#like hes never once complained (angle of a man) but i always worry so much about how we sound down here to him | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

no-droids · 4 years ago

Text

Out of a Trillion

gif credit: @bestintheparsec

Part Fifteen of the Rough Day Series

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 12.6K

Warnings: uhhhh so there is a bit of SMUT in this one, not too much and I imagine if you’ve made it this far then that won’t be too big of a deal LMFAOOO uh some ANGST and my attempt at HURT/COMFORT and also violence/blood/injury description, so look out for that!

A/N: I started writing this before the season finale aired and I know we all want a bit of goodness and softness after it, but hopefully this will be okay! I’ll start working on the next part tonight

***

Everything changes and yet somehow nothing does.

From that point on, it’s like… like you’re both just suspended in this perpetual state of wondering, waiting for the other shoe to drop. You know he said it’s up to you, but what the fuck? Look whenever you want? That’s way too much fucking pressure, he’s out of his mind. You’re not equipped to handle that, who does he think you are? Someone that can just… decide things?

And it’s not like you’re afraid of the commitment, or that you don’t want to look. You do, but every single time a moment comes, it just never… feels right. You don’t know what you��re waiting for, what feeling or meaning you’re expecting to magically present itself to you, but you can’t shake the idea that there should be more to it than just randomly deciding to open your eyes at some point, shouldn’t there? Din said there was no ceremony, nothing fancy, and he gave you permission to look because he said he’s not allowed to ask outright, whatever that means. It’s a standing offer because you guess he isn’t allowed to prompt it for some reason, but unfortunately, that leaves you in just about the shittiest position possible. Now everything falls to you—initiation, execution, and consequence—and Maker knows you’ve never been that great making decisions under pressure.

But you do want to look. Sort of.

Sort of. Because… well, this probably won’t make that much sense, but you’re afraid. Mostly for him. What if he’s making a mistake? It sounds stupid, but you’re afraid of what this means for him, the sheer perpetuity of this decision he’s now expecting you to make for the both of you. This isn’t your creed, not yet, and you feel like there’s still so much to learn. Not only about the Mandalorians and his culture, but about him. To know is to love, and so you’ve taken to asking any nonsensical question you can think of whenever he’s around. Though you weren’t expecting it at first, you’ve learned that he’ll always give you some sort of an answer. Some of the highlights include:

“How old are you?” (“I don’t know. Probably mid-forties, but there’s no way to tell anymore.”)

“You don’t know your birthday?” (No, I… think it was in the winter.”)

“What’s your last name?” (“Djarin.”)

“Do you have any freckles? Or moles, or birthmarks?” (“No, none that I’ve ever noticed.”)

“Do you cut your own hair?” (“Yes, but it’s been awhile.”)

“Do you have dimples?” (“I don’t smile in mirrors.”)

“Are your earlobes attached or detached?” (“What kind of question is that?”)

And so forth.

He also gives you so many fucking opportunities to look. One right after the other. You used to think Din was incredibly trusting with how often and voluntarily he decided to take his helmet off around you—he didn’t wait a single day once he first felt your hands on his skin to take it off in your presence. You remember being blown away by his unexpected willingness to part with it after hearing so many tales of the Mandalorians from Kuill; stunned by the ever-present ability to just open your eyes at any moment and that’s all it would ever take. One simple movement—life-altering, and so easy.

Now you find it nearly impossible, muscle memory just won’t allow it to happen naturally. And yet somehow, avoiding it is like stepping around land mines. He doesn’t trick you—he doesn’t set it up, he doesn’t surprise you or anything, but he’s… less careful. When the kid is awake, Din acts normal—he walks around fully armored, he goes on hunts and returns a few days later with a quarry, teaches you more self-defense techniques in the cleared out hull while the kid watches and giggles at your pain from the safety of his floating crib. But when the baby goes to sleep, he’s taken to lounging with the helmet off. He only used to remove it to eat, sleep, or… do other things with you, but he never used to take it off just… because. Now he does. Now he’s less careful about darkness, less strict about how much light he allows to touch him.

Now he shares every single meal he can with you, sitting just off to the side so you’ll never see him on accident but providing the free exercise thereof should you ever decide to seek it out purposefully. Now he interrupts you in the middle of your complaining about the bruises on your knuckles just to lift the rim of his helmet the slightest bit, lean down and give you a quick kiss, and then lower it back into position again before you can even catch a glimpse of the lips you only recognize by touch. Now he keeps the light on when he goes to take a shower, he leaves the door cracked.

It’s starting to give you heart palpitations, you swear. At one point, he lets you to see the entire back of his head and it nearly launches you into a fucking crisis.

It’s the middle of the night and he just got up from bed to use the restroom. He’s quiet enough not to wake you on the way over, but then across the hull and with his back to you, Din flicks the light on in the small bathroom without closing the door. Immediately rousing you after being so accustomed to the pitch blackness, you lift your head from the warmth of your shared pillow just enough to blearily make out the sight of him leaning a hand up against the wall and dropping his head down, and it takes you a second to realize that it’s actually him.

Soft, dark brown locks ending at his collar but somehow looking longer than you ever imagined when you’ve run your fingers through them. Cascading in shaggy, natural curls—tall, broad shouldered and trim waisted, naked as the day he was born. Your heart starts to squeeze in your chest and it just never stops, and for the second time in your life, you feel like he woke you up in the middle of the night just to show you one of the most beautiful things the universe ever decided to hide. There are trillions of people in this galaxy and how many of them have ever seen a sight that would compare? He’s just a man, you don’t think a single person would bat an eye. But to you, he’s… his own monument. Constructed in honor of everything dazzling that happens to lie just underneath something else. A breathtaking view, even from this angle, that could only ever mean something to you.

Would you ever be able to know him? No, that’s not phrased right. What you mean is that… over the course of all your time together, you remember thinking that if he ever took his helmet off, he could walk right by you and you’d never be able to tell the difference. He could be anybody. There are trillions of people in this galaxy and how many of them have the same features? Brown hair, brown eyes, sunkissed skin that only one person is allowed to kiss, not even the sun. Would you ever be able to know him?

Staring at his back in the blissful silence of hyperspace and feeling like the Maker himself is letting you in on one of his proudest secrets, some wild thought suddenly occurs to you that… you think you would. Somehow.

You can’t explain it and you’d never be able to prove it, but you feel like if you lined up every single person in this galaxy shoulder to shoulder, all however many trillions of them there are, then you could walk the entire length of it and somehow come to a stop right where he’s standing. Every single time. You feel like you could do it in the pitch black. You could do it with your eyes closed.

And, he must just be so gorgeous. Maybe not in a traditional sense (or maybe in one, you’d have no way of knowing), but mostly in just… the rawest sense imaginable. Not like how symmetry and straight lines are gorgeous, but how a mountain is gorgeous. Rocky, dangerous, steep, the product of constant conflict between two immovable sides. He’s got scars littering his body, one of which you remember giving him yourself with a cauterizer on his lower back. He holds himself like his shoulders could tell their own story if anyone ever asked them; built to endure, weighed down and made strong with a collection of burdens he chooses to strap to them, steel or otherwise.

You don’t want to close your eyes once Din slowly turns around to look at you, but it happens anyways and you’ve never been so disappointed in your own cowardice.

But then, in a way, it could just be your own self-preservation instincts taking over. No matter how stunning and life changing the spectacle would be, why would anyone ever stare directly at a supernova? For so long, you’ve told yourself that his face is something you shouldn’t ever see on principle, but in a way, you suppose it’s fair he put this decision on you because he always has, even from the very beginning. He trusted you to keep your eyes closed for months on end and you never had a problem with it, so why is it so hard to open them now that he’s given you permission?

A couple weeks of that, and you start to worry that you’re unintentionally rejecting him.

It’s the last fucking thing you want, but how can you avoid it? Din is… different, he notices. He’s made a living off of finding things that inherently don’t want to be found—he knows all too well what secrecy looks and sounds like, he’s quick and observant and you don’t stand a single fucking chance against him in all the years of his practice.

But strangely, for as often as you feel like you can figure out what he’s thinking without ever seeing his face—realizing what his intentions are ahead of time and not feeling slighted when he phrases things a certain way or just chooses not to speak at all—you never truly realized how much that extended back to you.

He knows you, too. He told you so.

For some reason, you didn’t even consider the possibility of it working just as well the other way around. That you could choose to stay silent, and he’d know why. You feel like the mystery of him just eclipses you in every single way that you don’t consider even yourself much of anything, much less something else to be contemplated and understood. While you wouldn’t necessarily qualify the conflict as not being ready to commit, he seems more than willing to respect it regardless and nothing about the way he treats you or interacts with you changes. Normally you’d say it’s like he forgot the whole thing ever happened, but it’s almost the exact opposite. Like he was just naturally expecting it from you.

Are you truly so predictable, you wonder? He said you’d say no. Was he right? You’re not saying no, you just… can’t remember the word for yes right now. It’s right there on the tip of your tongue and the harder you work for it, the more frustrated you become with your own inability to find it.

But, instead of waiting, you think Din just decides to continue the conversation with the promise to come back to you when you finally figure it out.

Sometimes, especially when he’s gone, you find yourself thinking about what moment you’d choose, if you could. Since you can never seem to find the right one naturally, how would it all go if you could construct everything yourself? Where would it be? Naboo? No, that’s too cheesy. One thing you and Din both have in common is your practicality, your respective propensities for wanting to tackle one thing at a time and not needing frills attached to something in order to find a deep connection to it, a personal value to it. You weren’t even bothered when he didn’t claim you as a girlfriend to Peli, that’s how reasonable you used to be about labels. Now you’re your own antithesis, trying to conjure meaning where there isn’t any just so you don’t feel like you’re the one who’s ripping it away. You want this decision to feel as permanent as it is. You want it to be a happy thing, something that happens when you’re both so in love that you can’t bear to have metal separating you any longer.

You think… you’ll just know it when the time comes.

***

“I have to leave,” comes Din’s hushed voice through the darkness, and even though it’s the first thing either of you have said in hours, it sounds frustrated. Like it’s been bothering him for awhile and he’s just now finally telling you. “I… fuck, I can’t stay here, I should’ve left a long time ago.”

You whine softly into the pitch black, turning your head into the pillow and curling your fingers into his hair. “But it’s still so early…”

“It’s mid-afternoon,” he groans back, dropping his forehead down against your skin and breathing hot air along it. “We’ve been parked here for hours, I don’t know how you can sleep so long.”

“I’m not sleeping,” you pout, before gently dragging your nails down his scalp and feeling his whole body shudder with it. “Earlier I was.”

“Mhm,” he murmurs, leaning down to give you one last long, slow kiss. You sigh when his tongue comes out and glides soft and hot against your lips, tightening your grip on his hair.

But soon he pulls away, lifting the covers from over his head and pushing up from between your spread legs. “This one shouldn’t take long,” he gruffs, planting both palms next to your head and kissing you once more in the darkness, dipping his tongue into your mouth this time. You moan softly and taste yourself on him, moving to wrap your arms around his broad shoulders, but he breaks the kiss and leans back before you can, preemptively avoiding the possibility of getting lost in it. “I’ll be back around dawn.”

You’ve known it was coming for hours now, so you’re able to play it off way better this time around. “Okay,” you breathe softly, dragging your palms up his bare chest as he lifts himself tall over your body. The slight disappointment underneath is so masterfully hidden, you’re almost positive you’re going to get away with it. “Be safe. Please.”

But then… well. Bounty hunter.

Din pauses for a moment like that in between your open legs, letting you slowly slide your hands down his ribs and over the lines of his stomach. You wait for him to move, find his clothes so you can get around and make some food, wake the kid up from his nap in an hour or so. Can’t stay in bed all day, no matter how much you wish you could.

Only, he still hasn’t moved and you start to become concerned. “Din?”

But then he suddenly groans like he just can’t help it, grabbing both of your spread legs and easily lifting them up. You make a sound of confusion as he maneuvers them until they’re pressed together and draped over one of his shoulders, and then his hips drop and push forward to slide himself thick and perfect into your blazing hot cunt.

Still drenched and swollen from cumming in his mouth so many times earlier, you gasp and he just groans louder, a ragged thing scraping out of his throat while you struggle through blind and unexpected euphoria to reach him. But you can’t—Din hugs your legs tight to his chest and settles in just like this, turning his head to drag soft lips and a hot tongue over your ankle before he starts fucking you. Right up against your g-spot, with your whole lower body in the way and preventing you from slowing him down.

You just have to clap both hands over your mouth just to keep quiet since you can’t reach him. You feel his teeth sink into the meat of your calf, hips pistoning far beyond your reach and it feels so fucking good that you almost don’t hear his gritted words against your skin.

“I have to go,” he groans, repeating it over and over until his voice begins to pull tight and it just sounds like a plea. “I have to go, I have to go, I h—have to… h-have to go, I have to, I have to, I have…”

***

When Din finally steps foot out of the ship, fumbling with his rifle and cursing quietly through the modulator, it’s the middle of the night some twelve hours later.

***

Steady…

Steady………

Fire.

—and… you blink as bark splinters.

Did you…? You look down at the blaster in your hand and then back to the ginormous charred tree trunk for a few seconds, wondering if you’re just seeing shit.

No, it’s real. You actually fucking did it. You…

… hit the target.

All of a sudden, your ecstatic giggle echoes loudly throughout the foresty autumn wonderland around you, reds and oranges and yellows crunching under your feet while you start to dance.

“Hey! See that, bug!?” You call out, shoving the blaster into your waistband and shimmying up to your enthralled audience of one, who just so happens to be smiling as wide as you are as he’s scooped up into your arms. “I hit the target, I hit the target,” you sing, beginning to sway the baby back and forth as he squeals, laughing while you bounce him. “No demon powers necessary, little man! I figured it out, I just have to use one hand instead of two. You can retire now, you’re the right age for—”

A twig snaps in the distance somewhere to your left, and you quickly spin around while reaching for the blaster behind your back.

Except all you see is a blue Twi’lek standing out amongst all the fall foliage, his hands cuffed behind his back and stumbling a few steps at a time while a considerably taller suit of beskar shoves him forward. You relax and immediately turn to look down at the ground, trying to bite your lip so you don’t smile too hard while they both approach. You did it—finally, you did it, you’re on top of the fucking universe right now.

You wait for them to pass by and move up the open metal ramp to the carbonite chamber, but then Din apparently decides to pause when he’s directly behind you, yanking the quarry to a sudden halt.

You know you should probably turn around to address them, but you can’t hide the happiness from your expression, it’s way too obvious. Though, after a moment, you decide to shyly turn to face the two men while continuing to bounce the baby in your arms, hoping that his and your matching expressions of excitement aren’t too terribly inappropriate right now.

Din looks from you to the splintered bark on the tree, and then back to you again, before slowly tilting the helmet up in a way that feels… proud of you.

“Congratulations,” he finally says, and you can hear the genuine smile hidden in the modulated drawl.

“Thank you,” you beam up at him, feeling the blood rush to your cheeks. “Was pretty awesome.”

“I’m sorry I missed it,” he tells you, and you don’t know why, but the tone of his voice makes you go so warm. It’s not like he’s openly flirting with you, but coupled with your giddiness and sounding like that in front of a bounty he caught in record time, it just makes your heart fucking throb for him.

“It’s alright,” you murmur, shuffling your feet through the crunchy leaves below and trying to play it as cool as possible. You have company. “I’ll be able to do it again.”

“Let’s see it, then.” He tips the helmet over at the tree, and you look between him and the unfamiliar quarry for a second, not used to Din just… ignoring their existence entirely for you. It’s not like the Twi’lek has said anything or inserted himself into the situation at all, but still. Din has one hand latched onto the cuffs behind his back to prevent him from booking it, but other than that, it’s like he’s pretending he’s not even there.

“Uh…” You immediately feel yourself get nervous. “I can… try.”

He nods one single time in silent encouragement, and you slowly turn to face the tree once more. The kid stays cradled in your arm while you reach for the blaster in your waistband, removing it and using your longest finger to flick the safety off with a practiced fluidity. Then, extending it out in front of you and taking advantage of your newfound strategy of only firing with one hand, you line up the sight and pull the trigger.

You wish you could say it hits. It would be so fucking cool and impressive if you hit the target like that, wouldn’t it? But it doesn’t hit. It misses, like usual. Miserably. And then an amused snort comes from behind you.

“Right stormtrooper, you are—” you hear an unfamiliar accent begin to snark, but the rest of it turns into a garbled howl the second Din jerks his elbow back to slam it in his face.

You whip around just in time to see a cascade of blood pouring down blue lips and sharp teeth—holy fuck. You gasp and take a step backwards with the kid, not horrified by the sudden display of violence (not after Din spent an hour teaching you how to do that, too) but not quite expecting it at that moment, either. But then, well… that’s the second time he broke a quarry’s nose for addressing you with disrespect. There was that other one he choked, you’re pretty sure—though you can’t remember exactly what initiated that.

Din yanks the bounty up the ramp without another word, leaving both you and the kid there to process while he shoves him through the hull and towards the carbonite chamber none too kindly. However, by the time he seals the quarry to his fate and eventually makes his way back to you, you just…

Fuck, you feel so stupid.

You shouldn’t even bother, what’s the point? All that practice and nothing to show for it. If you can’t even hit a stationary target with the pressure of others watching, what makes you think you’ll have any hope at all in a situation where you actually need to shoot? Are they gonna stand still for you? Are they gonna be as wide as a fucking treetrunk? You’re horribly embarrassed, so downtrodden in the face of a cruel taunt that you don’t even want to look at Din when he steps in front of you.

“Hey, just try it again,” he says without delay, but the damage has already been done. It’s not his fault, you’re just… not the kind of person who is meant to shoot a blaster, maybe.

“Ah… it’s alright,” you look out and smile sadly at the line of trees surrounding you, wondering how it’s possible that you only managed to hit one of them this whole time. You don’t see it, but Din quickly touches the tips of his fingers to the side of his helmet twice before you look back at him. “I hit it earlier. I did, I promise. You can see the mark if you look.”

His glove reaches out to brush your hair back, so unbelievably gentle after using the same arm to shatter bone just a few minutes ago. “I know you did. It was a perfect shot, you hit dead center. I see it.”

“I did it with one hand, that’s why I tried the thing,” you mumble stupidly, looking down at your feet. Dumb. Dumb.

A strand of your hair is tucked behind your ear. “Wish I was here.”

You glance over at him, feeling your expression suddenly go soft with a wave of affection. It stops all the harsh criticisms, halting your negativity in its tracks and replacing it with just… soft, abstract things. Mostly just warm, nonsensical fluff, but one clear and resounding thought breaking through. You wish he was here, too.

“Maybe I’ll get good at it eventually,” you sigh, slowly handing him the blaster with the barrel pointed down and away from both of you. Din carefully takes it from you, tucking it away somewhere on his utility belt while you gaze out at the designated target and victorious char mark decorating it. “Or hopefully just okay at it at some point. I guess I just need to practice more, right?”

“That’s right,” he tells you warmly, catching your free wrist. “Try using this one when you do.” And then a lightweight piece of metal is gently pushed into your empty hand.

Your expression furrows while you quickly look down at it, and—

You go utterly still at the gift, not even knowing what to think.

The first thing that you notice is the craftsmanship. Brilliant, structurally flawless, the perfect size to fit your hand. You don’t recognize the specific kind of metal that was used—definitely not beskar—but you think it might be constructed from the same material as Din’s old armor. Dull silver, but with reflective chrome filigree accents around the handle, trigger, and safety. It’s uniquely constructed and unlike any weapon you’ve ever seen before—no hard lines or edges, just a soft fluidity to the design that’s so aesthetically pleasing, it doesn’t really even resemble a blaster at all.

You can feel the visor silently studying your reaction while you continue marveling, noticing something new every time you look. The safety is towards the back of the chamber, just like he said it’d be. The sight is electronic, and you examine the way it’s built directly into the barrel.

Are those extra magnets on the inside? Is this able to micro-adjust the plasma release for the best shot? Holy stars, it must have cost a fortune.

“Din, this is…” you can’t decide where you want to look—the gorgeous crafting, the custom design, or him. Standing so close to you, not saying a word while you search for the right ones. “It’s so beautiful, I…”

“Was made for you,” he murmurs. “Had to be.”

You look back down at the blaster to stop your eyes from tearing up. He didn’t have to do this. This is so… sweet, such a lovely thing to do. Don’t cry, don’t cry—

“What is this?” You ask breathlessly instead, rotating the gun until he can see the symbol branded on the handle. You recognize that it’s his signet, but you never bothered to ask him what it’s called, you never saw it as your place. It’s an animal of some sort, one with a giant spike attached to its skull, and you’re glad you’ve never come face to face with one.

“It’s a mudhorn,” he answers quietly. “They’re… dangerous animals. Fiercely protective, preferring solitude. The kid saved me from one a few days after I met him. It’s… the mark of my clan.”

How fitting, you think, and an honor. Perfect for him, and a bone-deep reminder of your two favorite people in the galaxy on your hip wherever you go.

“Thank you,” you tell him, hoping the sincerity in your voice sounds anywhere close to how you feel. You haven’t even had it in your hand for longer than a minute and it’s already your prized position, the most important thing you’ve ever called yours.

Din nods and takes a small step back. “Now hit the target.”

Feeling invigorated and renewed in every single way, you keep the kid tucked firmly in one arm while raising your blaster with the other. The safety clicks off and your back straightens, chin lifting until something about the angle feels… right. The trigger moves easily under your fingertip, and there’s almost no kickback considering how light the weapon is. What you’re not expecting is the pure white beam of plasma shooting out of the barrel—unlike any blaster you’ve ever seen before—but then the immediate sight of it hitting the tree dead center sends a roar of triumph through your ears. Fuck yes.

“Look at that!” Din calls out over the kid’s happy squeal, and there’s nothing you can do to stop your loud whoop of victory. Even though you know it only hit with the addition of those extra magnets to correct your terrible aim, that still feels so good—you feel so fucking powerful and dangerous. You glance over to Din with a wide smile, but then his arm extends out towards the trunk directly next to the one with charred bark. “Hit that one.”

You automatically swing the blaster in that direction and shoot. A few pieces of wood split on impact and send sharp bits flying as soon as the bright white beam collides with it.

“That one,” Din tells you, and then bark splinters a half second later. “That one.” Bark splinters. “That one, that one, that one—” hit, hit, hit, white plasma flying through the air and bark splintering in rapid succession.

He stops and spins around, pointing to a tree at the very edge of the clearing. “That one?”

It’s furthest away but the trunk’s diameter is enormous. As you lift the blaster, you know you’re likely to get it easily with this sophisticated weapon, even across the considerable distance. So instead, feeling like nothing at all can touch you right now and wanting to see how smart the aim mechanism is, you raise up a few degrees higher before pulling the trigger. Pale plasma launches from the barrel, and then one of the tree’s most prominent branches comes creaking and crashing to the ground right where you split it.

You’re beaming by the time Din turns back to you, the most excited you’ve ever been with your own progress. He holds there for a moment while you lower your blaster and wait for him to speak, both of you looking at each other and not moving, until suddenly you hear his voice coming back to you.

Hit the target and I’ll marry you.

One of Din’s hands slowly comes up to the edge of his helmet, but before you can even process the implication behind the gesture, you’re immediately looking down at the crunchy leaves under your feet and clearing your throat.

There’s a beat of silence where you stare down at the dead foliage and wonder why the fuck you just did that. Right in front of him, right to his face, too startled at how quickly you were being confronted with the possibility that you responded in an equally startled way. It was instinctual, automatic and entirely out of your control, but that doesn’t mean you don’t want to take it back.

But… you can’t take it back. That’s the way things are, and after a few moments, you hear his boots begin to cross the distance to you.

“Come on,” Din murmurs gently through the modulator, carefully taking the blaster from your hand and clicking the safety back on again. “We have to get going. The fifth quarry is far. Three day trip through hyperspace.”

He doesn’t sound upset or disappointed by your unintentional rejection, thank the Maker. You want to explain yourself somehow, but it appears it isn’t necessary in the slightest. His arm wraps around your lower back and he leads both you and the baby back up the open ramp of the Crest, squeezing you close enough to his side that you have to learn how to walk in a different way to stop yourself from tripping over his boots.

The helmet turns and presses to the top of your head while you focus on moving straight. “Proud of you,” Din murmurs quietly, and your chest fills with enough air that you’d be worried about floating away if he wasn’t latched onto you so tightly.

He eventually releases you and walks over to the armory, pressing a button to unlock the doors while you hold the kid and watch him start to remove the multitude of weapons strapped to his body.

Maybe… maybe this isn’t the right time, but something brave surges up inside you. After receiving the most precious gift imaginable from him, hitting all those targets and hearing him say that he’s proud of you, you’re buzzing with just enough energy that for better or worse, it makes you open your mouth and ask.

“Could I… come with you this time?”

Din nearly jerks upright and looks over at you immediately, but he takes a while in responding. You hope he sees it in your eyes. You hope he sees just how much you don’t want to be stuck here again when this is possibly the one time you’d be able to tag along. It’s a bullshit quarry, one he could do in his sleep, and you’ve been getting increasingly restless while stuck on this ship.

When Din eventually does respond… well, judging from his shift in tone, you’re assuming he was just shocked at the question and didn’t take any of that time to actually consider his answer.

“No.” Short. Unfeeling, and not sorry about it in the slightest, before turning back to return the blasters you were using previously to the armory as if you said nothing at all.

Okay… Um. Not great, not what you wanted to hear, but maybe if you explain yourself better, he’ll listen.

“I just… I’m the only reason you have to get this quarry in the first place.” Your voice is quiet, trying to let go of some of the concerns you’ve kept to yourself over the past two weeks. Your fingers fiddle idly with the kid’s little woolen sack as he hangs out in your arms, wanting to plead your case but feeling slightly nervous now. “You were out having a crazy expensive blaster made for me while I shook hands with Karga and agreed that you’d take more work for less pay. I hate that I did that.”

“You had no choice,” Din mutters, turning around and striding past you while pressing a button on his vambrace to close the Crest’s ramp. “My fault for being late.” And… for as warm and comforting as his voice sounded earlier, it now just sounds… dismissive. Aloof. Half-listening, not really wanting to talk but forcing himself to.

“Well this time, I thought maybe… I might be able to help? Maybe?” Maker, you feel yourself going quieter the more he walks around the hull and ignores you. “Karga said it was just a missing person, not even a criminal…”

“Karga says a lot of things,” he grunts with his back to you, voice completely monotone through the modulator.

Come on, speak up. You’ve lacked a backbone for so long, you’ll never get what you want unless you say it out loud and let it be known. You take a deep breath and straighten your shoulders, trying to put a little bit of spine into it. “I can be useful. I can fight now, I’ve been working on my—”

“You think I’m telling you no because I don’t think you’re capable?” He suddenly whips around, voice ringing sharp and challenging throughout the hull while you freeze. You don’t move but everything about you suddenly feels like it shrinks.

“I-I didn’t—” But he cuts you off, taking a step forward.

“I know you can fight, a Mandalorian taught you how. I know you’re useful, I know it’s just a missing person, and I know you hate it when I leave.” He pins you with his eyes through the visor, his tone harder than you think you’ve ever heard it before. “No. Your job is to stay here, on this ship, with my son, where it is safe, and my job is to go get the quarry. Quit asking. I’m not telling you again.”

The baby makes a tiny little distressed sound in your arms and you blink a few times up at the cold metal, feeling all the good feelings from before just… drain out of you.

Okay, that’s fine. Uh. You… the cockpit is behind you, you’ll go up there and fly then. No reason, just… he should get going.

“Okay, yeah,” you nod and tell the wall over his shoulder brace in immediate agreement, before abruptly spinning around and grabbing the ladder. Din doesn’t move a single fucking muscle while you try to find your way up to the cockpit with the baby held to your chest and a dead stone sitting heavy inside of it, hoping your face doesn’t show the vulnerability you feel wanting to take over as you retreat. Get to the cockpit first, get to the cockpit first, get to the—

“Sweet girl, I…” you barely hear murmured through the helmet from the floor, soft enough to sound slightly shocked, but you scramble into the cockpit and shut the door behind you before he can say anything else.

***

Silence didn't used to feel like this.

At first it was eerie, unnatural and stifling when you spent years in a wide open desert, wind swirling and dust pelting. It suffocated you the first few times you jumped into hyperspace, a phenomena you read all about and considered mathematically fascinating before ever experiencing for yourself. It was… foreign and strange, but you began to value it more and more as time passed.

Then, you started to get to know him and silence just became comforting. Something you could bask in, knowing it was a comfort to him. A choice he made because it just fit him best. You felt safe in it, you felt like you didn’t have to be anything else but you. You never had to break it just to avoid awkwardness, you became… closer to it, until you learned to fall in love with it.

But only when he was with you and it was his silence. Not… everything else’s. Now it’s haunting again. Now the sheer lack of sound through hyperspace is a stranger to you, and the distortion of light surrounding the cockpit feels less about the sheer magnificence of manipulating space time and more about the fundamental disconnect it causes. Gorgeous, but at its core, a severance. Ripping the fabric of the universe apart, tearing a wound in it.

It’s been a few hours and nothing exceptional has happened since your conversation in the hull.

You’ll admit that you’re a sensitive person, and because of that, you’ve always had a problem knowing if you were right or wrong when someone comes at you with a hard enough will. You second-guess yourself, it’s one of your worst traits, and you feel like trying to squash that tendency without knowing the limit is partially to blame for why you’re holed up in this cockpit with the kid. You’re quiet but in a different way from Din. When he doesn’t speak, it’s because most of the time, he’s sure of himself and doesn’t need to. When you don’t speak, it’s because most of the time, you’re insecure and don’t want to.

After being left alone with your thoughts for this long, you’re starting to realize that… he was right. What were you thinking, wanting to tag along? Wanting to hang out while he risks his life for this occupation, you probably sounded so fucking ignorant. Maybe… maybe he didn’t have to say it like that, but his point is still very valid and you’re not sure if you’re really justified in hiding like this anymore.

The way he said… your job, though. That still stings a bit. This hasn’t felt like an actual job in a very long time. Was that just an expression, or did he mean it literally? You’re stuck on it, you’ve just been going over this for hours in your head, trying to figure out if you should be the one to apologize or not—or if this is just you overreacting from the start and no apologies will be necessary at all.

“Sorry you got stuck with me, kid,” you mutter sadly to the baby, watching him fiddle with his favorite metal ball in your lap. He makes a little gurgle, purring in that weirdly adorable little way of his and it somehow feels like a reassurance directed to you that he’s just fine the way he is.

Maker, you haven’t heard anything from the hull in a fucking eternity; it’s like Din turned into a ghost, hasn’t even made a single footstep that you could hear since you last left him standing there. You remember performing a quick flight check as soon as you got up here, lifting off as fast as you could and hoping the thrusters would rumble loud enough to cover your series of pitifully shallow sniffles at being yelled at unexpectedly by a very large and intimidating man, not really crying but not really able to breathe normal either. The little monster was able to wiggle himself around in your lap as you were trying to punch in the correct coordinates for the fifth quarry with rapidly blinking, watery eyes, and then proceeded to give your belly the smallest hug you think you’ve ever been given and pretty much break your heart with it.

Lovely little boy, so sweet when he wants to be. He’s sat with you this whole time, he even tried giving you his metal ball to play with but ultimately decided to keep it to himself when he realized you aren’t nearly as fascinated by it as he is. You know it’s probably getting late for him, and you’ve been weighing the idea of handing him over to his father so he can at least get a good night’s sleep somewhere that isn’t your arms. There’s no blankets in here, just your lap.

“I think I gotta go take you to your dad soon, tiny. He’s probably missing you,” you tell him, trying to keep quiet enough that you won’t disturb Din in the hull. There’s a good chance he’s already asleep. “I think… he might still be mad at me. Maybe you can give him the big eyes, soften him up a little?”

Right on cue, his enormous eyes start to droop closed, and you let out a tired sigh of exasperation. That’s not gonna work, come on. They gotta be open, booger.

You watch him slowly drift to sleep, his ears relaxing until they too start to droop, but when you try to take the ball from him and set it down on the console, his eyes immediately pop back open and the toy slips from your fingertips. It levitates right back into his tiny hands as you watch, and then he closes his eyes once more while tightly cuddling the thing he loves most to his body.

Unbelievable.

He’s a child, and yet he’s…

“How are you so strong?” You ask him, unable to even fathom. “You’re the smallest, most helpless little thing I’ve ever seen and you’ve got such… strength. You defy the universe for a piece of metal.”

He doesn’t hear you, you think he’s asleep again. It’s just as well, you figure. He needs to go sleep in his crib, it’s time. You scoop him up and make sure the little ball stays tucked snugly in his arms, before finally standing up and stumbling over to the door on numb legs.

Only, when it slides open, you quickly stop short.

Because there, sitting on the floor and resting his helmet against the corner of this small little platform leading to the ladder, is the Mandalorian.

So much closer than you expected him to be. So big, crammed into such a tiny place. You didn’t hear his footsteps climbing the ladder, and you would’ve noticed it during the hours you’ve spent in the suffocatingly muted quiet of hyperspace. He can be silent but not when absolutely nothing else exists and he’s got a thousand fucking pounds of steel weighing him down at any moment in time. You took off almost immediately once you barricaded yourself inside the cockpit, so has he… did he follow you up in those last few seconds, right after you shut the door? The ones when you were sniffling like a child and trying desperately to turn the thrusters on before you let the tears come?

His head lifts and his back straightens as you’re looking down at him with his sleeping son cradled in your arms, your eyes slightly redder than they should be. You’re a mess and… he’s been here this whole time?

“Could you hear me in there?” You whisper in sudden mortification, but Din just keeps gazing up at you through the impenetrable metal visor. A complete mystery again. Unreadable—he could be anyone.

When he doesn’t answer you, your heart twists with the possibility that he’s still upset with you, and you quickly turn to the ladder to figure out the best way to get down without jostling the baby.

“I’m sorry.” His voice stops you dead in your tracks. It’s so soft, nearly flipping in and out of the modulator from the lack of volume, the most cautious sounding thing you’ve ever heard coming through the filter. “I… hurt your feelings. I’m sorry.”

And… Maker, if anybody else had said it. If literally anybody else had said it, you know it would’ve sounded like the most sarcastic, dickish remark in such a delicate moment. But, you also remember him telling you once that you were tenderhearted. That the galaxy would never be as kind to you as you are to it. This… comes out sounding like he’s trying to change that.

It comes out sounding like he’s trying to use his voice to hold you because he doesn’t think you want to be touched right now. Like… like he’s doing everything he can to be as careful as possible here because you think he might be attempting to do something he’s never done before. Apologize for saying something he didn’t mean.

“You don’t have to,” you quickly tell him. He’s not good with words and apologies are difficult enough to phrase for normal people, you don’t want him to fret over it if that’s what this is. “It’s okay, I know you’re not… you don’t have to. It was stupid of me to ask.”

“It wasn’t,” he instantly counters, his voice finally seeming to find the floor when it was just hovering before. Not loud—still gentle, still making sure the kid doesn’t wake up and you’re not frightened away, but a bit more grounded this time. “It wasn’t… what I wanted to hear, and I didn’t take it well. Not stupid.”

“It was stupid,” you return amicably, looking down at your feet. “That’s not my… job, like you said.”

Din suddenly hangs his helmet down to his chest, pressing his gloves to the part that curves over his forehead and rubbing it. “Shit. I didn’t mean—”

“You were right,” you acknowledge, having spent the past few hours coming to the understanding that it’s the hard truth and he just phrased it poorly. “I’m not… built for it, I’d only get in your way. I barely just managed to shoot stationary targets with a blaster today, and that’s only with that aim corrector built into the barrel. I’m here to be helpful, not—”

“What are you saying?” He suddenly lifts the beskar to study you, sounding genuinely confused. “What aim corrector?”

That… makes you pause.

“The, uh…” Now you’re confused. “The one that adjusts the plasma release on the gun you gave me.”

He doesn’t move an inch or say a single thing to you in response and you awkwardly shuffle your feet for a second, everything so quiet that you can hear every little snore that goes in and out of the kid’s tiny button nose.

You blink at him after way too long of that, not knowing why he still hasn’t said anything. “There’s an electronic sight and like a bazillion extra magnets packed into the barrel, Din, what else could—”

“Sweet girl, that’s… that’s for the Philithiorium,” Din breathes out, like he’s absolutely blown away by you right now. “That gas is less stable than normal canisters, it takes more magnets to focus the white beam without overheating the metal.”

You stare at him, not truly processing. He’s saying that… you made all those shots today without any help at all? By yourself?

Your eyebrows furrow and you blink a few times, but then his slow, heavy sigh echoes throughout the metal walls with disappointment… and you don’t think it’s directed towards you.

“You’re just… always so unsure of yourself.” He sounds genuinely distraught as his helmet tips down to look at the ground. “I made that worse today.”

“It doesn’t matter,” you quickly shake your head, your chest already beginning to loosen slightly by just being around him, hearing his voice, seeing the metal glint under the fluorescent light overhead when he’s in such a vulnerable position on the floor. “It’s okay, let’s just… pretend neither of us said anything at all, okay?”

“Is that what you really want?” He asks you after a moment of quiet, and for some reason, you hear something in your mind tell you that his arms look so nice right now, don’t they? You could fit right there, perfect and safe again.

“Yeah, it’s fine,” you smile at him, feeling a bit of the ache trapped inside you continue to work itself out little by little. You’ll be back to normal soon, it’s fine.

“No, I mean… do you really want to come with me?” Din asks you, the words sounding cautious. Confused, like he truly never expected the proposition from you at all. “Or… do you just not want me to go?”

Oof, what a fucking question.

Why would he ask this? It’s not pointed; it’s the softest, gentlest inquiry you’ve ever been posed. Maybe in other circumstances, you’d say that him leaving doesn’t have anything to do with it, but… you’re certain that internally, it absolutely does have at least something to do with it and he was just able to know it before you did. Which is probably why his sharp words seemed all the more cutting earlier. It hurt because he said the truth first, verbalized a very deep insecurity you’ve been trying to hide from him and threw it right in your face when shutting you down.

Though, if it worked differently and you were the one who had to be away while he stayed here, you’d like to think you’d handle it way better than how it is now. At least you’d have a real mission to focus on, new things to see and experiences to have. You just feel… confined sometimes.

You take a deep breath and figure you’ll use sitting down as an excuse to think for a second. There’s practically no room but you find it in the back of the cockpit near the doorframe anyways, doing your best to keep the kid level while you slowly lower yourself to the ground near him. Not touching him, but close.

“I just… I lived my whole life stuck in one spot, wanting to see the galaxy,” you finally admit to him, staring at his chestplate but seeing the helmet tilt slightly in your peripheral. “Sometimes it’s just… hard to see the galaxy and still be stuck in one spot, I guess.”

“…You want an adventure,” Din proposes quietly, and though there’s not a single hint of mockery in his voice, you suddenly feel like it’s really fucking dumb when he phrases it like that. What are you, an eight year old? Wanting to go on an adventure, see things you’ve never seen without any concept for real life? Credits? Time? Resources?

You shrug a shoulder to make it seem like it’s no big deal. Why is he even entertaining this right now? “It’s stupid, I kn—”

“Like on Naboo,” he goes on, ignoring your harsh self-criticism, not allowing you the ability to even get it out once he heard the first couple words. “Going through the forest, seeing that waterfall. Someplace to find for yourself. Explore. Experience.”

You… you want it so badly that you think your eyes might tear up just hearing the words coming out of his mouth when he says them like that. Like he… just inherently understands. He knows.

He knows you. He’s not good with words and yet he found the single most succinct way to put what you thought was a complex yearning without even trying. You can’t even answer him, he hit the target dead on and you’re left with nothing to say that wouldn’t just be a miserable lie.

“Okay,” Din says after a moment, giving you a small nod.

You’re lost now. “…Okay?”

“You’re never going on a hunt with me,” he tells you very seriously, no room for arguing. “Ever. And not because you can’t handle it, understand?” He inhales, quickly adding on to his response before you’re able to analyze it the way you want to. “But if you want an adventure, then… I can try and find a way to give you one.”

Stars. He’s… too kind. You somehow feel like it’s more than you deserve. You were honestly hoping to just shadow him on a hunt, watch him work and stay well out of the way when he needs you to. Helping if you think you’d be of any help; an extra set of eyes and hands. You would’ve been fine even if he didn’t apologize for raising his voice at you, he doesn’t have to do this for you.

“Thank you,” you say for the third time today, feeling like each one has somehow multiplied in sincerity.

“It can’t be right now,” he quickly tells you, apologetic but earnest about it. “I have to find the quarry, and I’m supposed to meet with Karga again in a week.”

You never did let him know about the other part of the deal you made with Karga, you admit. Four pucks, no hassling, no hard time constraints. That’s what you shook on, but you just never found a way to bring it up to Din. Especially since you’ve been so preoccupied with hiding your growing disappointment from him whenever he has to go.

“If…” you pause, wondering the best way to phrase this. Yikes, this is a toughie. “Um. If Karga… I don’t know, hypothetically, if Karga decided to loosen the time constraints back to the way they were before the Corellian bounty, would you… still need to meet with him again in a week?”

You don’t think he even bothers shuffling through all those words. “Say what you mean. Please.”

“That was part of the deal I struck with him,” you quickly explain. “You can hunt on your own timetable again and he’ll keep giving you four pucks like before, no more or less after this one extra quarry. It’s like a… replacement of sorts, for the one I kept you from getting the time before. If credits aren’t an issue, you can take more than a week. But only if you want to, you don’t have to. It’s just there and you should know, that’s all.”

He takes his time responding, lifting his helmet just the slightest bit in… surprise? Maybe?

“You never told me you did that,” Din finally murmurs.

“Ah. Well.” You look down at the sleeping kid in your arms. “I didn’t want you to think I was trying to… keep you here.”

It genuinely is a struggle for you, and you think he’s just now realizing that. As much as you know he gets frustrated with you for always wanting him to be here when he physically can’t be, you think it’s only now that he’s truly realizing the lengths you go to in order to stomp that part of you down whenever you feel it threatening to come up. You allowed him to leave every single time without telling him he could stay, knowing that all that was left for you was babysitting and target practice for days on end.

“Will you come over here?” Din finally asks, and the tone of his voice just punches you in the chest. So soft, so distressed from having you so close yet so far from him and just… full of a quiet hope, like he’s fully expecting you to say no.

“Will we fit?” You whisper after a moment, even quieter.

He doesn’t answer, he just reaches for you. You do your best to scoot over to him without waking the kid, and then Din pulls you the rest of the way once he has a grip. You go right into his arms, laying sideways across his lap and supported by his steel embrace.

Oh, it’s not comfortable but you’ve also never been more fucking comfortable. One of his knees lifts and allows you to rest your back against it without worrying about falling over sideways and down the ladder to the hull, thank the Maker. The beskar pauldron over his shoulder digs into your cheek, but Din immediately pushes an arm up to nudge his helmet off and make it better for both of you. Your face automatically fits into the crook of his neck while he sets the beskar on the bend of his knee, and then he silently cradles you while you do the same to his little boy… who does the same to his favorite metal ball.

“Ni tar’tayl su,” he murmurs into your hair, the one phrase in Mando’a you do recognize, especially with how beautiful and elegant it sounds rolling off his tongue. “Forgive me. Ni ceta.”

You sigh your contentment and melt into him, well aware that you’d still be more comfortable in bed. But when you’re pressed hard against his chest like this and the baby is fast asleep in your arms, you get to feel both of them breathing. Din’s right lung is probably bigger than the kid’s whole entire body, but you like the radically different cycles they go through. You think you count six full breaths coming from the brown sack in your palms for every one of Din’s and two of yours. It creates the most beautiful little symphony that sometimes gets a little off track, but always finds its way back around again.

“How do you say…” You ask, feeling his hand slowly move down the curve of your spine, mindless and hypnotic. It catches the edge of your shirt and goes underneath, and even though it’s not his bare hand and there’s no skin to skin, it still feels so good. Not sexual or sensual even, just… a comfort to you. “In Mando’a, how do you say… out of a trillion?”

Din’s breaths pause for just a second, his portion of the synchronized rhythm faltering. Soon it starts back up, and his head turns to press his lips against your hair.

“I don’t think there’s a word for it,” he admits, gently brushing a thumb across the baby’s forehead while he snoozes. “There could be, but I don’t know it. I’d use… out of a million million millions. Dayn alanyc bal alanyc bal alanyci.”

Your eyes begin to drift closed, exhausted from keeping them open after shedding a few tears earlier. Your first fight and you’re already completely in love with him again after a handful of hours of sulking and one conversation. How is that possible? You’re normally a very forgiving person and it wouldn’t have taken much to make you feel better, you just never expected him to… actually want it from you that badly, care enough about it to get on the floor and ask.

Din doesn’t move the entire night through. You assumed he’d make everyone get up at some point and move to the hull, but he doesn’t. You fall asleep against his chest, comforted by the silence once again.

***

The next morning, Din quietly climbs into the cockpit while you’re humming in the shower. You’re too busy basking in the indoor rainfall to feel the ship pull out of hyperspace, and then jump back into it a few moments after.

***

“How long do you think you’ll be this time?” You ask two days later, sitting on the extended flattop of Din’s old cot and swinging your legs back and forth. The baby is currently sitting on your lap and trying to roll the metal ball down your knee so you’ll kick it in the air, you think, because he keeps dropping it at different moments and forcing you to stop moving your legs to prevent accidentally denting a wall. Every time the ball clatters to the floor, he makes a sad sound and it immediately lifts back up into his tiny hands for another try.

Heavy boots clang against the metal floor as Din drops down from the ladder, having just landed the Crest on the surface of whatever planet you’re on. “I’m not leaving yet.”

“Oh…” You blink, surprised. “Okay.”

“I wanted to do some more training with you first, if that’s okay. You can say no if you want, but maybe not,” Din drawls, striding over to the armory and opening it. He carefully removes your blaster from the front shelf, speaking with his back to you. “You’re going to run.”

“Um.” You take a moment to glance around the enclosed hull, before turning to look back at him with your eyebrows raised. “What, like… in place?”

Din sighs and closes the armory before leaning back against the doors, rubbing the face of the helmet in exasperation. “From me, sweet girl.”

Your legs stop swinging, and the baby grumbles and slaps three fingers against your knee. “What?”

“We’re on Sanctuary II,” he explains, turning to grab his black bag from one of the storage shelves. He unzips it and reaches back into one of the larger pockets on his utility belt, before grabbing a handful of credits and stuffing them inside. “It’s a moon, the New Republic occupied it years ago and made it a safe world for refugees and orphans of the Empire. You’ll have your blaster, some credits, a communicator, and a day head start. You’re going to run from me. Show me how much you’ve learned.”

Is… he for real?

Right now? You don’t even know how to respond, you’re too surprised. Even when Din approaches and carefully trades the kid for your blaster, setting the bag down next to you on the metal bed, you still haven’t answered him.

“If you want?” He asks after a moment, and you quickly jerk your head into a nod and jump off the raised platform, almost knocking into him with your sudden excitement.

“Okay! Fuck yeah,” you grin, but Din shakes his head.

“Rules,” he says seriously, and you quickly do your best to frown, trying to compose your thrilled expression to match his tone. “One. This is a safe world, but things can always happen. You have a blaster now, but it’s for emergencies only. Do not shoot me with it. Do you understand?” You nod, but Din reaches forward to grab your elbow. “Out loud, please. For me.”

“I will not shoot you with this blaster,” you vow obediently, carefully cradling the precious firearm in your hands.

“Do not shoot me,” he repeats while pointing a leather finger at you. “Do not… shoot at me. Near me. Around me. No, just—don’t shoot. Unless I am… very far away. Okay?”

Well, he didn’t have to phrase it like that. You frown, but acquiesce regardless. “I will only resort to blastering if it’s an emergency and you are not around.”

He nods a thank you for putting it into better words. “Second rule. Since you don’t have a ship, I won’t either. We’re on foot. I don’t doubt you can hotwire a piece of junk to do what you need it to do, but I’d prefer it if you didn’t. Good?”

Entirely accurate and entirely fair. “Good.”

“Three,” he says. “I’ll have the kid with me, which is both good and bad news for you. Good news is he’ll slow me down, bad news is I can’t promise he won’t also try to intervene at some point if you’re serious about putting up a decent fight. What I can promise is that I won’t encourage it.”

“Reassuring,” you nod. “Also not really a rule. Please continue.”

“Four.” He pauses for a second. “I think I’m wanted by the New Republic.”

You nearly jerk back. “What?”

“I can’t confirm it and I’m not proud of it,” Din quickly tells you, probably the vaguest possible explanation he could provide. “I’m only telling you so that you’ll know your advantage and find a way to exploit it. I can’t be seen by any officers, or they might arrest me.”

Is he fucking serious? “I don’t want you to be arrested, Din, I—”

“I won’t be,” he assures you. “They owe me one, I just don’t want to cash in yet. Trust me.”

You… do. Insanely, and against every logical thought flittering through your head, you do. If you were ever going to bet money that someone would be able to navigate a safe world on foot without being caught by the numerous officers scattered across the surface, then you’d put all your credits on Din Djarin. It… also shouldn’t really surprise you at all that the people seeking his incarceration also owe him a favor, should it? It actually sounds right on par for him. “Okay.”

“Fifth, and this one is important, so listen up,” he continues gruffly. “You check in with me tonight over the e-comm, alright? I don’t care where you are or how safe this planet is, if you don’t check in, I’ll come find you before the sun rises. Say you understand me.”

“I understand you,” you tell him, your heart beginning to pound in your chest at the reality of this actually happening. “I’ll check in tonight.”

“And if,” he goes on, “by some miracle, you manage to make it more than a full day, you check in with me tomorrow night, too. Say it.”

“I will check in with you every single night for the full five days it’ll take you to find me,” you assert, the adrenaline starting to make you brash and giddy.

Din tilts his helmet at you sternly. It is a very, very stern tilt. “Okay. New plan, forget everything I just said.”

Your expression furrows. “What’s the new plan?”

“That is the new plan,” he says, dead serious. “Us. Not doing this.”

“Oh, come on,” you grin cheekily up at him, poking his chestplate. “I’m just giving you some motivation to find me quicker, that’s all.”

Din stares down at you, and… yeesh. Tough crowd.

“Tell you what,” he finally grunts, sounding incredibly unamused with your jesting. “If you can last that long with only a day head start, I’ll let you come with me to collect the fifth quarry. You can even cuff the bastard yourself.”

You know it’s just because he’s rightly confident in his own deadly skill, but hearing him propose the possibility still shoots a thrill down your spine. “Oh ho, you are gonna regret saying that, shiny,” you beam up at him, starting to hop back and forth on each foot with excitement.

“But if I’m able to find you, you can’t ask me ever again,” he finishes shortly, and you immediately go still in front of him.

“What?”

“If I’m able to find you in five days, I don’t want to hear about you coming with me on a hunt and you can’t ever ask me not to go on one,” Din tells you, his voice rough and gravelly through the modulator. Not mean or harsh, but firm. “From now on, it’ll be off-limits.”

You… take a moment, not knowing if you should feel scolded or not. When you don’t immediately say anything in response, he sighs and turns the helmet away from you.

“Leaving is hard enough as it is,” he mutters, looking at the ground. “Hearing you ask… makes it impossible.”

You slowly lower your gaze to the floor as well, feeling your heart constrict tight in your chest. There’s a real pull under his voice, telling you that information even though it sounds like he doesn’t really want to admit it out loud. It… really is a struggle for him too, then. You understand.

“Okay,” you nod. There’s not a single part of you that actually thinks you’ll be able to stay hidden from him for five days while stuck on foot, so this is essentially a given. You’re not thrilled about the idea, but you’re going to do your best to respect it nonetheless, especially if he cares enough to put off hunting and allow you this experience for yourself. It’s a better compromise than you ever imagined, and you’ll do everything you can to hold up your side of the bargain.

Din clears his throat and straightens his spine, turning the visor until it faces you head on once more. “Final rule. I reserve the right to break any rule we just agreed to, or any fucking rule in this galaxy to keep you safe. Good?”

Your cheeks flush with heat, your stomach suddenly filling with butterflies. He doesn’t do that. Din says what he says or he doesn’t say anything at all, there’s no… taking things back, he’s already breaking his own code.

“What happened to The Way says no take-backs?” You ask quietly.

“This is my way,” he answers you. Quick, not even taking a moment to think about it, before pulling out a fancy looking wristwatch thing and clipping it on you himself. “This is your communicator. It takes more power than the one you have now but it’ll reach a further distance. I have one just like it, they’re locked into the same frequency and timesynced together, and the batteries need to be charged every three days. If you make it that long, I’ll remind you.” Din grabs the bag while you slide your arm into it, helping you hook it around your shoulder with one hand while he cradles the kid in his other. Your heart is pounding now, pumping with adrenaline as he pulls you towards the middle of the hull and then wraps an arm around you.

“Hey,” he murmurs, pulling you tight to him and pressing the helmet to the crown of your head. His voice is barely a whisper through the modulator. “Gar darasuum.” For an eternity.

You find some way to wrap your arms around him, even with your blaster in your hand and the kid hanging out in his dad’s other arm.

“Dayn alanyc, bal alanyc, bal alanyci,” you murmur dutifully against the beskar chestplate, knowing your accent is probably butchering the words but hoping they still carry the same sentiment.

And then you’re squeeeeeezed hard enough to get a little air out of you, before you’re let go and he turns around, pressing a button on his vambrace so the ramp begins to lower.

It’s bright outside but not too bright, and everything is warm and gentle and breezy, right in the middle of a lush plain. You inhale the fresh air into your lungs, looking out across the wide open field, having no fucking clue this is where your day would be leading when you woke up this morning. Oh Maker, it’s gorgeous here. Not like Naboo, where every single thing is picturesque and fit for an e-card, but in a soft, understated kind of way. The sky is a canvas of swirling pastel clouds, pale pinks and yellows and blues, and the communicator on your wrist lets you know that it’s just after noon here.

You take one single step down the ramp, before immediately stopping and turning around to bite your lip at him.

“How am I… how am I supposed to outrun you?” You ask, already clueless. “You’re too good, better than me at everything.”

“That’s not true,” Din reminds you sternly, grabbing your hand at your side. “You already know who’s after you, that’s an advantage nobody else has ever had against me. You know how I think. I don’t know how, but sometimes it’s like you can…” He slowly shakes his head. “See me. Through the metal.”

“But… but that works both ways,” you point out, breathless at hearing him say that but needing to focus right now. “You know me, too—you’ll know exactly where I—”

He shakes his head again, but quickly this time. “Remember what I told you a long time ago? What your best weapon is?”

You… do not. He told you so many things, and you’re assuming every single one of them is going to come into play during this endeavor if you want to outlast. You’re going to have to think back and remember all of them individually, find the time to figure out your best plan of action based on the remarkably little you know about how he hunts.

“You’re smart, remember?” Din murmurs, squeezing your fingers. “Your mind works differently, it sees things in ways I’ll never be able to, not even with this helmet. So…” He shrugs a shoulder like it’s the simplest thing in the galaxy. “Don’t try to outrun, okay? Just try to outsmart.”

You give him a nod after a moment, still not really sure about it, before giving his hand one last squeeze in return and eventually letting go.

Outsmart. Outsmart him, use what you know about him to be the most elusive quarry he’s ever hunted down.

As you make your way down the ramp, you’re already thinking. His helmet tracks footprints, that’s a thing you know. You’ll have to find someone to trade shoes with, then—yours aren’t too beat up, maybe you can find a local who’d appreciate a better pair. Are you going to a city? Would there be one in walking distance? The wilderness won’t work, you’ll be too exposed and it would make you an easy target for either him or wild animals. The weather seems clear here though, and you don’t think you’ll need to worry about rain or snow, but if—

“Oh—but when you do see me,” Din decides to add when your feet finally touch the grass, and you pause once more to turn around and look at him. He stays quiet for a second, studying you through the helmet for too long. Like the anticipation is getting to him already.

You bite your lip back at him and adjust the bag on your shoulder, tummy swirling with nerves and excitement. He tilts the visor up, gazing down at you from the hull with the kid tucked in his arms.

“Try to outrun,” he says gruffly, before turning back into the ship and letting the ramp slowly close behind him.

#the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian x reader #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #mando x reader #mando x you #smut #angst #hurt/comfort #reader insert #the mandalorian #rough day #no-droids

5K notes · View notes

soulmate-game · 4 years ago

Text

Harley’s Plea for Help: Chapter 2

Chapter 1

“How long do you think it’s gonna take before she decides to sneak out?” Nightwing asked over his comms, lazily leaning against the balcony railing in front of him with his head resting on one hand.

“Dude, I started sneaking out almost twenty minutes ago,” a girl’s voice made Nightwing squeak and turn around, to reveal a teenage girl leaning against the door that led to the balcony he was on. “I didn’t want to draw attention to myself by doing unnecessarily showy gymnastics down from my hotel room’s balcony, no matter how much fun that would be, so I just snuck out one of the hotel’s back exits. Then I looked up to admire the moon and saw you here, staking out what is clearly my suite, and decided to come pay you a visit.”

“How long have you been there? And how did you even get behind me? I hope you didn’t break and enter, that’s an actual lived-in apartment behind us right now,” Nightwing asked, turning around to analyze the daughter of Harley Quinn for the first time in person.

She looked just like in her pictures, of course. Jet black hair like her father’s, except it seemed to have a bluish shine in the light. And her eyes were definitely Harley’s— thank goodness for that —vibrant blue and clearly analyzing him with the same amount of intensity as his did her. He had to bite back a chuckle. In a turn of complete irony, she really did look like a Wayne kid. Fit all of Bruce’s usual criteria to be adopted. But she was tiny, even smaller than Harley’s lithe form. He, Bruce, and Tim were of the hypothesis that the exposure both her parents had to Ace Chemical’s vats of acid likely had an effect on her DNA that stunted her growth. Perhaps there were other effects that they wouldn’t be able to figure out until they got to know her better, too, though it was clear that her skin was a likely one. It wasn’t unnaturally pale like her parent’s after their acid dips but it was paler than normal for sure, just a shade or two shy of being paper white.

And he could see, now, what Harley meant when she referred to Marinette as a powerhouse. It wasn’t very noticeable in pictures, but up close Dick could see the carefully honed muscle of an acrobat curling over her otherwise slim build. Combined with the knowledge that Marinette had been taught at least some serious self defense from a young age, he could see how such a tiny package could be a remarkable threat when necessary.

Marinette grimaced as the other Batfam, who were all nearby staking out her room from different angles, dropped onto the large balcony with them.

“Uh, well. I didn’t break and enter, I rather not get off to a criminal-ly start on my first night in Gotham, you know? But I realized that even though I was able to figure out the exact room you were staking me out from, I realized as soon as I got into the first floor of the building that I had no idea how to actually get to you. So I just climbed the stairs all the way to the roof and scaled my way down to this balcony, and pretended I’ve been here for a while when really I was barely able to hear you ask when I was gonna sneak out. I’m still out of breath, actually,” she put a hand on her chest and sure enough her breathing was still slightly fast. But not enough to be worrying or even all that noticeable. Yet another piece of evidence to show that she was a very active individual and had resistance built up to physical activity.

“Yup,” Robin groused grumpily, crossing his arms. “With all that rambling, you couldn’t be anyone else’s child but Quinzel’s.”

Marinette’s face immediately flushed pink all the way to her ears. “I’m sorry! I’ve been trying so hard to quit that habit, too!” She grumbled a bit to herself, putting her face in her hands. They all chuckled at the display. Red Hood ambled over, draping his arm over her shoulders (he nearly had to bend in half to do it, the height difference was that bad).

“As adorable as your freak out is, why’d you even come up here anyway? There’s no way you’d scale down a ten-story building just to say hello.”

She let out a heavy sigh at that, slowly peeling her face out of her hands. “Yeah, I recognized you guys right away. And honestly, as much as Momma Harley would be super proud of me for managing to give an entire group of vigilantes the slip, she’d also ground me for life if she found out that I saw you guys and still snuck away even though she probably swallowed her pride and asked you guys to babysit me, right? Self preservation. Contrary to popular belief, I do actually have some.”

“Wait,” Red Robin held up a hand, brows clearly furrowed under his cowl. “You expected her to ask for our help?”

“Well,” she made a so-so motion with her hand. “I didn’t think of it beforehand, but it all clicked once I saw Nightwing. I know how much my mom is worried about me, especially since you-know-who broke out a few days ago. She is more than worried enough to ask you guys for help. Even if she does complain about you guys, a lot actually, she also has made it clear that she trusts you guys with the stuff that actually matters.

“‘You know who’?” Batman repeated, arms crossed. If Marinette squinted, she thought there might have been a grin on his lips. “Is that how you always refer to him?”

“What else am I gonna call him?” she asked, face going deadpan. “Sperm donor? Source of a large amount of my self doubt and depreciation? The prime reason I haven’t been able to see my mom in person more often over the years? Oh, I know! How about I just always refer to him as ‘that bastard I wanna punch,’? That sounds good!” she rolled her eyes sarcastically. “Only one person in this world has the right to be considered my father in any capacity, and it sure as hell isn’t him. Genetics notwithstanding.”

Red Hood straight up guffawed at that, landing several rough pats on her back that made the girl stumble a bit. “Yep, I like this one! But as fun as it would be to see you give that jackass a mean left hook, it’s better if he never finds out who you are or knows that you’re here,” the vigilante’s voice got dark and serious very quickly. “He doesn’t forget people he finds interesting easily, and if he ever finds out about the connection you have to him, he’ll be a constant threat in your life.”

“I know,” Marinette agreed with a nod. “And if this conversation was happening two years ago, I’d say that my mom’s concerns aren’t unfounded. That I am too easily emotionally compromised and despite my deep seated issues and hatred for that man, I couldn’t guarantee he would be unable to get to me.”

Batman straightened up, as did all of his sons around him. None of them had missed the ‘if’ there. Batman’s voice went from charmingly deep to it’s usual gruff grumble. “What changed in two years?”

They all watched as Marinette gulped, taking a deep breath as she stalled for time, looking out at the view on the balcony before seeming to steel herself and return her gaze to Batman’s. When she did, it was suddenly full of iron will.

“I didn’t lie when I told Mom that I came to visit her— but that isn’t the whole truth, either. If I just wanted to visit her in Gotham, I would have waited until I was eighteen like we agreed. But I can’t wait, Paris can’t keep going on like this. I entered that contest because it was the fastest way to see you. I didn’t know if I would win, but… I had to take the chance. There was no way I’d be able to get to Gotham behind my mom’s back otherwise.”

“What are you talking about?” Robin hissed, stepping up to his father’s side. “Paris has been silent. If anything were happening, we would have heard about it by now.”

“No, you wouldn’t,” Marinette corrected, never losing that ironclad look in her eyes. “Because a combination of magic and politics is keeping it quiet. No news about Paris’ situation is able to leave the city limits. Magic makes any non-native who leaves Paris think that everything they experienced was just a crazy dream. Natives won’t forget, but politics has all of us under very strict NDAs if we leave city boundaries, and all of our local news and social media is blocked from being accessed by anyone outside the city. But, I figured a little breaking of the rules wouldn’t exactly put a stain on my family’s reputation or anything, so,” she dug in her pocket and pulled out a thumb drive, holding it up for all of them to see. She swallowed again, but never stopped her eye contact with Batman. She held out the thumb drive.

“I came to Gotham to ask for your help. This sped things up, I didn’t expect to see you on my first night here, but two years in Hawkmoth’s Paris has really taught me how to roll with the punches. This,” she shook the thumb drive. “Holds videos of every fight since HawkMoth first showed up. It has all the information I’ve gathered over two years, tracks his movements and lists all his targets and— everything. But I’m not a detective, I’m a designer. I make clothes, I spar on the weekends, I am not good at getting evidence to prove that someone is a magic-abusing villain holding an entire city hostage.”

“We’re gonna need some details, Little Q,” Red Hood finally removes his arm from around her shoulders, instead crossing his arms and looking down at her sternly. “If your city has a villain holding it hostage, is anyone fighting him? And if you do have someone fighting him, why don’t you need our help, or why didn’t they call the Justice League? The JLE should be in Paris, right?”

Marinette snorted, face scrunching up in obvious distaste. “I’ll have to answer those a little out of order. First; the JLE was kicked out of Paris. They moved their headquarters to Italy about five years ago, I’m just surprised they apparently kept that secret from you,” she gestured to all of them, who indeed seemed very caught off guard by that tidbit. But Marinette just sighed and continued. “Though that’s a good thing, actually. We do have heroes, it started out as just a pair but it’s grown into a small team out of necessity. They didn’t call the Justice League because the last thing we need is any powered heroes coming in and making it worse— your league doesn’t have the best reputation for letting newer heroes take the lead even on their home turf, you know,” she pointed out, which made Batman shift a bit guiltily. He knew the JL was often a bit… heavy handed in their methods.

“What makes the situation so bad that you don’t want to bring experienced heroes into it?” Red Robin cut in, sounding as if the whole situation was a puzzle he was determined to sort out. Which, really, was exactly what Marinette had been counting on. She shot him a finger gun, grinning.

“That’s exactly the point! Hawkmoth uses a magical artifact, like I said— but this artifact can brainwash anybody who experiences even the slightest negative emotion. Sadness, anger, fear— anything negative. And it gives them powers, but puts them largely under his influence,” her expression twisted again, this time into a wry little grimace. “I guess you can say that my momma’s psychiatry background has secretly come in handy a lot over these past two years. And Hawkmoth is exactly why I try to tell Momma Harley to stop visiting me— I have worked my butt off to keep her from finding out about his attacks or getting Akumatized. Every time she shows up it gives me a heart attack!”

“Akumatized?”

Marinette waved a hand dismissively. “It’s the term used for when someone is turned into a super powered villain because of HawkMoth. The brainwashing— really it’s more similar to a straight up corruption. The person usually lacks their usual moral compass, and just seeks to soothe whatever set off their negative emotion in the first place. Usually, that means they seek a bloody revenge. And if someone who already has extensive training or extremely strong powers gets Akumatized, guess what?” She made jazz hands even though her face was deadpan. “Extra powers, or amplified ones, for the metas or superheroes who are Akumatized. And imagine what someone with, say, Batman’s level of experience could do if he had powers and no moral compass,” the silence that followed her words was deafening. She just nodded, knowing she had gotten her point across. “I’ve been working my butt off to stay positive, because if I’m Akumatized…” her shoulders fell, and she had to swallow a lump in her throat. “... I have no idea what I’d turn into, but if you take into consideration both my training and my family history… it’s really best if we never find out what kind of magic-powered supervillain I’d make.”

“So, let me get this straight,” Nightwing said after another long moment of silence for that to all sink in. He gestured at her with an open palm. “You’ve been dealing with a terrorist for two years who targets emotional vulnerability, you apparently have never been corrupted by this magic at least to present day, but your mother still worries about you being very emotionally fragile. And your heroes are not detectives, which is clearly what you need or you wouldn’t have asked us for our help.”

Marinette nodded. “I used to be very impressionable. At the start of all this, I was a huge people-pleaser. I got attached to new people in a matter of minutes. My mom always said I reminded her too much of herself— but two years of fighting off a guy trying to get into my head—“

“Wait,” Batman nearly barked, taking a step forward. “He’s been targeting you? You specifically?”

Marinette nodded grimly, mouth a straight line. “Not from the beginning, but this past year it’s been painfully obvious. He might be able to sense the strength of people’s emotions, and unfortunately I don’t exactly experience my emotions very… gently. All of my emotions tend to the much more intense side of the spectrum. If that’s true, then he might know that any negative emotion I feel will make an extremely strong Akuma. Either that, or he’s going by process of elimination. All of my friends, except for one, have been Akumatized already. So has my Papan and my grandmother. But it’s obvious when he’s targeting someone, I’ve felt him try to override my will on several occasions. But I can’t just repress all of my negative emotions forever, so consider us working against the clock right now. That thumb drive has all the details you need about our heroes, how exactly Hawkmoth’s powers work, and so on.”

“Do your heroes know you’re asking for our help?” Red Robin asked, gaze burning a figurative hole through Marinette’s face. “Better yet, if this drive has as much information as you say it does, how did you get it?”

Marinette handed the drive over to Batman, who finally took it and tucked it in his belt as she answered.

“Momma Harley might have a lot to say about your detective skills, but you are all still strangers to me. So consider this a test of your abilities— I expect that you will all go to extreme lengths to verify all of the information I gave you anyway. After all, I’m still the daughter of your most hated enemy. Right?” She met each of their gazes, one by one, with a challenging one of her own. “You’ll just have to figure out my connection to the heroes on your own. And how I got the information, too. It shouldn’t be too hard for the so-called world’s greatest detectives. And maybe this can double as a trust exercise. I fully expect you guys to scour through every inch of my past, and dig up everything you can on me. I encourage you to try to find everything you can, so that hopefully you can decide to trust me on your own once you have all the details laid out in front of you. By the way, for your own sanity? I’d start with reading about all of our heroes’ powers and abilities before you watch any footage of past attacks.”

Red hood rocked back on his heels, trading glances with the other vigilantes before they all shared a nod. Apparently having decided their course of action, Red Hood leaned down and hoisted Marinette up into a princess carry. All traces of her previous iron will melted away in favor of the high pitched squeal of surprise she gave, and once more she became an overly flustered teenager.

“Alright, little cutie. Let’s get you to your mom’s place before she and her crazy plant lady fiancé come hunting us down.”

“I can walk! I can freerun on my own! Mon dieu please let me down! Eeeeek!” She squealed again as Robin slapped a domino mask over her eyes and Red Hood wasted no time jumping over the balcony railing with her still in his arms. The fact that they were lowered down by a wire wrapped around Hood’s waist didn’t seem to take away any of the fright that came with a sudden drop over an eighth-story balcony.

Part 1

@emotionalsupportginger @alysrose-starchild @emistar0 @kibastray @justanotherfanficlovinbitch @alyssadeliv @blackroserelina @blackstarlight-co @readingalldaysleepingallnight @maanae @aespades @jaybird-and-co @fleursroses @probably-a-hologram @misterpianoman (didn’t work sorry)

#dc x mlb #dc x miraculous #maribat #bio!dad au #Bio!mom Harley Quinn #Bio!Dad joker #mlb x dc #ml x dc #Harley’s Plea for Help #platonic brucinette #platonic jasonette #platonic Harley Quinn x Marinette

638 notes · View notes

clareguilty · 3 years ago

Text

The Naked Thing

Hello! I was dying without air conditioning a few weeks ago and decided to make it Mando Smut Mandalorian/f!reader Rating: Explicit | No Warnings Word Count: ~2900

The Crest falls out of hyperspace too soon, and you go flying. Curling around Grogu in your arms, you twist in midair so that your back hits the console to avoid crushing him. A lever digs into your spine, and you curse loudly. That’s going to bruise. Oh well. What’s another?

“What the kriff, Mando?” you snarl. Grogu seems unbothered, blinking at you and probably learning way too many swear words for a child of his size.

Mando pulls himself off the control grid with a pained groan, helmet swiveling as he takes in the damage.

“The good news,” he begins after a moment, “is that we lost them.”

That is good news, you agree. You were lucky that the army of bounty hunters and ex-imps hadn’t kept track of you. If you had shaken them off your trail, then that would earn you a head start to a safer system.

“The bad news is that they shot out our hyperdrive.”

“Dank Farrik,” you curse again, then glance at Grogu. Maybe you should watch your mouth more?

“...And our temperature regulator and our heat shields.”

You decide that it is an appropriate time for as much foul language as you please.

“What does that mean?” you ask. You hadn’t grown up around ships -- spent the last dozen years on the same dead-end planet until Mando picked you up. The most you were good for was turning a knob or flipping a switch here and there. Usually you just kept an eye on Grogu while Mando did all the piloting and bounty hunting and whatnot.

“We’ll have to travel sublight, but we can’t land planet side because without the heat shields any atmosphere worth a damn would burn us up. Our only option is a New Republic Outpost. We’ll be able to land there, and we’ll be safe while they repair the Crest. I’ll chart us a course and let you know how long it should be.”

“You know,” you snap, “we wouldn’t be in this mess if you weren’t so scared of droids. If we had an astromech on board, then we could get the hyperdrive repaired without having to crawl our asses through deep space in the hopes that whoever picks us up doesn’t want us dead.”

Mando doesn’t say anything. You don’t know if your words meant anything at all to him because you can’t see shit behind his helmet. Huffing, you take Grogu down to the hold. Not long after, the engines fire up again.

It takes a few minutes to set in, but its quick enough to be noticeable. The ship is getting hotter. Like… unbearably warm.

You fill a canteen with water and make sure that you and Grogu are both hydrated. After a little bit of digging, you manage to find a portable air circulator. You and Grogu sit directly in front of the current, doing your best to keep cool.

Mando comes down after a little while, he cocks his helmet when he sees you.

“It’s hot,” you whine.

“The temperature regulator is shot too. We don’t have a way too cool the ship down or shield the heat of the engines.”

You sigh. “How long until we can get repairs?”

“34 hours. Will the kid be okay for that long?”

Grogu hasn’t outwardly complained about the heat, mostly just sitting in front of the circulator with his eyes closed and ears flapping, but you’ve been worried as well. “He’s kind of… amphibious,” you frown. “I’ll get him a basin of water to sit in and put him in the fresher with the circulator. That should keep him cooled off.”

Mando nods. “Thank you. Will you be okay?”

You shrug. There’s not much you can do. As long as you stay hydrated then you should be able to last 34 hours.

“Thank you,” he says again.

“For what?” All you’ve done is curse at him and berate him for not having an astromech droid.

“For looking out for him back there. You saved all of us with that droid popper. And the move with the cannon was impressive.”

You aren’t expecting genuine praise from Mando. It always felt as though you were dead weight to him. Through all the planets you’ve been on -- and been chased off of -- you’ve always felt useless.You can’t fly, you’re not the best shot, you can barely take care of his kid. It means a lot that he doesn’t actually hate you.

“I’m starting to get the hang of this,” you grin. You had never considered yourself a hero or adventurer, but you had commandeered a cannon and shot down three imperial fighters.

“I’ll be up in the cockpit if you need anything. Just knock.” And he’s gone.

‘Knock’ means that Mando is probably going to take his helmet and armor off, which means you also get a few hours of total privacy. You set Grogu up in the fresher with a basin of water and the circulator -- though it pains you to give up the weak, artificial breeze.

It’s only gotten hotter, and your already filthy clothes are starting to became unbearable. You had gotten splashed with gore and grime and who knows what in your escape, and it wasn’t pairing well with the heat onboard.

Stripping out of your clothes, you sprawl naked on the metal floor. It’s dusty, but slightly cool, and you plaster as much of your skin to the durasteel as you can manage.

Time passes with you systematically rolling across the floor of the hold to try and keep from baking. It’s bearable only because you know there will be an end. As long as the ship keeps chugging along towards the space outpost, then you will be saved.

The hatch to the cockpit opens, and you leap to your feet. Mando clambers down, jumping when he sees you.

“You’re naked,” he raises his hands -- his bare hands -- and backs against the ladder.

“You’re naked.” you point.

“I have a helmet and pants on,” he says. But that’s all he has on. His chest and arms are bare, and it’s more skin than you’ve ever seen before on the man.

“I’ve never seen you out of your armor. That has got to be more scandalous than me being naked.”

You must have made a point, because Mando doesn’t respond. Instead, you both just kind of… stand there. You can’t tear your eyes away from his chest and from the angle his helmet is pointed it seems he’s having a similar issue.

“Did you, uh, need anything?” you finally manage to ask. Your mouth is dry, and you take another uncoordinated drink from the canteen, shivering as some of the water spills down your chest.

Mando coughs. “I just wanted to make sure the kid is okay.”

“Oh,” you turn to open the fresher door just a crack. You had checked on him just a few minutes ago, and he still seems fine. After a moment of pause, Mando comes up behind you and you can feel the heat of his skin against your back.

Grogu is asleep, curled up just in front of the circulator and the basin of water so that the cool air blows over him. The fresher is several degrees cooler than the rest of the ship, and while it feels amazing, you don’t want to let the heat in.

“I’m going to go back up now,” Mando says quickly, and then he’s gone through the hatch once again.

You resume your circuit of laying on the floor, but it feels like the ship is only getting hotter.

That’s when you take to banging on the hatch to the cockpit. “Mando, I’m going to kick your ass! You had better get us to that outpost or find a way too cool this ship down! I spent years on Tatooine, and this is the hottest I have ever been in my entire life!”

“I can cut the engines to stop generating any heat, but then we’ll just be coasting through empty space and we’ll never make it to the outpost.”

You huff. “At this point you should just freeze me in carbonite.”

Mando does not freeze you in carbonite, but you do eventually make it to the New Republic outpost. They give the three of you a small dorm and Mando arranges for the Razor Crest to be repaired. You don’t have any credits between you, so you wonder what he offers in exchange.

You toss your gear into the room and head out to get food for everyone. You always enjoy being in New Republic space. No one is out to murder you or imprison you. The officers are usually nicer. Everyone likes the Skywalkers.

A friendly droid loads you up with several plates of food, and you stop to check out the holonet broadcasts on your way back. Things in this corner of the galaxy are a little hectic -- something you just witnessed firsthand -- but its less gloomy than it used to be.

Mando is sitting on the lower bunk when you get back. He’s back in his full armor, but you can read his posture pretty well. Grogu is playing in the corner, levitating some rocks you had found for him a few planets back. You set the tray down, fully intending to take your portion and eat out in the hall or in one of the communal sitting rooms. Before you can even turn away, Mando has already grabbed a plate of food and tugged his helmet off.

“WOAH,” you raise your hands in front of your face, ducking your head before you can see too much. Curly hair. Tan skin. Moustache. If there is one thing you’ve learned, it’s that Mando doesn’t let anyone see him without his helmet. It’s a cultural thing, and you respect that. “What is with you being naked today?”

Your eyes are open, but very pointedly looking at a wall nowhere near him. He shifts for a moment, and you wait for some kind of explanation.

“Look,” he finally begins, “we’ve been through a lot together at this point. I’ve traveled with you longer than anyone since I was a foundling with the watch. You’ve saved my life as well as Grogu’s many times, and we just survived one hell of a fight. Not to mention, I saw, um, all of you today. I figure it’s only fair.”

You’re touched. It’s an honor that Mando trusts you enough to remove his helmet. For as long as you have been travelling together, you’ve assumed that you care for him far more than he cares for you. “You don’t have to,” you say. “I don’t want you to feel obligated.”

“I trust you,” he repeats.

You turn to face him. His eyes are so soft. Tired and kind and the warmest brown. He stares at you, taking you in for the first time with his own eyes and not the visor in his helmet. It’s unreasonably intimate considering he was staring at you naked with the helmet on just 16 hours before.

“Has anyone ever told you you’re kind of cute?” you laugh and look away, smoothing your hands over your pants. There’s food in front of you, and you use that as a welcome distraction.

“I’ve never trusted anyone enough before now to see me.”

How can he just say things like that? You try to drown the rapid beating of your heart behind some kind of bitter vegetable.

Mando begins to eat as well, slowly and unsurely. He picks at a few different dishes before finally speaking again. “You’ve, uh- I mean… you’re beautiful as well.”

You laugh loudly at that. It’s so shy. This man had seen you overheated and completely naked lying on the floor of his ship. You roll your eyes and shoot him a wink. “Something you like in particular?”

Mando chokes, coughing for a minute before chugging down half a glass of green jelly juice. He finally regains his composure, but his voice is rough when he speaks again. “I’d say the best view was from behind.”

It’s the last thing you expect from him. He’s so shy and reserved and has always backed down from your defensive teasing. It’s a moment before you can pull yourself together. Still, you aren’t sure what to say. Instead, you cram some shredded raw crustacean in your mouth and hope you aren’t too flushed.

Mando offers to take the trays back. The dorm bathroom has a shower with running water and you intend to take full advantage. Grogu rolls a rock at your feet as you head into the bathroom, and you lightly kick it back to him. “Are you tired of putting up with us yet? You’ve been a baby longer than I’ve been alive. I bet we seem like idiots to you.”

Grogu, predictably, says nothing. He makes a raspberry noise with his lips and plops down into a sit.

The shower is one of the greatest gifts you’ve ever enjoyed in life. Hot water, high pressure, steam and soap. You take your time washing up and letting the jets work out all of the kinks in your muscles.

When you slide the stall door aside, Mando is standing at the sink. Helmetless. Shirtless.

He jumps slightly, staring at the floor as you step out of the shower.

“We have got to stop doing this naked thing,” you say. It doesn’t actually bother you. You like that Mando trusts you, and you’ve never been shy about being naked around others, but he’s too attractive and it drives you nuts.

“I rather enjoy it,” he manages to pull his gaze from the floor to shoot you a wink. Your pulse speeds up.

“Don’t start something you can’t finish, Mando,” you step forward. You’re still steaming from the shower and dripping wet. He’s never been this cheeky before, and you kind of enjoy it.

His gaze darkens, eyebrows rasing. He reaches out to grab your waist, pulling you in and pinning you against the sink. You gasp at the feeling of his skin on yours, leaning back as he crowds you against the basin.

“Grogu is napping,” he whispers.

“I think the shower will fit both of us,” you breathe.

He’s already working at the buckle of his pants, toeing out of his boots. You drag him back into the shower with you. The jets hit his back, and he melts a little. You wrap your hand around his cock, and he looks like he may collapse. His eyes flutter shut, one of his hands slamming against the wall by your head.

You lean in to brush your lips over his skin as you stroke his cock. You’d never even seen this man’s face before today, and now you’re kissing your way over his jaw and down his neck. His other hand grabs your ass, kneading the flesh and pulling you closer so your hips brush his.

Your thumb swipes over the tip of his cock, and he shudders. It happens so fast, you didn’t know he had spun you around until your cheek is against the shower wall. His hands are glue to your hips, digging into your ass and pulling you to him so he can grind his cock against your slick skin.

“Please,” you whine. You haven’t had sex with anyone since you began travelling with Mando, and opportunities to get yourself off come few and far between with three of you on the Crest. You’re desperately horny, and you’ve wanted to fuck this man since you found him in that godforsaken desert.

He lines himself up and drives his hips forward, sinking into you with one solid thrust. You bite your forearm to muffle your moans, panting as you try to get used to the sudden stretch.

“You good?” he asks, leaning forward to kiss your cheek.

“Move,” you say, demanding but desperate.

It takes a moment to find leverage in the tiny -- smaller than you first assumed -- shower stall, but Mando begins to fuck you at a steady pace. You reach down to rub your clit, clenching around him. You’re going to finish quicker than you’re used to -- probably because you’ve been turned on since you saw Mando shirtless on the crest.

From the way Mando’s hips twitch and his rhythm falters, you guess that he’s close to coming as well.

His hands are everywhere. Your hips, your ass, trailing over your stomach and and reaching up to squeeze your breasts. His fingers brush your throat and you nearly come from the touch alone. He feels the way you tighten around his cock and places a hand on your neck, squeezing your jaw between his thumb and forefinger.

You come so hard your knees give out and your vision goes white. Mando keeps you from collapsing in a bruised heap on the shower floor by simply continuing to fuck you until he comes as well.

It’s not a lot of space, so you’re slumped together under the spray of the water. You manage to wipe yourself clean in a few swipes and stagger back out so Mando can actually wash up. He’s much quicker than you were, and he’s out of the shower by the time you’ve finished rubbing scented moisturizer over your skin. The New Republic sure knew how to treat their guests.

“I think we should definitely keep doing the naked thing,” he grins.

#the mandalorian #Mandalorian/reader #the mandalorian/reader #mandalorian x reader #mandalorian #din djarin #din djarin x reader #din djarin/reader #grogu #smut #lemons

283 notes · View notes

sunshineandaisies · 4 years ago

Text

Dirty Paws & Wet Kisses

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader (Modern AU)

Words: ~3.7k

Warnings: language, floofs and fluff

Note: if you ever read anything written by me that includes dogs, their names will always be kinda extra or related to historical figures (i.e. my dog is actually named Theodore Roosevelt) and I will try my best to make their names increasingly extra with every fic that involves dogs

You’d argue that your four year old sheperd mix was the most well behaved dog in all of New York until your dying breath.

Most days.

During your weekly trips to the park on Sunday afternoons, she would sit at your feet, lounging in the sun as she watched joggers go by and playfully saying hello to anyone - be they human or dog - that stopped by to pet the pretty pup while you read whatever book you’d picked up from the bookstore earlier that week.

Sure, there were a few times that she would whine and stare down any squirrel that strayed too close to her, but she never left your side.

Maybe that’s why you had grown so complacent, why you’d stopped looping her leash around the bench to secure her to your side and simply kept the leash within your reach beside you on the seat of the bench.

And it was because of that complacency that you were sprinting across the park, chasing your naughty dog and drawing judgemental stares from other park-goers.

“Hazel!” you called after her. “Hazel, I swear to god I’m taking all your toys away when we get home!” Right after you took a nice long bath to soothe your aching muscles. When was the last time you’d run this much?

You lost sight of her when she disappeared around a hedge, and the internal panic that set in was almost worse than the time that you accidentally emailed your creative writing professor the Harry Potter fanfiction you’d written instead of your final paper. (You still got an A on the assignment, but that’s besides the point).

You see her as soon as you round the corner, happily licking at a stranger’s face as she sat between his legs, and-

Holy shit, your dog led you to the most attractive man you’ve ever seen.

The stranger took note of you before you had a chance to say anything, and he raised his brow at you while angling his face away from Hazel’s kisses. “Does this belong to you?” he asked, pinching the tags on Hazel’s collar between his thumb and two fingers. “Hazelnut Mocha.” He snorted. “Is that your dog’s name or your Starbucks order?”

You weren’t sure if it was the amused smile that curled his lips or the quirk of his brow, but his teasing made you feel personally attacked. You crossed your arms across your chest. “Maybe it’s both.”

He shrugged, scratching the spot behind Hazel’s ear. “I suppose that’s one way to never forget your dog’s name or your coffee order.”

You hummed noncommittally before approaching and tugging Hazel away from the handsome stranger. It took considerably more effort than you had thought it would. “I’m really sorry about her,” you apologized. “She’s never like this. I don’t really know what happened.”

He brushed your apology off with a smile. “Don’t worry about it. If a cute girl wants to give me kisses, I certainly won’t complain.” He winked at you, and you wanted to just melt on the spot.

“Well, uh, I should, um-” You cleared your throat, stepping away and dragging a disappointed Hazel along with you. “Again, I’m really sorry. Even if you didn’t mind.”

You turned and hurried away before his smile made your mind any more frazzled.

Two weeks passed before you decided to show your face at the park again, and this time, you were sure to secure Hazel’s leash to your bench, ensuring that there would be no chases across the park and embarrassing encounters with handsome strangers.

The pup resigned herself to her fate and laid at your feet in the grass, her tongue lolling out of her mouth and her golden eyes shining in the sunlight. She greeted the other dogs that passed, and you thought nothing of it until you heard someone call her name.

Well, shit. You knew that voice. That voice had haunted your dreams for three nights straight after the incident two weeks ago.

“How have you been, pretty girl?” he asked, and you hesitantly lifted your gaze from your book to see him knelt in front of you, patting Hazel’s head as she yipped happily and dragged her tongue over his face in sloppy kisses.

Despite your proclivity to stare at handsome men that showered your dog with attention, your eyes were dragged away from the pair when a wet nose nudged your leg. “Well hello there,” you greeted the brown and white dog that sought your attention. You quickly marked your page and returned your book to your bag before petting your newest furry companion. “What’s your name, handsome?”

“Bucky,” the stranger answered.

You glanced up at him briefly before turning your attention back to the brown and white dog. “Aren’t you a handsome boy, Bucky. Yes, you’re so handsome,” you cooed. The stranger chuckled, and you glanced up expecting to see Hazel mauling him with more sloppy kisses, but instead, he was staring at you, amusement dancing in his blue eyes. “What?”

“I’m Bucky,” he clarified before nodding towards the dog. “That’s Dodger.”

“And you just assumed that I was talking about you when I called him handsome?”

And in complete contrast to how he had acted in your previous interaction, he actually looked embarrassed, nervously scratching the back of his neck while fending off even more kisses from Hazel. “I seem like a complete asshole, don’t I?” he asked sheepishly.

You laughed. “Well, I mean… Don’t let this go to your head or anything, but I suppose you are kind of handsome, too. You know, in a handsome stranger kind of way.” You felt your cheeks flood with warmth, and you averted your gaze, hoping he didn’t see just how flustered you were after your admission. You tried to breeze past it altogether by giving all of your attention to Dodger once again, petting him and praising him for being such a sweet boy.

After a moment of you and Bucky speaking only to each other’s dogs, you cleared your throat and commented, “I didn’t realize you had a dog. Was he at the park with you the day that Hazel practically assaulted you?”

“He’s not my dog.”

You blinked. “Oh. Is he your girlfriend’s dog?”

And just like that, all hints of embarrassment disappeared from his face. He quirked a brow and smirked at you. “My girlfriend?”

“Or boyfriend,” you added hastily.

He snorted and shook his head. “It depends on who you ask.”

You cocked your head to the side, and the action conjured up an image of Hazel doing the same whenever you would try to hold an actual conversation with her. “Uh, what?”

His gaze flitted to the ground as he smiled an amused little smile that had you biting your lip and shamelessly staring at the man. “It’s a bit of a joke among my friends,” he began. “Dodger is my buddy Steve’s dog. Some of our friends like to make it seem like we’re dating, but we definitely aren’t. We just know each other way too well.” His smile widened when he looked back up at you. “So to answer the question that you indirectly asked-”

You furrowed your brows in confusion. “What?”

“-I’m single, sweetheart.”

You gaped at him, trying to form an appropriate response. This man was frustrating - frustratingly handsome, frustratingly smug, frustratingly able to read you like a goddamn open book. How dare he correctly assume you were trying to figure out if he was single or not?

The sound of a phone ringing interrupted your thought process, and Bucky gave you an apologetic look after glancing down at his phone. “I gotta take this,” he told you. You heard him greet the other person on the other end of the call before calling for Dodger. As he turned to go, he paused for a moment, pressed the phone against the front of his shirt to muffle the receiver, and called over his shoulder. “See you around, Hazel and Hazel’s mom.”

Right. You never gave him your name.

You were cursing yourself for nearly a month for not getting his phone number before he disappeared, and you’d be lying if you didn’t admit that you had a smidge of hope that you’d run into him at the park again... But alas, no luck.

You were starting to think that you’d never see your handsome park stranger - although, he wasn’t really a stranger anymore, was he? - but exactly 37 days after your last encounter with Bucky (aka handsome park stranger), Hazel brought you back together in the most heart attack inducing way she could manage.

You’d been sitting on the patio of your favorite little cafe, catching up with Carol and Val over coffee and fluffy pastries, and Hazel had been behaving herself aside from the occasionally whining and begging when any of you would touch your food.

She was behaving until she wasn’t.

You still don’t really know what set her off, but one moment she was sitting prettily and staring up at you with her golden eyes and the next she was breaking free from her leash and sprinting down the street and out of your sight.

You posted on social media asking everyone to be on the lookout for your Hazel and called your friends to help you search for her. You spent hours walking up and down the city streets and through the park that you frequented with Hazel. You called all of the shelters and animal control to see if anyone had brought Hazel to them instead of calling you. You talked to anyone and everyone that you passed on the street, asking if they’d seen your girl.

You tried so much to get your girl back, but nothing panned out.

You were in tears and your feet were sore from walking all over the goddamn city by the time you and the others returned to your apartment, resigned to wait for someone to contact you. Just as you were about to say goodnight to everyone and turn in for the night (read: cry yourself to sleep), your phone rang, and an unfamiliar number flashed across the screen. You shushed your friends and answered the phone.

Please be someone who found Hazel. Please be someone who found Hazel. Please be someone who found Hazel.

“Hey, sweetheart.” Your heart leapt into your throat at the sound of his voice, and for a moment you forgot that you had just been on the verge of a panic attack. “Take a deep breath for me, okay. I can practically feel you panicking through the phone. I have Hazel. She’s okay.”

“Thank you,” you breathed, nodding at your friends in response to their questioning looks. “Thank you so much, Bucky. Is she okay? Where did you find her? Should I meet you somewhere?”

He chuckled. “She’s fine. A little dirty, but she’s fine. As for where I found here...Well, I think your dog has a little crush on me, sweetheart.”

You grabbed your jacket from the coat rack and slipped it on before grabbing your keys. “What does that mean?”

“I came home and found her wandering around the courtyard at my apartment.” He sounded far too amused with the situation, and you definitely weren’t feeling up to dealing with his smug attitude. “She certainly made herself at home here. I may need to fight for shared custody after this.”

You rolled your eyes. “Just tell me where I should meet you.”

“I’ll send you my address.”

And just as he had told you, as soon as you ended the call, he shared his location with you. You swiftly assured Carol and Val that Hazel was okay, and you asked them to lock up when they left before beginning your walk to Bucky’s apartment.

Ten minutes later, you were sat on the floor of his living room, holding Hazel close to you and alternating between scolding her and telling her how much you love her as you tried to hold your tears at bay. Bucky sat on the couch, arms rested on his knees as he watched the teary-eyed reunion with a small smile curling his lips.

“You know, sweetheart,” he spoke up, drawing your attention away from Hazel, and you finally noticed the muddy paw prints on the front of his white tee. “I’m not much of a dog-person but-”

You gasped, covering Hazel’s floppy ears. “How dare you say such nonsense in front of Hazel!” You pressed a kiss between her eyes, whispering, “It’s okay, girl. Bucky didn’t mean it.”

“I did,” he countered, chuckling when you glared at him. “I’m more of a cat-person, but I suppose I can make an exception for Hazel. After all, she seems pretty attached to me. Not that I can blame her.”

You snorted and rolled your eyes. “She has awful taste in men,” you teased.

“I don’t know,” he argued. “People say that dogs are impeccable judges of character.”

You stood, dusting your jeans off and turned to face Bucky. “Thank you,” you told him, the sincerity clear in your voice. “I don’t know what I would have done if I couldn’t find her. I- I seriously owe you. Whatever you want, just name it.”

His blue eyes twinkled with mischief, and you immediately regretted your offer. “What about shared custody of Hazel?”

“Whatever you want that’s not that, just name it,” you amended.

“What about a date?” he asked instead.

Your eyes widened in surprise and you gaped like a fish, mouth opening and closing, opening and closing, over and over again as you tried to form a response. You certainly hadn’t been expecting that. He watched you with curious eyes, waiting patiently for your answer. Finally, the gears in your brain began to turn again and you answered, “As flattered as I am, I’m not really looking to date right now.”

Disappointment flashed across his features, but he smiled and all trace of disappointment was gone in an instant. “Don’t worry about it, sweetheart. You don’t owe me anything for being a decent person and making sure Hazel got back to you.”

You smiled softly at him, your fingers carding through Hazel’s fur. “Thank you, Bucky. Really.”

“You’re welcome, sweetheart.”

After that night - and after you and Bucky officially had each other’s numbers - you and he would text throughout the week, and you often sent him pictures of Hazel being increasingly goofy as the days wore on. You’d even invited him to the park one Sunday to see Hazel again, but he’d quickly turned you down, asking for a rain check.

He had a date, after all.

So instead, you took Hazel to the park and sent him pictures of the pretty pup lounging in the sunshine, greeting other dogs that passed by, and even licking the camera lens on your phone when she finally noticed you holding your phone out towards her to get the perfect angle. A smile never failed to appear on your face every time he sent a heart eyes meme in response.

Despite the near constant texting, you didn’t see Bucky again for over three weeks, and you’d only seen him because you had run into his friend Steve at the dog park.

It took a moment for you to realize that the brown and white dog that Hazel had instantly greeted once she’d been released from her leash was Dodger, but as soon as the realization sunk in, you looked around for Bucky.

There weren’t many people present, but you couldn’t find Bucky among the dog parents that lingered around the edges of the dog park.

You crouched down to greet Dodger, scratching him behind the ears and happily accepting his greeting kisses. “Hello, handsome. Is your uncle Bucky here?”

“Y/N?”

You turned your head in the direction of the voice, and you furrowed your brows when you saw a tall blond man that you didn’t recognize. Holy shit, was Hazel a handsome stranger magnet? “Do I know you?” you asked, doing your absolute best to keep your voice steady.

“Right, sorry,” he laughed. “I’m Steve. Bucky’s mentioned you a few times.”

You put two and two together quickly. “You’re Dodger’s dad!”

You spent the better part of the next hour chatting with Steve as Dodger and Hazel chased one another around the enclosed area, and you sent a picture of you and Steve to Bucky, happily claiming that Steve was telling you all of Bucky’s most embarrassing stories. (Bucky had sent a text to Steve within seconds of reading your text, but Steve refused to tell you what Bucky had said all while laughing so hard he nearly cried).

By the time Hazel and Dodger were laying at yours and Steve’s feet, panting and entirely worn out from an afternoon of playing, you were ready to say your goodbyes, but Steve quickly caught your attention before you could go.

“I’m meeting Bucky and a few other friends at the bar in about an hour. Would you be interested in getting a drink?” he asked, smiling so widely at you that you just couldn’t say no.

And that was how, after dropping Hazel off at home and making sure she was fed and had a full bowl of water, you found yourself at a sports bar, slinking through the Friday night crowd towards a table in the back.

You spotted Bucky immediately, and you smiled widely when his eyes widened and he choked on his beer before promptly standing to greet you. “What are you doing here, sweetheart?”

“Sweetheart?” you heard one of the men you didn’t recognize ask the others.

“Y/N,” Steve explained, and as if that was all they needed to know, the other two nodded. Steve smiled up at you, greeting, “Glad you found the place okay.”

Bucky quickly ushered you into the booth, sticking you between him and the only other woman present. As he introduced you to the others - Clint, Sam, and Nat - his arm snaked around your shoulders casually.

“So you’re the famous Y/N,” Sam asked, a teasing smile on his face as his gaze flitted from you to Bucky, and Bucky groaned in response.

You chuckled. “I wouldn’t necessarily say ‘famous’.”

“Oh, trust me,” Sam said, “as much as this guy talks about you, I’d say you’re pretty damn famous in our circle.”

You glanced at Bucky, biting your lip in a futile attempt to hide your amused smile. “Is that right?”

He huffed. “Hazel’s the real famous one, sweetheart.”

“Liar,” Nat accused. She turned to you, one perfectly shaped brow raising. “For weeks, it was Hazel’s mom this and Hazel’s mom that, and after that it was Y/N sent me this picture and Y/N told me this joke. I feel like I already know you, and I just met you.”

“So how’s Hazel?” Bucky asked in a clear attempt to change the topic. “Did she have a fun day with Dodger?”

You spent your evening getting to know Bucky’s friends better, sharing stories about Hazel, and listening intently anytime one of them told you a story about Bucky that had your sides aching from laughter. At the end of the evening, you had four new contacts in your phone and plans to meet up with Nat for lunch the following week.

“Need me to walk you home, sweetheart?” Bucky asked when you walked out together, but you shook your head.

“Nah.” You held up your phone, showing him the screen. “I got an Uber.”

He shoved his hands in his pockets, nodding. “Okay. Text me when you get home?”

“Of course.” A red Toyota Camry pulled up to the curb, and after confirming it was the car that was supposed to pick you up, you stepped towards it. Ever the gentleman, Bucky opened the door for you, and you slid into the backseat. “Good night, Bucky.”

It was while you laid in bed that night, unable to sleep while Hazel snored beside you, that you realized that the handsome park stranger - the one that was more of a cat-person but would make an exception for Hazel; the one that was dating Steve depending on who you asked; the one that was constantly talking about you to his friends so much that they felt like they already knew you - had wormed his way into your heart.

Did that make Hazel your wing-woman? She certainly did have a proclivity for bringing you and Bucky together, even in indirect ways.

He was on your mind all night and throughout the following day, and by the time your customary trip to the park rolled around on Sunday afternoon, you were buzzing with anticipation. Would he be there again? Would Hazel inexplicably get loose from her leash and lead you straight to the man that had you feeling like a teenager with a crush again?

As romantic as it might have been, you didn’t want to leave those answers up to fate. Instead, you sent him a text not long after you woke up, letting him know where he could find you if he wanted to see Hazel that afternoon.

Unsurprisingly, it was Hazel that saw Bucky first that afternoon when he arrived at the park, and unsurprisingly, she tore her leash from your grip and sprinted towards him, nearly tackling him as he crouched closer to the ground to greet her.

Surprisingly, you were actually jealous of your dog as you watched her give him sloppy, wet kisses.

“What’s that look for, sweetheart?” Bucky asked, angling his face away from Hazel. “Everything okay?”

“Quick question,” you told him. “Is that date still on the table?”

He grinned at you with that smug grin that you had scoffed at the day you first met, that same smug grin that made your heart flutter in your chest and made your breath catch in your throat and made you want to press kisses to his face and-

“I was wondering when you’d take me up on the offer, sweetheart.”

443 notes · View notes

darkorderaf · 3 years ago

Note

Can I request kiss prompt 16 with mjf set when the inner circle was in Vegas?

Oh, this is a very fun idea. This is a nice little cocktail of shitlord!Max and soft!Max. I took some creative liberties with their time in Vegas. Thank you so much for sending, I hope you like it!! <3

Pairing: MJF x OFC. Prompts: A kiss that isn’t meant to happen but it does anyway. Rating: T. Warnings/Content: Angst and fluff! Some drinking. Word Count: 2,633.

(I don’t own gif; credit to cowboyshit!)

“Un-fucking-believable.”

“Believe it.”

“I hate him.”

“I know.”

“Like, a lot. I deadass hate the dude.”

“I know, Sammy.”

She let out a long-suffering sigh and set her hands against the bartop. From the first proposal of the Inner Circle going to Vegas, Sammy complained. It hadn’t gotten any better now that they were actually in the city. The situation wasn’t great but it was what Jericho wanted and which of them was going to tell them no? At least Wardlow seemed decent enough. He didn’t talk much and hell, that was all she could ask for. She could use less talking lately.

“Sammy, he’s not going anywhere,” she said. Her hand curled tight around her glass. “We might as well just enjoy what we can, alright?”

Sammy frowned and folded his arms as he leaned against the table. Her words seemed to help for the time being. Satisfied that they had, she threw her drink back and rubbed at her temples. They had been away from the table too long and she could already feel her phone vibrating. She clapped Sammy reassuringly on the back and the two made their way back to the blackjack table.

“C’mon, Spanish God. It’s just one night. We’ll be fine.”

---

When the boys drank, they drank. Shot after shot after shot. She had to admit that she was impressed. MJF held his own with Jericho but he was feeling it and she could tell. They stayed longer at the place with the dancing girls that she forgot the name of but she didn’t mind that. It gave her some time to think to herself, appreciate the show from afar unbothered.

“You don’t belong here.”

Or not. She mentally prepared herself with a few deep breaths before she turned around. There he was, in his purple pastel suit glory. In MJF’s endeavor to earn the trust of the Inner Circle, he had been persistent with all of them. She tried not to notice that closely behind Jericho, she was the one he seemed to flock to most. The corner of the club she sat in was away from the red light that covered the rest. The fluorescents overhead made it easier to see the warm flush to his face that the booze brough on, the slight shadows under his eyes. She didn’t know where those came from. He leaned against the bar and took a long drink. She eyed him.

Was he getting enough sleep?

Better question, why was she worried about MJF?

Wait, what did he just say?

“Hi,” she said as she idly swirled the straw in her drink. She jutted her chin at the girls. “Care to explain what you mean by that? I think the club’s fine and the girls are putting on a hell of a show. I like it here.”

He shook his head, clearly frustrated.

“That’s,” he paused and sighed. “That’s not what I meant. You don’t belong here. With the Inner Circle. With them. With Jericho.”

Her eyes flashed and she sat up straight. Narrowed eyes met his and the muscle in his jaw worked. If he was frustrated, she felt it tenfold.

“Oh? And you do?”

“Please, just give me a second and listen to me.”

MJF wasn’t someone that struggled to communicate how he felt or what was on his mind. As far as she knew. Then again, how much did she really know him? She gestured for him to sit in the stool beside her and he took it. He undid the top button of his suit and ran a hand through his hair. He looked borderline unkempt. Vulnerable, even. Her spine softened and she slowly sipped at her drink.

“You’re--” He held onto his drink, sucked in his bottom lip, then ran his tongue along it. “You’re too good for them. I’m up here--obviously--you’re here, and then they’re down there. Do you see what I mean?”

He explained with one hand low and the other above his head. He placed himself higher than her by a slim margin. She didn’t know what to make of the fact that he leaned down to really exaggerate it. The backhanded compliment made heat creep up her neck, her face. She didn’t see herself better than the others of the Inner Circle but there were times where she wondered about going on her own. Even just for a little while. She kept to herself more lately, telling the guys it was fine if they didn’t accompany her to her matches. It would make it easier when she did decide to leave.

If she did.

“Wow,” she said, her brows lifted and her tongue pressed up against the sharp edges of her teeth. “You really know how to compliment a girl, Friedman. If you want a show, it’s over there. I’m not doing this with you.”

She turned away, effectively shutting off the conversation. Her spine straightened again and she caged her drink in with her forearms. MJF didn’t move from his spot beside her. Clearly, he had something on his mind. Max dropped his forehead into his hand then straightened himself back up.

“Max.”

“What?”

“Can you call me Max?”

That made her pause, her brows slightly furrowed. His voice was so soft she barely heard it. Jesus, she didn’t know what to make of this man. This infuriating man that insulted every person she knew and yet, could always be found in the audience during her matches. Who always checked on her in his own weird, emotionally bizarre way.

‘At least you didn’t embarrass yourself.’

‘Well, she looks worse but yeesh, that’s not saying much.’

And then the odd, ‘How are you?’ But that one seemed to make him more uncomfortable than any other compliment veiled with an insult. That one seemed genuine, a removal of some mask, and he never stayed long after she fumbled an answer.

She eyed him carefully on the stool beside her.

“Alright, Max,” she said and the sound of his name brought this strange, hopeful look to his face that caught her off guard. She was so used to it in a sneer, a Cheshire grin. “Come on, let’s get some air.”

She jerked her thumb towards the exit and threw back the rest of her strong drink. Although she hadn’t had as much as the boys, she felt warm and bubbly. Even with MJF, Max, at her side as they walked out into the night air, his hand a vague sensation at the small of her back as he let her go first. Her phone vibrated and she checked it.

Sammy G. - lmk if you need help hiding body xoxo

She rolled her eyes and slid her phone back into the pocket of her dress. Max kept a small distance from her as they walked and he did the same when she found somewhere to sit. She hadn’t banked on it being cold. Goosebumps slid up the exposed skin of her arms. Wordlessly, Max offered her his scarf.

“...Thanks,” she said. “What’s all this about, Ma--”

“You don’t like me.”

His statement cut her off and she cocked her head. She played with the ends of his scarf where it draped over her shoulders. It smelled like him and something sweet.

“It’s more complicated than that,” she offered. The conversation hadn’t initially been about them but with the way her brain lingered on it and how his statement didn’t sit well with her, she shifted it further that way. “You’re not the easiest person to be around. At all. Half the time I don’t know if you’re trying to be nice or if you’re just waiting for me to fall.”

“I’ve seen you fall. More than they have, in fact.”

She shot him a look. He wasn’t wrong. Jericho made a big show of how strong the bonds in the Inner Circle were and yet... Guilt knocked at her skull and she ignored it.

“Max,” she got his attention, his warm eyes on her and his knees angled towards her. Part of the reason she wanted to get away from the others was to get some air, that was true. The other part? To see who she was talking to. Max or MJF. “For once, can you just say what you mean and not be a complete dick about it?”

His jaw worked at that and his hands switched which one was on top quite a few times. Worry overtook her when he looked like he might be sick. Or like he was in pain.

“I like you. Alright? Even though I don’t want to and God knows I’ve tried not to, I do. I think about you literally all the time and it’s awful.”

Her shoulders dropped with disappointment and she shook her head with disbelief. He couldn’t just stop while he was ahead.

“Jesus,” she said, her voice a low and bitter sound. She slipped his scarf off and handed it back to him. “That must be so fucking terrible for you. My condolences, MJF.”

He was strangely silent as they walked back but that changed as soon as they were back in the company of the boys. Loudmouth, smug MJF was back and she receded back to the edges. Sammy approached her and demanded to know what happened, Ortiz as well. She kept it simple. They talked, that was all. The two men seemed to accept that that was all she would give them for the time being.

She had too much to think about and not enough drink in her glass.

---

The next pub they went to felt more up her alley and she sat at the end of the bar, away from the pissing contest between the others. Her sour mood had lifted some, thanks to Jameson and the friendly bartender. She could feel Max’s eyes on her but she paid no attention. She wanted to drink, she wanted to take a long bath, and then she wanted to go to bed. Something simple and not at all complicated like what her heart was feeling.

“Seriously, what did he say to you?”

“That’s between us, Ortiz,” she said for the third time to the man beside her. “It’s really not something I want to talk about.”

“Man, you’re holding out on us,” Sammy cut in from her other side. “Did he say something embarrassing? Please tell me it was embarrassing. It was totally embarrassing, right? Give us the dirt, sister.”

In some ways, she supposed it was embarrassing. Her jaw clenched.

“Is the hotel far from here?”

Ortiz blinked at her.

“No, not really, why?”

“I think I’m done for the night,” she said as she slapped a twenty on the bar and pushed back from it. “I’m getting tired.”

The two men seemed shocked and appalled by such a statement.

“Woah, you serious?”

“Mhm,” she vocalized. “You boys have fun, okay?”

“One of us will go with y--”

“I’ll go with her,” Max suddenly said, his hands in his pockets as he sauntered up to the trio. “You two stay here, huh? Keep an eye on the old man over there.”

Ortiz looked at Sammy, who looked at her, who looked at Max. He was too busy staring the other two down to notice how hard she looked at him.

“Fine,” she said carefully. “It won’t take long.”

She rushed out the door and Max was quick to follow her. That hardened expression of his faded and there was Max again, soft and vulnerable and infuriating. Frustrated tears pricked her eyes and she hated it.

“Slow down,” he called to her. “I didn’t say any of that right, alright? That was a shitshow in word form and I can do better than that because, I mean, I’m me. If I fuck it up again, just slap me and we’ll be done with the whole thing.”

He caught up to her in long strides and gently encircled her wrist with one of his hands. She stopped with a harsh breath in and turned back to look at him, her fists clenched at her sides. He let go of her wrist and guided her to the side, away into one of the alleys of Las Vegas. Maybe Max was serious if he was so willing to stand next to garbage.

“I like you,” he tried again as he stood in front of her. “I think about you a lot and when I think about you, I go looking for you. I don’t even know what I’m going to say half the time when I do, alright? I just go and hope for the best. I don’t do that. Any of that. I don’t like people and I don’t hope for the best for...for anything. For anyone. But then there’s you and I do and it’s weird but I don’t hate it and I don’t hate you. That’s the thing! I. Don’t. Hate. You.”

His hands hovered by her shoulders, his eyes imploring her to listen to what he was saying. What was that one line? The one about how wonderful, how strange it was to be liked by something that hates all else? She couldn’t wrap her head around it but she knew she wasn’t angry anymore. Bewildered and breathless and taken aback and unquestionably warm. That’s what she was. Her silence compelled him to step away and she reached out for him. Giggling grew louder on the sidewalk outside the alleyway. They stared at each other, both waiting for something to happen.

“Max, I don’t know…”

She trailed and it didn’t matter that she didn’t know what to say. Anything she could have said was silenced by Max’s lips on hers, his hands on the wall to brace himself. She leaned up into him, her eyes on his and both just as confused. A giggling couple disappeared down the alley and they must have knocked against Max. His hands dropped from the wall to her shoulders and when he went to pull away, she slipped her arms around him and pulled him in. Their stagnant lips began to move and she could taste what it was that smelled so sweet. He could taste the burn of Jameson on her tongue. Their eyes fell shut and they dove into each other.

The tentative way he kissed her melted like sugar to absinthe. His tongue met hers, her teeth nipped at his lips. Not enough to hurt but enough to get his attention. His hands slid from her shoulders to her waist then finally they came to a stop at her hips. He kissed her hard and she met him on even ground, her fingers curled in tight against his broad back. A sound of disgust from him broke them apart and that scowl of his was back on his face. He breathed hard against the skin of her neck.

“Absolutely not,” he said with a borderline growl as he lifted his head and stared down the alley. “We are not making out in a filthy, scum-filled alleyway. I get that this is Vegas and it’s the bottom of the barrel but there is still a thing called standards.”

His hand slid into hers to lead her away and after a second, she laced her fingers with his. She didn’t know what they were or where the hell they would be when the weekend was over and they left this moment. They could figure it out. He looked at her from the corner of his eye and smiled at her. Not a shit-eating one, not a standing-over-your-fallen-enemy one. It was just a simple one, meant for her, and it made her hope that it wasn’t true what they said about Las Vegas. Just this once.

#mjf fanfiction #mjf imagine #mjf fic #aew imagine #aew fic #aew fanfiction #wrestling fic #wrestling imagine #maxwell jacob friedman imagine

154 notes · View notes

iliveiloveiwrite · 4 years ago

Text

an artist’s eye // Benedict Bridgerton

Summary: Benedict Bridgerton was an artist, even if his inspiration had no idea of what he feels.

A/N: I promise to slow down with the fics! I go back to work in a couple of days anyway so I’ll definitely slow down. I hope you all like! It’s shorter than my last few fics so I’m sorry for that!! My taglist is open so if you’d like to be on it, let me know and I am considering opening my requests for Bridgerton fics... considering.

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x Fem!Reader

Warnings: mentions of food and drink, pining, mutual pining, sketching, art, drawing (I am not an artist, I cannot draw a stick man so I apologise in advance), kissing.

Word count: 1.8k

The graphite point sits heavy in his hand as Benedict struggles to remember the lines he needs. With only his memory to aid him, Benedict struggled more with the portraits he preferred to draw than the landscapes that were growing increasingly popular among the highest of London society.

Sighing, Benedict presses his fingers to his eyes as if it will help jumpstart his memory to bring forward the correct image he needs. He regrets the action as quick as he had done it when he thinks of the mixture of graphite and charcoal coating his fingers.

Rubbing his face with the sleeve of his shirt, he feels a moment of pity for the servants who would no doubt grumble and complain at the state of it. However, as he glances down at the sketch – the arch of his subject’s smile, the depths of their eyes – he cannot bring himself to care too much.

It wouldn’t see the light of day. Once complete, the sketchbook would be tucked away in the drawer in his desk. If it was to fall into the wrong hands, then as much as he is confident of his artistic talent, he would not recover from the fallout. Benedict worries for the day that the look in your eyes changes; once you realise the extent of his feelings for you.

He hadn’t meant to fall in love with you, but he had. There were a lot of things in Benedict’s life that he hadn’t meant to do and has regretted completing such an action once done. However, he cannot find it in himself to feel bad about falling in love with you even when he had not meant to.

As much as he puts on airs and graces, he would not approach you with his feelings. He wasn’t ready though you made his heart sing like no other.

One day, he tells himself as he finally remembers the swoop of your neckline. One day he will tell you as he picks up his graphite point and charcoal once more.

Not yet, however.

------------

The drawing room remains quiet as Benedict silently adds to his sketch collection. His mother sits across the room, content with a stitching pattern for the arrival of Daphne’s new baby. Eloise lounges on the couch, a book in her hand and a box of chocolates on her stomach, eyes pouring over the pages hungrily.

The only sound in the room is the roughness of his pencil on the paper. It didn’t matter what angle he approached this drawing at, he could not get it to look right. It was going to vex him until he had bested it.

“Miss (Y/N) (Y/L/N) has arrived,” The Butler announces to which Benedict suddenly sits up straighter, closing his sketchbook, leaving it on the table.

“Wonderful,” Violet Bridgerton smiles, “Show them up, please.”

“I didn’t know (Y/N) was calling today,” Benedict comments lightly as the Butler disappears from the room, trying to sound as if his heart isn’t currently pounding in his chest.

“(Y/N) always calls on a Thursday,” Eloise states, voice puzzled. She shares a look of confusion with her mother when Benedict suddenly stands, announcing to them both, “I shall clean myself up a bit, make myself look presentable for our guest.”

The look of confusion soon turns into one of understanding as both women watch their son and brother dash from the room. As if at the same time, a smile crosses both their faces when they realise that their beloved son and brother has fallen in love and with a dear friend of the family too.

They do not get to discuss the topic, however, for you are shown to the drawing room, greeting both women with a large smile and buoyant conversation.

“Help yourself to tea and biscuits, dear,” Violet invites, gesturing to the tea service now being laid on the table. Your stomach rumbles at the sight of the biscuits, unable to turn down the buttery goodness.

“Thank you,” You reply, taking a seat at the table, reaching for a biscuit and the teapot.

It’s then that you see it. A leatherbound book left on the other side of the table, barely hidden by the cake stand of treats.

Curiosity being your besetting sin, you reach for the leatherbound book on the table and begin to flick through the pages. A sketch of a pair of hands at the beginning; they hold a single flower – a rose, though what colour is impossible to tell since the sketch remains firmly in shades of greys and blacks. Enraptured, you turn the page to find a detailed image of a parasol, still sketched in the same greys and blacks as the previous picture. The artist has captured the lace trimming perfectly. The longer you stare at it, you come to realise that the parasol is being held by someone, but it isn’t clear who.

It isn’t until you reach a sketch of your side portrait that you come to realise that the previous sketches – the hands, the parasol with just a hint of a shadow under it – they’re of you.

They’re all of you. Each stunning sketch is of you.

Your breath quickens in your chest when you see who the sketchbook belongs to; when you spy the initials written on the inside sleeve of the front cover. ‘B.B.’ written in his elegant script – an artist in every aspect of his life. Whilst you had observed that Benedict sometimes appeared with smudges to his fingers and paint stains on the cuffs of his tailored white shirt, you had never seen a sketch or a painting until now. He truly had a gift; a talent worthy of being displayed in Somerset House.

You hadn’t been aware of his feelings for you though, but you would not be the first to admit that you found yourself attracted to the Bridgerton. Taught at a young age, you knew it was not wise to share such feelings with others. Instead, you dampened them down, hiding them away where they grew unattended – they rooted in your heart, making it very difficult to find another love worthy.

Bringing a hand to your mouth, you hide your smile, not wanting to give too much away to ever observant Bridgerton matriarch. You turn page after page, letting yourself fall deeper into your feelings for Benedict now that you find there is hope of them being requited.

------------

Benedict’s breath leaves his body in one fell swoop when he returns to the drawing room and he realises exactly what you hold in your hand. He hadn’t moved it upon your announcement; he thought he had, but instead, like a fool, he left it sitting there on the table.

A fool. He was a fool. How quick, Benedict thinks to himself, how quick a life can change – mere minutes he had been gone and now he was to have his love for you outed.

You haven’t noticed his presence yet, and for that Benedict is thankful. It gives him time to come up with something – anything – to explain the numerous sketches of you. His mind is running too fast; he cannot come up with a thought good enough to excuse the sketches in his book. His heart continues to pound in his chest; it had not slowed down since your announcement though at this point it reminds him that is, indeed, alive and not suffering from a night terror.

As if finally sensing the extra person in the room, you glance up. Your eyes meeting the deep blue of Benedict’s, and you freeze in your spot. Violet and Eloise glance between the two of you. Violet, not one to usually ignore tradition, hurries her daughter from the room – knowing the conversation that was about to take place.

“I’m sorry,” You whisper at the click of the door shutting. You close the sketchbook, placing it on the table as far away from you as possible to keep your temptation at bay.

“I think I should be the one apologising,” Benedict confesses, taking one more step into the room. He tucks his hands behind his back, ever the picture of grace and elegance as he thinks of how long he has left without before your opinion of him changes forever – artistic talent or not.

“I knew you were an artist; I had seen the smudges on your hands, but I didn’t think…”

“What?”

“I didn’t think you were drawing me.”

“Surely you know?” He asks, voice loud in the quiet room. When you remain silent, he continues, “Surely you know of my feelings for you?”

You shake your head, eyes glancing between the taller Bridgerton and the leatherbound sketchbook lying on the table. “I didn’t know,” You whisper, voice breaking as you take in the distraught look on his face.

“Well,” Benedict murmurs, clearing his throat, “You know of them now.”

“I do,” You murmur,

“I hope I haven’t offended you,” Benedict remarks, “Those sketches were not meant to be seen by anyone else.”

“Only if I haven’t offended you by looking through them.”

Benedict shakes his head, “You could never offend me.”

“Then I am not offended either. I’m quite flattered, you’re very talented.”

“Thank you,” Benedict says graciously, nodding his head slightly.

“You need to know that your feelings are returned, Benedict,” You declare suddenly and plainly, displaying your feelings for all to see.

“They are?” Benedict asks, voice awed as if he didn’t take into account this reaction.

“They are,” You state firmly, meeting his gaze proudly as if you could ever be ashamed of your feelings for the brunette.

Benedict stalks across the room; tradition and etiquette be damned as he reaches for your hand to pull you from your chair. His hands settle on your waist as you tilt your head back to look at him. A silent question reflects in his eyes to which you answer with a nod of your head.

His hands move from your waist to cradle your face as he dips down, pressing his lips to yours. It isn’t hurried; it’s perfect as Benedict takes control of the kiss, groaning softly at the feel of your mouth and your body pressed against him. You smile into the kiss as your arms wrap around Benedict’s neck, pulling him ever closer to you.

Benedict’s mouth brushes against yours as he asks, “Would you like to accompany me to Lady Danbury’s ball next week?”

“As in you would court me?”

Benedict chuckles softly, “Yes. I would like to court you, is that okay?”

“More than okay,” You smile before pressing a kiss to the corner of Benedict’s mouth and stepping away.

Turning back to the sketchbook, you open it to image that had kickstarted your heart into an irregular rhythm. Benedict stands by your side as your eyes pour over his sketch; each line and angle, each section of shading. “You truly have an artist’s eye,” You say quietly, tangling your hands together.

“Thank you,” Benedict whispers, bringing your entwined hands up to his mouth whereupon he lays a gentle kiss to the back of your gloved hand.

“Will you show me more?” You ask, turning to face the man that had turned you into a work of art.

“Darling, I’ll show you them all.”

***********

Bridgerton Taglist: @heloisedaphnebrightmore @dreaming-about-fanfictions @now-its-time-for-a-breakdown @janelongxox @aspiringsloth20 @wallwriterstuff @magicalxdaydream

#benedict bridgerton #benedict bridgerton x reader #benedict x reader #benedict bridgerton fanfiction #benedict bridgerton imagines #bridgerton fanfiction #bridgerton #bridgerton imagines

729 notes · View notes

xcrystalzero · 4 years ago

Text

to understand you

pairing: xiao x gn!reader

summary: as far as you know, xiao hates humans. so why is he offering to come to liyue harbor with you?

note: listen to this, then read plz! warning, these are leaks so don't listen to it or read this fic if you don't want to be spoiled for coming content!

"If you have free time, we can go to Liyue Harbor together."

Never in your life did you think that you would hear those words coming from Xiao. He had been warming up to you in the months that had passed since you had met, enough so that he would actually stick around after the missions you went on together for lunch or just to rest instead of immediately disappearing as he had in the past. He even talked to you now, about things that weren't conquering demons or karmic debt!

Baby steps, you had thought, just happy to able to share his company for some time. So this was a bit out of left field. Of course, that didn't mean that you would treat such a suggestion lightly! The light dusting of pink on his cheeks and the way he wouldn't meet your gaze told you that it must have taken a lot of mustered courage for him to bring this up himself. If you refused him here, you doubted he would ever open himself to you again.

Not that you had plans to refuse him in the first place. No sane person would.

And now, the two of you stood at the edge of one of the many bridges leading into the harbor, you felt a strange giddiness come over you. Xiao was coming with you to Liyue Harbor, he was here because of you!

"So... you're doing this for me?" you had asked.

"Yes, to understand you."

If only he knew exactly how much of an effect those words had had on you.

When you glanced over at the adeptus however, you had to stiffle a giggle. Xiao was standing up stiff as a board, his eyes darting between the people meandering through the pavilion in the distance with a sort of nervous worry. As a man crossed the bridge across from the two of you, Xiao all but leapt out of his way, standing as close to the railing as you were sure was physically possible.

"Are you alright?" you asked, trying to keep the amusement out of your voice, though judging by the glint of annoyance in Xiao's gaze, you hadn't been particularly successful.

"There's... a lot more people than I thought there would be..." he muttered, eyes downcast now as though not looking at said people might somehow make them disappear.

At that, you audibly laughed, drawing the adeptus' gaze back up to you. "Well, it is a harbor! Don't worry, I doubt you'll get recognized or anything like that!"

"That's not what I'm worried about..." For a man pretending to be so cold, his eyes certainly were expressive. Was that, guilt?

"Xiao... you know that you're not going to hurt anyone just by being here right?"

Bingo. Xiao flinched slightly. "... you don't understand my debt... It is supposed to be my burden to handle and yet, with all these people here..."

A soft smile made its way onto your face as you slowly reached out, wrapping your fingers lightly around Xiao's wrist. His initial reaction was to try to pull away immediately, though when your grip remained even then, he relaxed slightly. "Xiao, you're not going to hurt these people. Think of it this way! If the one in a million happens and things do go south, I'm here to take care of things right?"

Xiao was silent and for a moment, you were sure that he was about to drop all of this and make his way immediately back to Wangshu Inn.

"... alright, I trust you."

Oh. You hoped the grin that had spread over your face covered the way your cheeks and ears were heating up like a furnace. "Alright then, let's go!" With the hand still around his wrist, you gently tugged him forward, pulling the two of you across the bridge and into Liyue Harbor.

~~~

As much as you wanted Xiao to try out Liyue Cuisine, you were a bit worried. After all, the only thing you had seen the adeptus eat was Almond Tofu, a steep departure from the spicy seafood cuisine that was served in Liyue Harbor. You brought the issue up to Xiao and his reply was a bit unexpected

"I said I wanted to learn about your world didn't I? If this is the food you are always speaking about, then I must too experience it to be able to relate to you."

As it turned out, you were correct in being worried because for all his strength as a Yaksha, Xiao had the worst spice tolerance you had ever seen. All it took was a single bite of Xiangling's signature Wanmin Restaurant Boiled Fish and he was coughing his lungs out. Were those... tears in the corner of his eyes?

"I'm so sorry Xiao, I had no idea it would be like this!" you sputtered, waving down the nearest waiter with urgency. "Could we please get a plate of Almond Tofu! And some more water!"

"I'm fine-" Xiao hacked out, evidently not okay. "Just... give me a moment..."

"I'm sorry, it's my fault! I should have given more care to your tastes!"

"I told you didn't I! I want to experience what you talk about, and if it ends like this, then that's fine as well," he managed between coughs and if he wasn't currently hacking his lungs out in front of you, you thought you might have tackled him in a hug.

When the Almond Tofu arrived, despite all this protests, Xiao seemed intensely happy and gulped it down within minutes. Eager to put the meal behind you, you paid quickly and pulled Xiao back out onto the street with you.

The next few hours were honestly a blur. There was just so much to show Xiao. Despite his initial reluctance to make conversation with the people wandering about, you found that it was actually rather easy to get him to talk. All it took was a sentence or two on your part to draw him into conversation and he would always grudgingly join in. There was often a scoff involved, or a "humans..." muttered under his breath, but at least he was talking to people!

He also didn't seem to want you two to leave. Every time you thought that you may be running out of places, he would make some innocuous remark about a landmark you had mentioned or a certain stall that you frequented that he hadn't seen so far. If you didn't know better, you'd think that he was looking for excuses for the two of you to remain in the harbor.

Not that you were complaining of course, especially since your special plan for the day hinged on you two remaining there until the sun set. Finally, it seemed as though you two had exhausted your sightseeing list, you look a seat on the steps overlooking the harbor, sitting in comfortable silence.

Despite his apparent lack of love for human food, you had managed to get him to try a certain pulled cotton candy dessert. He must have absolutely loved it because he had gone back for seconds about three times before you managed to pull him away from the stall.

"Such a sweet tooth!" you had teased, bringing a slight blush to his cheeks as he took another bite.

"... shut up it tastes... nice."

The sun had gone down a little while ago and from where you sat, you could see the edge of the wharf, as well as the activity you had been planning the entire day. Hopefully Xiao would like it... You were't sure though if it would be particularly to his taste. After all, he had refused to come to the Lan-

"Are you ready to head back now?" Xiao questioned, drawing you from your thoughts.

You shook your head, perhaps a little to enthusiastically based on the questioning look he aimed at you. "N-No not yet! There's just one more thing I think we should do before we leave!"

Xiao shrugged at that, though the way he was glancing at you out of the corner of his eye was a dead giveaway that he was at least a little interested. "Well, let's get it over with then."

Beaming over at him, you stood, making your way over to the edge of the wharf. There was a woman you had never met before standing there, a pair of glowing lanterns in her hands. As she saw you, she gave you a warm smile before extending the lanterns to you. With them in your possession, she bowed quickly and turned to leave. Xiao's curious gaze followed her as she retreated, though his attention turned back to you and your lanterns quickly.

"What are these for?" he questioned.

"They're lanterns! You weren't here during the Lantern Rite, but people release them with their loved ones! You're supposed to make wishes on them too!" Your tone is a little too peppy, but you can't help it. Not being able to get Xiao to come to the Lantern Rite had felt like a genuine failure to you, mainly because there was nothing you wanted more than to just see him happy. If he left now too...

Xiao aimed a skeptical look at you before examining his lantern. "I don't see how this contraption has the power to grant human wishes..."

You giggled at that. "It's just a tradition! Don't think about it too much, and just make a wish!"

Xiao was still staring at you rather blankly. "How do I?"

"Well, close your eyes. Then think of your wish and when you're done with that, just release the lantern!"

You closed your eyes as though to demonstrate, though they opened quickly once more to glance over at Xiao the moment you knew he was no longer looking at you.

Despite his hesitation, the adeptus went along with your instructions. With a soft sigh, he closed his eyes, holding the lantern between the palms of his hands as he angled his face up to the sky. You weren't sure if it was just you, but there was something different about him right now, but you couldn't pinpoint what it was.

"I just want you to know-" When he started talking, you almost dropped your lantern in shock. Immediately, you closed your own eyes, hoping that he hadn't noticed your staring. "I... I saw part of the Lantern Rite this year."

"Really?"

"You were speaking so highly of it, so I watched from a distance... The lanterns drifting into the sky looked so beautiful, even from far away and... and I wished that I had gone with you."

Your eyes opened on instinct as you turned back to him, mouth agape. Xiao's eyes however, remained closed as he continued to speak softly into the sky.

"Thank you, for this." The words were so soft you may have missed them if you weren't so captivated. It was then that Xiao softly let go of his lantern, finally opening his eyes to watch it drift gently up into the night sky.

You couldn't drag your gaze away from him for a moment, but when you did, you let out a soft sigh before releasing your own lantern.

"These are called Xiao Lanterns you know. They are beauty and hope and a light in the darkness. I wonder who they might be inspired by..."

If you didn't know the man next to you, you might have thought that the small sound he just let out had a hint of a laugh to it.

"Perhaps one day, you'll be able to meet him. Someone worthy of such a legacy."

As the Xiao Lanterns floated up into the heavens, the two of you sat the the edge of the pier, watching them. Eventually, you broke the silence with a soft question.

"So tell me, how did you like my world? Did you enjoy experiencing all that you've heard about?"

Xiao sighed, though the sound lacked the usual grit. "Today was certainly... interesting. I suppose humans and their strange rituals aren't always terrible..."

"You could just say you had fun you know?" you giggled as you nudged him gently, bringing a slight glare to his face as he pulled away first before taking his turn to pointedly nudge you back.

"Well, some humans are quite adept at ruining the mood..."

You laughed at that, turning your face to the sky as you basked in this moment. "That, we are!"

note: he's so precious. i just want him to be happy...

#genshin impact #genshin headcanons #genshin impact fic #genshin fic #xiao #genshin xiao #genshin impact xiao #xiao x reader

201 notes · View notes

jujutsu-headcanons · 4 years ago

Text

Gojo Satoru general headcanons

Let's get one thing clear: this man is absolutely chaotic. He is always full of energy. His energy levels never reach below 50%. He is loud and proud, always running, and never takes a minute to relax.

Do not give him Monster. Shoko did that once and it took her forever to get him off the ceiling. Also, avoid caffeine. Shoko replaces his normal coffee with decaf and he still hasn't noticed the difference. Keep it that way.

He was the class clown when he was younger. He wasn't exactly a trouble maker, but he may as well be. I cannot word that sentence and I am sorry. Next.

All of his teachers assumed he never listened in class, so they always called in him when they thought he wasn't paying attention. It still shocked them every time he rattled off the correct answer.

Not only did he answer the question correctly, but he could also explain his reasoning behind the answer, and if it was multiple choice, explain why the other answers were wrong.

This tall man child would march up to the board and absolutely fill it to the brim with work, turn around, drop the chalk-like a mic drop and walk back to his desk with the smuggest look on his face.

That doesn't mean he did the work tho

Idk how schools in japan work but we all know schools in America only care about the amount of work you do and not what you actually know so we'll use that for the sake of the headcanon: he had straight D's bc he never turned in his work

Despite not doing the work snd goofing off, teachers actually really liked him

A lot of people liked him and he was super popular, but he still felt alone

Fake friends, you know how that works, he didn't meet any real friends until he became a shaman

Clean freak. This dude actually makes his bed. He scrubs his bathroom twice a week. His desk can get cluttered but he straightens up once a week. He's not exactly a germaphobe because

He cannot respect your personal space and that's actually canon but let me take it a step further

He's a slapper. Especially when he laughs. It doesn't hurt, it's playful dw. He hugs you from behind especially when he's cold. He picks you up and carries you around. He will grab your wrist, arm, or hand and lead you around even if you're following him. He lays his legs across you or lays across your lap. Puts his head on your shoulder. Platonic cuddling between friends is mandatory. He's just so hands-on it's ridiculous.

Unless you explicitly tell him you're uncomfortable he won't stop

Don't worry, if you aren't in that type of relationship, your no-no square is safe. Except, if you seem chill, he will slap your ass regardless of friendship status. His ass is also slappable. You can't tell me Geto and Gojo didn't run around slapping each other asses, okay

He was weird and scrawny as a child. He didn't start beefing out until he started training to be a shaman and he's still kinda smaller than most beefy boys

He can pick you up and throw you around easily. He carried around a 170 pound Yuji like a sack of potatoes and can easily carry around three times that weight

It's amazing he's so tiny because you remember 2014 Shane Dawson making all of those wack ass desserts that was just s pile of chaos wrapped in chocolate?

He can eat every last bite of one of those monstrosities without getting a stomach ache, gaining weight, or dying basically

He knows bc Yuji dared him to do it

He has really cold hands and feet

He sounds old. Let me elaborate. He's constantly cracking his joints. They also creak when he moves. He complains about body pains like he's 80 y/o

He also shares wisdom with the kids as if he's actually 80 y/o

It's irrelevant advice that doesn't make sense but is also useful. Megumi can't count the number of times he's asked Gojo for feedback on his technique but had been told to remember to chew 40 times or never go to bed angry

Starts off sentences with "now son" and "when I was your age"

He uses his blindfold as a headband when he wants his hair out of his face. He also uses headbands as... Headbands... When he wants to wear sunglasses but get his hair out of his face

He owns so many pairs of sunglasses but he always wears the same pair

He's only bought a handful of them himself, most of them are gifts

No one knows what to get him for Christmas or his birthday bc he has everything, so they resort to sunglasses

His favorite pair is a pair that Shoko and Geto bought him as a gag. He thought they were dead serious, though, so he wore them around for a month

They were heart-shaped, rose-tinted glasses

Can you believe this man doesn't use any gel or anything to keep his hair spiky with the blindfold on? It just naturally defies gravity when the blindfold is on

Tell this man he's pretty because he already knows. He's narcissistic but not the cringy kind

Photogenic as hell. Takes great pictures from any angle.

He gives everyone a different story as to why he covers his eyes. Sometimes he says it's because his eyes are too pretty and are a distraction. Sometimes he says it's because the sunglasses/bandages/blindfold look cooler than his eyes. Sometimes he says it's to protect the six eyes from seeing things he doesn't want to see. The world may never know

He's tried covering his whole face before, but he thinks he's too pretty for that. He at least wants one of his many amazing features to be shown at all times.

So about his driver's license;

He knows how to drive. He can be a good driver. When he wants to be. He just doesn't have a driver's license.

Now he TELLS people he just never got around to getting one, however, there's a rumor he lost it due to too many parking tickets

It's amazing the only tickets he's ever gotten have been from that and once he got caught without a seatbelt; he would have gotten out of that one if he hadn't been flirting with the police officer so bad

This doesn't stop Gojo from driving places though

He steals Ijichi's car a LOT and Ijichi DOESN'T KNOW HOW like??? The windows are never broken and it doesn't look hotwired-

Gojo has a key

You're not even supposed to be able to duplicate car keys but Gojo did

Also; none of the first-year trio knows he doesn't have a driver's license, though that much should be painfully obvious

He whips around corners, speeds up at yellow lights, goes "watch this" and does a donut, it's just a mess

The poor students have to sit in the backseat too. Just imagine Megumi with all three seatbelts around him like that one meme.

He thrives off of Nobara and Yuji screaming from the backseat, and he can see Megumi being smooshed because he thought the middle seat was the safest through the rearview mirror

Which he doesn't even need because of the six eyes

Despite being such a reckless driver, he knows when danger will happen, so he's never once gotten in a wreck

He blasts the radio, which makes up for the driving.

Has a habit of getting in a car and ending up in the McDonalds drive-thru

Steals other people's fries and keeps the fullest one for himself.

He was rebellious as a kid and teenager, but hey, at least his juvie record is sealed

He's been detained and in the back of a cop car many times, but the reason was never really bad enough for him to be arrested. Mostly he's just being mouthy. And the time he got caught spray painting on the side of a building. And that one time he and Getou hopped the fence to get into the local pool. And that other time-

It got worse after Getou wasn't around to get him out of trouble. Suddenly, breaking the rules wasn't fun anymore and he mellowed out.

Tried alcohol and cigarettes before he was legal. Decided neither was his thing, however, he did start drinking occasionally when he was legal.

He's a fucking chaotic drunk. Oh my god he's absolutely feral

Most bars in the vicinity know him by name and they sigh whenever he walks in

Shoko is his emergency contact. She hates it

Shoko has to drag drunk Gojo home at least twice a month and is not happy about it

Once she left him in an alley. He made it home okay so she guesses it's fine

Once he got so drunk he spilled beer on his sock. The thought the fastest way to dry them was by sticking them in the microwave. Forgot about it until someone asked, "Who the fuck is cooking socks???"

I feel it important he was in the break room of the local grocery store and no one knows how he got there

As he was escorted out he stole a grocery cart and rode away in it while singing Don't Threaten Me (With A Good Time) by Panic! At The Disco

He has no alcohol tolerance at all what so ever

He will literally just stare at you and giggle

It's funny he's really flirty but also doesn't seal the deal. Literally, every woman in that bar is willing to get in his bed but he declines every offer. No one knows why

Its because he respects women

He helps his students break the rules as long as they're within reason. Once night Yuji was really hungry and after having a temper tantrum he couldn't order Uber eats bc the school is supposed to be secret Gojo helped sneak him out to get food. Who needs curfew anyway.

The shirts in his closet range from like twenty bucks to the iconic rich bitch shirt the kids ruined in that one chapter we all know the one

He still wears that by the way, he calls it "art"

When he was younger, Megumi drew a picture of Gojo being eaten by his shadow dogs. Gojo found it and now it's framed in his room.

He keeps up with current trends and memes like no one's business. This is how he bonds with his kids.

Don't call him old, but also, he'll tell you to respect your elders it's a mess

He has a lot of games on his phone. You can usually find him holding his phone sideways playing some RPG game he probably spent too much money on

He did hop on the Pokemon Go hype train but after becoming overpowered he got bored

This happens to a lot of games. He pays way too much money, gets to be the strongest in the server, and gets bored

He likes games where you can kill other people's troops and likes to watch as they lose all their power

I canon him as being borderline sadistic

This is why he's Sakata Gintoki reincarnated

White hair, sweet tooth, black leather clothes, dad vibes, never takes anything seriously bc when he does he's scary as fuck, the works.

He is Sakata Gintoki

He liked Gintama growing up. He watched a lot of iconic shows as they aired. He considers himself an og

He's hella bilingual

Because he's the strongest he goes overseas for missions a lot. Because of this he speaks a lot of languages and knows a lot about international cuisine

He takes pictures of himself eating disgusting foods like snails. He never likes them but he loves the idea of Nobara gagging back in japan

Has paperwork sitting untouched on his desk from three months ago that he will not touch for at least another three months

Does the crossword puzzles in the newspaper every week

Uses humor as a coping mechanism and it honestly just became a personality

Constantly popping his joints. I'm sorry if you find this gross I too find it gross.

Probably brought home every stray animal he ever met ever until he was at least like 22 y/o

Tags: @wasabito @kittaliapenn

#jjk #jjk spoilers #jjk headcanons #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen headcanons #jujutsu kaisen spoilers #gojo satoru #satoru gojo #jjk gojo #jjk satoru #gojo headcanons #gojo satoru headcanons

976 notes · View notes

watevermelon · 5 years ago

Text

✧ Jealous!Atsumu x Reader; Finally returning home after traveling with the MSBY Black Jackals, Atsumu stakes his claim over you. (nsfw)

➳ A/N: TYSM!! Message received ;) ➳ Contains: jealous smut; possessive / dominant sex; semi-public; some light choking; Osamu calls during sex and Atsumu makes you answer ✧ Masterlist

-----xXxXxXxXxXx-----

“Atsumu, please.” You moaned out, “ We should go home first...”

“Don’t ya worry yer pretty little head.”

Eyes forcibly shuttered closed, you were basically begging Atsumu to stop.

The setter just continued to ignore you, his fingers settled inside you as you uttered contradictory pleas. You wanted more pressure, but you also wanted to do this at home. Your begging rotated between asking for more and attempting to persuade him to finally go to your shared apartment.

But there was one thing for sure, no matter how much the logical side of your brain screamed at you, your body was yearning for Atsumu right at this moment.

There was no doubt that your longtime lover was a near-expert when it came to your body. Any of your qualms would be easily pushed aside as you silently gave into his scandalous touches. And despite the latent fear of being caught by bystanders outside of the steamy vehicle, it was getting harder and harder to care.

The two of you had just left dinner with the rest of the old Inarizaki team. Having reunited after all these years, many of the others were catching-up over the lost time. A couple of them you had seen intermittently throughout the blank period - Suna and Aran stayed on the professional scene and you saw Osamu basically every other day.

As a professional athlete, Atsumu was always busy. Playing volleyball full-time was his dream and while he was proud to stand on the national stage, there were some drawbacks that the both of you had long conceded to. Often, he would be out traveling somewhere with the team, whether to stadiums in the far reaches of the country or dealing with PR that came with being a renowned celebrity.

You texted and called during your times apart, but there was nothing that could replace actually being there with someone. The physical affection that you missed from your lover could never be replaced with your own touches.

But as long as Atsumu returned back to you, that was enough to fill your heart whole.

And so you often hung around your own friends and even Osamu. He often teased you were his future sister-in-law, despite nothing being set in stone and not a single rock on your finger. You would reason that Atsumu was a handsome athlete on the world stage meeting plenty of people, but even Osamu had adamantly stated that you alone were his fated future sister.

If only the asshole was as thoughtful around his brother as he was around you.

Osamu was probably trying to push Atsumu’s buttons on purpose, but now you were the unwilling collateral damage.

It started simply, about the new dress you bought in anticipation of Atsumu returning home. You ate lunch with the onigiri twin and were walking together when you passed a boutique with a simple, red dress that flirted high above your knees in the display. You thought about getting it and, with nothing to do for the rest of the day, Osamu hung out with you as you tried it on.

It was all coincidental and you thought nothing of it as Osamu brought it up at the dinner table as you were wearing it now. But when the twin complimented your sense of style, the team seemed to egg you on.

“Ya look so nice today, (L/N)!” Ginjima added.

“Out of all of us, (L/N) has always had the most style.” Suna snidely commented as he gestured to the twins with his chin.

“(L/N)-chan has always been beautiful.” Kosaku complimented, earning a small nod in agreement from Kita.

You glanced at Atsumu in the corner of your eye. And while the smile on his face spelled peace, you knew from his hardened eyes that he was not happy.

It was one thing to accept the compliments of the others, but you were admittedly openly basking in their undivided attention. If he were in a more steady head-space, Atsumu would have frowned or pouted or even took action to put the others in the place. But you hadn’t really seen each other in weeks and he was looking forward to spending individual time with you.

Of course, nothing went his way and instead of the hot night he was looking forward to, instead you ushered him out of your shared apartment to this reunion dinner.

Osamu sat on your other side while Atsumu had to sit there and listen to the two of you chat like you were the ones dating. It was a stupid thought filled with only jealousy, but it only fostered the small pit in his stomach that seemed to grow in recent times.

Atsumu knew that the love you shared between each other was true, but it silently broke his heart every time he had to say goodbye to you knowing that the next time he would see you would be in days or maybe even weeks. You had complained a few times, but you did everything the two of you could to keep your bond. Video chats and texts were one thing, but seeing you constantly on his brother’s social media was another.

Lunches, hang-outs - what else was Atsumu missing?

And seeing the two of you openly talk about it now? Right to his face?

Atsumu wanted to claim where you sat.

And that predatory stare, that possessive claim Atsumu held over you all night as he draped an arm across the back of your chair, came to fruition the moment you two were alone.

You waved goodbye to the rest, Osamu even shooting you a smirk at what he knew his twin was eager to do. A part of you was worried about your body for the next few hours, but when Atsumu tightly squeezed the side of your hip, you knew it would be worth it.

And so he near dragged you two where you parked earlier, you were unceremoniously tossed in the back of the car, Atsumu locking the door behind him as he clamored in. His lips were on you instantly and if not for the tinted windows, you would have pushed him off.

He ravaged you with the intensity of a man starved, sucking at your neck and making his way down your body. There was no hesitation on his end, his hands eagerly pushing your shirt and bra over your breasts. The moment you felt the chill on your skin, he latched onto an already beaded nipple.

“I’ll make sure ya only remember my name by the end of tonight.” He whispered against your skin possessively.

Atsumu maneuvered you around the back seats, pushing away clothing as your skirt bunched up around your hips. Your underwear was thrown away, somewhere on the floor of the car. There were surely red splotches in his wake, kissing at your chest before making his way further down. He dipped a playful tongue in your belly button as he went, surprising you into sitting upright.

He lifted you by the hips, athletic strength more than enough to handle you. You had no firm grasp on the cushions, hand moving to one of the head-rests but having no way to move without having to ask the setter to do so. Atsumu held you completely in his grasp, back arched as his lips trailed down to your awaiting cunt.

“Who do you belong to?”

Atsumu watched as you squirmed uncomfortably. It was obvious you wanted more pressure, more anything, but he was conducting you to the beat of his drum today. He sucked at your clit and watched you cry-out his name in response, near begging him for more.

There was no denying it at this point, evidence of your want all over his face. Atsumu shoved two fingers, to the knuckles, inside you. You threw your head back at the movement, but the setter made no effort to actually move inside you. He pumped once, twice, before pulling out of you entirely.

“Please.”

Atsumu playfully scoffed and you felt the vibration against your skin. You pushed your hips up in response, which only made him back off more.

The teasing asshole.

“I asked ya a question.”

“It’s only ever been you!” You replied, almost sobbing as you looked down at Atsumu, that infamous smirk still on his face from earlier.

“Oh? Why don’t ya prove it?” Atsumu stated, placing you back down on the seat. That second of peace was followed by the setter gripping your neck and pulling you to him, not enough to make you panic, but more than enough to make you aware of the possessive hold.

Atsumu was up on his knees while you were eye level with what he was surely going to have you full with in a second.

“Do I have to do everythin’ myself?” He asked, a hint of impatience in his teasing words.

His hands were still around your throat as you reached for his belt, unclasping and then bringing down his pants. It stayed bunched around his knees and all that was left in front of you were his boxers.

“Feelin’ meek or somethin’ today?” Atsumu spit-out, “Why don’tcha put yer mouth to good use?”

He was being such an asshole and you loved every second of it.

Not that would admit it to the already big-headed setter.

You slowly peeled down the cloth, his awaiting cock springing up against his stomach as you went. Large and veiny and all yours, you admired it for a quick second before licking from the base to the tip. Atsumu groaned as his hold went from your neck to your hair, harshly carding itself in your locks.

Your playful attempts at licking his dick met an impatient scoff from the setter, until he finally gripped his dick and angled it to your mouth. While Atsumu knew your body well at this point, the second could be said about you to him. You sucked eagerly at the head, the vibration going straight to his groin as Atsumu moaned heavenward.

“Oh, playin’ dirty?” He asked, between huffs. “Yer gonna get it in a bit, don’t worry.”

A part of you was overly eager for his promise, almost making you want to act out on purpose if only to get a harder sentence later. But when Atsumu pulled at your hair again, you wanted to make him feel real good. After all, this was the first time you had his dick down your throat in weeks, you wanted to taste him fully.

You sucked at his dick eagerly, your hands going to the space your mouth had not yet reached. Slowly picking up the pace, you watched Atsumu go from a hard stare on you to getting lost in the euphoria of your greedy mouth.

And so you hollowed your cheeks, taking him in all the way to the base as his cock hit the back of your throat. You breathed in through your nose calmly, steadying your breath as you looked up at Atsumu. His eyes were fluttering to the back of his head, leaning backwards slightly as only a hand on the seat held him upright.

There was barely any room to move your tongue, but you did your best to feel against the veiny underside of the setter. His groans only got louder and louder, the grip in your hair incredibly painful as he continued to spiral under your pleasure.

It was only a slight surprise when Atsumu pushed you off. Flipping you over the seats, Atsumu leaned down to whisper against your ear, “Only ‘cause ya’ve been good so far”

You steadied one arm and leg on the cushion beneath you for you while the others stretched to the floor to keep you upright. Stomach against the car seats, you were more than ready for this moment. Atsumu wasted no time angling himself with your heat, immediately sheathing himself to the base the moment he got his bearings.

The car was filled with grotesque, wet sounds as his hips met your own. Atsumu barely gave you any time to adjust, thrusting up into you with quick, deep motions. Your own hand gripped the cushion firmly, nails almost digging into the fabric as if it would give you physical reprieve against his strong thrusts.

“Fuck.” you moaned despite yourself.

You were still in the car, plenty of opportunities for anyone to catch you two.

Not that you really cared anymore.

“Only I know what you like,” Atsumu murmured against your skin, his lips latching to the side of your neck. “Only I know how tight this pretty pussy is.”

When you didn’t respond immediately, the setter slowed down, almost taunting you that you were nothing but an eager slave for his dick. You groaned at his teasing, trying to move your hips back to him, but a steady hand on your waist kept you in place.

“Or am I wrong?” He asked against your skin, a hand trailing up your spine.

“Only you.” you groaned back, reaffirming his words.

It was not that Atsumu was not usually as dominant as this, because usually he was like this. But it usually came with some type of warning or reasoning. Last time it was from hanging around beefy boi Bokuto too much and it seemed now his twin was the new target.

No matter, you secretly loved dominant Atsumu.

“And who’s the only one who will see ya like this?” he asked, almost with an innocent twinge as his hand snaked around the back of your neck.

“You!” You out-cried in between thrusts, head angling upward as you tried your best to get even closer to him.

“Say my name.”

“Fuck me harder, Atsumu! Please!” you whimpered, losing all your faculties.

“There’s my girl,” he praised before sucking another spot on your shoulder.

You could almost feel the smirk of his lips on your skin.

At least you were getting what you wanted. And as Atsumu picked up back to his rigorous pace, you almost thanked the volleyball god’s for finally getting the much needed friction. The sounds of wet slapping and parallel groans promulgated the car, pedestrians outside innocent to the steamy happenings in Atsumu’s car.

“Fuck!” you screamed.

“That’s it.” Atsumu teased, “Let it out, princess.”

His pace was fast and hard, uncaring of the world around you as Atsumu lost himself in your tight hole. From him to be this brutal, you wondered if Atsumu had been envisioning you like this the entire meal. And now you were going to know exactly how much Atsumu had yearned for you.

His fingers curled tightly around your hips, bringing you back to meet his every thrust. There was barely anything you could do against his onslaught, gripping the seats around you as if to give you any physical reprieve.

Your brain was focused on nothing but Atsumu, not even realizing that there was suddenly another sound in the car. The heat of the euphoria covered over the sounds of something vibrating somewhere in the car hadn’t even registered in your brain.

But you surely did not miss the fact that one of Atsumu’s bruising hands had left your hips. And instead, that free hand began to feel around on the floor for the lost item.

“Ay.” Atsumu greeted into his phone, “Somethin’ wrong, ‘Samu?”

You shot a look over your shoulder, confused and wondering why on god’s earth was he saying his twin’s name at this moment. It was only when you saw his phone that you blanched, instantly trying to pull away from the setter. But Atsumu had you pinned, not stopping in his pace as he continued on the phone.

“Ah, (F/N) forgot ‘er phone?” You wanted to wipe the smirk off the setters face, but your hands were occupied in either keeping you help up or covering your mouth from letting out a peep.

This was Osamu of all people! You saw him on a daily basis and if you were caught on the phone for this you would hardly be able to look him in the eye anymore.

Atsumu took one look at your desperate face and decided to make the most of it.

“Lemme put ‘er on the phone for ya.”

The look of realization must have been obvious on your face, for Atsumu’s smirk only grew as he stared back into your eyes.

Atsumu picked up the hand that was holding you upright on the seat and instead put the phone there. You tried to make a fist instead, a silent warning for if he continued this stupid act, but the setter just ground his hips against yours. You stumbled over a moan and Atsumu shot you a conspiratory look, pressing a finger to his lips to signal you to be quiet.

“Hey, Osamu?” You attempted to greet in your usually cheerful tone.

“Hey, (F/N).” His voice sounded through the receiver, making you realize that this was well and truly happening.

“I forgot something at the restaurant?” You asked straight to the point, trying to keep your voice even as Atsumu kissed down the valley of your spine. His pace was still slow, but his small caresses were keeping you actively aware.

“Yea, I have yer phone with me since ya left early.” Osamu stated, his voice casual as you heard his loud dishwasher in the background, signalling he was already home.

“Ah, thank you! I can pick-it up next time I see YOU!” You stuttered over the last word, Atsumu pulling out completely just to fill you to the brim in one thrust.

Atsumu’s quick thrusting resumed from earlier and there was little you could do to hold in a small moan this time. Thankfully, Osamu on the other end had yet to catch onto what was truly happening, since he was recounting your next lunch a couple days from now.

“Is that safe? Goin’ a few days without yer phone?” Osamu asked.

“I - maybe?” you panted in response, not even sure what the question was.

Osamu paused, silence reining for a few seconds, enough to make you panic that he had caught on before he asked. “Ya know both ‘Tsumu and I would kill for ya if somethin’ happened cause ya didn’t have yer phone. Let’s try to stop that from happenin’ before.”

Was what he did say and also what you did not hear.

Instead, you felt your hips rocking back to meet Atsumu as he continued thrusting upward into you. One of his hands around your waist followed the arm holding the phone, pushing it back up to your ear as if to remind you of the painful phone call you were on. His other hand went around your waist, traveling to your clit between and rolling it between his fingers.

This time, there was little you could do to muffle your surprised gasp.

“Whatever, (F/N). I know you can defend yourself, but this is not somethin’ you should fight.”

That wording was odd, you thought in your mind briefly. But any additional thoughts were slammed away with Atsumu’s persistent thrusts.

“I know,” you settled on replying back between pants before stuffing your face back into the car seat.

You expect some type of response back, only continuing to push against Atsumu as the hard slap of skin filled the car. You hadn’t even realized how long Osamu was silent for, before his voice nearly pierced your skin.

“Don’t tell me yer getting dicked down right now.”

Your head shot up immediately, your grasp on the phone tightening as both you and Atsumu heard Osamu hit the nail right on the head with his observation.

There was already an excuse on the tip of your tongue when Atsumu pulled out entirely again before sheathing himself in your dripping cunt. You moaned loudly at the combination of being filled and what his fingers were doing to your lower pearl. There was nothing you could say to get you out of that one.

To your surprise, Atsumu grabbed the phone this time. “Listenin’ to that? She’s mine on every fuckin’ level.”

You heard Osamu laugh through the receiver, before he continued talking. What it was about? You had no fucking clue, the sound just a small murmur in comparison to the sounds of your bodies meeting.

“I hate you so much,” You moaned back, Atsumu still on the phone with his twin.

“Oh? Are you going to cum?” He teased you before turning to the phone, “Ight, talk to ya later.”

How the fuck the both of them could be so casual about this, you didn’t want to know.

Throwing the phone somewhere else on the floor, Atsumu lifted your knee and brought it up to his shoulder. You had very little control in this situation, grasping onto cushions simply to keep from falling. But Atsumu had full control, maintaining his almost impossible rhythm in this deeper position.

“Ahhh, stop.” You weakly protested, “Atsumu, you’re gonna make me…”

“I know exactly what’s going to happen,” he countered.

The speed of his fucking, coupled with the relentless toying of your clit, pushed you over the edge. You came with a near-scream, angling your back as your eyes rolled heavenward. Near simultaneously, you felt Atsumu unload himself within you, holding his hips against yours to make sure you received every single drop.

It was only when your shared essence dripped down to the seat that you realized you hadn’t used a condom. And while you would had usually sighed at the clean-up, especially in a public space like this, Atsumu was already at your back, kissing along your spine.

“Thanks for the creampie, asshole.” you groaned, dropping your head onto the car seat.

“Ya know ya love it, princess.” Atsumu countered, leaning over you as he flipped you onto your back, placing light kisses against the nape of your neck.

You pushed his face away when you fully realized what just happened, “Fuck, Osamu really heard that.”

“Good, now he knows who you belonged to.” Atsumu stated with a level-expression.

“Everyone knows I’m yours, you asshole.”

“It’s still good to send out reminders.” Atsumu replied, “Especially with the way everyone was openly leering at you today.”

“Fuck, you planned to do this, didn’t you?” you asked, not remembering the last time you ever lost your phone. You swore it was in your bag before you left, even taking a selfie with the old crew before.

But Atsumu just smirked and continued to place butterfly kisses on your skin, not dignifying your question with an actual verbal response was enough of an answer.

“Yer beautiful tits, yer legs… these pouty lips.” Atsumu murmured against your skin between pecks, “All mine. Right?”

Something in his voice just screamed at you that he wanted a real answer. His brown eyes bore into your own, an oddly serious expression for having teased you the pats half-hour. Was he jealous of Osamu? Of how much time you spent together? That was nonsense, he was going to be your future family and your heart only beat for Atsumu.

“I’m all yours.” You answered, putting a hand beneath his chin and lifting it to you. He met you halfway, pulling you into another bruising kiss.

One of his hands went back around your waist to pull you close to him, your skin felt lighting aflame for the second time as it touched. You felt Atsumu harden within you again, athletic stamina already preparing him for another round it seemed.

“I love you, Atsumu.”

“I love you, too.”

✧ Masterlist

2K notes · View notes