna feel good now.”

He can get behind that. He can get underneath it, on top of it. Anywhere it wants him—Kyle can get there. Because you deserve to feel good, and there’s nobody in this godforsaken world who deserves to be making you feel good, but Kyle comes close. You chose him, after all, and he thinks that must stand for something.

He sinks into the mindset the way other men must slip into well-fitting suits; this is tailor-made for him. He’ll give you the princess treatment: dinner, back to his place for wine, then he’ll sip the taste of it off of your tongue and—

At the first sign of his acquiescence, you whip your shirt off over your head and his brain blue screens.

“Whoa,” he says. He gives himself a solid moment to eat you up with his eyes: your soft curves, your dimples, the bra you’ve chosen with the lacy edges—god, did you somehow know that he’s a sucker for lace? After the moment ends he contents himself to going hungry, scoops up your shirt and hands it back to you. “I didn’t mean now.”

You frown, pressing your shirt to your chest to protect your modesty. “When, then?”

“When I have the chance to treat you right,” says Kyle, laying a hand on your thigh, smoothing his thumb along the curve of your knee. “To take you out first. Dress up. Light some scented candles, I don’t know—“

“That sounds like it will take forever,” you grumble. “Can’t we fast forward? Give me a sec.”

Brushing his hand away, you disappear into your bedroom and then the light to the en suite bathroom clicks on. You leave your shirt behind. Kyle’s fingers are drawn to it, feeling the warmth from where it pressed against your skin. He wonders if it smells like you, but Jesus he’s not going to sniff your fucking shirt. He’s not that desperate—

God, it smells good.

You reappear just a split second after he tosses your shirt back into its place on the sofa, and you set your boon down on the coffee table. It’s a scented candle, blueberry, half burned off. You flick the sparkwheel of the lighter in your hand and tip the candle dangerously sideways to light it.

“There!” you say cheerfully. “Candles. All my dreams are suddenly coming true.”

“You are a cheeky little brat. You want in my pants that bad?” he asks, just to watch the way your mouth drops, words turning into stuttered syllables. He laughs and pats his lap. “C’mere.”

You go, kneeling over him. His hips are slim, but it’s still a stretch for you, his hands finding your waist and helping to keep you steady, thumbs smoothing against the bare skin of your belly. He draws you against him in a hug, tucking your head into the crook of his neck. His hands run up and down the length of your back, soft and slow, drawing shivers from you.

“What’re you so eager for, hm?” Kyle wonders. On his lap like this, arms looped around his neck, you have a small height advantage. He pulls back to look up at you, eyes tracing over your nose down to your mouth and back up again, memorizing your features in the dim lamplight. “Don’t even know what you’re missing, do you?”

“It doesn’t have to be a big deal,” you murmur, playing with the collar of his shirt. It tickles, but he doesn’t laugh. “Virginity is an outdated concept anyway.”

“You want it?”

Your brows raise. “Yes?”

He’s a bastard for saying: “Don’t sound too sure to me.”

“I want it, Kyle. Come on, don’t tease me.”

“Hey—if we do this, you’re in charge,” he tells you, finally relenting against his body’s fervent desire to see his cock harden. You shift on his lap and he has to pause speaking, hands flexing against you. “Whatever you say goes. Whenever you want to stop, we stop. Alright?”

“Sounds like a lot of responsibility.”.

“Tough,” he says. “Those are the rules, honey pie. Take it or leave it.”

“Can I make my first rule?”

“I’m all ears.”

You clear your throat and mutter into the juncture of his neck and shoulder, “Kyle, I want you to be in charge.”

Kyle’s breath leaves him in a rush. He’s a bad man. He must be, for getting so drunk off of those words. For wanting so badly to be in charge of you and your pretty body, for finding your overwhelming trust in him absolutely heady.

He leans up and kisses you. It’s not the first time you’ve ever kissed, but it’s easily the best. You take it to a hungry place and he doesn’t even attempt to rein you in, just sighs into your mouth and sucks on your tongue, your kisses turning into a heated give-and-take that reminds him of ocean waves he wants to be swept away in.

You settle more firmly in his lap, fingers stroking up through his shaved hair. Your nails against his scalp makes him groan. The two of you kiss until your mouths are numb, until you have devolved into little thrusts against him, seeking friction.

When you seem well and truly desperate, Kyle slips his hands up from your hips to cup your breasts, thumbs tracing your skin above the cups of your bra.

“Take it off,” you gasp against his mouth. “Please Kyle, take it off—“

“Pretty pushy for the girl who isn’t in charge anymore.”

“Kyle!”

“Alright, alright,” he says, hands tracing around your ribs to the clasp at the back. He undoes it on the first try and mutters under his breath: “Score.”

“What?” you pant, slipping your arms from the straps. The bra comes off, and tumbles from the couch to the floor, but neither of you pay it any mind.

Kyle can’t speak. He’s never seen you here before, miles of new flesh on display. Your nipples pucker in the cool air under his stare, and he reaches out to rub the pad of his thumb over one, watching you shudder. When he cups your breasts in his palms he can’t help but think how well they fit in his hands, how every part of you seems molded for him. He’s not going to be able to let you go after this. It’s like being behind the wheel skidding on black ice. He sees the collision course he is on, but there’s nothing he can do to stop it.

“Are you sensitive here?” he asks, thumbing at the hard peak of one breast.

“Isn’t everyone?” you breathe.

“No,” says Kyle with a warm laugh. He pinches you softly, attuned to the breath you suck in and the way your body trembles. You are a sensitive little thing, untouched by other hands, and fuck, Kyle’s never had a thing for virgins but he’s got a thing for you, and it threatens to destroy him.

“Gonna ruin you,” he says, leaning in to nuzzle at the hammering pulse in your throat. He opens his mouth and scrapes his teeth over your collarbone just to hear the way you squeak.

“Do it,” you whisper, hips grinding down against the hard line of his clothed erection. “Come on, Kyle, you’re all talk—“

“Me—?”

“—said I wanted to feel good,” you say. “Why am I still waiting?”

Well. It’s logic he can’t argue with.

He urges you off of his lap. “Bedroom.”

“Alright,” you laugh.

Just after you stand on shaking legs, Kyle adds: “Race ya.”

Kyle launches himself over the back of the couch in a move that would not look nearly so smooth if you tried, socked-feet slipping on the hardwood as he races toward the bedroom.

“Kyle, you cheater!” you howl, rushing after him.

“Blow out that candle, it’s a fire hazard!” he shouts behind him, sending you whirling back to the coffee table to huff a breath against the flame.

By the time you make it into the bedroom, he’s reclined on your bed, ankles crossed, hat resting over his face like he is taking a restful nap. You’d believe it if it weren’t for the erection tenting his jeans.

“If you’re tired, I can leave you to nap,” you snark, feigning for the door.

Kyle whips his hat off of his head and tosses it like a frisbee with frightening dexterity. The hard brim clatters against your knuckles and makes you gasp, clutching them against your chest as you stare at him in shock.

“You’re not going anywhere,” Kyle says. He sheds his shirt in that slick little maneuver men have mastered, gripping the back collar and tugging it up and over his head. It reveals a length of dark, soft skin stretched taut over muscle that has your mouth watering. You’ve seen him shirtless plenty of times—God, you’ve seen him naked, really, though not all at once—but it never stops having such a heated effect on you. He kneels up and comes to the edge of the bed, sitting on the side, reaching out one hand for you, palm soft and facing up. “C’mere.”

You go to him, taking his hands and lacing your fingers together. He strokes his thumb against yours.

“You wanna finish undressing me?” he asks.

“Do you want me to finish undressing you?”

Kyle stares. Then a slow smile spreads across his face. He gets it; he always does. Standing up, he guides your hand to rest flat against his abs, drawing it downward toward his belt buckle. He says: “Undress me, then.”

Your hands shake as you unfasten his belt. You don’t bother slipping it free of the loops, just let it dangle open while unfastening his jeans. His erection makes that a little more difficult than it might have been otherwise, and every time your knuckles brush against him, he gives little sighs that go straight to your head.

He’s not wearing any underwear.

“Gaz you devil.”

“That’s me,” he says with a warm smile. His fingers find the waistband of your leggings, and it’s his turn to draw them down your legs and let you brace yourself on his broad shoulders while he helps you out of them. With any other man you might have been shy, but there’s no room for it with Gaz. The way he looks at you takes up all that space in your brain for anxiety. He looks at you like he’s seeing artwork, like he wants to pin you to the wall and stare at you for the rest of his life.

“Bed time,” he says, coaxing you down onto the soft duvet. You shift to scoot back but his hands grip your thighs, fingers denting the soft flesh as he tugs you back toward the edge of the bed in a show of strength that has your heart hammering. He kneels and spreads your thighs. Then he shuts his eyes, muttering under his breath.

You lean up onto your elbows. “What is it?”

His eyes flicker open. “In my house we pray before we eat, thank you.”

“Kyle!”

He’s still laughing when his mouth presses against you. You slip off of your elbows and onto your back, both hands clasped over your eyes as he licks a broad stripe over your folds. Gaz eats pussy with remarkable tenderness, no hint of teeth, all tongue and soft kisses. He lets you hide your face and muffle your noises but draws the line when you try to close your legs with his head still between them. Winding his arms up over your thighs, he pins them open to the bed with his forearms, hands framing your cunt nicely. His thumbs slip in your own arousal when he tries to spread your folds too, and in the end he gives up, burying his face deeper into you to tongue at your entrance.

He draws back for breath at one point, his pretty jaw smeared with your slick. He sounds winded when he asks: “What do you think, honey? Can you cum like this?”

You continue covering your eyes with one hand, but the other reaches down to grip at his short hair and guide his mouth back to your clit. He chuckles against you but takes the hint, lapping the flat of his tongue at that aching epicenter of nerves, taking it into his mouth and suckling with sweetness.

You’re climbing that first peak when he carefully slips his first finger inside you, giving you just enough to whet your appetite. You hadn’t realized how badly you craved something inside you until you had that slender finger to grip, but now you want more.

“Another, Kyle, please,” you ask.

He groans, mouth full of you, and shifts on his knees. Pulling back, he guides two fingers into you, easy as anything. “I love your manners. You’re so fucking good, you know that? So good.”

He stops talking before he can make you uncomfortable—knows the way your chest feels fileted open with any kind of praise or compliment—and gets back to his important work. With his fingers gently working you open and his mouth on your clit, it takes hardly any time for the pleasure to crest, the muscles in your belly tensing as your pleasure draws tight and then snaps clean in two. Your toes curl, groan bitten off as you clamp your mouth shut, pussy spasming around his fingers. He works you through it, dark eyes shut like he’s savoring the taste of you.

“Can you take more?” he asks, mouth wet, lips swollen.

Your head bobs in a nod, throat dry from all the sounds you’ve been making. Kyle’s grin is beatific, and he leans down to kiss your closest thigh while he works a third finger into you. This one gives you a pleasant stretch, but there is no pain; you are plenty wet and relaxed.

“You want me to use a condom?” he asks, smoothing his free hand over your belly to watch the muscles jump and twitch at his soft touch. “You been taking your pill everyday?”

You roll your eyes. “Jesus, yes, Kyle I’ve been taking my birth control. Do you—?”

“Nope,” he says, shaking his head. “This one’s on you. Condom or no condom.”

“Could we—without?”

“We could,” he teases with a smile. He stands, fingers slipping free from inside you. It leaves you feeling empty, aching.

You hope that he’ll make you cum again.

Leaning over you, he plants a hand on either side of you and kisses you, still tasting faintly of where his mouth has been. You loop you arms around his neck, pulling him down until he rests his weight against you, chest-to-chest, your legs hooked around his waist. When he pulls back, it’s just to encourage you higher up onto the mattress so he can follow, finding his home once again in the hollow of your thighs. He says: “Let me know if anything hurts, yeah?”

“Yeah,” you breathe, looking up at him. Suddenly it doesn’t feel like there’s enough breath in your lungs. You feel starstruck by him, by the look of concentration on his face as he angles his hips until his tip brushes against your folds. Slowly, he slips inside you, and it’s a fullness you’ve never known from your own fingers or even his. Your eyes fall shut, but your mouth can’t help smiling, beaming practically.

“Yeah?” Kyle laughs breathlessly. “That good already?”

You get the giggles.

“Not the best time to laugh at a man, you might give him a complex,” Kyle says, grinning.

“All men deserve complexes.”

“Except for me.”

“Sure.”

He sinks in, deeper, deeper until there’s nowhere left for him to go. His forehead brushes against your own, and your eyes open to find his own closed, mouth parted as he pants softly, looking almost as wrecked as you feel. He opens his eyes and catches you looking, but instead of calling you out, he just cocks his head, giving one of his pretty, closed-lip smiles.

He sets a slow rhythm to start with, and it’s not enough. Your ankles lock around his back, urging him on, fingers scrambling for purchase against the smooth skin of his shoulders. Every thrust drags against the wet, swollen walls of your cunt, and at the apex his pubic bone meets your clit in a touch that’s nearly soft as a kiss.

“Is it good for you?” you wonder, taking note of his uncharacteristic silence.

He drops his head to rest in the dark juncture between your neck and shoulder, kissing you there. “Best it’s ever been,” he admits with a little laugh. “Your pussy is perfect. I’m trying not to cum and end things early.”

You groan. Something about that knowledge makes the heat in your belly rise up to a boil. You clench around him on instinct, and he hisses a breath against your neck, then teases the spot with his teeth. When he’s drawn blood to the surface of your skin, he leans up onto his elbows to admire his work. His mouth is swollen, but he looks unquestionably pleased with himself.

For a while the two of you continue on like that: his lazy thrusts and mouth leaving bruises on your neck. Bracing himself on one elbow, he takes your hand and kisses your fingertips before guiding it down between you both toward your pussy.

“Make yourself feel good,” he says. “You probably can’t cum just from this.”

Your body agrees. He felt good inside you, but it isn’t until you touch your clit that you feel the first tendrils of that addictive heat in your belly. You chase it immediately, eyes falling shut as your fingers work faster. It’s different with him inside you—like there’s no room for the pleasure to fizzle out and die the way it sometimes does at your own touch. Instead he drives you higher, especially as his tight-knit control wavers and his hips drive into you with more force.

You forget to tell him when you’re close. It creeps up on you, really. All at once your muscles seize, everything focused on that narrow place between your legs and the epicenter of an orgasm that has your back arching until your breasts press flush against his chest. (You hear him suck in a breath like you’ve stabbed him, his voice shaky when he asks: “Are you cumming?” but there’s no breath to answer him with.) There’s no more room for your hand to work but Kyle’s thrusts drag you through the aftershocks. It seems to go on forever, your sounds embarrassing but your brain wiped clean of embarrassment.

“I’m not pulling out unless you tell me to,” he says once your ears have stopped ringing. He sounds strained, his chest brushing against your nipples with every shallow pant. “So jot that down.”

“Don’t want you to,” you admit, boneless. “I want to know what it feels like when you cum inside me.”

Kyle moans quietly. His head drops, forehead resting against your own as his thrusts grow hectic. He mutters the quietest fuck in your ear when he cums, filling you with a rush of wet warmth that turns the sounds of his cock slick and lewd as he works himself through it with your pussy.

When he pulls out, it’s jarring. You feel so empty. He kneels back on his heels and spreads your thighs to watch his own spend leak from your entrance and says it again, that quiet little fuck that makes you feel invincible.

Collapsing on the bed beside you, he finds your mouth, cradling your head in one of his hands, turning you to angle your mouth just right for his tongue.

“You were perfect,” he says when he breaks the kiss. His knuckles skim your cheekbone. “Thank you. For choosing me.”

You nod, throat suddenly tight. It’s over now, time to return to reality. Except you don’t want it to be over. You don’t want a reality without Kyle by your side or in your bed. How did you think that this would be a good idea? How did you think you could be so intimate with him and just let him go? Stupidly your eyes burn, and he must see something on your face because he rushes to assure you: “Hey, we’re okay. Nothing’s different now, yeah?”

Yeah, you think dully. That’s the problem.

#kyle gaz garrick x reader

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webslingingslasher · 2 years ago

Note

hey, i loveee your writings! i was wondering if you could write a fic or one shot of peter parker and reader getting into an argument based off of peter parker saying something to his friends behind readers back about reader that hurts her feelings? ending is up to you! thanks!

iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii dunno how i feel about this

You were many things.

Beautiful, talented, smart, caring, affectionate, loyal, honest, needy.

Needy.

Needy, needy, needy.

Needy, he called you needy.

Were you needy? You didn’t think so, but then again, would you be aware if you were?

Maybe he didn’t mean it, it was a private conversation. He could’ve been just venting, ranting about small things. You’ve done it before with your friends, it could be harmless.

But, god it hurt. It was so casual coming from his mouth, like it’s a common thought passing through his mind.

“Hi petey,” you said with a hum, he had just left yours to hang out with his friends when he called.

Silence drifted on the line.

“Petey?”

Shuffles, maybe a cough? Murmured voices, nothing too solid.

“Peter, you there?”

Laughs break through, you understand it was a buttdial.

You were about to hang up but Peter moved around, suddenly the voices were crystal clear.

“So, how is it with your girl, parker?”

You think it’s Mark.

It’s wrong to eavesdrop but if your partner accidentally called while they were about to talk about you, wouldn’t you listen, just for a second?

Notes from future self, don’t.

“Eh,” you imagine him rubbing at the back of his head, “good, good. It’s good.”

Good?

Good, that’s it?

Good?

You thought everything was great, wonderful in fact. When your friends ask about Peter you take your time on the soapbox preaching, he wants to end the conversation immediately.

Is that a good sign or a really bad sign?

“Just good? Don’t tell me she stopped putting out, I know how chicks are.”

“Don’t talk about her like that, Logan.”

Peter came to your defense, point one for parker.

On the other side of the line Logan holds his hands up in surrender, “didn’t mean to poke the bear there, parker. Get your girl to suck your dick, you’ll be fine.”

Next time you see Logan you’ll clobber him.

Peter grunts, he’s never liked Logan and neither did the friend group. But every group needed that one person that was mutually hated so there was always something to joke and talk about.

“She sucks my dick just fine, you sound jealous. I’m sure she’s got a friend that’ll pity fuck you.”

Your eyebrows furrow, Peter doesn’t talk like that. At least not around you, is this what the ‘saturday’s are for the boys’ boys mean when they say locker room talk?

Mark cuts back in, he lights up a joint.

“I’m sure parker is just fine, he can barely rip himself away from Y/N.” He coughs on the smoke between laughs, Peter stays quiet. He’s wondering if he should tell his friends this, it’s nothing serious and it didn’t really bother him, and he didn’t want to say anything to you because he knows you’d take offense and stop it; and he’d miss it way too much.

“Yeah, that’s kinda the problem.”

He mumbled it, but he said it and what the fuck did that mean?

You couldn’t stop now, you pray he doesn’t see you’re connected to the call.

“Trouble in paradise? Do tell.” Mark offers the joint to Peter, he accepts it and passes it to Logan.

“Sometimes I feel like she’s all over me and needs me for everything, I dunno.”

Peter tugs at his hair, he’s not saying it right.

“I think I feel like no matter how much I’m there it’s not enough, she’s so needy.”

Gut punch. You took such a sharp inhale you have to stop breathing to make sure Peter didn’t pick up on it. You’re reeling trying to look at it from his side, you didn’t seem needy, but everyone’s idea of needy must be different.

Sure, you do try to extend his visits for as long as possible but that’s because some weeks you feel like you don’t see him but for a few hours and you’re willing to scrape up as much time as possible. And because you love him. And sure, there have been times you ask him to do things or help you but you love watching him fix things around your apartment and have him take extra time to dote on you. And because you love him.

You want to hang up, you don’t want to know why he thinks you’re needy. If you do then you’ll spiral and question everything you do from here on out.

On Peter’s end he pulled his phone out to check to see the time, and if you’ve texted. His eyes widen at the screen, he feels like he stopped breathing before he whispered a “fuck” under his breath, he looked at the screen and tried to pretend it wasn’t real.

It was. Bold and in his face, your saved name and small lettering below it, ‘call connected’ you’ve been on the line for six minutes. You heard absolutely everything, in a panic he hung up the call which was the worst thing he could’ve done, because now you know he knows, and suddenly you realized that if he thought you were needy you’d show him you weren’t.

—----------------------------------

There is no surprise your boyfriend is pounding on the door.

Not loudly, but constant and quickly, demanding to not be ignored.

Like his four missed calls.

After two straight minutes of his rapping you finally swung the door open, waiting for him to bombard you with reason and apologies. He looked surprised. Peter opens and closes his mouth, he doesn’t know what to say exactly.

Your eyebrow raises at his silence, “you had forty minutes, four missed calls, seven ignored texts, banged on my door for two minutes, and in all that time you didn’t think of one thing to say?”

“I’m sorry?” He looks sheepish, he gave a tiny shrug. Hoping you’ll find him cute enough to be let off the hook, like a kid with cookie crumbs around his mouth claiming he didn’t know who ate them.

You run your tongue over your teeth and click them, “yeah, no.” You try to swing the door shut and he foot catches it.

“Baby,” he catches your eyes, his own look wet and sad. He looked remorseful for his words but didn’t know what to say. “I’m sorry.”

You know what you want to say, you want to tell him that it hurt your feelings, that you didn’t know you were being that way, why he didn’t tell you, why he felt that way, a million things ran through your mind.

But that would make him right. Needy about answers, about why he would think that. That would prove him right, and you weren’t needy, you didn’t think you were but anything he might deem as needy wouldn’t be done anymore.

“It’s okay.”

Peter pulls his head back, he’s unsure if you know what you said.

“It’s…okay?”

You nod, “yeah, sure, I understand, you were just venting, and I shouldn’t have been listening.”

“But that doesn’t make it okay, because if you did that to me I’d be hurt.”

But I wouldn’t do that, I only praise you around my friends.

“Yeah, well, fuck around and find out, you know.”

It feels off, this is why Peter didn’t want to tell you anything. He knew you’d pull away from him, you already are.

“Wanna watch a movie? I heard there’s -” he tries to move around your shoulder to come in but you move to block him entirely. He looks at you half confused, half offended.

You didn’t need him. He had plans with his friends and you weren’t about to prove them all right and have Peter come running back to you, like he always does, and try to fix things.

This time Peter wouldn’t fix things, you were. It was clear what he didn’t like, so you’ll stop doing it.

“Don’t you have plans tonight?”

Peter snorts, “since when do you care? You always beg me to stay with you anyways.”

Is that one? One of the things that made him think you were needy?

Not tonight.

“I won’t beg tonight then, go have fun.”

Peter regrets everything about the past two hours, he should’ve stayed when you asked the first time.

“I have more fun with you, lemme in.” Peter tried to push past but you were adamant he leaves.

“Go smoke some weed with Mark, come back when you have the munchies. I’ll make cookies.”

Peter shakes his head, “I don’t wanna hang out with them right now, I want to hang out with you.” He tries to move past you for the third time, you put a hand on his chest to push him back.

“No you don’t. You feel guilty and want to prove something to me or yourself or whatever, and I don’t need Logan thinking if you don’t grovel at my feet then I’ll stop sucking your dick.”

Peter jumps in immediately, “that was fucked up, and I know I said some shitty things too but I didn’t want him thinking I wasn’t getting laid.” His eyes blow up, he moves his hands around, “not that that matters! Cause I’d love you no matter how much we had sex, but we are having sex and he-”

You hold up a hand to stop him, “I don��t know where you think that’s going but it’s nowhere good. You’re just digging a deeper hole.”

Peter’s voice is panicked, “there’s a hole?”

You sigh and clasp your hands, you point them at his chest.

“I’m not mad and I don’t need you here, I also don’t need you trying to make a point about not meaning it. You said it and you meant it, don’t lie to my face. Either man up or go back to your friends.”

You were right, this is going nowhere good and Peter knows it.

“This shouldn’t be a fight, right?”

You shrug, “I dunno.”

Peter pleads with you, he wants anything, something he can work off of.

“I’m sorry, I really am.” He reaches for your hands and you let him hold them, he rubs his thumbs over the back of your hands.

“Are you sorry you said it or sorry you got caught?”

Peter doesn’t know how to respond yet, he doesn’t know how to be honest without offending you and he doesn’t want one thing to change.

“I just….” He groans and tilts his head back, “can I please come inside?”

You take him in and decide it’s okay for him to enter, your head looks at your roommates door to make sure it’s still closed.

Peter flops on the couch and slaps the coffee table, you take a seat where he called and waited.

“You’re not needy. Not at all, and don’t think I’m just saying that because I think that’s what you want to hear. Needy is the wrong word, it makes you seem annoying or unbearable and I promise you’re my most favorite person in the world, so it’s not that.”

You whisper your words, your thumbnail being nibbled on.

“So what did you mean?”

“I don’t even know!” Peter stresses his point, you can see how upset he is, that he not only said it, but couldn’t place it.

“I just think maybe,” he groans, he doesn’t like being vulnerable. He’s the strong one in the relationship, it wasn’t very manly to cry over loving your girlfriend too much.

Peter rubs at his cheek and shrugs, “I don’t know.”

Your eyes narrow, “liar.”

Peter folds his cards, the only thing he has to lose here is you, and he will if he doesn’t be honest. But it’s a whole new level to him, a layer he’s about to peel back, one that isn’t so light and happy. It’s a side very few people have seen, he’s scared to show it to you.

“Can we talk?”

You look at him oddly, “we are?”

“Private.”

You’re confused but lead him to your bedroom. Peter didn’t know how to tell you he was about to cry, but when he did he didn’t want your roommate seeing it.

You wait for Peter’s lead when you reach your room, he pushes you towards your bed for you to take a seat, he stands between your legs and cups your face. Peter tilts your head up until he’s looking down into your eyes, he looks troubled. A small tired grin hugged his lips, “hi baby.”

“Hi, peter.” you whispered soft, his thumb brushed your bottom lip.

He takes in a deep breath like he’s remembered the task at hand.

“I’m about to tell you something I haven’t told anyone else, and it’s a different Peter than you’re used to.” Peter presses a kiss to your forehead and steps back, this time he takes a seat at your desk chair.

“I don’t think you're needy. I don’t even know what to say, cause like, fuck… I don’t, look, spider-man has a lot of people that need him, right? And he works hard all day and has no one to share it with, but I do. I get to tell you about my shit days, and you’ll patch me up and I’ll pretend to leave just so you can ask me to stay over, and honestly? It feels nice to have someone who needs Peter and not spider-man for once.”

You try to speak but he stops you, he looks like he’s about to cry.

“I look forward to it too much. I fucking sit here and play pretend, like it’s a chore to spend time with you, and you always ask me how I do it so good and I’m just so used to hiding it. I’m so used to hiding this lonely feeling, like nothing is enough, and then I had you.”

Peter shakes his head slowly, he wipes at his nose. Tears drop casually with every few blinks as he speaks, you want to hold him to you forever.

“I didn’t have to do anything because you did, you made all the decisions I wanted to in the first place. I love when you ask me to fix things, and when you want me to spend every second with you, when you want me to skip a night out, when you get me to stay over for the third night in a row.”

Peter wipes his eyes, he sniffs and breathes out shakily, this is what it’s about, right?

“Baby, you aren’t needy. I am.”

“And you projected that on me.” It wasn’t a question.

He laughs, a tear drips down his nose, he wipes it away.

“I’ve never felt so needed and wanted in my life, and I am so terrified I’ll fuck it up and lose it all.”

You’d never do that, if the relationship ends it won’t be on your terms.

Finally you stand and sit on his lap, he welcomes you and for the first time you notice how tight he’s always wanted to hold you, forever stuck in his grasp. You straighten the collar on his shirt and fix his hair, his eyes shiny from his tears.

“You could, you could fuck it all up and lose it.”

You press your forehead against his, “but I need you too much.”

#peter parker x reader #tasm!peter x reader #tasm! peter parker x reader #peter parker blurb #peter parker angst #tasm!peter x you #my writing

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suempu · 9 months ago

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Falls to floor your writing is so lovely Do you perhaps have any kabru x reader sfw/nsfw hcs…

thank you so much for the kind words. “lovely” 🥹 ahh you got me blushing anon lmfao

gn reader + on the receiving end !!!

kabru would be the casual type of lover. he’s nothing but calm and suave with you, which is attractive.

he’s quite attentive of people and you’re no exception. although he really goes out of his way to be accommodating when it comes to you if you’re his lover.

mindful of your expressions and body language. once he sees a sign of you being uncomfortable, kabru will pull you away from the group and talk to you softly.

i feel like he’d be good at taking care of his partner, though he’s not the best, he tries.

kabru’s good at talking you down, grounding you into reality whenever you’re on the verge of a breakdown. let’s say you feel very unstable, he’ll whisper in the most softest tone you’ll ever hear while he holds your hand. he asks permission to touch you beforehand of course.

“here, you can feel my fingers, right?”

“mm.”

“my palm, feel it. you’re here with me,”

“i’m here…”

“good job. can i ask what happened?”

he’s good at radiating a calm atmosphere when you need it and he’s always ready to help you.

praises and compliments come out of his mouth like a piece of cake, he’s not shy when it comes to showering you with love. the whole party is grossed out by him whenever you’re around. it’s like when the parents are being all lovey-dovey and the children just groan out an ‘eww’ (its mainly mickbell complaining tho lmao)

i believe he’s had one or two intimate relationships before you, but none of them has ever lasted long enough as yours. so he’s had some experience before you.

he’s certainly a tease. have you seen that face? that face screams unfairness and mischief (in bed)

kabru loves your whining whenever he purposely denies you release. one moment his fingers will go fast and wild on your most sensitive spots, and the next he goes painstakingly slow.

“aww, but if i let you cum this early, then what about me?”

he’s a cheeky bastard. the real reason why he draws out your orgasms is because he believes that edging you will result to a much pleasurable and hard orgasm for later (he’s right.)

you will get overstimulated with this man, no question about it. he strives to make you cum at least 5-6 times in one session, which is overkill but he really loves the way your eyes glaze over.

kabru loves your tears and whining, though it kind of makes him guilty so he makes sure to absolutely spoil you after.

his hips are bad for your body. with the way he thrusts into you so precisely. its like he already knows which spot to hit, he rolls into you as he teases and whispers in your ear. he’s actually fucking crazy.

“right here? oh yeah, here?”

he moans in time with his thrusts. he loves watching your face, how your half lidded eyes look so lost yet so present. missionary is definitely his favorite position. loves being all up on your face, he kisses your cheeks, forehead, lips, and jaw while he’s inside you.

nights with him are long and wild, but he can go slow and be more gentler if you asked him to. he lives for your reactions, he thinks its really sweet how you trust him so much with your body.

kabru makes up for all his teasing with aftercare. he pants as he pulls you close, hands on your back and caressing you gently.

“you okay? did i break you?”

“shut up.” you breath out hoarsely.

he chuckles, “i love you too.”

he gives you a massage after that, quietly kissing your hips and stomach as his fingers rub at your skin. whispers small apologies while his hands work on your body. he always checks in on you whenever he hears a whine or groan when he touches a sore spot.

while he is content with just sleeping and cuddling in your own sweat, he’ll take you to the bathroom if you want to be cleaned.

solid lover, tries his best, just don’t ever have sex in his own bedroom (its messy)

#kabru of utaya #kabru x reader #dungeon meshi #delicious in dungeon #dunmeshi #delicious in dungeon x reader #dunmeshi x reader #dungeon meshi x reader #kabru dungeon meshi #kabru delicious in dungeon #delicious in dungeon smut #dungeon meshi smut

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ajje-111 · 8 months ago

Text

General Messages 🤍

Pile 1: Man Kissing Hand (Two of pentacles)

Pile 2: Couple Sleeping (The Lovers)

Pile 3: Couple Kissing (Four of Wands)

Pile 4: Heart-Mirror (The World)

With peace and love, I wish you take these messages with and open heart and mind. As in usual tarot fashion, please take what resonates with your heart; as you are the only one that knows what is best for your path.

If there are any specific readings you want me to do in terms of theme please let me know!

Pile 1:

Cards: Two of Pentacles & Eight of Pentacles

Song: “I’d Rather Go Blind” - Beyoncé

Hello to all who were attracted to this pile. I sense this may be my earth sign pile some of you may be a Virgo but it doesn’t have to be.

Someone may have turned down on an opportunity for change. Or may have disappointed you in some way.I see someone accepting a situation for what it is and it makes the other person upset likely the person who gave this offer of opportunity. This could be work related or love be I see it means a lot to you. I feel this relationship is a “big deal” for you nonetheless.

I think you’re working very hard on a certain project right now and don’t want this situation to slow down your progress, it won’t. I see that is not even an option for you. Which right on I believe that your guides are rooting for you to do what feels good. Heavy on discipline, self-care, and achieving mastery in a specific area of your life. Keeping going.

Although I feel like this energy definitely spills into your love life and you may be looking for something solid and someone whom you can build steady ground with. You’re dedicated and devoted to a specific person in your love life, you know who this person is.

Their feelings for you are deep and conflicted, they seem to have accepted a certain message you gave them. They keep saying “it is what it is”. I don’t think their attitude reciprocates the type of dedication you’re asking for. Deep down you know this. I don’t see this person telling you this directly so take with a grain of salt. I see them still engaging with you and continuing your relationship with you like everything is fine. But their actions will speak otherwise so be aware of this. Your guides say to pay close attention to their actions.

Either way, you both are working hard for this relationship in your own separate ways. You could be very analytical as to what you deem as “progress” on the other end or vice versa. I think if you bring more love into your time together you’ll be able to relax and put less pressure on each other. I’m hearing many of you are in different situations so take this message as you see fit. Either way, I see two people who have worked very hard for they have together and sense strong teamwork. If you are looking for answers on how your partner feels then like I said they’ve accepted a certain message specifically something you said, perhaps a boundary or something of that nature. They feel disappointed and will not share this with you or are reluctant to do so if they do end up sharing this with you.

That’s all have for you again take the message you resonate with. Leave which does not. With peace and love, - Wind

Thanks for sharing your time with me! Please interact with my page as it helps me to continue making these posts!

Pile 2:

Cards: The Lovers, Two of Wands, & Queen of Swords

Song: Congratulations (ft. Quavo) - Post Malone

Hello to everyone who was attracted to this pile.

I just wanted to take a moment to congratulate you I feel like many of you have worked very hard for where you are in life right now. This may be my air pile. This would make sense because I feel an extreme sense of confidence coming from your end. Feelings of embracing and being assertive in your individuality, I really like this energy and it is a good look on you too. I see you attracting many people from your past in this moment.

At this moment you’re stepping into a new path of your life or planning for it. I see you romanticizing your life with mood boards, instagram, pictures or video edits. You’re moved and inspired by music a lot, I think it brings you a peace that is spiritual and allows your to tap into your world. You could be in college I see you trying to manage your school or work routine by pampering yourself, making sure you look good and feel good in order to get certain things you don’t necessarily want to do, done.

I’m seeing a few love offers from people you know and may not know. Nonetheless it is making you feel damn good about yourself. I don’t necessarily see you taking action towards anything physically but you’ve definitely been contemplating it honey. Lol and I mean it, I see you’ve been considering a few people who tickle your fancy.

There is two energies I pick up on, one is someone you almost feel is entitled to your love and the other person you someone you believe is some what out of reach for you.

This person who you feel is entitled to your love, is sweet and gentle and loves you deeply. You feel this love but this is simply a reflection of who they are and how they view themselves. You are not entitled to someone’s love just because they’re nice to you. I sense there is some guilt, it could be you or this person I don’t know.

The next person is someone who you feel is not attainable for x or y reasons, only you know this. But I know you feel like they’re out of reach for some reason. Your or this person knows that there is potential for a future together. I’m not sure in what aspect but they’re showing up as someone who can give you “the world”. It comes from a place of denial, but I see it is something you want.

I sense a strong urge from your guides to not get caught up in the now. Plan for what’s ahead, I see that you may not be looking for something serious right now which is smart because you’re going to be on the move quickly. Your world is rapidly changing right now, if you would like to share it which I sense that you do, then let it be with someone who loves and accepts your wishes and desires and bring that kind of fulfillment to your life.

Again take what resonates, with peace and love I wish you well.- Wind

Thanks for sharing your time with me! Please interact with my page as it helps me to continue making these posts!

Pile 3:

Cards: The Four of Wands &The High Priestess

Song: Autumn Changes - Donna Summer

Hello, pile 3 visitors, wonderful energy that is here today. I have this overwhelming sensation of being refreshed and calm in my mind. You may meditate often or are going through a difficult time that requires you to be in the moment and have a sharp mind.

Whatever it is that you are currently manifesting you will receive it. Take this as confirmation for something you've been asking the divine for.

Concerning your love life there is a stage of introspection that you're going through. You're either with someone or single I'm not feeling anything specific for those factors. You set a high standard for yourself in terms of creating a meaningful manifestation that will be divinely guided. Spirit is rooting for you and asks you to continue on the journey and listen to your intuition. Especially when it comes to financial matters of the heart, trust yourself.

There is definitely a confirmation about something you have been working on. For some of you, it is a work project. Could be something you've been helping your family with, like moving or giving someone a place to stay. There is a moment that you share with a meaningful connection, and you feel the empowering nature of love. There may have been a birth in your family, congratulations, this is not a message for everyone.

For some of you who resonate with this being a work endeavor, it will be successful through connecting and bonding with your team. Someone on your team may have a crush on you. If you had that initial feeling but didn't trust in it, this is confirmation that you were right. They want to take you out on a date after this project is over. Something of that nature would apply if this is someone you met online, through school, or someone you know.

If you're in a relationship right now I see that you are happy with the way you handled a certain disagreement with your partner. You believe that being able to express yourself with clarity will allow your relationship to be stronger.

That's all I have for you be safe, be well. With peace and love -Wind

Thanks for sharing your time with me! Please interact with my page as it helps me to continue making these posts!

PIle 4:

Cards: The World & Six of Pentacles

Song: If You Want It - Niteflyte

Hello, pile 4, welcome to your messages.

“If people define situations as real, they are real in their consequences." - Thomas theorem, sociologists WI and Dorothy Thomas

This was a quote I learned through my studies, and it is straightforward and to the point. It also goes hand in hand with the world card and the symbolism of the mirror you chose. It simply defines manifestation and its process. We can choose to do something or decide in the power of choice. This could mean different things for many of you so I'm hearing. How you define your choices and decisions is a good gauge to reflect on how you are connecting with your intuition and ego.

This pile requires deep reflection on what you want in this world. Spirit wants to remind you that life is like a dream, sometimes things appear magically, and that's because this world we live in is an illusion, reflecting light in a variety of fractal colors that we define as real. Make the colors you see. The reason I say this is because you have all the capable qualities to make your dreams come true. Spirit recognizes your potential, take this as confirmation. Be specific in what you want, not materially, but energetically. I said this in another pile I believe, but envision yourself in the body of your dream reality and you will find answers. Be creative and firm with what it is you want.

I don't know what this manifestation may mean to you all I know is that it is a great deal of stress for you. In the sense that you are worried that it is too good to be true. You don't engage with this thought often but it sits in the back of your mind. Spirit sees this as a blockage, a small one at that. For it is a choice to actually believe in this thought, to that which is up to you.

If you continue to appreciate your surroundings, loved ones, co-workers, etc. people who will do the same for you, I see you ultimately seeing the light with that which you are, in your physical reality.

Very beautiful energy, you guys might be master manifestors because it was hard for me to pick up on any past or future energy. There is a groundedness to this energy that is constantly trying to remain in the present moment of things. This will take you far.

If you're also a tarot reader spirit asks you to meditate, and keep up the good work, for "we are the angels who are kind enough to spread the wisdom of the divine."

I hope this helps, be safe and well. With peace and love. - Wind

Thanks for sharing your time with me! Please interact with my page as it helps me to continue making these posts!

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okasuka · 1 month ago

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waduh - damian wayne x reader btw

Chapter 1: The Curse

It was supposed to be a simple mission.

Klarion the Witch Boy had been spotted in Gotham, wreaking his usual havoc. Damian and Y/N had been sent to confront him while the rest of the Batfamily dealt with the chaos spreading across the city.

Damian had charged ahead, his katana gleaming under the moonlight, every movement calculated and precise. Y/N, ever the stoic strategist, had hung back, analyzing the battlefield.

“You should wait,” Y/N said calmly, adjusting her glasses as Klarion floated above them, cackling.

“Tt. I don’t need to wait,” Damian snapped, his green eyes narrowing. “I can handle him.”

Y/N sighed, already anticipating disaster. “It’s not about handling him. He’s chaotic. Charging in—”

“Too late!” Klarion sang, his hands glowing with sickly green light. With a flick of his wrist, the ground beneath them cracked and trembled. “You Bat-people are no fun at all! Let’s make this more interesting.”

Y/N dove to the side as a burst of magic shot past her, but Damian pressed forward, leaping into the fray.

“Klarion!” Damian snarled, swinging his blade with precision.

“Oh, you’re feisty!” Klarion giggled, dodging effortlessly. “But let’s see how well you fight when you’re stuck with a partner forever!”

The spell hit before Y/N could react. A blinding flash of green light enveloped her and Damian, and suddenly, a glowing thread of energy snapped into place between them.

“What the—” Y/N staggered back, her hand instinctively reaching for her utility belt.

Damian froze, his katana still raised. “What did you do?”

“Oh, you’ll see,” Klarion said with a wink before vanishing into thin air.

Back at the Batcave

The glowing thread pulsed faintly as Y/N and Damian stood awkwardly in the center of the Batcave. Bruce sat at the Batcomputer, studying the magical residue on the tether, while Alfred stood nearby, offering tea to everyone present.

Jason lounged against the Batmobile, smirking. “So let me get this straight—you two are magically handcuffed together? That’s hilarious.”

“It’s not hilarious,” Damian snapped, tugging at the tether in frustration. The thread stretched slightly but snapped back, pulling Y/N a step closer to him.

“Stop pulling,” Y/N said flatly.

“I’m not pulling; you’re standing too far away.”

“Or maybe you’re too close.”

Tim, sitting nearby with a tablet, raised an eyebrow. “This is like watching a rom-com. All that’s missing is the banter about how much you secretly like each other.”

Damian shot him a glare that could have melted steel. “I will end you.”

“Enough,” Bruce said, his deep voice cutting through the bickering. He turned his chair to face them, his expression as unreadable as ever. “Klarion’s magic is unpredictable, but it always has a loophole. We’ll figure it out. Until then, you’ll need to stay close. The tether won’t allow you to be more than five feet apart.”

Jason snickered. “You two are going to have so much fun.”

Y/N adjusted her glasses and sighed. “This is going to be a nightmare.”

Chapter 2: First Day of Being Stuck

The next morning, Y/N woke to the sound of someone knocking on her bedroom door.

“Get up,” Damian’s voice called from the other side.

She groaned, pushing herself upright and adjusting her glasses. The tether glowed faintly, stretching as Damian pulled on it from the hallway.

“Give me a minute,” she muttered, running a hand through her hair.

“No. We have training,” Damian said sharply.

Y/N opened the door to find him standing there, fully dressed in his usual black and green workout gear. His scowl deepened as he looked her over.

“You’re still in your pajamas?”

“I don’t train at six in the morning,” she said, stepping back to grab her gear.

“You do now.”

The Training Room

The session was a disaster.

Damian moved with his usual speed and precision, expecting Y/N to keep up, but the tether pulled taut every time she tried to find her rhythm. She landed a solid jab on the punching bag, only for Damian to stumble as the thread yanked him off balance.

“Stop pulling,” Damian snapped.

“I’m not pulling. You’re moving too fast,” Y/N replied evenly, wrapping her hands again.

“You’re slowing me down.”

“You’re impatient.”

Their voices echoed through the training room, drawing the attention of Dick, who wandered in mid-argument.

“Everything okay in here?” he asked, grinning as he leaned against the wall.

“Leave,” Damian said curtly, his glare promising violence.

Dick ignored him, his gaze shifting to Y/N. “How are you holding up?”

Y/N adjusted her gloves, her expression calm. “Fine. Just adjusting.”

Dick’s grin widened. “Good luck with that. Damian’s not exactly great at sharing space.”

“I don’t need luck,” Y/N replied.

Damian muttered something under his breath, but Dick just chuckled. “Well, if you need a referee, let me know.”

The Batcave (Later That Day)

By the time patrol rolled around, the tension between Damian and Y/N was palpable. Jason, watching them suit up, couldn’t resist a jab.

“So, how’s life as conjoined twins?”

“Shut up, Todd,” Damian snapped, yanking on his cape.

Jason raised his hands in mock surrender. “Hey, I’m just saying—it’s kind of cute how you two are stuck together. Like a buddy cop movie.”

Y/N ignored him, double-checking the straps on her gloves. Her scars, illuminated under the harsh cave lighting, caught Jason’s attention for a moment. He tilted his head, a flicker of curiosity crossing his face, but he said nothing.

“Are we done here?” she asked, her tone as flat as ever.

Bruce nodded, stepping forward. “Remember—coordination is key. The tether will force you to move as one. Don’t let it slow you down.”

“Understood,” Y/N said.

Damian rolled his eyes. “Let’s go.”

Chapter 2 (Continued): First Day of Being Stuck

Patrolling Gotham while tethered to Damian Wayne was as exasperating as Y/N had anticipated. The thread glowed faintly in the dark alleys of the Narrows, a constant reminder of their predicament. Every movement required precision, every step carefully coordinated. Damian, with his relentless speed and sharp instincts, moved through the shadows like a blade, and Y/N struggled to adapt. She was a calculated fighter, relying on deliberate strikes and endurance, whereas Damian preferred swift, aggressive tactics.

When the first group of thugs appeared, Damian lunged forward without hesitation, his katana flashing in the dim light. Y/N had to pivot quickly to avoid the tether pulling her off balance, landing a solid punch to the nearest thug’s jaw. Her boxing skills were precise, each movement designed to conserve energy while delivering maximum impact.

“Stay out of my way,” Damian barked as he spun, deflecting a crowbar aimed at his side.

“I’m not in your way,” she replied flatly, driving her elbow into another attacker’s ribs. “You’re in mine.”

“Tt. Unlikely.”

Despite their constant bickering, their combined efforts overwhelmed the group. By the time the last thug hit the ground, Y/N was breathing heavily, her glasses slightly askew. She adjusted them with one hand, glancing at Damian as he wiped his blade on a thug’s jacket.

“You’re reckless,” she said, her tone even but laced with quiet disapproval.

Damian’s green eyes snapped to hers, sharp and unyielding. “And you’re slow.”

Before she could respond, a voice crackled through their comms.

“Everything okay over there?” Dick’s cheerful tone echoed in their ears.

Damian growled softly, tapping his earpiece. “We’re fine, Grayson.”

“Really? Because you sound like you’re one insult away from killing each other.”

Y/N sighed, tilting her head slightly to look at the sky. “We’re managing.”

“Sure you are,” Dick replied, amusement clear in his voice. “Try not to kill each other before you find Klarion, okay?”

The comm went silent, leaving them in the heavy, tension-filled quiet of Gotham’s streets. Damian sheathed his sword and began walking, forcing Y/N to follow.

“Let’s keep moving,” he said curtly.

Y/N didn’t argue, though the irritation simmering beneath her calm demeanor was hard to ignore.

Chapter 3: Growing Frustrations

The next day started just as poorly as the first. Y/N had barely had time to finish her breakfast before Damian was tugging at the tether, dragging her toward the training room.

“You could at least wait until I’m done eating,” she said, holding her plate with one hand as she followed him down the hall.

“We don’t have time to waste,” Damian replied without looking back.

The training session that followed was a study in frustration. Damian’s strikes were fast and precise, but the tether forced him to adjust his movements, and he hated every second of it. Y/N, on the other hand, tried to maintain her usual calm focus, but the constant tug of the tether threw her off balance.

“You’re hesitating,” Damian said sharply as he parried one of her punches. “Stop overthinking and hit me.”

“I’m not hesitating,” Y/N replied, her voice steady. She feinted left, then aimed a jab at his shoulder. “You’re rushing.”

Damian blocked the punch, his movements fluid despite his irritation. “If I were rushing, you wouldn’t be able to keep up.”

The sparring match ended when the tether pulled them together mid-movement, causing them to collide awkwardly. Y/N stumbled back, adjusting her glasses, while Damian scowled and stepped away.

“This is ridiculous,” he muttered, rubbing his temple.

Y/N leaned against the wall, catching her breath. “Agreed.”

The door to the training room opened, and Jason strolled in, a grin spreading across his face as he took in the sight of them.

“You two look like you’re having fun,” he said, leaning casually against the wall.

Damian shot him a glare. “Leave, Todd.”

“Relax, I’m just here to observe.” Jason’s gaze flicked to Y/N, lingering on the faint scars visible beneath her rolled-up sleeves. “You’ve got some battle wounds there, huh?”

Y/N didn’t respond, her expression unreadable. She adjusted the wraps on her hands, focusing on the task rather than the scars.

Jason chuckled, pushing off the wall. “Well, good luck, you two. Try not to kill each other before Klarion shows up again.”

As he left, Damian turned to Y/N, his expression unreadable. “Your scars. Where did you get them?”

Y/N paused, her fingers still on the wraps. “Missions. Mistakes.”

Damian’s gaze lingered on her for a moment longer before he turned away. “They’re proof of survival. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”

Y/N didn’t respond, but the faintest flicker of something crossed her face—acknowledgment, perhaps, or understanding.

Chapter 4: Confrontation and Breakthrough

Three days into their ordeal, Klarion finally made his reappearance. Tracking him down had been exhausting, but now Y/N and Damian stood in a dark warehouse on the edge of Gotham, ready to face the witch boy once more.

“Well, if it isn’t my favorite duo,” Klarion said, floating above them with a grin. His familiar, Teekl, purred lazily at his side. “How’s the bonding going?”

“Undo the curse, Klarion,” Damian demanded, his katana glinting in the dim light.

“Why would I do that?” Klarion twirled his fingers, sending a burst of green energy spiraling toward them. “You two are so entertaining like this!”

Y/N sidestepped the attack, her movements perfectly timed with Damian’s as they avoided the blast. They had spent days learning to coordinate, and it finally paid off. Damian deflected another burst of magic with his blade while Y/N closed the distance, landing a solid punch to Klarion’s side.

“Ow!” Klarion yelped, clutching his ribs. “That wasn’t very nice.”

“Neither are you,” Y/N replied evenly, dodging another attack.

Damian pressed the advantage, his strikes fast and relentless. Y/N matched his pace, their movements finally in sync as they forced Klarion on the defensive. The tether between them glowed brightly, pulsing with energy as they fought as one.

With a final, well-coordinated strike, Damian’s blade sliced through the magical energy surrounding Klarion, and Y/N’s punch sent him sprawling to the ground.

“Fine, fine!” Klarion cried, holding up his hands. “You win! Curse lifted!”

The tether dissolved in a flash of light, leaving Y/N and Damian standing side by side, breathing heavily.

Klarion vanished with a pout, muttering something about ungrateful humans.

As the silence settled, Damian glanced at Y/N. “You fought well.”

“So did you,” she replied, adjusting her glasses.

Chapter 5: Resolution and Reflection

Back at the manor, the absence of the tether was both a relief and a strange adjustment. Y/N retreated to her room, taking comfort in the familiar clutter of comics and boxing gear. She sat on the edge of her bed, unwrapping her hands and staring at the faint scars crisscrossing her skin.

A knock at the door interrupted her thoughts.

“Come in,” she said, her voice even.

The door opened, and Damian stepped inside, his expression uncharacter istically hesitant. He stood in the doorway for a moment, his eyes scanning the mess of her room—the comics scattered across the floor, the worn boxing gloves on her desk, the faint outlines of training routines scribbled on sticky notes attached to her mirror.

“You’re not what I expected,” he said finally, his voice quiet.

Y/N raised an eyebrow, folding her arms as she leaned back against the bedpost. “What were you expecting?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted, stepping further into the room. His gaze lingered on her hand wraps, now discarded on her nightstand. “Something more… orderly.”

Y/N chuckled softly, a rare sound that barely curved her lips. “Not everyone is as disciplined as you, Damian. Some of us thrive in chaos.”

Damian crossed his arms, leaning against the doorframe. “You don’t seem like the type to thrive in chaos. You’re… controlled. Calculated.”

She looked at him for a moment, studying his sharp features and the tension that seemed permanently etched into his posture. “Control doesn’t come naturally,” she said finally. “It’s something you learn when chaos is the only thing you’ve ever known.”

He tilted his head slightly, his curiosity evident despite his usual stoicism. “Your scars. You said they were from mistakes. What kind of mistakes?”

Y/N looked down at her hands, tracing the faint lines on her palms. “The kind you don’t see coming. The kind that teach you how to survive.” She glanced up at him, her gaze steady. “And the kind that remind you why you have to keep fighting.”

Damian didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he stepped closer, his green eyes scanning her face. “You’re strong,” he said, the words deliberate. “Not just physically. It’s… commendable.”

For a moment, Y/N was taken aback. Compliments weren’t something Damian Wayne handed out lightly. She inclined her head slightly, the faintest hint of gratitude flickering in her expression. “You’re not so bad yourself, Damian.”

He smirked faintly, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I know.”

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward. It was comfortable in a way neither of them was used to, an understanding passing between them that didn’t need words. Finally, Damian straightened, turning toward the door.

“You’ll be ready for training tomorrow morning,” he said, his tone back to its usual commanding edge.

Y/N rolled her eyes, but there was no real annoyance in her voice when she replied. “As long as you let me finish breakfast this time.”

He paused in the doorway, glancing back at her. “We’ll see.”

And with that, he left, the door clicking softly shut behind him.

Y/N leaned back against the bed, a faint smile tugging at the corners of her lips. For all his arrogance and sharp edges, Damian Wayne wasn’t so impossible to deal with after all.

Epilogue

Over the next few weeks, things between them shifted. The tension that had once defined their interactions softened into something that felt almost like camaraderie. During missions, they moved in perfect sync, their trust in each other’s abilities growing with every fight. In the training room, their bickering became less combative and more teasing, the sharp edges of their words dulled by mutual respect.

The Batfamily, of course, noticed the change. Jason teased them relentlessly, while Dick gave them knowing smiles that made Y/N want to punch him. Tim just raised an eyebrow and muttered something about “finally.”

One evening, after a particularly grueling mission, Y/N sat on the rooftop of the manor, looking out over the city. The scars on her hands caught the moonlight as she traced them absentmindedly, her thoughts drifting.

Damian appeared beside her, silent as always. He didn’t say anything at first, simply sitting down and gazing out at the skyline.

“You’re quiet tonight,” Y/N said after a moment.

“I was thinking,” he replied, his voice softer than usual. “About how much has changed since… Klarion.”

Y/N glanced at him, her brow furrowing slightly. “Changed how?”

Damian met her gaze, and for once, there was no trace of his usual defensiveness. “I’ve learned that strength isn’t just about discipline or precision. It’s about resilience. About finding a way to keep going, even when everything feels impossible.”

Her lips quirked into a faint smile. “Didn’t realize you were so introspective, Wayne.”

“Tt.” He looked away, but there was no real annoyance in his expression. “Don’t get used to it.”

They sat in comfortable silence for a while, the city lights stretching out before them like a sea of stars. For the first time in a long time, Y/N felt something she rarely allowed herself to acknowledge: hope.

And though Damian would never say it out loud, he felt the same.

More Time Together

Over the following weeks, Y/N and Damian found themselves spending more and more time together, even when they weren’t on missions or training. It wasn’t intentional, at least not at first. Damian’s disciplined schedule naturally drew her in, while Y/N’s calm and steady demeanor offered him a reprieve from the constant teasing and chaos that came with living under the same roof as the rest of the Batfamily.

Late nights often found them in the library, Y/N with her nose buried in a book or sketching out strategies in her notebook, while Damian meticulously cleaned and maintained his weapons. They didn’t talk much during these moments, but the silence between them was comfortable, unspoken words passing in the quiet.

It didn’t take long for Jason and Dick to notice the shift.

“Look at them,” Jason said one evening, watching from the shadows of the Batcave as Damian and Y/N worked side by side, silently repairing gear from their last mission. “Practically inseparable.”

Dick grinned, crossing his arms. “It’s cute. Like they’re figuring out how to be human for the first time.”

Jason snorted. “You thinking what I’m thinking?”

Dick’s grin widened. “Oh, absolutely.”

The First Trap

The next morning, Y/N was stretching in the training room, preparing for her session with Damian, when Jason strolled in, his expression far too innocent to be trusted.

“Morning,” he said, leaning casually against the wall.

“Morning,” Y/N replied, not looking up as she adjusted the wraps on her hands.

Jason smirked. “You and Demon Spawn have been spending a lot of time together.”

Her hands paused for a fraction of a second before resuming their task. “We’re teammates. It’s inevitable.”

“Sure, sure,” Jason said, waving a hand dismissively. “Anyway, I came to tell you Bruce wanted you to check the storage closet by the sparring ring. Something about a busted hinge.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow but shrugged, walking toward the closet. She opened the door cautiously, peering inside. The second she stepped in, the door slammed shut behind her with a loud click.

“Seriously?” she muttered, trying the handle. It was locked.

On the other side, Jason’s laughter rang out, followed by another voice—Damian’s, sharp and indignant.

“Todd! What are you doing?”

Y/N sighed, leaning against the door. “Let me guess. You’re out there too, Damian.”

“Unfortunately,” came his clipped reply.

The sound of a key turning in the lock made Y/N step back just in time for Damian to be shoved into the closet with her. The door slammed shut again before either of them could react.

“This isn’t funny, Todd!” Damian shouted, pounding on the door.

Jason’s laughter only grew louder. “You two need some bonding time. Don’t worry—I’ll let you out… eventually.”

Y/N sighed, adjusting her glasses as she looked at Damian, who was glaring at the door with murderous intent. “Your family is insufferable.”

“Tell me about it,” Damian muttered, crossing his arms as he leaned against the opposite wall of the cramped closet.

The space was small, forcing them to stand uncomfortably close. Y/N did her best to ignore the proximity, but it was difficult not to notice the faint scent of Damian’s cologne or the way his sharp green eyes occasionally flicked toward her.

“Any brilliant ideas for getting us out of here?” she asked.

Damian scowled. “The hinges are reinforced. Without tools, it’s pointless to try brute force.”

“Great,” Y/N said dryly, leaning back against the shelves.

They stood in silence for a while, the muffled sound of Jason’s laughter echoing from outside.

“I’m going to kill him,” Damian said eventually, his tone flat but deadly serious.

“Get in line,” Y/N replied.

The Elevator Incident

A few days later, Dick decided it was his turn to play matchmaker.

The entire Batfamily had been called to the manor for a briefing on a city-wide surveillance mission. After the meeting, Dick approached Y/N and Damian with a grin that immediately set off alarm bells in Y/N’s head.

“Hey, can you two grab some gear from the armory? It’s down in the lower level,” he said, casually tossing Y/N a keycard.

“Why us?” Damian asked suspiciously, narrowing his eyes.

“Because you’re efficient,” Dick said, his grin widening.

Y/N sighed. “Fine. Let’s go.”

The armory was located in the depths of the manor, accessible only by a private elevator. Y/N swiped the keycard, and the doors slid open. She stepped inside, followed by Damian.

The ride started normally, the faint hum of the elevator filling the silence. But halfway down, the lights flickered, and the elevator jolted to a halt.

“What now?” Damian growled, pressing the emergency button.

Nothing happened.

Y/N leaned against the wall, crossing her arms. “Let me guess—this is another one of your family’s brilliant ideas.”

Damian’s jaw clenched. “Grayson.”

The comm crackled, and Dick’s voice came through, far too cheerful for the situation.

“Hey, you two! Having fun down there?”

“Grayson, when I get out of here, I’m going to—”

“Relax,” Dick interrupted. “The elevator will start again in… let’s say twenty minutes. Consider it a forced break. You’ve both been working so hard!”

The comm went silent, leaving Y/N and Damian alone in the confined space.

Y/N pinched the bridge of her nose, muttering something under her breath. Damian, meanwhile, paced the small space like a caged tiger.

“You’re going to wear a hole in the floor,” Y/N said, her tone deadpan.

Damian stopped, shooting her a glare. “I don’t have time for this.”

“Neither do I, but here we are.”

The silence stretched again, heavy with unspoken tension. Y/N adjusted her glasses, glancing at Damian, who was leaning against the wall now, his arms crossed tightly over his chest.

“You know,” she said eventually, “as annoying as this is, I think they’re trying to help.”

Damian raised an eyebrow. “By locking us in closets and elevators?”

“They probably think we’re too stubborn to figure things out on our own.”

His expression softened slightly, though his scowl remained. “Tt. Typical Grayson logic.”

Despite herself, Y/N chuckled.

A Growing Connection

Over the next few weeks, Jason and Dick’s antics continued. From locking them in storage rooms to rigging training dummies to “accidentally” push them into each other during sparring, the traps became increasingly absurd.

But instead of driving them apart, the constant pranks had the opposite effect. Each awkward situation forced Y/N and Damian to communicate more, to rely on each other in ways they hadn’t before.

One night, after a particularly elaborate prank involving a fake mission file and a booby-trapped safe house, they ended up back on the rooftop of the manor, sitting side by side.

“They’re not going to stop, are they?” Y/N asked, adjusting her glasses as she stared out at the city.

“Not unless we give them a reason to,” Damian replied.

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “Like what?”

He smirked faintly, his gaze fixed on the horizon. “Let them think they’ve won.”

She chuckled softly, shaking her head. “You’re impossible, Damian.”

“And yet, you’re still here,” he said, his tone teasing but his expression serious.

Y/N looked at him, her stoic exterior softening for just a moment. “Maybe I don’t mind.”

Damian’s smirk widened slightly, but he didn’t respond. Instead, they sat in comfortable silence, the city lights stretching out before them like endless possibilities.

A Quiet Understanding

The Batfamily’s antics continued, but their effectiveness began to wane. Damian and Y/N had grown too accustomed to the pranks to let them rattle them. Instead, they found ways to subtly turn the traps into opportunities for teamwork, much to Jason and Dick’s frustration.

“You’re ruining the fun!” Jason complained one evening after yet another failed attempt to embarrass them—a rigged door in the kitchen that had been meant to douse them both in flour but had ended up covering Jason himself instead.

Y/N leaned against the counter, her expression stoic as always, but her eyes held a faint sparkle of amusement. “Maybe you need better traps.”

“Yeah,” Damian added, smirking. “Your methods are amateur at best.”

Jason pointed a finger at him, his face smeared with flour. “You’re lucky I like you two, or—”

“Or what?” Damian interrupted, raising an eyebrow.

Jason grumbled something unintelligible before storming out of the kitchen, muttering about how “no one appreciates a good prank anymore.”

Trust and Vulnerability

One evening, after patrol, Y/N and Damian found themselves in the library again. The quiet hum of the manor was soothing after a long night, the faint crackle of the fireplace casting a warm glow over the room.

Y/N sat cross-legged on the floor, her back against the sofa as she flipped through a book on hand-to-hand combat techniques. Damian, seated on the sofa behind her, was sharpening his katana with careful precision.

“You never told me,” Damian said suddenly, his voice breaking the silence.

“Told you what?” Y/N asked, not looking up from her book.

“About your scars. What happened to you before you joined the Batfamily?”

Y/N stilled, her fingers lingering on the edge of the page. She didn’t look at him as she answered, her voice quiet but steady. “I didn’t have a family like yours. No one to teach me. I had to figure things out on my own.”

Damian paused his work, his green eyes fixed on her. “And that’s how you survived?”

She nodded. “Barely. But eventually, I realized I couldn’t do it alone. That’s when Bruce found me.”

There was a long pause before Damian spoke again. “You’re stronger than you realize.”

Y/N turned slightly to look at him, her expression unreadable. “You’ve said that before.”

“Because it’s true.”

Something unspoken passed between them, a quiet understanding that didn’t need words. Y/N nodded once, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at her lips.

Jason and Dick’s Last Stand

Despite their growing bond, Jason and Dick refused to give up their matchmaking efforts. Their latest plan involved the manor’s expansive grounds and a little help from Tim, who reluctantly agreed to assist.

It started with a “routine training exercise.”

“You’ll be working in pairs,” Bruce had announced at the family breakfast table. “Tim and Jason, you’ll cover the east perimeter. Dick, you’ll handle surveillance. Damian and Y/N, you’re on the west.”

Y/N exchanged a glance with Damian, who shrugged. It wasn’t unusual for them to be paired together. What was unusual was the suspicious glint in Jason’s eyes and the not-so-subtle smirk on Dick’s face.

The first trap came in the form of a tripwire hidden along the forested trail. Y/N spotted it just in time, grabbing Damian’s arm to stop him.

“They’re getting sloppy,” she muttered, crouching down to inspect the wire.

Damian smirked. “Pathetic.”

They disarmed the trap easily, continuing their patrol with the ease of seasoned partners. But the traps kept coming—hidden nets, smoke bombs, even a series of well-placed mud puddles that nearly sent them sprawling.

By the time they reached the end of the trail, Y/N was brushing mud off her pants, and Damian was muttering curses under his breath.

“They really don’t give up, do they?” Y/N said, adjusting her glasses.

“No,” Damian replied, his voice low and frustrated. “But they will.”

The Final Push

Jason and Dick’s last attempt was their most elaborate yet. It involved a rooftop chase, a carefully timed “malfunctioning” grappling hook, and a conveniently placed set of ropes designed to entangle them mid-air.

The plan almost worked.

Damian and Y/N were in pursuit of a group of thieves when the ropes snapped into place, pulling them together and leaving them dangling several stories above the ground.

“Are you serious?” Y/N muttered, her face inches from Damian’s as they hung from the ropes.

Damian’s scowl was almost comical. “Todd and Grayson are dead men.”

Below them, Jason and Dick were laughing so hard they could barely breathe.

“You two look cozy up there!” Jason called, doubling over with laughter.

Y/N sighed, glancing at Damian. “Any ideas?”

“Of course,” he replied, already working on slicing through the ropes with a small blade from his utility belt.

Within moments, they were free, landing gracefully on a nearby ledge. Y/N adjusted her glasses, brushing herself off as Damian glared down at Jason and Dick.

“I’m going to kill them,” he muttered, his green eyes blazing.

“Get in line,” Y/N replied dryly, though the faintest hint of a smile tugged at her lips.

A Quiet Moment

Later that night, Y/N and Damian found themselves back on the rooftop of the manor, the city stretching out before them in a sea of lights.

“They’re relentless,” Y/N said, leaning against the railing.

Damian smirked faintly. “They’re idiots.”

She glanced at him, her expression softening. “But they care. In their own ridiculous way.”

He nodded, his gaze fixed on the horizon. “I suppose.”

The silence stretched between them, comfortable and familiar.

“You know,” Y/N said finally, her voice quiet, “I don’t mind spending time with you. Even when your family is driving us insane.”

Damian turned to look at her, his green eyes meeting hers. “The feeling is mutual.”

And for the first time, Y/N allowed herself to smile—not a faint curve of her lips, but a real, genuine smile. Damian’s own expression softened in response, a rare moment of vulnerability breaking through his usual stoicism.

The city lights flickered in the distance, but for once, neither of them was in a hurry to leave.

A Night at the Carnival

The announcement came at breakfast the next morning, delivered by none other than Dick, who bounded into the dining room with a wide grin.

“Family outing tonight,” he declared, plopping down at the table.

Bruce looked up from his newspaper, one eyebrow raised. “Outing?”

“Carnival’s in town,” Dick said, ignoring Damian’s groan. “It’s been ages since we all did something fun together. You know, like normal people.”

Jason snorted, taking a bite of his toast. “We’re not normal, Grayson.”

“That’s exactly why we need this!” Dick argued, undeterred. “And Bruce already agreed.”

“I did not—” Bruce began, but Dick cut him off with a pointed look.

“You agreed in spirit.”

By the time the sun set, the entire family—minus Alfred, who had politely declined—was on their way to the carnival. Y/N had been ambivalent at first, but the idea of spending time with Damian outside of missions or training was oddly appealing.

The Carnival

The carnival was a riot of bright lights, loud music, and the smell of fried food. Jason made a beeline for the food stalls, dragging Tim along with him, while Dick enthusiastically tried to convince Bruce to ride the bumper cars.

Damian, predictably, looked unimpressed by the chaos around him. Y/N, walking beside him, shared his sentiment.

“This is… loud,” she remarked, adjusting her glasses.

“Tt. Grayson’s idea of ‘fun,’” Damian muttered, his hands shoved into his pockets.

Despite their mutual disinterest, they stuck together, wandering through the crowds as they avoided the more enthusiastic members of the Batfamily.

“Want to try something?” Y/N asked after a while, gesturing toward the game stalls.

Damian raised an eyebrow. “You’re seriously suggesting we waste time on these rigged contraptions?”

“Why not?” she said with a faint smirk. “Unless you’re afraid of losing.”

That was all it took. Ten minutes later, Damian had singlehandedly decimated every game in the row, much to the dismay of the carnival workers. Y/N stood to the side, her arms crossed as she watched him effortlessly win another oversized stuffed animal.

“Impressive,” she said dryly as he handed her the prize.

“Obviously,” he replied, a rare hint of satisfaction in his voice.

The Ferris Wheel

As the night wore on, the group gradually reconvened near the center of the carnival.

“You guys should ride the Ferris wheel,” Dick suggested, his grin entirely too mischievous.

Damian glared at him. “No.”

“Oh, come on,” Jason chimed in, still chewing on a corndog. “Live a little, Demon Spawn.”

Y/N sighed, knowing resistance was futile. “Fine. Let’s go.”

Damian glanced at her, his annoyance softening slightly before he gave a curt nod. “Fine.”

The two of them climbed into one of the Ferris wheel’s small gondolas, the metal creaking faintly as it rose into the air. Below them, the carnival lights blurred into a sea of color, the noise fading into a distant hum.

Y/N leaned back against the seat, her gaze fixed on the skyline. “It’s actually… peaceful up here,” she admitted after a moment.

Damian sat stiffly beside her, his arms crossed. “I suppose.”

A comfortable silence fell between them as the Ferris wheel continued its slow ascent. The city stretched out before them, glittering under the night sky.

Without thinking, Y/N leaned her head against Damian’s shoulder, her exhaustion from the day catching up to her.

Damian stiffened at first, his body going rigid. But when Y/N didn’t move, he slowly relaxed, letting out a quiet sigh.

“You’re not as stoic as you pretend to be,” he said softly, his voice carrying no malice.

Y/N smiled faintly, her eyes half-closed. “And you’re not as cold as you pretend to be.”

He didn’t respond, but the faintest hint of a smirk tugged at his lips as the Ferris wheel reached its highest point.

Below them, Jason and Dick watched with barely contained glee, nudging each other like schoolchildren.

“Think they’ll finally figure it out?” Jason whispered.

“Give them time,” Dick replied, grinning.

A New Understanding

When the Ferris wheel came to a stop and Y/N and Damian stepped off, something between them had shifted. It was subtle, but noticeable in the way they walked side by side, their usual stoicism softened by an unspoken connection.

The rest of the Batfamily wisely refrained from teasing them further, though Jason couldn’t resist a sly comment as they all piled into the car to head back to the manor.

“Good view from up there?” he asked, smirking at Damian through the rearview mirror.

Damian shot him a glare but didn’t reply, and Y/N simply rolled her eyes.

That night, as they each retreated to their respective rooms, Y/N found herself smiling as she set the stuffed animal Damian had won for her on her nightstand.

And for the first time in a long time, the scars on her hands didn’t feel so heavy.

A Quiet Conversation

Y/N couldn’t sleep. The carnival had been unexpectedly enjoyable, but something about the way Damian had looked at her during the Ferris wheel ride lingered in her mind. She adjusted her glasses, staring at the stuffed animal he’d won for her.

On an impulse she couldn’t quite explain, she grabbed her hoodie and slipped out of her room, heading toward the training hall. Late-night training sessions weren’t unusual for her, and she figured the distraction would help.

When she arrived, she wasn’t surprised to find Damian already there. He was dressed in his usual black training gear, working through a series of precise sword forms. His movements were sharp and deliberate, but there was a tension in his posture that hadn’t been there earlier.

“Couldn’t sleep either?” she asked, leaning against the doorway.

Damian paused mid-swing, glancing at her. “No.”

Y/N stepped inside, crossing the room to sit on one of the benches. She didn’t interrupt him, letting him finish his routine while she wrapped her hands with the ease of habit.

When he finally set his sword aside, he sat down beside her, his breathing steady but his expression unreadable.

“You’ve been quiet tonight,” Y/N said, not looking at him as she adjusted her wraps.

“So have you,” Damian replied.

Y/N smirked faintly. “I’m always quiet.”

He glanced at her, his sharp green eyes studying her face. “Not with me.”

That caught her off guard. She turned to meet his gaze, finding a sincerity there that made her chest tighten.

“I trust you,” she said simply.

Damian’s eyes softened, and for a moment, the walls he kept so carefully in place seemed to lower. “And I trust you.”

The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable, but it was heavy with unspoken words.

“Why?” Damian asked suddenly, his voice quieter than usual.

“Why what?”

“Why do you trust me? Why do you… choose to be around me?”

Y/N hesitated, considering her words carefully. “Because you’re honest. You don’t pretend to be someone you’re not. And you don’t expect me to, either.”

Damian’s gaze dropped to his hands, his fingers curling slightly. “Most people don’t see me that way. They see arrogance. Or anger.”

“They don’t know you like I do,” Y/N said softly. “You’re more than that, Damian. You’re disciplined, determined. You care about the people you protect, even if you don’t show it the way others do.”

Damian’s lips twitched into a faint smile, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “And you?” he asked. “What about you?”

“What about me?”

“You’re guarded. Stoic. But you don’t hide who you are, either. You’ve been through hell, yet you don’t let it define you. I respect that.”

Y/N felt her cheeks warm at his words, but she didn’t look away. “I think we understand each other,” she said after a moment. “Better than most people ever will.”

“I agree,” Damian said, his voice quiet but firm.

Another silence fell between them, but this time it felt lighter, as though something unspoken had finally been acknowledged.

“Damian,” Y/N said hesitantly, her voice softer now. “Do you ever wonder why they push us together? Dick, Jason… the others?”

He smirked faintly, the corners of his mouth curving upward. “Because they’re idiots with too much time on their hands.”

Y/N chuckled, but her expression quickly grew serious again. “Or maybe they see something we don’t.”

Damian didn’t respond right away. When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter than before. “Maybe they do.”

Y/N looked at him, her heart pounding in a way she wasn’t used to. “And what do you see?”

Damian met her gaze, his green eyes unwavering. “I see someone who doesn’t back down. Someone who challenges me. Someone who… makes me better.”

Her breath caught, the sincerity in his voice striking a chord deep within her. “You make me better too,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.

For a moment, neither of them spoke, the weight of their words settling between them. Then, slowly, almost hesitantly, Damian reached out, his fingers brushing against hers.

Y/N didn’t pull away. Instead, she turned her hand, letting her fingers intertwine with his.

“We’re not great at this, are we?” she said with a faint smile.

“No,” Damian admitted, his own smirk softening into something more genuine. “But I don’t mind trying.”

Y/N nodded, her grip on his hand tightening slightly. “Neither do I.”

And for the first time in a long time, they both allowed themselves to simply be still, finding comfort in each other’s presence as the night stretched on.

Revenge is Sweet

It had been a few days since the carnival, and the Batfamily had settled into their usual rhythm. Jason and Dick, of course, had not given up their playful attempts to embarrass Y/N and Damian, though they had backed off slightly after their latest attempt ended in complete failure. The duo had grown a bit more cautious, but Y/N and Damian weren’t about to let them off so easily. It was time for some well-deserved payback.

In the kitchen that evening, Damian and Y/N shared a look over their bowls of cereal, both of them sensing that it was time to put their plan into motion.

“I’m getting tired of their pranks,” Y/N muttered, pushing her glasses up her nose. “It’s getting a little out of hand.”

“I agree,” Damian said, his eyes glinting with the promise of something mischievous. “But we’ve let them get away with it for too long. It’s time for payback.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “What do you have in mind?”

Damian’s lips curved into a sly grin. “You’ll see.”

The Plan

That evening, when Dick and Jason were out on patrol, Y/N and Damian went to work. They had spent the day setting up their prank, carefully choosing their moment for maximum impact.

Jason had a tendency to leave his gear lying around the house, and today, his motorcycle gloves had found their way into the living room. Damian and Y/N had set a trap using his gloves—laced with a harmless but sticky substance that would coat his hands when he touched them. It was the perfect way to get back at him for the countless times he had drenched them in flour, whipped cream, and other ridiculous substances.

Next, they turned their attention to Dick. He had an odd habit of leaving his training equipment in random places around the manor, a habit that was both annoying and oddly endearing. Y/N and Damian had placed a series of rubber snakes in Dick’s gym bag. The snakes were harmless, but they’d make quite the surprise when he reached for his gear.

“We’re going to make them think they’ve won,” Y/N said as she adjusted one of the snakes in the bag, her fingers nimble.

Damian smirked. “They’ll regret ever messing with us.”

The Set-Up

The real genius of their plan lay in the timing. They knew that Dick and Jason would return from patrol late—too late to be thinking clearly, but just in time for their “rewards.”

The two of them hid in the shadows, waiting. Y/N’s heart raced, not with nerves but with anticipation. The element of surprise was crucial, and if they pulled this off, it would be a moment of pure, sweet revenge.

The front door opened, and Jason and Dick walked in, laughing loudly, their footsteps echoing in the quiet manor.

“Did you see that idiot on the east side?” Jason’s voice rang out. “He practically fell into the dumpster trying to escape!”

Dick chuckled. “He won’t be running again anytime soon.”

Y/N and Damian exchanged a look. It was go time.

The Prank Begins

The two of them moved swiftly, each heading to their target. Damian reached for Jason’s gloves, which had been left on the table by the front door. He hesitated for a moment before dropping the sticky substance into them, making sure it coated the entire inside. Meanwhile, Y/N slipped into Dick’s room and placed the rubber snakes into his gym bag, ensuring they were well hidden among the sweatbands and spare shirts.

Once everything was set, they retreated into the shadows again, the corners of their mouths twitching upward in anticipation.

It didn’t take long for Jason and Dick to settle into the living room. Jason was the first to reach for his gloves, tossing them carelessly onto his hands. Within seconds, he froze, looking down in disbelief at the sticky substance now coating his fingers.

“What the hell?” he muttered, shaking his hands in an attempt to get the goo off.

Y/N and Damian watched from the hallway, barely able to contain their laughter.

“Ha!” Jason exclaimed. “What did you do to my gloves?!”

Damian’s voice rang out from the shadows, calm and cool. “Something fitting for a prankster, I’d say.”

Jason spun around, his eyes widening. “Damian!”

Before he could say anything else, he heard Dick’s voice from across the room, now having discovered his own surprise.

“Holy—! What the hell are these?! They’re not real, right?” Dick shouted, his voice tinged with panic as he yanked the rubber snakes from his gym bag.

Y/N stepped into the room, her lips twitching as she tried to maintain a straight face. “Oh, they’re real all right. Just not in the way you think.”

Damian stood beside her, his eyes glinting with amusement as he watched Dick and Jason scramble to figure out what had happened. “I’d say you two have learned a valuable lesson.”

Jason glared at them, his hands still covered in the sticky substance. “I can’t believe you guys.”

Dick, trying to suppress his own laughter, was holding the snakes up to examine them. “Okay, okay. You got us. But just know, we’re coming for you next.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “Oh, I’m counting on it.”

Damian gave her a rare, knowing smirk. “The real question is… can they top us?”

Jason shot him a look, his hands still covered in goo. “You’re both dead when we get our hands on you.”

“But it was worth it,” Y/N said, her grin widening. “For the record, this is far more entertaining than any prank you two pulled.”

The Aftermath

Jason and Dick tried to retaliate the next day, but every trap they set only ended in more laughter for Y/N and Damian. They had effectively outplayed the masters of mischief at their own game. The Batfamily had never seen Damian and Y/N work so well together, and it was clear that they were an unstoppable force when it came to pranking their brothers.

The family would never let them forget this, of course, but that didn’t bother Damian and Y/N in the slightest. The sweet taste of victory—and the smug feeling of knowing that their tricks had been more than just pranks—was enough to keep them smiling long after Jason and Dick had given up.

“We make a good team,” Y/N said later that evening, as they settled in for a quiet moment on the rooftop, looking over Gotham.

“We do,” Damian agreed, his voice softer now. “But don’t expect me to go easy on you next time.”

Y/N laughed, her eyes glinting in the moonlight. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

The Calm After the Storm

The days that followed their prank war were a bit quieter. Though Jason and Dick made a few attempts at getting back at them, they were always a step behind. There was a sense of satisfaction that lingered in the air around Y/N and Damian, an unspoken understanding that, for once, they had come out on top.

It wasn’t long before the tension in the manor began to return to its usual hum. Jason was less inclined to leave his gear lying around, and Dick, although still cracking jokes, kept his gym bag closed tightly whenever he wasn’t using it. Their attempts at pranking had waned, leaving Y/N and Damian in peace for the time being.

One evening, after a long day of training, the two of them found themselves on the roof again, this time without the pressures of missions or family chaos. The city stretched out below them in a sprawling sea of lights, and the cool night air was a welcome relief after the heat of the day.

Damian sat against the edge of the roof, his legs stretched out before him, while Y/N stood beside him, her arms crossed as she surveyed the view.

“It’s quiet tonight,” she remarked.

Damian glanced over at her, his expression unreadable but his eyes softer than usual. “It is.”

“Kind of nice, don’t you think?” Y/N asked, her gaze flicking to the city below.

He didn’t answer immediately, and for a moment, it seemed as if he wasn’t going to at all. But then, his voice came, quieter than usual. “It’s better with you here.”

Y/N looked at him, taken aback for a moment. She hadn’t expected such a sentiment, especially from someone like Damian. He wasn’t one to express his feelings so openly. But the honesty in his voice made something warm stir inside her.

Without thinking, she sat down beside him, mirroring his posture as they both looked out over Gotham. “I like being with you too,” she said, her voice steady but quiet.

Damian turned his head toward her, his gaze lingering. “Why?”

Y/N let out a soft sigh, unsure of how to explain it. “You get it. I don’t have to pretend with you.”

“I don’t like pretending,” Damian replied softly. “It’s exhausting.”

She smiled faintly. “I know. Me neither.”

There was another stretch of silence, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. In fact, it felt easy. Natural.

“You make me feel… less alone,” Damian said quietly, almost as if he hadn’t meant to speak the words aloud.

Y/N’s heart skipped a beat at his admission, her eyes searching his face for any sign of discomfort, but all she saw was sincerity. “I feel the same way,” she replied. “Sometimes, I forget how much I’ve been carrying around… until you’re here.”

Damian’s expression softened just a fraction, the tiniest hint of vulnerability peeking through his usual stoic demeanor. “I don’t want you to feel like that.”

Y/N chuckled softly, nudging him with her shoulder. “You can’t help me all the time, Damian. I’m good at carrying my own weight.”

“I know,” he said with a small smirk, “but I’ll always be here if you need me.”

She nodded, her gaze drifting back to the city below. For a moment, they simply sat together, the weight of their words settling into the quiet between them.

A New Understanding

Later that night, when they were back inside the manor, Y/N found herself glancing over at Damian more than once. The playful banter and teasing that had characterized their earlier interactions seemed to have faded, replaced by a deeper sense of connection.

It wasn’t just the pranks anymore, or the shared silence. There was something more—something neither of them could quite define yet, but that both of them felt with increasing clarity.

Damian, too, found himself seeking her out more often. Whether it was during training, when he would offer an unspoken challenge, or in the moments after, when they would linger in silence together, the bond between them had grown.

One evening, after a particularly grueling sparring session, Y/N noticed Damian hesitating at the door as if he wanted to say something but didn’t know how.

“You’re not going to just stand there, are you?” she asked, her tone teasing but warm.

Damian glanced at her, his green eyes holding a quiet intensity. “I—” he stopped himself. “I wanted to thank you.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “For what?”

“For… everything. For sticking by me. For making me feel… like I’m not alone.”

Y/N smiled softly, her expression gentler than usual. “You don’t need to thank me, Damian. I’m here because I want to be.”

He took a step closer, and there was something in his gaze that made her heart race, just slightly. “And I want you to be.”

The words hung in the air between them, but it wasn’t awkward. It was an understanding, one they hadn’t voiced until now, but one that felt as natural as breathing.

Before either of them could say more, they heard footsteps approaching. It was Jason, of course, with that infuriatingly smug look on his face.

“You two finally gonna admit it?” Jason asked, crossing his arms.

Damian scowled. “Shut up, Todd.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, but there was a small smile tugging at her lips. “You’re always in the wrong place at the wrong time, Jason.”

Jason shrugged. “I’ve got a sixth sense for these things.”

“Well, your ‘sense’ is wrong,” Damian snapped, but there was a slight edge of amusement in his voice now.

Y/N chuckled, the weight of their unspoken words lingering in the background. She turned back to Damian, her smile softening. “You know, for all his teasing, I think Jason’s right about one thing.”

Damian raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“We are getting good at this,” she said with a smirk.

Damian’s lips curved upward into a rare smile. “It’s only just beginning.”

And with that, the night continued, the tension between them shifting from something unspoken to something a little clearer, a little stronger.

#dc #dc comics #dc fanart #dc robin #dcu #damian wayne #damian wayne x reader #fluff #damian wayne x y/n

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piratefishmama · 1 year ago

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Fake it Till you Make It | Part 13

“Buckley residence”

“Melissa, my second favourite Buckley! Hi, it’s Steve, is Robin there?”

“Oh Steve! Yes, yes one moment, I’ll just—weren’t you on holiday with your parents aaaand—?” he’d been calling Eddie his ‘partner’ for the week leading up to the big holiday. Never dropping any names, but given he’d found a sort of second home at the Buckleys… they were relentless in finding out who he was dating.

Since it’d never be Robin.

He wasn’t falling for it, no matter how deep they’d been into flower power back in the day. If he came out, Robin would end up coming out in solidarity and he knew she wasn’t ready yet so—“Yep, calling from Chicago airport, bit of a time sensitive call” he wasn’t giving it up.

“Oop, I’ll grab her—” there was a scuffle on the line then a quick “ROBIN, STEVE’S ON THE PHONE” another quick scuffle later and suddenly

“Aren’t you supposed to be on a plane right now, Dingus?”

“I’m in Chicago! Just checkin in on my baaaaaby, how’s my little bun today? Any morning sickness yet?”

“Robin!!”

“Mom get off the phone!!”

“Hahaha I’m kidding Melissa! Can I talk to Robbie alone though?”

“Unbelievable, you kids are turning me grey.”

“You’re as beautiful as ever though!” The other line clicked off, and Robin’s snickering laughter was all that remained. “One day she’s gonna stay on just to call my bluff.”

“But that is not today, again, aren’t you supposed to be on a plane? What’s up?”

“…Okay so, hypothetically, if you were fake dating someone you… I dunno… maybe, sorta… click really well with, can laugh with, and maybe sorta like a little, would you—”

“Steven Leopold Harrington do you have a crush on your boyfriend?”

“Fake, fake boyfriend, Robbie, fake. And that isn’t my middle name.”

“You’re not DENYING it! It's not even been a DAY yet, Steve!”

“No, I’m not—well… I’d call it more an interest than a crush, but that’s why I’m calling you, what would you do?”

“Pine uselessly for years, you know this.”

“Got it, pine uselessly” He could do that. He was doing that already, sort of. He’d watched in squinty eyed rage while a newsstand cashier with a nose ring flirted with his fake boyfriend while he grabbed a drink to down during the wait between flights. It didn’t go anywhere, Eddie barely even noticed, but Steve noticed. Steve noticed everything. “You really should ask Vi—”

“NO. Listen Steve, as the kids would say, you have found an ‘ultimate cheat code’ to asking your crush out, listen closely now, don’t want you to miss it… you’re already dating him!”

“It’s fake though!” Luckily his parents were off showing Eddie a cool mural they found last time they flew through. No chance of them hearing him.

“So?! Just act like it’s real! It’s like a test, you have a week to see if you’re actually growing ooey gooeys for this guy, and at the end of it, you’ll know if you wanna keep him.” Brilliant in theory but one small hiccup

“What if he doesn’t want me at the end of the week?” The fact that he hadn’t had a solid date in forever before the scheme looming over his head and heart like a dark cloud of suffering.

“I will eat my own shoe. Trust me dingus, trust me. He’ll want you, just work that mysterious Harrington Charm I’ve heard so much about. You’re already half-way there, you get to kiss him already.”

“…Okay, it’s gotta be the real stinker shoe though, you know the one.”

“The skunk one?!”

“Yep. The skunk one.”

“But we were gonna use that on—” Kevin, they were gonna hide it in Kevin’s office after he refused every holiday request Robin put in for a month after she, very politely, shot him and his advances down, why they still had it was… a mystery. They kept forgetting to get rid of it. “Fine, the skunk one. I will eat the skunk shoe, that is how confident I am that Eddie will want you, now please go and spend time with your way cooler than you boyfriend before your parents turn him into a normie.”

“Miss you already.”

“Miss you more”

“Miss you most.”

“Hang up.”

“No you han—” she hung up, and Steve couldn’t help but laugh about it knowing that undoubtedly. She’d be laughing on her end too.

The second flight was much easier to get Eddie onto. In fact, after they spent the hour between flights milling around the terminal, Eddie led him down the gangway, hand in hand, demanding he hurry up or “they’ll leave without us, my precious little harlot!!” there was no rush, they were actually first in line at the gate in front of his own parents, whom Eddie beat to the front of the queue, dragging Steve with him, still ribbing him for the mile high club thing.

He was not going to live that down any time soon.

The flight, in theory would give him a lot of time to think though. Nine hours. In seats that were too far apart. His parents in the middle of the cabin in a semi-enclosed pod-like structure comprised of two seats and a desk between them which they both shared to work on some paperwork, and he and Eddie on opposite sides of the plane.

Which sucked. Because he couldn’t hold Eddie’s hand.

He couldn’t make sure Eddie was okay, and that alone really dug into his time to think about things, because his brain was quite stuck on the fact that Eddie was alone on the other side of the cabin likely going through it as the second flight excitement could only last so long, and that just wasn’t okay.

Eddie couldn’t even do anything to pass the time, he’d packed all but one of his notebooks in his checked luggage, Steve was pretty damn sure he'd go insane if he had to just sit there with nothing to do for a whole nine hours.

So, they teamed up. From opposite sides of the cabin, because somehow Eddie just understood what Steve wanted him to do without having to be told.

It took them a joint effort all of one hour into the flight to puppy-dog eye his parents into switching seats with them.

This allowed them to pick at each other’s ‘gourmet’ meals, Eddie stealing several of his steak fries, and Steve stealing both the last bite of his steak, and two of his orange slices, it allowed Eddie to ramble on about the D&D campaign he was plotting to send the kids through when they got back, allowed Steve to subtly plant the idea into Eddie's mind that maybe... maybe he might be interested in seeing what that looked like.

Maybe they could hold the first session at his place when his parents went away again. Plenty of room! He could watch for once, instead of ribbing Dustin for it and purposefully never getting the name of the game right.

All leading to them both settling in their reclining seats, wrapped up in blankets, facing each other's smiling faces, and falling into an incredibly easy food-coma slumber for the remainder of their flight.

Both wishing the seats were just... a little closer.

Part 15

#PirateWrites #FakeItTillYouMakeItFiclet #Steddie #No Upside Down AU #Fake Dating AU #do not question my airline knowledge #i have none #i'm winging it #lmao winging it... cause planes? anyway #and i dont wanna know if i'm wrong #so shhhhhhhhhhh i'm right because i say i am

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thepascalofus · 2 years ago

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Supply Run - Receipt (part one)

AO3

PART TWO

Pairing: Mando/Din Djarin x afab!Reader

Word Count: 4.6k

Summary: You’ve been Mando’s crew partner for a year now. Throughout that year Mando has warmed up to you and given you signs that your heart throbbing crush on him is reciprocated. There’s one thing making you hesitate. The condoms he bought on the most recent supply run.

Content Warnings: MDNI, 18+ only! Post season 2, the Crest lives, strangers to friends to lovers, soft!Mando, helmet loopholes, pining, idiots in love, jealous!reader, mentions of sex work (sex work is work!), eventual SMUT (making out, grinding, f!receiving fingering, f!receiving oral sex, p in v, PRAISE kink, dirty talk), FLUFF, cuddling, happy ending guaranteed!

The ramp of the Crest lowered, revealing the bright sun and arid atmosphere of the random planet Mando chose for a pitstop. In the distance were jagged mountains, the colors of orange, red, and brown coming together to paint streaks across the rocky range. Sparse populations of trees littered the distant landscape. Large–but tiny from a distance–birds flew from tree top to tree top, wings fanned outwards to catch the air currents beneath their wings.

To your left was Mando. His silver beskar armor glinted in the light as he shifted his weight from one foot to another. Broad shoulders blocked a sizable proportion of your peripheral vision. Observing the new planet, he stood like a statue.

Tall. Solid. Strong. Capable. Protective.

Biting your lip, your gaze traveled up and down Mando, head to toe. He certainly had an idea of how intimidating he looked. Yet, he had no idea how that intimidation made him look so good.

People always snuck glances at you and Mando when the pair of you were in public. Whispers could be picked up on as well. Rumors about his Creed. The state of the planet of Mandalore. How dangerous Mando was.

The danger he possessed only made your feelings for him deepen. You knew what he was capable of, but you also knew he would never use his capabilities on you. Not that you didn’t want him to…

Maybe he could lift you up. Carry you across the hull. Place you on the bed in his bunk. His large, gloveless hands smoothing up and down your sides.

Mando could pin both of your hands above your head while he–.

Ok. Stop. That’s enough.

You cleared your throat, hoping to snap Mando out of his observational state, and you out of yours. “Alright, so we need five things: bacta, medkits, rations, a new flight suit, andddd soap?” You listed as you turned to him. Feet shifting, he turned his helmet to look at you. Shoulders that donned beskar pauldrons followed suit. The classic Mandalorian T shape of the visor burned into your pupils.

He paused, as if he was looking over his own checklist. “That should be it,” he confirmed with a nod. You returned his nod and added a small smile.

“Ok see ya!” You threw over your shoulder as you quickly bounded down the ramp of the Crest.

“Dank farrik, hold on, hold on,” Mando’s modulator gritted out as he clicked a button on his vambrace to close the Crest, running to get caught up to you. He rarely let you stray too far, especially when on new planets like this one. But, the Mandalorian read about the planet–and the quarry on it–before landing.

“This planet is under the jurisdiction of the New Republic, so crime rates are low,” his modulated voice filled your ears once he caught up to you, “You’ll be on your own for this supply run.”

Stopping dead in your tracks, your shoes crunched against the brown substrate underneath them as you turned to face the man, “Really?” You asked, eyebrows shooting towards your hairline.

Mando responded with a hesitant nod. “I have some business to take care of, business that your presence isn’t required for,” the beskar pauldrons lifted and lowered in a shrug, “I figured you would enjoy having free range over the market.”

“Are you sure?” You replied.

He crossed his arms, the muscles in them appearing larger when pressed together. Mando’s helmet cocked to the side and his hip jutted out. The chin of his helmet lifted slightly as it motioned towards the market. “Go before I change my mind.”

Smile spread across your face, you did a hop of excitement in place and continued towards the market.

Trudging along to explore the unfamiliar marketplace, you recalled the previous supply run at a more populated planet.

—

Mando’s finger was perpetually hooked through one of your belt loops as he dragged you from stall to stall with him.

“Mando, I’m not a child,” you told him. Your eyes rolled as he tugged you along, your hips jerking along with the movement of his arm. Sometimes your hands wound up on Mando’s arm to maintain your balance. The muscles underneath your hands hardened and flexed as he maneuvered through the crowd.

“I never said you were,” he stated as his gaze remained focused on the crowd. His eyes constantly scanned the marketplace. Beings of different cultures and origins milled through the alleyway lined with stalls. The crowd of the market was average sized–no hustle and bustle but also no empty stalls. The occasional sound of credits clinking rang throughout the dry air as someone dug into their pocket to pay for their purchase.

You scanned the market just as Mando did, following his metal gaze to try and catch a glimpse at what he was seeing. “Are we in danger?” Your voice dropped to a whisper, uncertain about what’s going on inside that beskar helmet.

Deadpanning you once again, he responded, “Not that I am aware of.” The T-shape constantly spun on an axis, and the grip of his finger tightened on the fabric of your belt loop.

Brows furrowing, you finally turned your head fully towards him, “Then why are you doing all this?” You gestured with one of your hands up and down his body. His hand jerked to tug you along, your hip following in response.

A large inhale and exhale made his beskar-plated chest rise and fall, “I want to make sure yo-,” he paused, then quickly continued, “Just want to make sure we’re safe.” He nods. The one he gives you when he's confirming something you said. Like his approval of the items you listed to get on a supply run.

Which brings you back to now. Receiving that same nod made a series of connections go off in you. For the past week you’ve been thinking about what he said. His finger tugged your hips with him, his verbal slip-up found its way onto the center stage of your thoughts every night cycle on the Crest.

“I want to make sure yo-.”

It felt like a confirmation.

—

You started as an assistant, helping Mando with whatever he needed. Marketplace runs? Check. Bounty information? Check. Small ship repairs? Check. But, calling someone an assistant sounded…weird to Mando. He didn’t enjoy the air of subordinacy the word possessed. The Mandalorian thought back to his days with his fellow Mandalorians. The covert worked as a team, with no hierarchy. Sure, some people were assigned roles, but no one was above anyone else. Everyone was part of one unit.

You worked on a small, galactically insignificant planet at a small-items repair shop. Mando entered one day with a scope for one of his blasters. Impressed with your knowledge and efficiency–the scope being repaired in less than ten minutes–the Mandalorian inquired about the chances of hiring you. “Partner,” he said with a nod, when he offered you the job, “You’ll be my partner.”

You both met at a cantina after your shift. Mando explained job responsibilities, pay, and the lifestyle that the job required. Sitting across from the man covered in beskar was intimidating. But near the end of your conversation you realized he was just soft spoken. He was also all business. Any conversation was focused on logistics of the job. He didn’t ask you weird personal questions. He respected your skills and your opinions. There were definitely worse bosses to have, you figured. Eager to explore the galaxy and leave behind the little planet, you loaded the Crest with your personal belongings the following week.

Living in the Razor Crest with Mando was awkward at first. Mando would keep his interactions with you to a minimum. You noticed that he only left the cockpit when he knew you were occupied, asleep, or off of the ship. If he had to be in the same space as you, he would leave at least a meter of distance between your bodies. Like you were two magnets of the same polarity, refusing to go closer to the other.

All business.

But that didn’t stop you from being friendly. Whenever you did see Mando you would offer him a, “How are you?” Or a, “How was your day?” His responses were consistently short and to the point.

“Fine.”

“Busy.”

“Awful.”

Dinner was when you typically saw him. He would come down to grab a ration pack and scurry back into the cockpit. You also saw him when he returned from hunts, dragging the bounty behind his beskar frame. His grunts echoed throughout the Crest’s hull as he pulled the quarry up and froze him into carbonite. You claimed a small section of the hull as your living quarters, so you had no choice but to watch.

Trying to break the tension, you asked, “How was your day?”

Mando huffed, his broad shoulders covered in beskar lifted and fell, “Nothing you want to hear about,” he deadpanned to you. If he did offer any emotion, it was cut out of his voice by his helmet’s modulator.

“Try me,” you crossed your arms and raised your eyebrows. Leaning back on the cold wall of the hull, your chest thrummed with nervous energy as you waited for his response. Was that too much? Were you just going to push him away?

“Quarry tried to escape and they ran. Would have been back four hours ago,” the modulator gritted out, “Not too fun.” His helmet tilted to the side and he squeezed his hands together that were clasped in front of him.

The Mandalorian’s wide frame took up the majority of the door frame that separates the carbonite room from the hull. Large gloved hands remained clasped together while he shifted in place, eventually settling on leaning against the frame.

You stood still in shock for a couple seconds. If you listened closely you could have heard the hearts beating in the hull. That was the most that Mando has ever said to you at once. “Oh, I’m sorry,” you started.

“You don’t have to be sorry,” he brushed past you towards the ladder going up to the cockpit, “It’s my job.”

You turned towards him, which halted his ascent, “That doesn’t mean it sucks any less,” your eyes widened and you tried to backtrack, “sorry, I probably shouldn’t have said that your job sucks,” you blurted out in an attempt to save face.

Mando met your gaze with the T of his visor and replied, “My job does suck.”

Did he just try to be funny? A giggle bubbled out from your chest. His silver helmet shook slightly from side to side and he turned back to climb the ladder. But not before he also let out a small chuckle.

His attitude slowly and steadily transformed after that night.

Mando lingered in the hull longer in the mornings and in the evenings. The mornings were when you asked, “What’re the plans for today?” And the evenings came with your, “How was your day?”

At one point he started making you a cup of caf every morning when he was awake first, and he usually was. He knew you favored the drink in the mornings so he began to regularly purchase it, and he built up a sizable stash in the Crest.

His preferred distance from you shrunk and shrunk. The broad Mandalorian opted to stand next to you in the mornings, helping you make breakfast as well as he could. Ever-so-subtle brushes as you passed each other on the Crest became more frequent. Sometimes he would touch a hand to your waist as he passed, or on the small of your back if you weren’t facing him.

The beskar warrior spoke more too. He taught you a few words in Mando’a, which consisted of a couple basic words and some insults.

“Di’kutla,” he spat out as he struggled to repair a part on one of his blasters.

“What’s that one mean?” You asked over your shoulder, looking up from the article you were reading on your Holopad.

Mando huffed in frustration and gritted out, “worthless…stupid,” as he continued to try and force the part off of the blaster.

Chuckling, you repeated the word in your mind and watched as Mando continued to struggle. You stored all of the words he shared with you deep in your brain, not wanting to forget this special part of himself that Mando shared with you.

One of your evening chats came to an end and the broad beskar man was drifting back to this bunk. For the first time, he paused and looked at you. You knew his gaze underneath the helmet met yours. No proof, but you knew.

“Goodnight,” the word gently flowed through his helmet’s modulator.

He’s said it every night he’s been on the ship since then. Sometimes his gaze lingered on yours too long. A couple times you swore you saw the center of his chest rise, as if he was about to say something, but it stopped mid-exhale and Mando retreated into his bunk.

You found yourself to be increasingly longing for the sound of the ramp descending, signaling his return from a hunt. He trudged up the ramp, quarry in tow. Freezing the person in carbonite was always fast. Usually small pleasantries were exchanged before he used the fresher to clean off.

If your mind were to venture towards more perverse thoughts, your favorite part was after he used the fresher.

He always emerged in a pair of black pants, a black t-shirt, and of course, his helmet.

No armor. No gloves. Not even the usual long-sleeved layer underneath his t-shirt.

When he turned to toss his clothes into a small hamper, you swore small tufts of dark brown hair peaked out from beneath his helmet. Nevertheless, a combination of factors had you in awe. Watching as Mando hauled the quarry into carbonite like it was nothing. You saw the toned muscles in his arms, developed from decades of finely tuned combat. The broad expanse of his back, rippling underneath his t-shirt. His calloused, capable hands are composed of thick fingers. You were in awe at his physique, his presence, the things he did to provide for the both of you.

And it hit you like a cold, ocean wave just how unafraid of him you were.

As if your fondness towards the Mandalorian couldn’t grow any more, he started returning from supply runs with gifts for you. Although he rarely let you go on runs alone, he did have the decency to give you space during pit stops. You would wander near him while looking at all of the different crafts the stalls had to offer.

One day you were peering at a set of comfortable lounge pants. You managed to whittle your wardrobe down to one set after damaging pair after pair when repairing the Razor Crest. Shoulders slumped, you thought about how comfy the pants would be when sleeping in your makeshift bed on the floor of the Crest. You knew you didn’t have enough credits, so you moved along to purchase the items the pair of you actually needed.

Milling about the market weren’t many people, which was most likely why you were alone on this shopping trip. The brown sands of the marketplace intruded upon the surroundings, leaving dunes of sand curving up and into the stalls. Sun rays blared down from the cloudless sky. Heat already seeped through your airy shirt and throughout your skin, conjuring up a layer of sweat. After visiting four stalls you purchased all of the necessary items.

Bacta. Soap. Rations. Spare parts. You confirmed each purchase on the receipts from the market. A step you always took to make sure nothing was forgotten.

You met Mando back at the Razor Crest and started unloading your bags. Item after item piled on the center of the ship's floor. Rations. Bacta. Medkits. Sweatpants. Ammo. Ra-.

Sweatpants?

The sweatpants were identical to the ones you stopped and looked at while shopping. Your hands reached for the sweatpants and marveled in their softness. Pausing, your gaze lifted to meet Mando’s T-shaped visor. “Did you buy sweatpants?” Confusion oozed from your voice.

His gaze remained on yours and he replied with a slight nod of his head, “Yes. They’re for you.”

“Mando, you didn’t ha-”

“Take it. Please. I feel bad enough making you sleep on the floor,” he insisted. His gloved hand gestured to the sleeping pad, pillow, and blanket neatly stored in a corner of the hull.

“Honestly it hasn’t been that bad. The sleeping pad you got is pretty comfy.” You shrugged and told him the truth. Sleeping on that plush pad was infinitely better than the hull’s cold, metal floor.

“You have to set it up every night. You at least deserve a permanent bed,” his modulator made his words sound like churning gravel.

You stared into the black T covering his face. His shoulders drooped, like he gave up on trying to convince you. The gesture was a silent plea to just accept the gift.

“Thank you,” you said to him softly, “it means a lot.”

It was his turn to shrug, “That’s why I do it.”

—

Today marks a year since the two of you became “partners”.

For you, that marked a year since you’ve met the man you had a heart throbbing crush on.

You knew Mando wasn’t much of the sentimental type. Everything he kept was for a purpose. Any sentimental things had extreme meaning to him. If you were reading the situation correctly, you had a burning suspicion that the beskar covered man liked you back. So suggesting you two get matching bracelets at the market wouldn’t be completely farfetched. Even if he didn’t like you back you could just play it off as a gag gift…right?

After trudging across the brown landscape for twenty minutes, Mando at your tail, you arrived at the market.

“We meet at that stall,” you heard from over your shoulder. Your eyes followed Mando’s finger to a bright red food vendor stall, “in 2 hours. Understood?”

A smile plastered itself onto your face and you gave him a sarcastic salute, “Understood.”

A breathy chuckle passed through Mando’s modulator. He shook his head softly and motioned for you to get a move on. You turned on your heel and walked to your first destination.

—

Bacta? Check. Rations? Check. Soap? Check. Medkits? Check.

The only thing left was a new flight suit for Mando.

As you walked towards the clothing section of the market you stopped at a men’s clothing stall to purchase an extra large black flight suit. Once your transaction was completed you walked further into the alleyway lined with stalls selling dresses, flight gear, loungewear, jewelry, bracelets. Bracelets.

Your eyes landed on a stall with various fabrics on display. The front tables of the vendor were packed with different colored bracelets. Bracelet materials ranged from metal, leather, twine, thick cord, beads, and some materials you’ve never seen before.

The stall became even more enchanting as you got closer. Signs displayed prices, sizes, and ongoing sales. Immediately your eyes landed on a vast array of multicolored bracelets. You were thinking of getting something green since Mando told you that Grogu is green.

A couple months ago he told you about how he had to give Grogu to a Jedi to train, since Grogu could use the force. Your heart sank. Mando often turned the metal knob of the thruster–a silver ball–over and over in his hand. He only told you recently that it was Grogu’s favorite thing to steal from him.

Your eyes danced over the section of green bracelets. Some were too dark, some too vibrant, others were just ugly. Finally, your gaze landed on the bracelet.

A fine, light green thread, you assumed somewhat close to Grogu’s color, was intertwined with thicker silver and brown threads. Light green and silver streaked across the rough brown surface of the bracelet. It reminded you of light streaking across the windshield of the Crest while in hyperspace.

This was the one.

Sifting through the different sizes you picked out one in your size and one you guessed would fit Mando. The bracelets were adjustable and hopefully that would help if you got Mando the wrong size. Setting the bracelets down to sift through your pockets for credits, you looked up at a weathered sign displaying the prices.

PRICES

1 bracelet = 15 credits

2 = 30 credits

3 = 45 credits

4 = 60 credits

As you reached into your pockets and retrieved your last credits you realized you didn’t have enough. Only twenty five credits sat in your palm. Not in the mood to haggle with the vendor about the price, your shoulders dropped and you returned the bracelets to their original places.

You checked your watch. One hour left until you met back up with Mando. Making it from one end of the market to the other took forty five minutes, so you figured you could take the scenic route back to the meet up point. Getting to see the new sights could cheer you up after not being able to afford the gift you wanted to get for Mando.

Walking up on a familiar intersection, you opted to take a right this time instead of a left. The path on the right was much more…interesting…than the path on the left. One vendor sold exotic pets. The next sold potions that promised to give the consumer various effects. The next stall was not a stall, it was a large establishment.

The establishment stood tall amongst the surrounding stalls. Solid brick walls were painted a dull gray. A sign with old, faded letters was centered on the front wall between two windows. The tall windows of the building were heavily tinted. Shadows of different figures danced across the glass. Some bodies were indistinguishable from the ones they were next to. Music blared from inside, but it barely covered the sounds of moans and the slapping of skin on skin.

Looking up, front and center on the building reads: BROTHEL

Brothels weren’t a common occurrence on the supply runs you’ve been on, but you suppose the service was in demand. You shrugged and walked past the gray building. The moving bodies in the windows almost allowed your vision to gloss over him.

Tall. Broad. Covered in beskar. A black T shaped visor gazing down at a man.

At first you froze in shock. Was this the business Mando had to attend to? The one that, “didn’t require your presence”? You never pictured the Mandalorian to be a man that required services like these, but he is a man nonetheless.

A soft breeze sent goosebumps down your arms towards your fingertips. Realizing you’re out in the open, you ducked into an empty market stall. A gap in the wood planks making up the stall’s sides gave you a clear view of Mando’s encounter with the mystery man.

The man was in all black with a silver name tag on his chest. By Mando’s serious demeanor you could tell that the conversation was strictly business. The Mandalorian’s helmet tilted in question at the man and Mando pulled out a pen and pad to write on. From the man’s stance and close position to the building you could tell he was the bouncer, plus the presence of a name tag.

The bouncer pulled out an identical pad and began to speak. You couldn’t hear a word they exchanged, but you could tell Mando was writing down a list. A finger on the bouncer’s hand came up everytime he stated something else from his list. Mando jotted down a few things, closed his pad, and returned it to a pocket in his suit.

Then he reached into a different pocket, pulled out a sizable amount of credits, and handed them to the bouncer.

Did he just buy a night at the brothel?

Your heart dropped to your stomach. Blood rushed towards your head and your vision slightly blurred. You felt stupid. You fell for a guy, pretty much your boss, you don’t even know what he looks like, and he didn’t like you back. You were even going to buy you and him matching bracelets. Breaths exited your mouth in stutters. The realization of how naive you were radiated throughout your being. Mando was just being nice to you. He managed to warm up to you. That’s it.

But you were also so confused. What were the fleeting touches in the Crest? The gifts he gave you after trips to the market? The early morning and late evening conversations? Feelings bubbled up from your stomach and started to seep out of your body in the form of tears.

You spent a year getting to know this man. Kriff, it took you a couple months before he started replying to you in full sentences. No one else has experienced Mando like this. You didn’t want anyone else to see his ungloved hands, the rolling muscles of his back in just a t-shirt, the way the helmet softly shook from side to side when he heard a bad joke. Those small, “Goodnight”s, are yours. The modulated chuckles are yours. The way he makes a cup of caf for you on most mornings. That’s yours.

Of course Mando wasn’t yours, but jealousy managed to seep into your bones regardless.

Zoning back into the situation, you realized Mando started walking back in the direction towards the meet up point. Scrambling to get to your feet, you jumped over the wall of the empty stall and made your way back

—

Upon seeing the size of the bag you carried, Mando slipped it from your grasp and into his. He stuffed a small piece of paper, a receipt, into the bag before swinging it onto his shoulder.

The walk back to the Razor Crest lacked conversation. Sounds of crunching ground underneath your shoes echoed in your ears. Mando followed your lead and kept the trek speechless.

The Razor Crest steadily became larger and larger on the horizon. Once orange, brown, and red mountain ranges were now painted in hues of pink and purple. Colors of the rocky formations reflected off of the Razor Crest.

You bounded up the ramp as soon as it was lowered. Mando followed suit and began to empty the bag of its contents. Each item fell onto the middle of the hull’s floor.

Bacta. Medkits. Flight suit. Soap. Rations.

The beskar man dug around in the bag for a second more and retrieved a handful of receipts.

“Here,” he said as he handed them to you, “I know you like to look them over.”

Your stomach flipped at the thoughtfulness. Reaching your hand out, his gloveless fingers brushed yours in the handing off of the receipts. After they were straightened out you began to look through them.

First receipt, bacta and medkits.

Second receipt, rations and soap.

Third receipt, flight suit.

Fourth receipt.

Wait. Fourth receipt?

Your eyes scanned the lines of the flimsy paper. The date was from today, so it wasn’t old. But you didn’t visit the vendor listed on the receipt. Pupils skipping a few lines, you read the items purchased.

ITEMS PURCHASED (1)

CONDOM - 12 PACK

For the second time today you froze. Blood rushed up towards your head as your vision blurred.

He really just bought a night with a worker at the brothel.

From the little details you had, you tried to make sense of the scene you stumbled across earlier in the night. Mando talked to the bouncer, probably asked who was working that night, wrote down the workers he was interested in, and paid for a night with one of them. I mean, what else could you possibly be talking with a brothel bouncer about? The weather?

Good thing you didn’t buy those bracelets.

PART TWO

#pedro pascal #din djarin fanfic #din djarin #din djarin fic #din djarin fluff #din djarin smut #din djarin x f!reader #din djarin x you #din x reader #mando fanfic #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian fanfiction #mando x reader #mando smut #mando fluff #supply run #thepascalofus #thepascalofus fic

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movingmusically · 2 months ago

Text

Caught Feeling: Sapphire and Steel - One Shot

Author’s Note:

This man will be the death of me.

Word Count: 6,837

Masterlist

When the invitation landed on my desk, I stared at it for a solid five minutes, debating all the ways I could get out of it. A charity gala. Black-tie. The kind of event where everyone sipped champagne, exchanged pleasantries, and pretended they were comfortable in clothes that cost more than my rent.

I loved the cause—raising money for a local animal rescue that partnered with the clinic—but the idea of spending an evening making small talk with high-profile donors in a room full of strangers made my stomach twist. I wasn’t exactly the schmoozing type.

At first, I convinced myself I was too busy. There was always something at work that needed my attention. And I didn’t exactly have a closet full of evening gowns just waiting to be worn. Surely someone else could go in my place. But the look on my boss’s face when she handed me the invitation stuck with me. “You’ll be great,” she’d said, smiling like she didn’t have a single doubt in her mind.

Great. Sure. I’d be great at standing in a corner, clutching a glass of wine, and praying no one tried to make conversation.

I was still going back and forth when Hank walked into my kitchen one night and saw the invitation sitting on the counter. “What’s this?” he asked, picking it up and flipping it over.

“Charity gala,” I muttered, barely looking up as I stirred the pasta on the stove. “For the animal rescue we work with. Black-tie, lots of donors… you know the drill.”

“You’re going?”

“Apparently.” I sighed, turning off the burner and pouring the pasta into a colander. “I mean, I kind of have to. The clinic asked me to go, and it’s for a good cause. But I’m already dreading it.”

Hank leaned against the counter, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Why? Fancy dinners and free drinks don’t sound so bad.”

“It’s not my thing.” I grabbed two bowls and started dishing out the pasta. “The small talk, the mingling… it’s exhausting. Plus, I’ll probably end up standing alone in a corner half the night.”

“You won’t be alone,” he said, his tone casual but steady.

I glanced up at him, confused. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, I’ll go with you.” He shrugged, like it was the simplest thing in the world.

I blinked. “You? At a black-tie gala?”

“Why not? I clean up alright.” His grin widened, and there was a playful glint in his eyes. “Besides, someone’s gotta make sure you don’t spend the whole night hiding in the bathroom.”

I laughed, shaking my head. “I don’t hide in bathrooms.”

He raised an eyebrow, his grin widening. “Really? You sure about that? Because I distinctly remember a certain someone dragging me into the bathroom at Paul’s that one time.”

My cheeks flushed instantly as I pointed the wooden spoon in my hand at him. “That does not count.”

“Oh, it absolutely counts,” he said, leaning back against the counter with a smug look. “You weren’t hiding, though, I’ll give you that. Pretty sure your intentions were the exact opposite of hiding.”

“Hank,” I warned, though I couldn’t help the embarrassed laugh that slipped out.

He reached for a fork and twirled it through the pasta, still grinning. “Come on, I’ll wear the suit, smile at the rich people, and keep you entertained. You won’t even notice the small talk.”

“You’re serious?”

“Dead serious.” He leaned closer, his voice dropping slightly. “Unless you’d rather go alone and be bored out of your mind.”

I hesitated, trying to come up with a reason to say no. But the idea of having Hank there—a familiar face, someone to laugh with—was too tempting to resist. And, okay, the thought of seeing him in a suit didn’t hurt either.

“Alright,” I said finally, setting his bowl in front of him. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you. These things can be stuffy.”

“With me there? Not a chance.”

The night of the gala, I stood in front of my mirror, feeling a strange mix of excitement and nerves as I smoothed my hands over my dress. It was deep sapphire blue, floor-length and fitted, with a slit that ran up one leg just high enough to make me second-guess myself. The sweetheart neckline was understated but elegant, and the fabric hugged my waist before flowing in soft, silky waves. It wasn’t the kind of thing I usually wore, but for the first time in a long time, I actually felt… confident.

I’d kept my jewellery simple—a delicate necklace, a pair of drop earrings—and swept my hair up into a loose, slightly messy updo, leaving a few strands to frame my face. A swipe of berry lipstick added just the right amount of colour. I didn’t look like me, exactly, but I wasn’t sure that was a bad thing.

A knock at the door pulled me from my thoughts, and I hurried to answer it, my heels clicking softly against the floor. When I opened the door, my breath caught.

Hank stood there, leaning casually against the doorframe, and for a moment, I forgot how to speak. The man who usually wore jeans and T-shirts looked like he’d stepped out of a movie. His suit was perfectly tailored, the crisp white shirt and black tie giving him an air of sharp sophistication. The broad lines of his shoulders, the way the fabric skimmed his frame—it all felt almost unfair.

The buzz cut, which I was still getting used to, only added to the look. It made his cheekbones sharper, his blue eyes even brighter. He looked effortlessly sexy, and he knew it.

“Wow,” I said before I could stop myself.

His grin widened, and his gaze swept over me, slow and deliberate. “You took the word right out of my mouth.”

I felt a blush creep up my neck as he stepped inside, his eyes still on me. “You look… incredible,” he said, his voice lower now, more serious.

“Thanks,” I managed, smoothing my hands over the fabric of my dress. “You don’t look too bad yourself. Very James Bond.”

“James Bond, huh?” He raised an eyebrow, his grin turning playful. “Does that make you my Bond girl?”

I rolled my eyes, though I couldn’t help but laugh. “Let’s just get through tonight without any explosions, okay?”

“No promises.” He offered me his arm, his grin softening into something warmer. “Shall we?”

I slipped my arm through his, letting him lead me out the door. As we walked to the cab, I couldn’t help stealing glances at him, taking in the way the suit hugged his frame, the way he carried himself with that mix of confidence and ease. Whatever tonight held, one thing was certain—I was glad I hadn’t gone alone.

The cab rolled to a smooth stop in front of the grand venue, the warm golden light spilling from the tall windows creating an inviting glow. My stomach fluttered with nerves as I glanced at the bustling crowd of elegantly dressed guests stepping out of sleek cars and heading inside. I reached for the door handle, but Hank’s hand was quicker, the gesture smooth and confident as he stepped out and turned back to offer me his hand.

“Don’t worry,” he said, his lips quirking into that easy, crooked grin. “You’re going to knock ’em dead.”

I smiled, letting him help me out of the car. The warm, balmy evening air brushed against my bare shoulders as I adjusted the rich sapphire-blue fabric of my dress. The gown clung in all the right places, the slit along one leg giving me just enough freedom to move while adding a subtle edge. I felt both elegant and vulnerable, acutely aware of every step I took in my heels.

But then I glanced up at Hank, and the world seemed to steady itself. He stood tall and self-assured in his tailored black suit, the sharp lines of the jacket emphasising his broad shoulders and lean frame. The tie knotted neatly at his throat added a layer of sophistication, but the buzz cut gave him a dangerous, effortlessly sexy edge. His blue eyes met mine, and for a moment, I forgot about my nerves.

“Stop looking at me like that,” I murmured, a small smile tugging at my lips.

“Like what?” he asked, his grin widening as his hand brushed lightly against my back, guiding me toward the entrance.

“Like you’re going to devour me,” I teased, though my own gaze betrayed me as it dipped to the sharp line of his jaw.

His voice dropped just enough to send a thrill through me. “Who says I’m not?”

I didn’t have a chance to respond before we reached the entrance, where a server handed us each a glass of champagne. The soft fizz of the bubbles and the golden hue of the drink mirrored the energy of the room as we stepped inside. The space was breathtaking—vaulted ceilings, crystal chandeliers casting warm light across polished floors, and an air of refined elegance that felt worlds away from our usual haunts.

“Wow,” I breathed, glancing around.

Hank let out a low whistle beside me, his hand brushing the small of my back. “Fancy. Remind me to take you to events like this more often. Though,” he added, his gaze sliding over me, “I might not survive seeing you in a dress like this too often.”

Heat bloomed in my cheeks, but I played it off with a soft laugh. “You clean up pretty well yourself. Maybe I’ll start bringing you to these things just to watch people fall over themselves to talk to you.”

“Think I’m that charming?” he teased, taking a slow sip of his champagne.

I didn’t have to answer. As we began to mingle, it became abundantly clear that Hank had an undeniable magnetism about him. Every person we spoke to seemed drawn to him, his warm smile and steady eye contact putting even the most reserved guests at ease. He laughed easily, asked thoughtful questions, and seemed genuinely interested in every conversation.

But it wasn’t just his charm. It was the way he subtly redirected attention back to me whenever the spotlight lingered too long on him. He slipped in compliments about my work at the clinic, building me up with such casual confidence that I found myself speaking with more ease than I ever had at an event like this.

At one point, we were approached by a prominent donor, a silver-haired woman in a glittering gown who introduced herself with a practiced smile. She turned her attention to Hank almost immediately, her gaze lingering just a second too long.

“And what brings you here tonight?” she asked, her tone warm but curious.

Hank’s hand found the small of my back, his touch grounding. “I’m just the plus-one,” he said with an easy grin. “She’s the real star. You should hear her talk about her work—it’s incredible.”

The woman’s attention shifted to me, and for once, I didn’t stumble over my words. Hank stayed by my side, his presence steady and reassuring, and by the time the conversation ended, I felt a surge of confidence I hadn’t expected.

“You’re good at this,” I murmured as we stepped away.

“So are you,” he replied, his voice soft. “You just needed a little reminder.”

The evening flowed smoothly after that. We moved through the elegant space, weaving between groups of donors and sponsors. Hank stayed close, his hand resting lightly on the small of my back, a subtle but constant presence that grounded me. He had this way of making everything seem effortless, his easy laughter and sharp wit breaking the ice with even the most intimidating guests.

At one point, as I was caught in a conversation about the clinic’s recent partnership with the rescue organisation, I felt his gaze on me. Not in an overwhelming way, but enough that it made my pulse quicken. When I glanced at him, he wasn’t looking at anyone else—just me, his eyes warm and steady, like I was the only thing in the room worth his attention.

He didn’t have to say anything. That look alone was enough to send a shiver down my spine.

When the mingling slowed and people began moving toward the dining area, I let out a breath of relief. Hank leaned in, his lips brushing just close enough to my ear that I felt the heat of his breath. “You’re doing great,” he murmured. “Told you you’d charm them.”

“You’re the one doing all the charming,” I shot back softly, though I couldn’t hide the small smile that tugged at my lips.

Hank smirked, his hand guiding me gently toward the dining room. “Only because I’ve got you to impress.”

The dining area was just as grand as the rest of the venue, with long tables draped in pristine white linens and adorned with arrangements of fresh flowers and flickering candles. We were seated at a smaller table near the centre of the room, surrounded by a mix of guests who introduced themselves with firm handshakes and polished smiles.

Hank pulled out my chair, his hand lingering on my waist as I sat down. The gesture was simple, but it sent a warm buzz through me, one that lingered even as the first course was served. He took the seat beside me, his presence commanding yet comforting, and I couldn’t help but steal another glance at him.

The meal began with a delicate amuse-bouche, followed by an appetiser of poached lobster in a light citrus glaze. The dishes were exquisite, but my focus kept drifting to Hank. He carried himself with an ease that was both enviable and maddening, seamlessly folding into the conversation at the table like he belonged there. It didn’t matter that he wasn’t part of this world—he owned every second of it.

The woman across from us, a striking blonde in an emerald-green gown, leaned forward during the main course, her eyes fixed on Hank. “So, tell me,” she said with a practiced smile, “what do you do?”

“I’m a bartender,” Hank replied simply, his voice smooth and confident as he picked up his wine glass. “Nothing as impressive as saving animals, though.”

The woman blinked, clearly taken aback, but Hank didn’t miss a beat. He gestured toward me, his tone warm. “She’s the one you should really be talking to. Her clinic does incredible work—it’s why we’re here tonight.”

The attention shifted to me, and I felt my cheeks flush under the sudden spotlight. But Hank’s knee brushed mine under the table, a small, grounding touch that reminded me I wasn’t alone. I straightened slightly, finding my voice as I spoke about the clinic’s latest projects and the partnerships we’d been working on.

By the time dessert was served—a decadent chocolate tart paired with a delicate swirl of cream—I felt a strange sense of ease. The guests at our table were engaged, the conversations flowing naturally, and Hank never stopped backing me up with small gestures of encouragement. A soft squeeze of my hand here, a quiet word of praise there—it was as if he knew exactly how to keep me steady.

“You’re incredible, you know that?” he murmured when the table’s attention turned to a different guest. His voice was low enough that only I could hear, but the warmth in his tone sent a flutter through my chest.

“Stop it,” I said softly, though the smile on my face was impossible to hide.

“I mean it,” he replied, his eyes locked on mine. “You’re amazing.”

Dinner ended with a round of applause for the speakers, and the room shifted back into a hum of conversation as people began to mingle again. Hank stood, holding out a hand to help me up. His grip was firm, warm, and when I slid my hand into his, I felt a flicker of something that had been building all night.

We made our way toward the bar, the weight of his hand resting lightly at the small of my back, a touch that was subtle but impossible to ignore. I tried to focus on the clinking of glasses, the soft laughter drifting through the room, but all I could think about was how close he was—how his fingertips pressed just enough to make my skin hum.

When we reached the bar, Hank’s tie had loosened slightly, the knot just a little crooked. Without thinking, I reached up, my fingers brushing against the crisp fabric of his shirt as I slid them along the tie, tightening the knot with deliberate care. His eyes never left mine, his expression unreadable as I smoothed it into place.

“There,” I murmured, my fingers lingering on the silk for just a moment too long. “Better.”

Hank smirked, his gaze darkening as his lips parted like he was about to say something. But I didn’t let him. I grabbed the knot of his tie, tugging him forward just enough that he had to lean down, and kissed him.

It wasn’t long—just a quick brush of lips—but it was enough to make my heart race, enough to leave me a little breathless when I pulled back. His hand came up to my waist, steadying me as he tilted his head slightly, his smirk widening.

“You’ve been wanting to do that all night,” he murmured, his voice low and teasing, his breath brushing against my lips as he lingered close.

“Maybe,” I admitted, a small smile tugging at my lips. “But mostly, I just wanted to thank you.”

“Thank me?” His eyebrows lifted slightly, his smirk softening into something more curious.

I nodded, my fingers still brushing against the silk of his tie. “For tonight. For… being so great with everyone. For making me feel like I actually belong here.” I hesitated, my voice dropping to a whisper. “I don’t think I could’ve done this without you.”

His expression shifted, the teasing edge melting away entirely as he looked at me. “You didn’t need me,” he said softly, his hand coming up to cup my cheek. His thumb brushed lightly against my skin, his touch steady and grounding. “You’re amazing all on your own. I just got to stand next to you and watch.”

The sincerity in his voice, the way his eyes held mine like he was seeing every part of me, left me momentarily speechless. I blinked up at him, my heart pounding in my chest, and for a moment, all the noise and movement around us faded away. There was only Hank, standing so close I could feel the warmth radiating from him, his hand cradling my face like I was something precious.

“Well,” I managed after a beat, my lips curving into a soft smile, “I’m still glad you’re here.”

His smile returned, slow and crooked, and he leaned in just enough that our foreheads brushed. “Me too,” he murmured, his voice low and intimate. “And for the record… you do belong here. More than anyone else in this room.”

The words settled over me like a warm blanket, and I leaned into his touch, letting the moment stretch just a little longer. There was something about Hank—something unspoken and unshakable—that made me feel steady, even when the ground beneath me seemed uncertain.

The moment lingered, stretching into something deeper, heavier, as if neither of us wanted to break the fragile bubble we’d created. Hank’s thumb brushed over my cheek again, and I felt a shiver run down my spine, the weight of his gaze almost too much to bear.

But then someone nearby laughed, loud and abrupt, shattering the quiet between us. The world around us came rushing back, and Hank’s hand dropped from my face, though his touch lingered on my lower back as if he wasn’t quite ready to let go.

“You want another drink?” he asked, his voice casual, but his eyes still holding that same quiet intensity.

I nodded, mostly for something to do, and turned to face the bar as he signaled to the bartender. The hum of the room swirled around us again—snippets of laughter, the clinking of glasses—but I couldn’t focus on any of it. My entire body felt attuned to him, to the way his fingers rested against the small of my back, to the way he leaned just close enough that the faint scent of his cologne curled around me.

When the bartender handed Hank two glasses of champagne, he passed one to me, our fingers brushing briefly. I took a sip, the bubbles fizzing against my lips, but it did little to cool the heat pooling low in my stomach.

As we lingered near the bar, mingling felt like the furthest thing from my mind. The tension that had been building between us all night was now a palpable force, crackling like electricity in the air. Every time Hank shifted closer, every brush of his hand, every glance from those piercing blue eyes—it all added fuel to the fire simmering just beneath the surface.

I turned slightly, the hem of my dress brushing against his leg as I leaned in. “You’re being very distracting,” I murmured, my voice just loud enough for him to hear.

“Me?” he asked, his lips curving into a slow, teasing grin. “I’ve been on my best behavior all night.”

“Debatable,” I shot back, though my smile betrayed me. I tilted my head, narrowing my eyes slightly. “And your hand hasn’t left my back for the last ten minutes.”

“Would you like me to move it?” he asked, his voice dipping lower, rougher.

“No,” I said before I could stop myself, the word slipping out in a rush. I swallowed hard, my cheeks heating as his grin widened. “I mean… it’s fine. Stay.”

“Good,” he said simply, his hand pressing just a fraction closer.

I looked away, trying to ignore the heat crawling up my neck, but the tension between us only thickened. As the minutes passed, it became harder to focus on anything else. The air felt stifling, charged, like something was about to break.

Eventually, Hank leaned in close again, his breath warm against my temple as he murmured, “You want to step outside for a minute? Get some air?”

I hesitated, my heart hammering in my chest. I knew what he was really asking, and the answer was already written in the way my body leaned instinctively toward him, in the way his fingers tightened against my back. “Lead the way,” I whispered, my voice barely audible.

He didn’t hesitate. With one hand guiding me and the other clutching his glass, Hank weaved us through the crowd, his touch firm and deliberate. My pulse raced as we slipped past groups of people chatting and laughing, the noise fading as we moved toward the edges of the room.

But instead of heading for the outdoor terrace, Hank took a sharp turn down a side hallway. The lights were dimmer here, the air cooler, and I felt a flicker of anticipation ripple through me as I followed him. My heels clicked softly against the polished floor, the sound mingling with the faint thrum of the gala music filtering through the walls.

When we reached a door at the end of the corridor, Hank paused, his hand hovering over the handle as he glanced back at me. “Still with me?” he asked, his voice low, rough with barely restrained restraint.

“Always,” I said softly, the word carrying more weight than I’d intended.

He didn’t wait another second. The door clicked open, and he pulled me inside, his movements swift and fluid. It was a small office, sparsely furnished with a desk, a chair, and a few filing cabinets. The light was warm and low, casting long shadows across the room, and the hum of the gala was faint, distant, like it existed in another world entirely.

Hank closed the door behind us, and the soft click of the lock echoed in the quiet. My breath hitched as I turned to face him, the tension between us snapping into something electric, urgent.

“Hank—”

I didn’t get another word out before he was on me, his hands bracketing my face as his lips crashed into mine. The kiss was anything but gentle—hot, hungry, and all-consuming. His fingers tangled in my hair, pulling me closer, and I melted against him, my hands fisting in the crisp fabric of his shirt.

It wasn’t enough. Not even close.

I let out a soft, desperate sound against his mouth, and he groaned in response, his hands sliding down to my waist. “God, you’re killing me,” he muttered, his voice rough and breathless as his lips trailed along my jaw.

I barely had time to catch my breath before he turned me, his hands guiding me until my palms rested against the cool, polished surface of the desk. My heart raced as his fingers traced the curve of my spine, the heat of his touch burning through the thin fabric of my dress.

“Do you have any idea how hard it’s been to keep my hands off you tonight?” he murmured, his breath hot against my neck as his hands slid lower. “Watching you, wanting you…”

I gasped as his hands found the slit in my dress, his fingers skimming along my bare thigh. “Hank—”

“Tell me to stop,” he said, his voice strained, almost pleading.

“Don’t you dare,” I whispered, my breath catching as his hand slipped higher.

Hank didn’t need any more encouragement. His hands gripped the fabric of my dress, slowly sliding it upward, the silk gathering in his fists as he revealed more and more of my legs. The cool air of the office kissed the bare skin of my thighs, and I shivered, though it had nothing to do with the temperature. My palms pressed harder into the desk, bracing myself as he moved behind me.

“You’re incredible,” he muttered, his voice rough as his hands traced over the lace of my underwear. His touch was firm, deliberate, and I bit back a soft gasp when his fingers slipped beneath the delicate fabric, brushing against me. “So wet already… you’ve been waiting for this, haven’t you?”

“Yes,” I admitted, my voice trembling as I pushed back against him, desperate for more.

“Fuck,” he hissed, his hands tightening on my hips. The heat of him behind me, his hard length pressing against me through his pants, made my head spin. “You have no idea how much I want you right now.”

“Then stop teasing,” I managed, glancing over my shoulder to meet his gaze. His blue eyes were dark, blazing with heat as he stared back at me, his jaw clenched tight.

Hank let out a low, guttural sound, his hands slipping up to the waistband of my underwear. In one swift motion, he tugged them down, the lace sliding down my legs before pooling at my feet. I stepped out of them, my breath catching when his hands returned to my hips, gripping firmly as he pulled me back against him.

The sound of his belt buckle being undone filled the air, the faint metallic clink making my stomach flip with anticipation. My fingers curled against the edge of the desk, my breathing shallow as I heard the rustle of fabric, the unmistakable sound of his zipper being pulled down.

And then he was there, his hands sliding up to my waist as he positioned himself behind me. The thick, hot length of him pressed against me, and I couldn’t stop the soft whimper that escaped my lips.

“Please,” I breathed, the word half a plea, half a command.

He didn’t make me wait. With one firm thrust, he slid inside me, stretching me in a way that was both overwhelming and perfect. A sharp gasp tore from my throat as he filled me completely, his hands steadying me as I adjusted to the intensity of him.

“Fuck,” he groaned, his voice rough and breathless. His grip on my hips tightened as he pulled back slightly before thrusting into me again, harder this time. “You feel… so fucking good.”

I couldn’t respond, couldn’t form a single coherent thought as he set a relentless pace, his hips snapping against mine with a force that made the desk beneath me creak. My hands braced against the smooth surface, my body rocking with every powerful thrust. The sounds of our movements filled the small office—the low, rhythmic slap of skin against skin, the faint scrape of my heels against the floor, and the broken moans spilling from my lips.

Hank leaned forward, his chest brushing against my back as his hand slid up my body, gripping my shoulder to pull me closer. His other hand moved lower, his fingers finding my clit with practiced ease. The sudden pressure made me cry out, my body arching against him as pleasure spiraled through me.

“That’s it,” he murmured, his breath hot against my ear. “Let me hear you, baby.”

His voice, low and gravelly, sent a shiver down my spine. The combination of his relentless thrusts and the skilled movements of his fingers pushed me closer and closer to the edge, my body tightening with every passing second.

“Oh God,—” I gasped, my voice breaking as I felt the tension coil tighter, hotter, ready to snap.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” he growled, his pace quickening, his fingers pressing harder against me. “I want to feel it. Let go for me, baby.”

The command, rough and desperate, was all it took. My orgasm crashed over me like a tidal wave, my body convulsing around him as I cried out his name. My nails dug into the desk, my legs trembling as the pleasure consumed me, leaving me breathless and shaking.

Hank didn’t stop. He drove into me harder, deeper, chasing his own release as my body pulsed around him. His hands gripped me like I was the only thing keeping him grounded, his breaths coming in ragged gasps as he thrust into me one last time.

“Fuck—” His voice broke, and I felt him shudder behind me, his movements faltering as he found his release. He buried himself deep inside me, his hands trembling against my hips as he held me close.

For a moment, neither of us moved, our breaths mingling in the still, heavy air of the office. My body was still humming, every nerve ending alive and buzzing, as I leaned forward, resting my forehead against the cool surface of the desk.

Hank’s hands softened against my skin, his touch turning gentle as he slid them up my sides. He leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to the back of my neck, and I couldn’t help the small, contented smile that tugged at my lips.

“Well,” he murmured, his voice low and rough, “that’s one way to make a gala more interesting.”

I let out a breathless laugh, turning my head slightly to glance back at him. “I don’t even know what to say to you right now,” I murmured, my voice still shaky, though a small smile tugged at my lips.

Hank grinned, leaning down to press a lingering kiss to my shoulder. “Don’t say anything,” he said, his tone low and satisfied. “Just promise me we’re not done.”

I rolled my eyes, but the warmth in my chest betrayed me. “Let’s focus on making sure no one guesses what we’ve been up to first,” I said, reaching down to slide my panties back on, the cool fabric a stark contrast to my heated skin.

Hank chuckled softly, his hands brushing over his suit to smooth it out as he straightened. “You’re the one who pulled me in here,” he teased, though the way he looked at me—soft and unguarded—took the edge off his words.

I stepped toward him, pulling a tissue from my clutch and gently wiping the smudge of lipstick from his lips. He stood still, letting me fuss over him, his blue eyes locked on mine with that quiet intensity that made my stomach flutter.

“You had lipstick all over you,” I murmured, my voice softer now.

“Maybe I wanted to wear it,” he said, his grin turning mischievous.

I shook my head, biting back a laugh as I reached for my compact mirror, reapplying the berry-red shade to my own lips with a steady hand. Hank watched me the entire time, his gaze heated but fond, like he couldn’t help himself.

“Better?” I asked, tucking the mirror back into my clutch and smoothing down the skirt of my dress.

“Perfect,” he said simply, adjusting his tie one last time before offering me his arm. “Ready to head back out?”

I nodded, slipping my hand into the crook of his arm. As we made our way toward the door, I glanced up at him, a small, private smile tugging at my lips. “I can’t believe we just did that,” I murmured, shaking my head slightly.

Hank leaned down, his voice low and filled with that teasing warmth I’d come to expect. “I can. I’ve been dying to get my hands on you all night.”

I blushed, but the grin on my face betrayed me. With one last deep breath, I reached for the door, ready to step back into the swirling hum of the gala like nothing had happened—even if my heart was still racing.

The low murmur of the gala swept over us as we stepped back into the main hall. My heart was still beating a little too fast, my skin still tingling from Hank’s touch. I glanced around, half-expecting someone to point at us with a knowing smirk, but the crowd remained blissfully unaware of what had just unfolded behind closed doors.

Hank’s hand rested lightly on the small of my back, a touch so casual yet so grounding that it made me feel steadier than I had any right to after what we’d just done. He leaned closer, his voice a soft rumble against my ear. “Relax, no one’s looking at us.”

I shot him a sidelong glance, unable to help the smile that tugged at my lips. “Speak for yourself. You’ve been turning heads all night.”

He smirked, his fingers brushing ever so slightly against my back. “Pretty sure that’s your fault.”

I laughed softly, shaking my head as we wove through the clusters of guests. My gaze flicked up to him, and I couldn’t help but notice how effortlessly composed he looked. His suit was back in perfect order, his tie straightened, his grin just cocky enough to pass for someone who hadn’t been thoroughly ravished a few minutes ago. Meanwhile, I felt like my every step gave me away, like the heat still lingering between us was written all over my face.

A waiter passed by with a tray of champagne, and I grabbed a glass, more for something to do with my hands than anything else. Hank took one too, raising it slightly in a silent toast as his eyes met mine. The heat in his gaze made my stomach flutter, but his voice, low and teasing, broke the spell.

“To making galas interesting,” he said with a wink.

I rolled my eyes, but I couldn’t deny the warmth that spread through my chest at his words. We moved through the room together, exchanging polite nods and quick smiles, but the space between us never quite closed. His hand would brush mine, his arm would press against my side, and each touch felt deliberate, like a quiet reminder of the connection that still crackled between us.

At one point, a silver-haired gentleman in a perfectly tailored tuxedo approached us, his smile warm and curious. “I must say,” he began, his gaze flicking between us, “you two make quite the pair.”

Hank’s arm shifted slightly, his fingers brushing against the small of my back in a gesture that was as possessive as it was subtle. “Thank you,” he said smoothly, his smile easy but his gaze steady on the man.

The gentleman’s eyes twinkled with amusement. “First time at one of these events?”

“Guilty,” I admitted, glancing at Hank, who nodded in agreement.

“Well, you’d never know,” the man said, raising his glass slightly before moving on.

As soon as he was gone, Hank leaned closer, his breath warm against my ear. “Told you you belonged here.”

I turned to him, the sincerity in his voice softening something inside me. “Maybe it’s because you’re here.”

His expression shifted, the teasing edge melting into something warmer, something quieter. “Nah,” he said after a moment, his voice low but firm. “You’d be amazing here, with or without me.”

I didn’t have a chance to respond before he straightened, taking a final sip of his champagne and setting the glass on a nearby table. “Ready to head out?” he asked, his tone casual but his eyes searching mine.

I hesitated for half a second, glancing around the room. The hum of the gala was still in full swing, but my focus had narrowed to the man standing in front of me, his tie perfectly straight, his grin easy, his gaze steady. “Yeah,” I said softly, setting my own glass down. “I think I’m ready.”

Hank offered me his arm again, and I slid my hand into the crook of his elbow, letting him guide me toward the exit. The night air hit me like a balm as we stepped outside, cool and crisp against my skin. The city lights stretched out in front of us, casting a soft glow over the quiet street.

“Cab or walk?” he asked, his tone light but his gaze warm as it lingered on me.

I smiled, feeling the tension of the evening finally start to ebb away. “Cab,” I said, leaning slightly into his side. “My feet can’t take much more.”

He laughed, the sound low and rumbling, as he raised his arm to flag down a cab. The car rolled to a stop in front of us, and he opened the door with a slight bow, his grin turning playful. “After you, my lady.”

I climbed in, shaking my head at his antics but unable to stop smiling. As soon as he slid in beside me, his arm stretched along the back of the seat, and I leaned into him without thinking, the quiet intimacy of the moment wrapping around us like a blanket.

The city blurred past the window, and I found myself glancing up at him, catching the faint smirk tugging at his lips. “What’s that look for?” I asked, my voice soft.

He turned to me, his expression softening as his eyes lingered on mine. “Just thinking about how lucky I am.”

The sincerity in his voice made my breath catch, and I felt a warmth bloom in my chest. “Lucky?” I echoed, my voice quiet but teasing as I tilted my head.

His hand brushed lightly against my shoulder, his thumb trailing a soft, deliberate line. “Yeah,” he said, his voice dropping slightly. “Lucky that I get to be the one by your side. Lucky that I get to see you like this.” He paused, his gaze unwavering. “You’re stunning tonight, but it’s not just that. It’s you, all of it. You’re… everything.”

The tenderness in his voice made my chest ache in the best way. I reached up, brushing a hand against his jaw. “I love you, you know that?”

Hank’s smile deepened, slow and genuine, as his hand found mine, his thumb brushing lightly over my knuckles. “I know,” he said, his voice steady and low, meant just for me. “And I love you too. Always.”

The simplicity of his words wrapped around me like a warm embrace, grounding me even as the cab hummed softly beneath us. No teasing, no bravado—just him, raw and real, looking at me like I was his entire world.

I smiled, my fingers lingering against his jaw for a moment before I let my hand drop to rest on his. “Good,” I said softly, leaning closer so our foreheads nearly touched. “Just making sure.”

He let out a quiet laugh, his hand tightening slightly around mine. “You don’t need to make sure, sweetheart,” he murmured, his voice low and intimate. “I’ll remind you as many times as you need.”

My chest tightened at the way he said it, the quiet sincerity in his tone. I didn’t say anything, just smiled as I leaned into his side, resting my head against his shoulder. His arm slipped around me, holding me close, and I felt the soft press of his lips against my temple, a quiet promise etched into the gesture.

#austin butler #caught stealing #austin butler fanfiction #austin butler fic #austin butler imagine #austin butler x reader #austin butler x y/n #austin butler x you #fan fiction #fanfic #hank thompson x y/n #hank thompson x you #hank thompson fic #hank thompson x reader #hank thompson #caught stealing fic #imagine #fiction

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sunshine-and-moonshine · 2 years ago

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Cod Men in Wedding Dresses

Requested: No

Warnings: König’s tits, Soap trying to twerk

A/N: I think I might like feminine coded König. Idk, might try forcibly feminizing him later.

It started simply enough, a friend of yours was getting married and invited you and your partner along for wedding dress shopping, wanting your opinion on the matter as they tried on what seemed like hundreds of dresses til they could find one they liked.

And that was when you saw it, the beautiful dress that seemed like it could inexplicably be the same size of your buff boyfriend. They looked at your mischievous grin and followed your gaze to the dress.

Ghost

Ghost sighs, glancing back and forth between you and dress for a moment before simply getting up and snatching it off the rack, making his way to a changing room.

He’s more than a bit uncomfortable when he steps out, fidgeting and trying to adjust it as best he can to make it more comfortable (a futile effort). He can’t understand how anyone can walk in these things!

He looks you in the eyes, deathly serious. “I ain’t wearing this shit on our wedding day.”

Soap

Soap is as curious as a puppy as he sees you eyeing the dress and then looking back at him. Probably misunderstands what you’re thinking of at first. “You can try that on if you want!” He’ll tell you, even if the size is all wrong on you. You’ll have to tell him outright what you’re thinking of or he just won’t get it.

Once he does understand though, he’ll quietly go “oooooh” before grinning and standing up, eagerly snatching the dress up and practically running to the changing room.

When he emerges, he’s striking poses, flexing his muscles and begging you to take pictures. He even tries to do some twerking which ends with him tripping over the dress and face planting on the floor.

König

Poor König doesn’t know what’s going on as you stand up, dragging him to the changing rooms and shoving him in with the dress. He’ll stand there confused for like a solid minute, not understanding what’s happening til you ask him if it fits okay.

When he comes out (after a LOT of coaxing), he’s blushing and fidgeting with the dress, trying to pull the neckline up since the bodice is just a little too tight and keeps slipping down to expose his tits. He’s red and flustered and buries his face in his hands when you try to take pictures of him, muttering incoherent German to himself as you coo over him.

Ultimately though, he didn’t mind it too much and he liked seeing you so happy but he’d prefer not to try on anything like that in public again. But in private would be fine.

Alejandro

It takes Alejandro a minute to understand what’s going on in your head but when he does, he adamantly refuses. It will take quite a bit of begging and bribing before he finally just sighs, weak to all your requests anyways as he yanks the dress off the rack and shuffles to the changing room, pouting at you the whole way.

He looks grumpy when he emerges but THEN he catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror and bursts out laughing. Giant belly laughs that has the whole store eyeing him like he’s crazy as he starts wheezing and pointing at his reflection. “*¡Me parezco a mi madre!” He’ll chant, never once letting up on his laughter.

He pops several stitches in the dress and later finds out that he now has to buy it so now you have a (rather expensive) wedding dress in Alejandro’s size just sitting in your closet wrapped in plastic.

*¡Me parezco a mi madre! = I look like my mother!

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ohnococo · 1 year ago

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Fight Night | CHAPTER 7 | MMA Fighter!Sukuna x Reader

When Sukuna finds out who his next opponent will be, you get a few breadcrumbs about his past.

Warnings: light breast play

FIRST CHAPTER

LAST CHAPTER

what are you doing?

You have to give Sukuna some credit for this one, it’s closer to a “hi, how are you” than he’s gotten before.

chilling at home

You wait for his reply, settling back on your couch, throwing your legs up and crossing them at the ankle as his next text comes through quickly. You pull one of your small throw pillows onto your lap, resting your arms on it as you wait for whatever it is Sukuna wanted to talk about.

alone?

His response has you chuckling to yourself as you pull the pillow up higher to rest your chin on. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think he was about to come onto you, but you know that isn’t the case now. Still, you can’t resist teasing him.

okay fuckboy

He’s even quicker to quip back,

we’re not fucking remember? and I’m not some boy

It was a fair response, one you could tell by now was typed with a smirk, and you’ve already got a smile of your own plastered across your face as you invite him over without thinking.

lol sure. you can come over if that’s what you’re asking

You believe Sukuna when he says you both agreeing to this had strengthened his resolve to make it happen. Or rather, make it not happen, not unless you said so. Surprisingly you did want to wait a little before you resumed the non-stop fucking that had been the start of your time with him. It’s not lost on you that the time spent talking instead had resulted in something more solid to hold onto with him, instead of just the butterflies in your stomach and the warmth in your chest.

When you read Sukuna’s response you’re doubly sure you’ll be able to control yourselves with him being in your home for the first time, you’ll have something important to focus on now.

it is. I have a name for the fight.

The excitement is bubbling up inside of you immediately, and you sit forward on your couch, tossing your cushion aside as though it were hindering your typing.

whoooo???

You’re sure the name will mean nothing to you until you have a quick search, but as you receive his next message you find you won’t even need to do that much.

Aoi Todo. My team sent me a fight compilation

You piece things together quickly then. He wants to come see you, he’s just got a name and a fight compilation to review, and he wants to do it with you first. You’re flattered, even if you’re sure he’ll have a handful of other actually useful viewings with his training partners and coaches.

when can I come over?

Right fucking now, you think. Then you respond.

Right fucking now

You’re casting your laptop onto the TV, video at the ready thanks to the link he’d forwarded you. Then, you settle in right next to him, leaning into the strong arm draped across the back of your couch as you wait for the reveal of this rookie. The video starts, and you see it’s a little pre-fight reel not unlike the ones you’d seen of Sukuna. The man is big, not as big as Sukuna, but intimidating as he crosses his arms over his bare chest and smiles at the camera as it circles him slowly. Shots of him delivering flashy yet punishing spinning high kicks to boxing bags and taking down training partners are intercut with close ups of him sitting in front of an empty gym and talking.

You wait for subtitles to come up, unable to understand Japanese, and when they don’t you look at Sukuna who catches your eye for a moment before he realises he’ll need to act as translator.

“He’s introducing himself.” He looks back at the screen as he speaks, pausing every so often to catch Todo’s words. “Aoi Todo… 24… from Kyoto… he aims to end his fights before the final round…”

Sukuna stops talking, scrunching his nose up when the man becomes more and more animated as he speaks, finishing with a flourish of waving hands as he flexes and smiles at the camera. He sighs and slides his arm from the back of the couch to wrap around you, pulling you further into him, heavy hand settling on your hip. When you look up at him, tilting your head to indicate you still want him to fill you in, he sums up the end of that portion of the video with an unimpressed sigh. “He’s bragging. Saying he’ll win for some girl.”

The video cuts straight into other footage of him actually fighting, moving shockingly quickly despite his considerable size. He ducks and dodges a flurry of punches so fast you can’t imagine how he can even process the movements, and as he starts returning hits even as he dodges you glance over at Sukuna who was beginning to look mildly impressed.

As the commentators speak excitedly Sukuna assures you they’re mostly recounting exactly what you can see, though he offers the odd commentary himself on technical aspects, noting Todo’s speed and strength were nothing to be taken lightly. Then, after one well timed kick that sends his opponent off of his feet and onto the ground, he’s kneeling over them, pummeling them until the referee steps in and puts a stop to it. True to his word earlier, the fight is finished in the first round.

He stands, winking and blowing a kiss directly at the camera as he points cutely with the other, one leg up and hip cocked to the side. Then the video cuts to another fight. It’s more of the same to you, but as Sukuna offers his thoughts you find that it was worth including along with the other one, apparently having given him some insight about how he handles avoiding takedowns.

As much as you try to pay close attention to the fists flying, you find your eyes drifting to Sukuna more and more often. He’s so focused, enjoying himself as he watches this newcomer who seemed to offer much much more than he’d anticipated. It seems he’d only come in on short notice because he was newly signed, having been with a company in Japan for only a year before he was poached by the organisation Sukuna was with. It also seemed like Sukuna thought he’d be able to have some fun in this fight after all. Seeing the excitement in him makes a little excitement swell within you as well, but when you catch the steep drop in video quality out of the corner of your eye you bring your attention back to the screen.

It’s a fight in a small arena, with a sparse crowd and someone clearly filming on a phone. The fighter’s shorts aren’t covered in logos this time and neither is the floor of the ring, and you surmise it’s from before he was signed. It’s an impressive fight nonetheless, with Todo really showing off his skills as he takes the chance to try flashy moves when he has a little bit of distance from his opponent’s strikes. When a particularly good hit lands, or he evades a takedown, the video goes shaky, the cameraman apparently unable to help themselves from clapping and cheering along with the few loud people there - presumably his team from how closely they were seated.

Then, the cameraman starts shouting something at the men fighting and Sukuna’s hand tenses on you for just a second before it’s relaxing again. You glance at him from the corner of your eye, and see that look of his when he’s trying to give nothing away, then his attention is back on the screen, as is yours, when Todo tries and succeeds in landing a spinning kick.

You’re impressed, Sukuna doesn’t seem to be anymore.

The crowd is cheering, and the cameraman is clearly jumping up and down as everything on screen is a blur. Then, the cameraman turns the phone on himself as he screams and points excitedly, and the resemblance is clear enough to leave you feeling like the wind has been knocked out of you. His jaw isn’t quite so strong, but that nose is spot on, the eyes too if they weren’t so wide and happy and a slightly different hue, even the hair is the boy's unique colour of choice, though more pink than Sukuna’s ever had been. And even if he doesn’t have the tattoos, of course, or the gnarled ears, and even if the still-healing cuts on his brow are a far cry from the hardened scar tissue on the man next to you, it’s still almost like looking at a baby-faced version of Sukuna.

The tension is pouring off of Sukuna in waves, you don’t even chance a glance at him now, feeling like asking questions would make whatever was happening worse. So you say nothing, focusing on the tv as the video cuts to yet another fight. Sukuna isn’t commentating anymore. He’s just staring through the television, looking tired, and by the time the video ends, he seems to have done some thinking.

He makes a confession, but it doesn’t really seem like what was actually on his mind. “I’ve heard of Aoi Todo before. When he was a teenager.”

“Did you train with him?”

He shakes his head, eyes still looking at the now black tv screen. “No, I didn’t.”

His mouth stays open, like there’s more coming, then shuts and tenses into a line. You assume the missing part is that the pink-haired boy did.

“That’s the first I’ve seen of him fighting professionally. He’s good.”

Something about the look in his eye, and the distance in his voice made your chest hurt. It was like he wasn’t there, and you hated it. So, you turn to him, climbing up to sit sideways on his lap and wrapping your arms around him. It occurs to you that you’ve never hugged Sukuna properly, and it’s like hugging a statue for a moment as he stays still, hands by his side. Then, he’s wrapping his arms around you, pressing his face into your chest, and sighing.

“He’s not good enough to beat you though.” You hope that’s what he needs to hear, enough to make up for the words you don’t know how to find for whatever was bothering him about his relation to that boy. “Right?”

He chuckles, and his breath is hot enough to be felt through the fabric of your shirt, before he lifts his head and looks up at you from where his face was nestled between your breasts.

“Of course not.” The sparkle is back in his eyes, and he tilts his head back down, kissing at your chest as he slowly returns to his usual self, “But it’ll be fun.”

You run your hands through his hair, smiling down at him as he gently bites at your breast, back in a playful mood. “You’ve got a weird idea of fun.”

He looks up at you without tilting his face upwards, raising his brows in a judgemental stare. “So do you, sitting on my lap and putting those tits in my face when we’re meant to be playing nice.”

He tugs your shirt up, giving him one less layer to deal with as he continues kissing at the parts of you left uncovered by your bra. You’ve got goosebumps immediately and your nipples are hardened as he adds his tongue into the mix.

“You’re lucky I’m committed to our little deal.” He pushes your bra upwards too, freeing your breasts and leaving more fabric uncomfortably gathered high on your chest. You aren’t concerned with that once he’s ghosting his warm mouth over your nipple, stopping short of actually taking it between his lips as he watches you tilt your head back with the shiver his touch sends through you.

Still, your wits aren’t entirely gone yet. “I don’t think I’d call this playing nice, Sukuna.”

He flicks your nipple with the tip of his tongue, pulling your attention back down as you gasp slightly and lock eyes with him, “We’re not fucking right now, are we?”

You consider the grey areas of such a half-baked agreement, and whether this fell into that. Then, as he goes back to kissing at your breasts, you wonder whether you actually care right now. Your eyes shut again as you arch into him, squeezing your thighs together while he licks and kisses at your skin, already so sensitive even from such a short time without his touch.

Then he sucks your nipple between his lips hard, and pulls back until it pops out of his mouth and makes you jump, attention pulled to his face again rather than getting lost behind your closed eyelids. He reiterates his unanswered question with a pointed, but playful, tone, “Are we?”

You shake your head, accepting the slide into the grey area, as long as you get to keep his mouth on you for a little longer. His hand comes up to roll his fingers across the nipple left out from the attention of his mouth, drawing a moan from you as he hums happily at having a face full of your breasts. The noise has you clenching with want, but you manage to find your senses yet again.

“So you’re just going to get me wet and leave me hanging.”

He lifts his head to look at you again, tongue sliding out to continue to lick slowly at your nipple as he considers his next words before speaking, “I can take care of that without fucking you.”

It’s tempting… too tempting, and you have to struggle to think clearly. Sukuna moves his hand from playing with your hardened bud to groping at your breast, kneading with a firmness that was surprisingly restrained.

“I think-“ you pause again, taking in more of the feel of his hot mouth on you, offering another moan in lieu of words, rocking your hips lightly.

“You think?” He’s forcing you back on track, wanting to hear you try to speak while he teases you like this.

“I don’t know…”

“You don’t know?” He wants you to keep speaking, but you haven’t made up your mind yet, so you change the subject.

“When you said you were trying not to fuck me…” you trail off, warm feeling growing in your chest and cheeks at the same time to meet with the warmth pooling in your panties.

“Yes?”

“Even when you invited me to your house?”

He sighs, and the cool air against your wet skin has you shivering again. He slides his hands up and down your exposed sides slowly, as if to warm you up. Then he shoots you a look that stands in sharp contrast to how gentle his touch was, clearly not a fan of having his failures brought up, “Even then.”

Your laugh barely conceals a moan as he takes a greedy mouthful of your breasts, and he flicks his gaze up at you with that half-serious look of warning, but you’re still laughing until his face softens and he’s shaking his head and sighing as he closes his eyes and opts to shut you up by sucking hard at your nipple and flicking his tongue at it.

It works, for a moment, until you decide to just speak with the breathless tone that betrayed the fact that he had your pussy throbbing with want. “Well you didn’t seem to regret it.”

He’s sighing again, though you catch that bemused twitch of his brow even as he’s trying to turn his face out of your view, withdrawing his mouth’s attention and nuzzling his warm face into your breasts. “I never do.”

“But why are you so hellbent on not fucking me then?”

You can feel it as his jaw tenses and he looks up at you with the blank expression that you know means he’s choosing his words carefully. Then he sighs, and shrugs out the sentiment, “It occurred to me that you might think I was being disrespectful.”

“Disrespectful?” He shoots you another look, knowing from the pleased lilt in your voice that you were starting up with him. “So you’re saying you respect me?”

He’s exasperated with the apparent vulnerability of it all, despite how to him it was obvious enough to not need saying. He even rolls his eyes as he realises he’s grown too accustomed to accommodating you to even think of shutting it down. “Yes.”

“You respected me even after dragging me around town fucking me sloppy style all night?”

The way you phrase things exhausted him sometimes, and he lets you know as much with a scoff, but answers nonetheless, “I felt we had a fairly understanding friendship.”

The statement stops you in your tracks, tingling feeling at the back of your neck making it feel wrong to continue teasing him. After all of that, or rather before all of this you hadn’t considered yourselves as having a friendship. Hell, with the two months of radio silence you’d downgraded it from having even been a situationship, but the thought that he’d considered you friends leaves your face feeling hot.

Then, it occurs to you that maybe that was just what being friends with Sukuna was like. Well, less the getting railed part, and more the slight distance. Communicating when it was time for it, putting a wall of separation up when there wasn’t.

That wall doesn’t seem so high now though, so you smile down at him, hugging him again, and this time his face is pressed firmly to your bare breasts, though he holds back from getting another mouthful and instead wraps his arms around you too.

He takes that as an affirmation of your friendship, and your understanding, eventually turning his head to the side to avoid being smothered by your chest entirely. Neither of you let go though.

When he speaks you’re surprised to find him electing to bring up the subject you’d avoided earlier, volunteering the information with an uncharacteristic hesitance in his voice, “My brother trained with Aoi Todo…”

His next words are more to himself than to you, “I guess he still does.”

“I didn’t know you had a brother.” You want to know more, but still have those alarms in the back of your mind warning you to tread lightly.

“We don’t speak. He still lives in Japan.”

You can feel his grip on you loosening ever so slightly, like he’s gone somewhere in his mind that you can’t reach, then, his grip returns and you try to hold back shivers when you feel his lashes tickling at your skin as he blinks. Eventually, he looks up at you, face calm as he’s effectively casted away whatever thoughts were plaguing him.

“While I’m here, why don’t you show me your animals.”

Your eyes wander around the room, trying to figure out what the hell he was talking about, “huh?”

“Your game. The one that isn’t for children.”

“Animal crossing?”

He nods, and you know he’s just changing the subject. But if it’s too much, you respect that, and nod, wiggling until he releases you so you can get off of his lap to grab your Switch, tugging your bra and shirt back into place as you go.

You can’t help suspecting he was very much having the same feelings you’d had earlier as he spoke passionately about the fights on the screen. He is listening, asking you questions about the little carefully decorated spaces you were showing him, even teasing you for the nickname one of your villagers had given you, but his eyes often wander from the screen to you, smiling. Though he doesn’t try to pretend it isn’t happening, he watches you openly with his arm around you and his side pressed into yours.

As you conclude your tour, thanking him for humouring you, he shrugs and seems genuine with his statement, “I suppose it is charming in its own way.”

Despite the sincerity, you can’t help narrowing your eyes at him, still somewhat dubious.

He indulges you by expanding only slightly on his thoughts, “It’s very cute.”

You raise your brows, now believing him even less, “You think Animal Crossing is cute?”

He sighs, not going quite that far, “No, you. You’re cute when you’re talking about these things.”

Then he shakes his head as he sighs again, this time much more heavily, “Too cute.”

He’d been saying it in that tone a lot lately, as if it were a prognosis, one he’d just have to learn to live with.

CHAPTER 8

#my writing #reminder minors and ageless blogs get blocked #sukuna #sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna x reader #jjk fanfic #jjk smut #self insert #reader insert #mma!au #mma fighter!sukuna

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