#pitch n puck

[cawnecny]

Hey now, you're an all-star!

Players assignments for the 2023 all-star skills competition have been announced!

ASG2023

[loslentesdepedrito]

Paleta

Din gif by: @themandaloriansource My Masterlist

Pairing: Virgin!Din Djarin x f!reader (Both Din and reader speak Spanish, and translations are provided.)

Word count: 11.2k+

Summary: You and Din accept a job to extract a flower from a planet neither of you has been to before. The instructions seem easy enough, but they do warn to be careful with the flower's pollen because of its unknown effects. Inspired by the song Paleta by Wisin & Yandel ft. Daddy Yankee.

Rating: 18+ Explicit content (MDNI) Tags and CW: canon divergent, can be considered dubious consent due to sex pollen, Din is a virgin in all aspects, and reader is not, poor Din being horny since the beginning, slight angst, happy ending, reader is shorter than Din and is carried by him in one scene, mami kink?, unprotected piv, oral (f and m receiving), some nipple play, multiple orgasms, creampie, facial, slight cum eating, shy Din then confident Din. To my knowledge, the Star Wars Universe doesn't have a purple planet, so I borrowed the Purple Dimension from Marvel Comics.

A/N: If you haven't had the chance yet, I beg you to check out the artwork by @immarocketman. This specific Din is exactly what I had envisioned for one of the scenes here. Their talent is remarkable, and I plan to explore more of their blog soon. Also, I mentioned that I was considering leaving and promised to provide an answer, but truth be told, I still haven't decided 😅. More on that in the end notes. For now, just sit back and enjoy the story!

In the passenger chair behind you, Din's voice, agitated and piercing, breaks the silence of the ship's quiet hum. "Can you stop sucking on that thing?" His patience has finally reached its limit, worn down by the seemingly endless hours of watching you indulge in that infuriatingly purple lollipop. He's been forced to watch, and his frustration grows with each smacking pop you make.

Seated in the pilot's chair, you remain unfazed. The tone of Din's voice doesn't intimidate you; if anything, it amuses you. With a nonchalant pop, you remove the candy from your mouth, emitting a deliberate sound that only seems to fuel Din's annoyance.

"No," you reply plainly, still refusing to meet his gaze. You slide the sweet back between your lips and continue navigating the ship.

In the aftermath of a recent encounter with a Rancor that left Din nursing an injury on his left side, he reluctantly handed over the piloting duties to you as you traveled to a planet named the Purple Dimension – the location for your next assignment. Clutched tightly in Din's hand was a holopuck, its contents holding crucial information regarding the upcoming bounty hunt.

As the ship coursed through space, Din's growing frustration took its toll on the holopuck. The round object seemed on the verge of shattering under the pressure of his grip. The puck contained a holographic image of the bounty—an exotic flower—its value measured in credits, along with instructions. The explicit instructions attached required the flower to be carefully extracted and returned unharmed, without its pollen, as it was thought that its pollen could contain a substance that might trigger an unknown reaction.

The substantial payoff stemmed from the fact that a botanist sought to study the flower beyond its native habitat, resorting to placing a bounty to facilitate this unconventional research, as the botanist was unable to travel to the planet where the flower exclusively thrived. The job was one of the most unusual ones you've had, but the reward led to you and Din accepting the job.

Your fingers, warmed by the prolonged contact with the ship's controls, grasp the handles. Four fingers curl around the black handles, while your thumbs press firmly on the top. Your focus stays fixed on the pitch-black expanse ahead, where the distant stars provide the only source of light. Absentmindedly, the lollipop remains in your mouth, licked without the need for your hands.

Abruptly, Din interjects, "It's going to give you cavities," he declares, his tone laden with frustration that transcends the mere mention of cavities—his concern sounding more like a personal grievance.

With casualness, you reply, not quite understanding the intensity of his objection, "I brush my teeth thrice a day."

Din persists, his annoyance evident. "It's going to leave your teeth stained."

Unbothered, you respond, "This one never does," as you continue to indulge in the sweet.

Din, seemingly pulling thoughts out of thin air, desperately tries to dissuade you from sucking that godforsaken candy. "Don’t you hate grape-flavored stuff?" he questions, grasping at any argument to put an end to the incessant sucking of the lollipop.

“It’s very berry-flavored. It tastes delicious; I wouldn’t keep sucking if I didn’t like it,” you calmly assert, savoring the flavor while Din, in a moment of quiet frustration, squeezes the puck once more to stifle a groan at the words ‘It tastes delicious, I wouldn’t keep sucking if I didn’t like it.'

“Just stop freaking sucking the lollipop!” Din suddenly roars, his composure slipping away.

“Who pissed on your breakfast today? Lower your voice, would you? The kid is sleeping,” you retort sharply, whipping your head behind to find Din’s metal helmet tipped back against the red cushion of his chair.

He grumbles.

“Why does my candy bother you?” you ask, shifting your attention back to the path ahead.

“Let’s switch,” Din says, getting up with a slight grit in his teeth that you don’t quite catch.

“You’re hurt,” you remind him, part stating the obvious and part expressing genuine concern.

“I'm better,” he insists, placing his hand right next to you on the control panel.

You gulp and, without uttering a word, rise from your seat, seamlessly swapping places with him. The front of the ship isn’t the most spacious, and when you and Din brush up against each other, a subtle electricity passes between you, and he feels himself crumble at the touch. If it weren’t for his entire body being covered in beskar, you would easily see the physical effect you have on him.

“It’s distracting,” Din mutters, attempting to mask and ignore his feelings once he's settled back into the pilot’s chair.

“Oh, just focus on the mission, tin man,” you roll your eyes at him.

Din sighs out in frustration, and his voice modulator emits a gruff tone. “For the thousandth time, my armor isn’t made out of tin-”

“It’s made from beskar,” you interject, mimicking him with a sly grin as you repeat the exact words.

He doesn’t appreciate your tone, and he turns to give you a hard look through his helmet’s T-visor. All Din can focus on, however, is the way your lips wrap around the round hard candy. It’s shiny, and he can hear the sucking and stickiness echoing in his helmet. He's been twitching and growing in his pants, desperately trying to wield away his arousal without resorting to adjusting himself or deep breaths. Fucking miss my codpiece, he thinks.

With an audible pop, you remove the lollipop from your mouth and extend it to Din. “Do you want some of my candy?”

“No,” he replies curtly.

“Then stop staring!” you retort, emphasizing the word 'staring'. “You’re so tense, Maker, you need to get laid.”

At your words, Din's hands jerk, and the ship plummets.

"Din!" you scream, your stomach churning as your heart lodges itself in your throat. The velocity of descent sends a surge of fear through your veins. One hand instinctively shoots out to grip the ship’s side, desperately seeking something to brace against, while the other clutches the child, keeping him from sliding off his seat.

“Shit, shit, shit,” Din mutters, skillfully lifting the ship back to its original height after the sudden drop.

As your heartbeat gradually regulates, you steal a glance at Grogu, finding him still peacefully asleep. You sense you hit a delicate spot with Din, prompting you to let go of the teasing for now.

Wanting to shift the conversation, you say, “I wonder why no one else took the job. It’s great pay for what seems like a relatively easy missio- I mean job.” The planet you're headed to isn't popular; people don’t say why, but not many choose to visit.

“You get the money and don’t question shit,” Din says even though he has the same question.

Choosing not to press further, you turn your attention to the window. Up ahead, there's a thin, straight brown light, expanding seemingly from the horizon and stretching into what appears to be an eternity.

“We’re going to pass through the barrier now,” Din announces. The brown light grows more pronounced as the ship steadily approaches.

You tighten your seatbelt, securing yourself further, and place a protective hand on Grogu. Din steers the spaceship forward, and the moment the ship makes contact with the barrier, it propels forward at a rapid speed.

The sensation makes your head a bit fuzzy, and when you open your eyes, you're mesmerized by the surreal sights. Before you, four massive planets come into view. Oddly, they all appear to be precisely the same size. Each possesses a unique hue: Red, Purple, Green, and Yellow, standing in perfect alignment against the vast backdrop of the black vacuum of space.

Din goes straight for the purple planet, and as you draw closer, you're granted a more detailed view. The Purple Dimension, unlike its counterparts, lacks a ring. Indentations mark its surface, and as you approach, bodies of water and stunning mountain ranges become visible. Din tilts the ship, guiding it into the planet's atmosphere. The moment the ship breaches the surface, sheer awe envelops you. The bodies of water below cast an ethereal glow with bioluminescence, and the entire landscape bathes in an even color due to the indigo-tinted sky.

While you try to absorb the beauty of your surroundings in the darkness, the ship lands on a plain, sending purple dirt flying with the impact.

Din flicks off some switches, and you unbuckle your seat belt. “What do we do with Grogu?” you ask, standing up.

“We take him.”

“Are you sure? I can go and retrieve the flower, and you stay here with the kid,” you suggest.

“No. We’ll all go,” he declares, leaving no room for argument.

“Okay then. You’ve got the tracking fob, right?”

He hums in confirmation and retrieves the holopuck, activating it to reveal a holograph. A large flower materializes, towering at least 8 inches minus its stem. Eight petals surround a prominent style, with smaller styles adorning the central one. The holograph lacks vivid color, displaying only muted hues of blue that make it a challenge to discern the flower's true colors from the image alone.

“The target is on the water,” Din informs, and as if on cue, the child wakes up. You both cast a quick glance at the child, who begins to coo and blink up at both of you. It's a familiar routine for Grogu; he knows when you both have jobs and patiently waits for one of you to leave so he can follow.

“It was explicitly stated that the flower needed to have its roots, so…,” you bend down to retrieve an item you purchased. Unbeknownst to you, Din's gaze lingers, tracing the contours of your form as you unfold a blanket from what seems to be a ceramic container. He tries to maintain composure, but he can't help the involuntary hitch in his breath, his eyes irresistibly drawn to you. You finally stand back up, and with a smile, you unveil a flower pot.

“La compré para plantar la flor por si acaso (I bought this to plant the flower just in case),” you say, the sincerity in your voice softening the edges of your teasing banter. The idea of the flower handing in the flower lifeless after your efforts is not an option.

Din, his gaze lingering on you, manages to tilt his head slightly and inquire, “¿Cuánto te costó?” (How much did it cost you?)"

“No mucho (not a lot),” you brush him off casually, heading towards the exit with the flowerpot cradled in your arms. There's no need to call for the little boy; he immediately follows you in his floating pram.

“Esta niña (this girl),” Din grumbles, hands on his waist, shaking his head. He gives himself a silent pep talk, repeating that he can't entertain certain thoughts about you. Wishing for just five minutes—hell, two minutes—to work himself and spill over his fist, so he could stop the relentless thoughts. The thoughts that have replayed in his mind throughout the entire journey persist, and he knows they'll linger, continuing to haunt him.

After a few deep breaths, Din speed walks to the exit, his heavy footsteps echoing throughout the ship. He finds you and Grogu outside, with you carrying a bag over your shoulders, facing the water.

You're absorbed in the breathtaking sight, and it reinforces why you love your job as a bounty hunter. Yes, you deal with tracking down criminals, and yes, your renowned career is undeniably dangerous. But sights like this one make you believe it's worth it, plus traveling with Din and the baby is an added bonus. Grogu is an adorable kid, and Din is… Din.

You hear the Razor Crest's door closing and quickly capture a mental picture of the landscape. The ship lands on a purplish mountain range, not tall enough to obscure the view of the river below, yet sufficiently elevated. The sky, a dark shade of purple, accentuates the breathtaking brilliance of the stars. All the purple stretches out for miles, and even the majority of the forestation is painted in indigo hues. You turn your head by 90 degrees and are met with plum-colored plains stretching as far as the eye can see. Back to where the ship landed, there appears to be a beach, the sand's natural hue indeterminable against the sky's purple tint. However, the water is unmistakably translucent, a purplish-blue adorned with white sparkles, bioluminescent in nature. A few feet from the shore, a large forest comes into view, and hints of green seem to intermingle within the purple foliage. It's a strange sight, seeing such distinct biomes coexisting within a close distance, a landscape unlike any you've seen before.

“C’mon,” Din says, taking the lead. You and the child follow, catching up to his long strides. The ground beneath you feels somewhat familiar, similar to your home planet, yet you know better than to let your guard down. There's always a chance of something lurking, ready to trip you up, as you've learned the hard way before.

Silence envelops your trio until you reach the edge of the mountain. Grogu heads in a straight line, beginning a slow descent.

“Wait,” Din orders, making the first move to ensure the steps are secure before stretching out his gloved hand. You hesitate for a moment, apprehensive about making a fool of yourself at the slightest contact. Eventually, you wrap your fingers around Din’s hand, shivering at the unexpected warmth beneath his glove's black palm, contrasting with the cold yellow exterior. Din guides you as you land on the flat part of the mountain, offering a mix of instructions in a steady rhythm. “One foot in front of the other, watch your step, cuidado (careful),” he advises. This pattern continues as Din takes the lead, guiding your descent until you reach the base, where Grogu patiently waits.

Once you reach the sandy shore, you follow Din, who has the tracking fob out. He heads to the left, where many boulders create a makeshift wall. From the mountain's top, you had noticed the forest in that direction, just a few steps beyond the boulders and near the deeper part of the water. As you follow Din, you feel the temperature rising, and gradually, a wave of heat washes over you. The sun's intensity beats down, and warmth starts to cling uncomfortably to your skin.

Amidst the heat, a realization strikes you: you have something in your bag that could melt." Quickly unzipping the black bag, you retrieve a chocolate bar, its usual vibrant red wrapper transformed into a different hue by the planet's purple coloring. The word 'Tronky' is written in its original white letters, standing out against the altered shiny plastic. The wrapper displays an image of the candy, resembling a tree trunk with a few hazelnuts and a single leaf. The candy itself is thin, requiring only a few bites to finish.

Din, on high alert, hears a crinkle and turns to look behind. He's met with the sight of you biting into the wafer chocolate bar. As the hazelnut spread hits your tongue, you moan in delight. Din's boot gets stuck between a rock on the sand, and his body lurches forward. Before he can plummet to the ground, he manages to hold himself up with a large boulder. The wind blows his cape as he straightens up. Knowing better than to ask if he's okay, you pretend you didn't see and walk next to him, just in case he trips again. The crunch of the wafer blends in with the soothing sounds of waves crashing on the shore.

“Que rico (So good),” you mumble to yourself, throwing your head back.

Against his will, Din looks at you, captivated by all your features illuminated against the purple light. He plays with his cape, determined to focus on the tracking device to avoid crushing it. Din tries to ignore the sounds you think you’re hiding, silently praying you'll finish that chocolate bar soon. As the forest comes into view, he turns to tell you where to go. However, what he sees nearly has him stumbling again. You’ve finished the bar, and melted chocolate sits on your bottom lip.

“You’ve umm…” Din points at his own lips over his mask.

Confusion clouds your expression, and you stand there, looking bewildered. He points back at his helmet, “your…” he trails off. Still not understanding, you remain puzzled, and he puts the tracker in his pocket before stepping forward.

“Tienes chocolate en tu labio (you have chocolate on your lip),” he says in a low voice, placing one hand behind your head while using the other to touch your lips. You feel the soft and grainy texture of the leather against your skin, and you gasp, parting your lips. Din wipes off the chocolate in one smooth flick of his wrist. In that moment, he's thankful for his training, as it's the only reason he manages to slowly withdraw his hands, fighting the urge to put his finger inside your mouth.

Your brain short circuits, and you're only capable of whispering, “gracias (thank you.)"

Din nods his head and continues walking toward the forest. As you approach, you notice at the edge there's a large flower.

“Hey, is that what we’re looking for?” you say excitedly, pointing to the glowing flower that stands out.

Both of you pick up the pace and eventually reach it. There's no need to delve into the forest since the plant is a good two feet away from the trees, near the shoreline.

“Magellanica sinensis,” Din says, identifying the flower.

“Wow,” you exclaim in amazement as you gaze at the flower. “Wow,” you exclaim in amazement as you gaze at the flower. It's an exact replica of what's on the holopuck. In person, the eight big petals' exterior is a deep shade of purple. When you look closely, the inside of the flower displays a lighter color—you guess it's pink. As you observe, specs on the petals of different sizes become apparent, and you can't help but admire the dark veins running through the petals, resembling ink spilled and delicately bleeding through the vibrant hues of purple. You also notice seven stamens with equally spaced, fluffy anthers forming a circle. Similar to a hibiscus flower, this plant has one tall pistil. You inhale deeply as the pleasant aroma that makes you think of apples hits your nose when you lean closer. The water surrounding the plant captivates you as well. You feel an undeniable impulse to step into the water, but Din's voice pulls you away from that tempting idea.

“You brought the tools?”

“Yes,” you affirm, scrambling to take them out of your bag. Kneeling on the lilac-purple sand, you retrieve the gardening tools: a shovel, a large hand rake, and gloves. As they lay before you, you glance up at Din, finding him looking down at you, illuminated by the soft purple glow. Your breath catches in your throat. He’s so beautiful.

Little do you know, Din is thinking the same thing about you. There you are on your knees, looking up at him, and he can't help but imagine you in that same position in a different scenario. It's what he thought about last night in his room, tugging and tugging at himself, spilling on his sheets. Every time he succumbs to such desires, a pit of guilt and shame envelops him—just like now, snapping him back to reality.

“Please gather soil in the pot, and I'll remove the plant from the ground,” Din instructs, an unusual 'please' slipping from his lips. You nod, and he hands you the rake while he takes the shovel. Not bothering to get up, you crawl a little to the right, away from the flower, and start scooping soil onto the orange pot, careful not to disturb any loose leaves. As you work, a good layer of soil forms on the ceramic, creating a small pile ready for Din once he puts the flower inside.

He asks for the recipient, and you swiftly hand it to him. Watching attentively, you see him gently add the glowing plant to the flowerpot. The roots are surprisingly long, and you're thankful you opted for an extra-large pot. Your intuition about the flower's size was right—it's almost the size of your head, and the roots add even more height.

“Pásame la tierra,” Din requests, looking at the plant and realizing it needs more soil to cover the roots. You comply, handing him more soil while he reminds you to keep your distance since the obvious powder over the petals still needs to be cleaned.

“It’s getting too dark; I’ll take it back, and you take the child to his room. I'll clean the flower before we depart,” Din decides, prioritizing your safety and the kid's.

You collect the tools, put them back in your bag, and finally get up.

“You and the kid go first,” he insists, leaving no room for argument.

After walking back past the boulders and climbing the mountain, you take Grogu to his room, tucking him into bed. A smile creeps onto your face as you recall shopping with Din and his stress about finding the best mattress. You lost count of how many vendors assumed you and Din were parents to the same child, making references to you as his wife. Din was glad he never took off his mask in front of others, as he got flustered every time someone made that assumption.

With the baby quickly asleep, you quietly make your way back down to see what's taking Din so long.

You're walking down the dock when you hear Din cuss.

“Are you okay?” you ask, alarmed at the possibility that he might have hurt himself while carrying the heavy pot.

“Yeah, I just hurt my side, and it’s still tender,” Din grits through his teeth, aware that he can't hide the truth from you; you'd see right through any lie.

“Come here,” you beckon, but it’s you who walks to him. You guide him to sit on a bench and position yourself between his knees. Din avoids meeting your gaze, his eyes fixed on the ceiling. Sensing his discomfort, you ask, “Do you think it’s bruised?” You notice that before you arrived, he had peeled off a small part of his body stocking over his side.

You catch a glimpse of his exposed skin, only the second time you've seen it—the first being when he took off his gloves while you were injured and bleeding out two months ago.

“Can I touch you?” you whisper.

Din can't handle the question, especially with the way you're looking up at him. His arm jerks over the bench. He feels the flower pot and, through his cloudy and hazy mind, briefly remembers he placed the flower there. But it's too late; he accidentally knocks it over, and it plummets onto the ship’s floor.

The pot shatters, and you're both engulfed in a cloud of yellow dust. Shocked, you gasp and inadvertently inhale the powder. Violent coughs rack your body, and you close your eyes to shield them from the unknown substance. The powder doesn’t relent; it keeps engulfing you, and your throat constricts. Uncomfortable sensations intensify and your senses heighten. The thumping of your heartbeat becomes almost deafening, and you scramble to get up.

Din, shielded by his suit, doesn’t feel the same effects, but he sees your struggle and panics. All of his instincts are screaming to do something and in a desperate move, he takes off his helmet with an audible hiss. The powder rushes toward his nostrils, and he can't prevent inhaling it. Quickly, he lifts it off his head and rushes to place it over yours. You feel a cold metal sensation over your head, and your vision darkens. Confused, you raise your hands to your head, realizing Din's helmet is now covering you. The powder is less potent with the beskar helmet, but since you lack the full armor, some dust still infiltrates your system. Amidst the odd sensations and confusion, one emotion surges to the forefront: desire.

Knowing Din's helmet is over your head, you suddenly realize his face is exposed. Though tempted to open your eyes, you resist, knowing his creed means everything to him. You actively fight against yourself to keep your eyes shut.

Now, it's Din who is the most exposed. He holds his breath to avoid inhaling the substance, but he quickly discovers that not breathing only intensifies the burning sensation in his throat, forcing him to open up his breathing—what the powder wants.

Din can't endure it any longer. He takes you by the hand and pulls you urgently, all his instincts urging him to claim you as his own. As he guides you to his room to escape the relentless pollen, he can feel himself growing harder with each step.

The slightest friction from his suit elicits a sigh of relief. You hear him, and it causes the dampness between your thighs to intensify. Both of you, eyes still closed, manage to reach Din’s room.

He pushes you inside and closes the door. For a fleeting moment, he questions whether keeping you in the same confined space as him was a mistake. Then, he hears your sweet voice.

“Din, it hurts,” you say, on the verge of tears.

“What hurts, cyar'ika?” he questions, feeling a pain of his own. He recognizes the ache he's experiencing—a longing that hurts, the pain of not being able to reach you, entwine his body with yours. He wonders if the powder is affecting his virgin ass differently.

“I-” The words catch in your throat, and with eyes shut, you sit down on Din’s mattress. It's so soft, and the scent of him surrounds you. With trembling hands, you lift the helmet off your head. “I just… I feel like my body hurts,” you reply vaguely.

“Where?” He rasps, eyes flying open as he sees you lying down and squirming on his bed. His resolve crumbles, and he has to physically restrain himself against the wall to resist walking toward you.

“Uhh,” you breathe, the sound morphing into a moan. “Between my thighs,” you admit, unable to lie. Your entire focus is consumed by the desperate need to touch yourself, to feel Din's touch.

“Din,” you whine, and the plea only makes him clench his fists, fighting the urge to go to you. “You should leave.”

“Can’t leave you alone,” Din chokes out, his gaze fixed on you as you start unbuttoning your pants.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” you repeat, your hand finding its way down to your core. Despite any potential embarrassment, the overwhelming sensation induced by the pollen outweighs everything. With Din in the room, you can't resist the burning desire.

As your hand slides underneath the soft fabric of your panties, instant relief washes over you. Rubbing circles over your clit, you thrash on Din’s bed, succumbing to the frenzy of desire that the pollen has ignited.

Din can’t bring himself to close his eyes. A little voice demands him to keep his eyes open and to touch you. He hears your whines, and he feels his body temperature rise. Bringing his hand to his mouth, he bites the leather, tasting its texture briefly. He doesn’t dwell on it too long; he rips his head away, and the glove dangles between his teeth. Frantically, he repeats this for the other hand. Now, his hands and head are bare. Din's gaze is on you again, and he sees that now you’ve got your entire hand between your thighs. A strangled noise escapes his throat, and you keep moaning, causing sweat to bead on Din’s forehead without any physical exertion.

With your eyes still closed, you don’t know what Din is doing. Following your instincts, you have your entire hand between your thighs, your index and middle fingers delving deep, while your thumb works on your pearl. Wet squelching sounds, along with your moans, fill the room.

“So wet,” you mutter unconsciously. It’s true; you have so much slick that it’s dripped onto your underwear, feeling uncomfortably wet.

“‘M so-oh!-sorry.” Tears prickle at the corners of your eyes as the relentless effect of the substance refuses to subside. Frustration mounts with each attempt, as you’ve tried every flicker on your pearled nub that would usually get you to your climax at this point, but nothing.

You huff and slide your free hand underneath your black shirt. When your hand makes contact with the bare skin, goosebumps erupt across your body. The scalding warmth of your hand travels to your right breast, and as your fingertips hit the smooth fabric of your plain black bra, you bend the cup to reach your nipple. It's pebbled and sensitive to the touch. You hiss but find some pleasure when you roll it between your thumb and index digits.

“Din, I’m so sorry. I can’t stop,” you confess, apology evident in your tone as you work both hands in a feverish attempt to reach your peak. Feeling it build and build, it doesn’t come. Mortified by the silence you think, I’ve made him uncomfortable; he’s going to hate me and kick me o-

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” he pants, and amidst the haze of desire, you hear the distinct clatter of metal hitting the floor.

“Din? ¿Qué estás haciendo? (What are you doing?)” you ask, not panicked by the idea of him being naked, but rather concerned that the drug might be compelling him into actions he doesn't want to take. You can say with full confidence that you’ve certainly entertained fantasies involving Din, though not this exact scenario, but the thought of him touching himself has fueled countless fantasies that ended in a mess on your bedsheets while you stifled your own cries with your hand.

Your curiosity battles with respect for his privacy; you so badly want to open your eyes and see him, but you know he's never allowed you to see him before. You won't risk making things worse by breaching that boundary.

“Din?” you ask again.

“Uhh,” comes his broken moan. “Cyar'ika- ahh,” he pants, “p-perdóname, perdóname (forgive me, forgive me),” he utters apologies, and your heightened hearing sharpens. The wet sounds of skin against skin reach your ears, and your heart rate spikes as you realize what he's doing – fisting his dick between his hands.

When the realization crosses your mind, you sit up suddenly. Din takes in your disheveled state – hair tousled, chest heaving, pants unbuttoned and unzipped. He's scared that he might have crossed a line and spooked you. But in your mind, it's quite the opposite. You feel the need to go to your own room; if you stay with Din, you'll break.

“I should go to my quarters,” you say, attempting to get leave. However, you take two steps and stumble.

“No, please. I… I need you,” Din pleads. He's terrified of what this situation means for him, yet he can't bear the thought of you leaving.

“Din, I don’t know what I’ll do if I stay,” you confess. Conversations about your sexual lives have remained nonexistent, as any attempt to bring up the topic with Din has been met with him tensing up.

“Tell me if you want me to take you to my bed. If not, I’ll leave, I promise,” Din says sincerely.

Your mind spins at the thought of finally being with Din, but then, logistical concerns invade your thoughts. You bring your palms over your eyes, ready to shield them just in case you open them involuntarily.

“You don’t have your helmet,” you point out.

“I want you to see me,” he says, and you hear him walking over to you. He gently touches your hands, slowly prying them away. You can feel the heat radiating from both of you, your bodies near boiling. Even though your eyelids are closed, you sense a soft blue light hitting your eyes.

“Mírame (Look at me),” Din whispers.

"Din, your creed… it means everything to you," you murmur with your eyes shut, your concern and care evident in your voice, not wanting him to sacrifice a fundamental part of himself.

He lifts his gaze, and in the soft glow of the room’s blue lights, his eyes speak volumes. "It’s not my creed that means everything to me. It’s you.” He's more than just a Mandalorian at that moment; he’s a man longing to share a part of himself with someone who understands—someone who means more to him than any set of rules or traditions ever could. He’s a man eager to bare every fiber of his being in a way he has never done before to the woman who holds the key to his heart.

"Din," you whisper, your voice carrying a subtle tremor of emotion. The weight of his admission washes over you like a gentle wave, a profound realization of the depth of his feelings. Your heart skips a beat, and a cascade of butterflies takes flight in your stomach as you grasp the tenderness of his words. As it dawns on you that he's opening up, willing to share this intimate part of himself that he's guarded so fiercely, it feels like he has unlocked a door to a chamber of his heart that few have entered. You find yourself standing on the threshold, touched by the privilege of being allowed in.

Your eyes flutter open, and a rush of emotions floods your heart as you see him for the first time. He's older than you, his black hair carrying beads of sweat on his temples. His eyes, a captivating shade of brown, reflect your own gaze back at you. You're drawn to the aquiline nose that gives his face character, and you have a fleeting desire to trace its pattern with your finger. His lips, the lower one slightly plusher, hold a subtle pout, and above them, a well-groomed mustache adds a touch of rugged charm. Stubble decorates his strong jaw, and you notice patches of bare skin, hinting at his inability to grow a full beard – a delightful detail you can't wait to tease him about later.

As you take in the sight before you, Din notices your expression but struggles to decipher it. Your parted lips and tear-filled eyes stir a fear within him, a nagging doubt that he's made a grave mistake. She hates what she sees. This was a mistake. I never should have told her-

"You're so beautiful, Din," the words flow from your lips in a breathy whisper as you tenderly caress his face. His rugged features soften under your touch, but in the midst of this beautiful moment, an involuntary twitch stirs within him.

In the corner of your eye, you catch the movement and let your gaze fall to his lower half. A gasp passes through your lips as you take in the full extent of him. Din, however, misinterprets your reaction, and he finds himself entangled in self-deprecating thoughts. Insecurity gnaws at him as he wonders, Maybe she's seen better. Am I not big enough?

A sudden impulse takes over, and before you realize it, you find yourself on your knees, looking up at Din with blown pupils. The groan that escapes from deep within his lungs is a mix of surprise, desire, and fulfillment. His mind races with the realization that his once-confined dirty dreams are now becoming a reality. A fleeting question crosses his mind: Should I tell her?

"Can I?" you ask, your eyes fixated on his erection, your mouth watering. "Can I touch you?" You clarify.

"Yes, please," he responds, his heavy-lidded eyes looking down at you intently.

Taking a moment to admire Din, you notice the trimmed patch of dark hair leading to his belly button. His thickness is accentuated by veins running along, but your focus zeroes in on a prominent blue vein down the middle, forking at the end. He's cut, and whether it's the blue light or the effect of the powder, you notice a purple hue at the tip, where he's leaking pre-cum. From above you, Din pleads for you to do something.

You oblige, and you take him into your hands, smearing the liquid down to his base. There's an abundance, allowing you to thoroughly coat him. At your touch, Din's head falls backward, and his thighs tremble under the intensity of having another person’s hand on him for the first time.

"Uhn," he breathes out at the sensation of your warm hands enveloping him in a tight grip. Your fingers struggle to wrap fully around his thick length, Oh, he doesn’t fit in my hand, you realize. Adjusting quickly, you bring your left hand to join, both hands working together as they move up and down, utilizing his pre-cum as natural lubrication. Mindful not to cause any discomfort, you bring your mouth closer, preparing to add saliva to further coat him.

"Umm… I've never done this before," Din confesses in a tone you almost miss.

His words cause you to pause, confusion evident on your face as you squirm on your knees. The yellow dust in your bloodstream seems to intensify your need for him by a million.

"Handjob?"

Din appears panicky, realizing he admitted to something he wasn't sure how you would react to. There's no taking the words back, and he opts for honesty. "Everything," he confesses, looking away from you.

It takes a while for you to process his admission. "Oh!” He's a virgin?

Din exhales, his voice tinged with embarrassment. "I just killed the mood, didn’t I?"

"No, no, no, I didn’t mean it in a bad way. Really, I'm just shocked. It’s just, it’s you. You’re so beautiful. I mean, I was, um, attracted to you when I met you. I wouldn’t have guessed.” Your voice turns into a hushed whisper. "Although things make sense now.” You tap on his side to make him look down at you. "I’m sorry for assuming," you say, fully honest and apologetic, and then get up.

He looks at you with eyes filled with shame and embarrassment.

"Come here," you say with a reassuring smile and slowly guide him backward until the back of his legs are touching the bed. You raise your hands, place them on his shoulders, and gently press down. Now with Din seated, you kneel once more.

Your eyes can’t help but be pulled to his glistening dick. "Do you want this? Are you sure it's not just the powder? Because I feel it too," you pause, exhaling as the ache in your cunt intensifies. "But I need you to want this with me. It's okay if you don't. We can do other stuff until the effects wear off."

"I do, I do want you," Din nods desperately.

You can sense the sincerity in his words, and the mutual need between you two becomes increasingly difficult to resist. Knowing you can't delay both of your desires any longer, you lower your head slightly and purse your lips. Once you feel a decent stream of saliva accumulate in your mouth, you spit on Din's cock.

"Uh, fuck," he moans in a pained voice. The sight of you spitting on him triggers primal feelings within him, desires he never realized he had until this moment. Now that he's seen it, he knows he wants you to repeat it, as long as you're willing. The urge to tell you to do it again is strong, but when he sees you opening your mouth and guiding his cock into it, coherent thoughts are replaced with pure gibberish.

His head breaches your lips, and the immediate warmth that surrounds his length is otherworldly. "Oh, oh," Din chants, the sensation feeling entirely foreign but undeniably pleasurable as your tongue dances along his sensitive tip.

Sitting back on your knees, you take a moment to admire the man before you. Din throws his head back in pleasure, but as soon as he realizes he can't see you, he quickly brings it forward to look down at you. Despite his best efforts to keep his eyes on you, they occasionally flutter close. Each time they do, he pries them open, forcing them back open, but against his will, they shut again.

He must feel overwhelmed, you think. You want to take it slow, build up to it, but the drug-like substance won't allow for such restraint.

Din opens and closes his mouth, clearly wanting to speak. "You can say it," you encourage him, though your words come out muffled. You peer at him through your eyelashes, continuing to suck.

"It- ah… feels good. You make me feel good."

"Oh, Din, good boy," you praise in your head, his words causing everything in you to flutter, making you more determined to bring him even more pleasure. To reward him, you take a deep breath through your nose, attempting to relax your throat. Once you feel sufficiently relaxed, your hands find Din's hips, careful not to press on the red-blue bruise on his left side. Gripping him firmly with both hands, you rise on your knees, sitting taller, and push your mouth against him in one swift motion.

Din jolts, sitting down abruptly, and “Nngh,” a strangled growl escapes him at the sudden sensation of having his entire dick shoved down your throat. His breathing intensifies, unsure of what to do with his hands. He resorts to gripping his sheets, and sweat begins to dampen his hair, falling onto his forehead.

Maintaining him in the depths of your throat for a few moments, you try your best to stifle any urge to gag. As you begin to pull away, Din lets out incoherent mumbles.

Your fingertips ghost over his injury, then press gently, eliciting a broken groan. "Does your side hurt?" you ask, retreating your fingers.

Din felt a surge of desire when you pressed on his bruise. Though he's embarrassed to admit yet another thing, considering how you tried to hold back for him, he decides to be honest with you. "A little, but… I like it.”

“Oh?” you say, surprised. “Well, we'll explore that next time,” you tell him, quite excited to discover more about what makes him reel.

You remove your hand from his left side and bring it to his shaft. Your fingers sprawl across the thickness, and Din feels them move over his veins. The sensitivity makes him pant out, “Yes, yes, yes.”

With his dick pointing up, you bring your head to the level of his pecs and envelop his tip with your lips. “Oh, fuck, ohh,” he grunts, then loses control of his hands, and his elbows give out. Stumbling backward, his back hits the mattress.

“Din!” you gasp in concern, but your words come out incoherent since you still have him in your mouth. Before you can rise on your legs and lean over to check if he’s okay, he sits back up, his stomach moving. Observing the way the slight roundness of his stomach jumps, you find it attractive and groan into him.

“Ah,” he says, mouth dropping and eyes fluttering.

You relish the effect you have on him, bobbing your head over the tip repeatedly. Instead of going further, you focus on licking his slit every once in a while, savoring the pre-cum that's leaking onto your fist.

While he's a mess above you, Din is captivated by the color and shape of your lips. Her lips… over me… it’s, uh, so good.

Desiring some friction, you rock your hips, though it's to no avail. You whine into him, the vibrations causing Din to groan. Shit, shit, shit, he pants in his head as the heat in his stomach snaps.

Feeling him pulse in your mouth, and judging by his sounds, you know he’s about to cum. Your slick sticks to the inside of your pants at the thought of swallowing his load. Din frantically tries to warn you to get off, “Cum! I’m- ahh,” you don’t let up; you just increase your pace. In the blink of an eye, hot, salty liquid explodes in your mouth. You try to take as much as you can, but you can’t swallow everything fast enough. Gulp after gulp, there’s more, and it spills from your lips onto your right hand that’s wrapped around his base, even landing on the dark patch of hair on his pubic area.

“Oh, fuck,” Din moans, drawing out the K, his hips unconsciously raising ever so lightly, rocking more of him into your mouth.

Once his high subsides, you remove yourself from him and rise from your knees to touch his face, looking to the side. “Din,” you call, and since he doesn’t move his head, you shift to the side of the bed to be face-to-face with him. Your heart breaks when you see his coffee eyes brimming with tears.

“Baby,” you say softly, and it prompts Din's tears to fall. “Why are you crying?” you question gently.

“I’m sorry,” he says, “dank farrik, I’m so pathetic,” Din shakes his head.

“You’re not pathetic, Din,” you assure him.

He inhales sharply. “It’s just that this is the first time… the first time I’ve, um, orgasmed from the hands of another person. For so long, I could never do anything because I was taught it was wrong. I even felt guilty the first time I touched myself, and I just can’t help but feel like I’ve committed some big transgression.”

For a moment, you're stumped. You want to comfort him but are unsure if you'll make things worse while he’s vulnerable.

“Thank you for sharing this with me,” you decide to say. You sit next to him, mindful not to touch him. “I hate that you feel like that. Because what we did shouldn’t make you feel bad. We’re two consenting adults—well, as much as we can think straight because of that weird pollen,” you say, and Din laughs, making you smile. You continue, “Single adults. You shouldn’t feel guilty, Din; it’s natural. We can stop if you want. I won’t think any less of you, I promise,” you bring a hand to your chest and make an X over your heart.

"I still want to continue," he says, reaching for your hand. "I know I shouldn’t feel this way, but everyone has always instilled this belief in me. It feels good hearing from someone else that I shouldn’t feel guilty."

"Okay, baby," you tell him. "What do you want to do next?" You want to make sure the ball is in his court and that you’re not guided by the drug in your system.

"Well, I’m still hard," he says, and you look down to see that, indeed, it's true.

"Oh, wow. I’d take that as a compliment, but I’m pretty sure it’s because of the flower.”

"I want to do something for you now," Din says, rising to his feet and pushing you to lay down on the soft mattress. You instinctively part your legs, and he's the one on his knees now, playing with the unbuttoned button. "May I?" he asks in the sweetest voice.

You lift your hips, and Din hooks his fingers on the waistband of your pants. He begins to slide them down quite fast, leaving you in your panties. Maker, I can see through her underwear, Din mutters in his head, melting at the sight.

"Your thighs, they’re all wet," he comments out loud.

You giggle and cross your hands at the hem of your shirt, pulling it over your head. "That’s all ‘cause of you, baby," you say in a sultry voice as you unhook your bra and throw it behind you.

Din loses his train of thought when he sees your exposed chest. He stares, mouth agape.

“They’re so…pretty,” he says, mesmerized and blushing. Suddenly, he begins to paw at your panties, rips them off you, and hooks your legs over his shoulders with ease.

You gasp in shock, and it turns to a whine when Din dips his head between your parted thighs, licking an experimental stripe from your tight hole up to your clit. “Ah! D-Din!” you sit up a bit and tangle your hands in his black curls. He groans into you, driven by pure instinct and fragments of recollection from what he had heard when he was working by himself. Attempting to recall bits he had gathered here and there from conversations in bars.

He laps at your juices, his tongue dancing over your most sensitive points, closing his eyes, fully enjoying the taste, moaning out so lovingly almost as though he was the one receiving pleasure. Shit, Din growled in his mind, she tastes so good. You were a moaning mess above him. He was a little sloppy, but his eagerness and hot tongue more than made up for it.

“Mmm…You’re doing great. Just here,” you say and tell him how to touch your clit. After a few words of guidance, Din has it wrapped around his lips.

“Ohhh!” you yelp and rut your hips against his mouth as he sucks your bundle of nerves. His eyes shut in sheer pleasure, the sultry sounds of your moans fueling his desire. You are surprisingly close, and your entire body is covered with a sheer layer of sweat. Your arms and abdomen tire, and you lay down. You raise your head a little, just enough to see Din use his tongue against your pearled nub and bring one hand from your hip to your thighs. You watch in excitement as he lets go of your right leg over his shoulder and flips his wrist on his ventral side. Very gently, he takes his index and middle finger and presses them against your entrance.

"Is this okay?" he rasps, pushing more of his fingers into your slick warmth.

You nod your head fervently, loving the way his thick fingers stretch you open. “Mm… I love your fingers," you gasp. "So good- they feel so good."

Din thrusts his fingers deeper, feeling your warm, wet walls clench around him already, feeling you sucking him in further.

"You're getting wetter," he observes, his voice a low growl, not expecting a response.

"Th-that's ‘cus you're," you pause to huff, "making me feel so much pleasur- ah!" you scream when he presses against your sweet spot and you continue to tell him he's doing a good job. "You can try opening and closing your fingers," you suggest.

He scissors his fingers and unexpectedly wraps his lips around your sensitive bud, sending electric pulses of pleasure coursing through your entire body.

You moan and writhe, lost in the pleasure he’s providing. "Your mouth, Din! Oh, Maker- fuck!" The words tumble from your lips, a symphony of desire, as your body quivers with impending release. "Din!" His name escapes your lips in a sharp, forced breath as you shatter into blissful climax.

In the depths of his mind, Din revels in the satisfaction of making you cum. The only twinge of regret is that he couldn't witness the ecstasy on your face, still occupied with his fingers buried inside you, working with his tongue on your swollen bud. He’s panting and you tell him to come up. Unaware of your plea, he continues his fervent attention, his fingers and tongue working together. You tug at his hair, urging him to rise. When he lets up, he slowly withdraws his digits and relishes the gasp you elicit.

Face to face with you, like a sculptor admiring his masterpiece, he adores the way your hair sticks to your forehead, and your expression is drenched in post-orgasmic bliss.

"Kiss," you command, pulling him closer, lips hungry for him.

He complies, and the moment his lips meet yours, it feels like a burst of lightning goes off in his head. His heart leaps wildly in his chest, and inside your stomach, a flurry of butterflies suddenly and furiously takes flight. A low groan escapes him when your tongues meet.

The air seems to dissipate in his lungs, and reluctantly, he tears his mouth away. Panting, his forehead touches yours as he confesses, "I've never tasted myself before."

"Do you like it?"

"From your lips? Yes," he admits, a shy tone lingering in his voice.

You've decided you like making him blush, so you lean in and whisper into his ear, "Maybe you'll like it even more when you're licking it from my pussy."

A low groan escapes Din, and he pushes you back into the mattress. Catching your mouth, the first kiss you shared had been softer and hesitant, but this one is all-consuming. He pours every pent-up feeling he's harbored for you into the searing kiss. You feel his hard length pressing against your hip, prompting you to break the kiss and spread your legs as far as you can with Din hovering above you.

"Are you ready, baby?" you ask Din, running your fingers along the contours of his face.

Not trusting his words, he nods, his eyes filled with a hunger matching yours.

“We should stay in this position so you can control the movement," you suggest, still feeling the lingering effects of the flower, though now slightly subdued after Din made you cum.

“Are we okay to um…” Din hesitates, not knowing how to initiate the conversation about protection.

“I’ve got an implant, oh, and you can come inside if you want.”

Din looks down at you, a near-helpless expression on his face. You wrap one leg around his waist, and he grips himself in his hand. His breathing hitches as he guides himself to your entrance. You notice some hesitance in his eyes, so you lift your head to kiss his nose and whisper that it's okay.

Din presses his tip inside you and lowers his entire body to yours, careful not to crush you. His mouth seeks yours to muffle the noises he's sure will escape his lips any second now. Ohh, Maker. How does she f-feel this good? Din asks himself, unable to believe that such pleasure exists. Of course, I can only find it in her, he concludes.

Meanwhile, you feel your body temperature rising. He's unbelievably girthy, and you feel all of his veins and ridges as your body molds to his. Din presses his knees on the mattress and thrusts more of himself into you. Your breath is stolen from your lungs when your body works overtime to open up. Din felt you tense and muttered apologies after apologies, but you reassured him that you were okay; it was just taking you a while to fully take him. He stilled and slowly withdrew himself as much as he could. Your body was not letting him go, and he was only giving you less than half of his cock to open you up. When you begged him for more, he complied, and he pushed more of himself faster this time. You spread your legs wider, and when he bottomed out, "Ah! Uhn…Di-Din!" you cried, and your eyes shut closed, overwhelmed.

“Hah– fuck,” Din spat out, hips suddenly stuttering, feeling your soft, velvety walls tightening. No, no, not yet, Din scolds himself. He grits his teeth and stops moving to get himself to calm down.

When he stops pounding you, you close your legs around him, making you tighter.

"B-baby, don't do that," Din chokes.

You open your eyes and see that he's looking at you intently, so you spread your legs apart once more. When they touch the mattress, Din pulls out, leaving just his head in, and quickly thrusts himself back into your pussy.

In response, you squeal and claw at his back. That seems to give him more motivation, and he continues to brutally take you. The room is filled with the sounds of wet squelching noises, moans, grunts, you calling out his name, him calling out yours, and skin slapping skin as his balls repeatedly hit against your cunt.

With the ferocity he's taking you, he sees your breasts bouncing, and he can't resist lowering his head to catch a nipple in his mouth. His hot tongue is flickering over your pearled bud, and you tell him, "Bite- uhn- bite it gently and… and then run your tongue against it.

Din follows your command eagerly. As he ruts his hips against yours with unrestrained fervor, his teeth sink into the tender flesh of your nipple, biting gently before his tongue dances over the aroused bud. The initial pain transforms into a pleasurable sensation, prompting you to wrap both legs around his hips, meeting his wild thrusts. As the crown of his head brushes against the deepest part of you, you can't help but wail.

"Oh!" you moan, feeling your body shudder as the tension in your stomach reaches its peak. Clinging to Din, in a matter of seconds, waves of pleasure cascade through you, and a steady stream of liquid pours out, covering both your thighs, his abdomen, and the bedsheets. Simultaneously, Din cries out your name, his hips losing their rhythm as he feels you clenching around him like a vice. You feel him pulsing, and immediately after, he spills. Rope after rope, he fills you up with his warm seed. His body collapses on top of yours, and for a moment, his vision blacks out. His hands rest next to your head, and he moves his head to mumble incoherent nonsense directly into your ear.

Both of you catch your breath, and you soothingly run your hand up and down Din's back. He responds with tender kisses on your forehead before raising his head.

"Thank you," he pants, his breath still ragged, and quickly adds, "Was that okay for you?"

You laugh lightly. "You made me squirt."

"Oh," he blushes, "It's probably due to the flower."

"Maybe… I mean, it's never happened with someone else and certainly not this much by myself.”

Your mind is still hazy, and you don't hear his response. "I wish you'd cum on my face," you say, not mindful of your words. Then you feel him twitch inside you. You gasp and ask him, "Din, are you still hard?"

He doesn't reply; he just looks down sheepishly at where you and him are connected.

A mischievous smile plays on your lips. "Can we try something?"

He brings his gaze back up and nods. You untangle your legs from him and bring your arms to slowly push him off you.

He gets the message and slowly pulls out of you, causing both of you to groan at the loss. Once he's no longer inside you, you sit up and ask him to get off the bed. Without an explanation, he's confused but does what you ask.

You scoot up to the edge of the bed and then get on all fours in front of him. "I want you to fuck my face."

Din's mouth parts into an 'o' as you take his hardened length into your hand, guiding him between your lips. When you taste yourself on him, you moan, and so does he. He feels heavy against your tongue, and the sounds coming from him are heavenly.

You pull back to tell him, "If you don't like something, let me know." Then, you begin to take him deeper until you reach the thickest part of him.

"You-" he begins but stays quiet. Does he want to say something? you question in your head but go back to moving your head at a steady rhythm. Very lightly, you scrape your teeth carefully to avoid biting him or drawing blood. At the sensation, Din bucks his hips forward, and he whines. Again, he sounds like he wants to talk but decides against it. You want to hear whatever he needs, so reluctantly, you pull back but keep stroking him in your hand.

"¿Por qué no me quieres decir lo que quieres? (Why don't you tell me what you want to say?)" you ask, looking at him through your lashes.

"I-" he groans when you use your thumb to circle the slit at his tip, "'M not good at the dirty talk."

"Say whatever comes to mind. You won't scare me off," you promise, and then envelop him in your mouth once more. To get him more comfortable with showing him you can handle him being rough, you take one of his hands that are awkwardly at his side and bring it to the back of your head. His large hand sprawls like he's holding a small ball, and experimentally he moves your head closer to him, making you move further on his length. He hears you struggle and is about to remove his hand in fear, but you raise your hand to hold his in place. You relax your throat and slightly move your head further, then let your hand drop. Din understands and begins to guide you to take him deeper. Feeling your hot mouth wrapped around him was causing him to spew curse after curse, still not confident enough to say what he so desperately wanted. Take her, Din. Rómpele el cerebro con maldad. She wants you to be rough with her. But if you don't want her, another man would certainly happily take her off your hands and make good use of her mou- and just like that a switch flipped in Din.

"Is this what you want, Cyar'ika?" he asks and then in one go, presses your face into his pelvic area. Thankfully, your throat had already been opened up by the time you silently asked, more like begged, for him to fuck your face so it wasn't too painful to take him down your lower throat suddenly.

"Mhm," you whine, and you do everything you can to stimulate a nod.

"Good, baby," he answers, and in an animalistic pace, he thrusts his hips over and over. Your eyes water, but you love it. You love the way he looks blissed out, with his eyebrows lifting every time his cockhead touches the back of your throat. You love the way he’s letting go, and you love that you’re the first person to see him like this, and if you play your cards right, the only one.

This time when your nose hits his dark patch of hair, you take an arm to still his movements. Once your hand cups around his waist, you inhale his smell—it's musky and somewhat sweet. The scent intensifies your desire for his cum, so you drop your hand and resume your ministrations.

“Fuck!” he grunts in surprise when you massage one of his balls with your fingers. "Good girl."

He didn't give you any indication he didn't like it, but still, you look up at him and see him already peering down at you. “Shit, you look so pretty with my cock in your mouth," he praises, fueling your moans. The vibrations reverberate through him, and he opens his mouth to tell you, “Your mouth feels fucking fantastic. This is why I was jealous of your stupid candy."

"What?" you muffle into him.

"When you had that bright purple lollipop in your mouth. You-ah-you kept on sucking it, making all of those noises and saying how good it tasted. I kept thinking about having your mouth on me, and it was driving me crazy.”

You giggle, thinking about the ridiculous idea that he was jealous of some sugary treat.

"¿Crees que es chistoso? (Do you think it’s funny?)“ He doesn't take your laughter lightly and harshly snaps his hips against your face. His lips curl into a snarl, and wet sounds along with Din's grunts echo throughout the room. Amidst his brutal pace, his hazy mind thinks, Is she okay? Quickly, he opens his eyes to see if he didn't take it too far, only to see one of your hands in between your thighs, fingers working deep inside of you. It only encourages him to keep slamming his cock, driven by the pleasure coursing through his veins and seeing your oh-so-pretty lips molding him perfectly.

“Oh, fuck, I’m close-“ he warns, releasing the grip he has on your head. You scramble to detach yourself from Din, causing a long string of saliva to form once you pull off him. Your jaw is a bit sore to continue sucking him off, so you resort to taking his base into your hand and angling his dick with his tip pointing upwards. His eyes bore into yours, waiting for your next move.

Instead of your lips wrapping around his dick, they lower to his sack. You suck his left ball, and your hand fondles the other one.

"Fuck, yes," he moans, his eyes fluttering shut. You love that he’s gotten more vocal; it makes the heat between your legs burn hotter. When you alternate your actions, it causes him to whimper out your name in a broken moan. You feel him pulse, and since you don’t want it to be over yet, you kneel in front of him and trail your lips upwards, licking the veins on the underside of his dick. His cockhead is leaking again, and you can’t help but run your tongue there, collecting the liquid that has dripped lower, almost to your fist.

“Chúpale ahí, mami, así, así (Suck it in there, mami, like that, like that),” Din whines, and his words cause you to whine too. You want his cum now, you decide, and one last time, you wrap your lips around his purple tip and run a hand down to his base to play with his balls. You feel him pulse, his stomach tenses, his thighs shake, and “a- uhn!” You close your eyes and stick your tongue out. His hot seed comes out in ropes. It paints your breasts in white iridescent cream, and it hits just below your eye. With your mouth open, some of his cum lands on your tongue. He’s panting and letting out strings of your name along with curses. Once you’re sure you’ve milked him for every last drop, you let your grip off and swallow his spend. Mmm, he tastes salty and like apples, you muse. When you open your eyes, Din’s just finished composing himself. His lashes flutter open, and when he sees you peering up at him, he gives you a smile brighter than the hottest sun.

“Ven aqui (come here),” he beckons, and you rise to his height, throwing your arms around him. He meets your lips for a kiss and quickly scoops you up to carry you. With you in his arms, he walks to his bathroom with the intention of taking a shower. You separate your lips from him to talk.

“So, the mami thing,” you start, and he buts in with a groan. “Escucha pues (listen to me),” you scold.

He playfully rolls his eyes. “I’m all ears,” but then his expression changes. “Wait, did you not like that? I’m so sor-“ You cover his mouth and kiss his nose.

“You’ve really gotta let me finish my sentences, baby,” you say, playing with his sweaty curls around the nape of his neck. “I loved it. I was just wondering if papi was on the table for you.”

“Woman,” he exhales like he’s in pain. “Let’s shower and then go a few more times.” He feels himself grow again and quickly opens the bathroom door.

You grin at his response. “Did you know that shower sex is a thing?”

Extended A/N: In my previous post, I mentioned that this story might be the last one I share before leaving this website. I haven't had the time to finalize my decision yet. I appreciate those who reached out – thank you 🩷. To give you some context, I considered leaving due to some negative interactions I received. I often portray my characters as Spanish speakers, and unfortunately, that has led to some unfavorable responses. However, as I mentioned earlier, I haven't made a final decision yet. Anyhow, thank you for reading, and have a lovely day 🫶🏽!

[satelitis]

꒰ CAN'T GET RID OF ME THAT EASILY ꒱ . . . f reed !

pairing(s) : fulton reed x fem!portman!reader (romantic) , dean portman x sister! reader (platonic)

in which before the game against varsity, the portman siblings have a surprise up their sleeves.

requested : yes or no.

!! content warnings : fluff, yelling, swearing

robin chirps : erm so im out of my writing slump and ziggy and i nonstop talk about tmd and our boyfriends, so i decided to surprise her since she kinda got me out of my writing slumps and introduced me to my bf charlie and one of the most amazing movies of all time <3 ily zigma!! [@spaceagebachelormann]

"your'e playing hard, i'm proud of you guys." coach orion reassured as he patted russ on the shoulder.

"they're cheap shotting us to death!" luis groaned.

"i know they are, i know they are." orion sympathized.

"It's gonna take a miracle for us to hold on." averman replied. little did the ducks know that "miracle" would be a little more unexpected then they thought.

suddenly, the door burst open revealing a tall brunette with a bandana around his head. dean portman.

"dean portman is awarded a full athletic and academic scholarship to the eden hall academy," dean read off his maroon folder. "i found this lying around at home in chicago, my attorny thought i should sign it, and i agreed." he continued. "it's offical boys, im back!" he exclaimed as all the ducks cheered, especially fulton. his heart broke the day that his best friend dean, and the love of his life, y/n had to go back to chicago. he was ecstatic at the sudden appearance of his fellow bash brother. but if dean was here...then where was y/n?

"hey you ass, where'd you go?" a voice spoke in the doorway. fulton could recognize that voice from anywhere. y/n. the voice was further identified when she herself wandered into the room. fulton was beyond shocked, jovial and he felt that he might have a heart attack because of how much was happening. in no time at all, y/n was in fultons arms their lips interlocked.

"did you miss me?" y/n teased, as fulton rolled his eyes, kissing her once again. dean looked partially disgusted.

"what the hell. why didn't i get one?" dean joked, activly trying to piss y/n off. the girl gave her brother the bird as the ducks laughed and watched the cute reunion. russ and averman made jokes in the background and snickered.

"oh, fulton! i missed you so much mwah mwah mwah." averman said in a feminine high pitched voice, as he faked kissing noises. russ continued with the bit presumably as fulton.

"i missed you too, babe." he said also mimicking kissing sounds. the ducks snickered. fulton proceeded to threaten the two.

"will you shut the hell up before i give you pucks for teeth?" he said. averman and russ laughed, as they stopped the bit. fulton turned his attention back to y/n now answering her question. '

"of course i missed you, you were gone for like ever." he exaggerated. but that's what it felt like for the couple.

"the phone calls weren't the same." he frowned softly.

"yeah, 'specially WHEN DEANS BREATHING ON THE OTHER LINE." y/n raises her voice as she turns back to dean.

"why didn't you call me and tell me you were coming?" he asked her,

"cause this was way more fun." she replied, a goofy grin on their faces. "you can't get rid of me that easily." she said.

'i'd hate to intrude on your little love fest but we got a bunch of temperamental man children's asses to kick." russ chimed in.

the ducks all cheered as they made their way on the ice.

"is that dean portman?" the teenage announcer asked. the crowd was in unbelief, "oh and his sister, y/n! they're both back!" he exclaimed.

"who are those kids? they cant play!" tom exclaimed. "they're on scholarship tom, my hands are tied." dean buckley replied.

"so you're the big enforcer, huh? well its nice to meet you, see, we have a lot more in common then you think-" dean rambled.

"shut up." the warrior spat, "lets play hockey," he said.

"whatever you say sunshine," dean shrugged, the game continued as dean ended up making cole go through the glass, shattering it.

dean and fulton cheered as they banged their heads together. "the bash brothers are back and they're here to stay and so is "y/n "the firecracker" portman, as she scores goal one for the ducks!" the announcer called out and boy was fulton beyond happy with it.

[insomniakisses]

Who do you belong to?

Character: Aemond Targaryen (HOTD)

Requested? No

Warnings/notes: female reader/afab reader, omegaverse au, alpha aemond, NSFW MINORS DNI, spitting, chocking, daddy kink, breeding kink, jealous aemond, oral f receiving, knotting, unprotected sex

The feeling of kisses being placed on your thighs brought your body back to consciousness. Looking down you saw a smirk on your husbands face, his lips trailing wet kisses along your thighs. You let your eyes close enjoying the feeling gasping breathely when he took a long lick from your hole to your clit.

He lets out a throaty grown as he does, your taste making his dick twitch you feel yourself clench at the sight.

“F-fuck baby, gonna make me cum before I fuck this slutty pussy” he grunts leaning down to rub your clit as he licks and sucks at your heat.

You cant help moan as you hold his head there, feeling him suck harder the lewd slurping and groaning he makes only driving your over the edge further.

“A-em, please fuck me. Fuck my slutty pussy”

“Such a whore” he practically groans pulling away and teasingly licking your clit taking the moment you throw your head back with a moan to push three fingers in without a warning. Cutting off any protests by sucking harshly at your clit.

He pumps his fingers, curling and scissoring then inside you as her sucks your clit. He cant help grind against the bed, pr beading at the tip smearing against the sheets the more her humps them. He feels you clench around him whimpering his name as he picks up his pace never slowing as you cum hard on his fingers pulling them out to lap at your pussy. He sucks at your heat tasting every last drop of your cum hands gripping your thighs hard enough to bruise as he holds your legs open.

Now satisfied with his work he pulls back, grabbing his cock he jerks it slightly, spreading his pre all over your pussy a breathy moan escaping when you clench against his tip.

“You gonna let daddy fuck a baby into you? Gonna let me fill you with seed like the breeding slut you are?” He groans thrusting against your pussy feeling you get wetter and wetter every thrust, his tip almost slipping in every time.

“Y-yes daddy, fuck…” he pushes in giving you no time to adjust, hips slapping against your as moans and the sounds of your wetness fill the room.

He picks your legs up higher, pinning then to your chest to fuck you deeper. Your moans getting higher and higher in pitch as he goes. Grunting as you squeeze him tighter your orgasms hitting together and he releases spurt after spurt of cum into you. Your walls milking his cock.

“M-more fuck give me more” you groan, feeling his hips start thrusting again his cum still spurting into you.

“Who do you belong to?” He grunts, finally ending his orgasm he chases another hips fucking faster.

Your too fucked out to answer, clenching around his dick begging him to go harder, faster and deeper.

He growls deep, gripping your neck hard cock twitching as he reaches the edge of his orgasm. So close go falling over the edge. His hand chokes you as he whispers low in your ear, “I asked you a question slut”

You moan, “Y-you daddy. I belong to you” he smirks then, a cocky look in his eye. “Open.”

You open your mouth straight away feeling his thrusts puck up again moaning when he spits in your mouth. His hand round your throat moving to strokes your cheek as he fucks you balls slapping against your ass as he grinds into you.

“Swallow” he grunts nipping and sucking your neck as you do, the feeling of you swallowing his spit sending you both over the edge another load of hot sticky cum shooting deep inside youas he pops his swollen knot. His tip pushed against your cervix half pushed in as he cums into your womb.

A/n: Was jus thinking unholy thoughts… decided to share 😏😵‍💫✌️

[justagalwhowrites]

Beskar Doll - Ch. 50: Home

You and the Mandalorian balance life with your family and bounty hunting. The final chapter of Beskar Doll, found in its entirety on Tumblr here.

Pairing: The Mandalorian/Din Djarin x Female Reader

Warnings: Smut :D No use of Y/N. Minors DNI, 18+ only.

Length: 2.6k

5 years later 

“Have him sighted?” 

“Yes, Mama.” The small voice next to you was high pitched and bordering on giddy. You smiled. 

“And that’s the quarry?” You asked. 

“I think so…” she sounded unsure. 

“How do you check, Aidla?” Din asked from the other side of her. 

“See if he looks like the puck,” she said slowly, her face still pressed against the binocs. “And…” 

She paused, frowning. You and your husband both looked at her, giving her a moment to figure it out. 

“Patu,” Grogu said, sitting beside his sister on the rock your family was perched on, making two small stones float in front of him.

“The tracking fob!” She pulled her eyes away from the binocs, her face lit up. 

“That’s right, ad’ika,” Din said. You could hear the smile in his voice. She held out her small hand and Din put the fob in her palm. She held it up next to the binocs, pointing it at the man in the distance. It beeped and flashed. She smiled. 

“I found him!” She all but squealed, smiling broadly, her teeth like small white pearls. 

“So what next?” You asked. 

“We make the capture,” she said, turning serious again. 

“We make the capture,” Din repeated, voice proud. 

You smiled at him over the head of your daughter as she pushed up off the rock, careful to stay out of sight of the small settlement in the distance where you’d tracked the quarry. 

It was still almost miraculous to you, how much she looked like her father. She had his hair - thick and dark with gentle curls - that today you’d braided close to her head to keep it out of the way. She had his eyes, too - all soft, deep warmth - and his lips and his chin. It still amazed you sometimes to look at her and have the acute realization of just what she was. 

Your pregnancy had quickly become more real once you and Din had Grogu back. You returned to Naboo and visited a proper doctor, a knot in your stomach as you did. She confirmed what you were already all but certain of: you were pregnant. 

Din immediately tried to get you to stop hunting with him. 

“No,” you said simply, shrugging with Grogu on your lap. 

“What do you mean no.” 

“I mean no,” you shrugged again. “It’s a very simple word in Basic, Din, I’m surprised you’re unfamiliar…” 

“Cyare.” 

“Din.” 

“Patu.” 

“Thank you,” you looked down at the boy on your lap, his small head tilted back so he could look up at you. 

“Not safe, Doll,” he said. 

“I did plenty of unsafe things before we knew I was pregnant,” you replied. “It was fine. I’m not going to stop living my life because we’re going to have a child. I don’t intend to after they’re here, either.” 

“Doll.” 

“You’re my husband, my partner, my riduur,” you said. “Not my master or my king. I don’t fall under your command, Din.”

Eventually, you had to slow down, of course, but you hunted bounties until you couldn’t keep up. It wasn’t long after that Aidla was born on Naboo, just you and Din behind closed doors so the first time he saw his daughter, it was without a helmet. It was Din who suggested her name, her tiny head cradled in his large palm as he looked at her with wonder, your back against his chest as he held you both. He wanted to honor the woman who’d kept you close in the years you were apart. 

After she was born, it suddenly made so much more sense to take Karga up on an offer he’d made to Din before the two of you had come back together: a place to call home. 

The small house reminded you a bit of your home on Tatooine. There were three bedrooms, a small kitchen where you could all eat together, a sitting room with enough space for the children to play on the floor while you and Din watched. 

It was when Aidla and Grogu were playing there that she first showed signs of her Jedi abilities. You and Din were on the couch, your head on his lap, his fingers tracing along your arm as you read a book on your data pad. You caught it out of the corner of your eye, a bright blue block floating toward her chubby hand from a few feet away. 

Floating toys were hardly unusual in your home. Grogu was happy to use the force to get his tiny hands on whatever he desired - for better or for worse. But your son was focused on the small silver ball from the Razor Crest in his hands, not paying any mind to his sister or the floating block. 

“Din!” You sat up so fast that the Mandalorian jumped to his feet, startling Aidla, the block tumbling to the ground. Her small face scrunched and she wailed. 

“It’s alright, ad’ika,” he said, voice soothing as he scooped her up. Grogu pouted and you went to pick him up, too, kissing his little forehead and bouncing him on your hip. Aidla quieted quickly, her face buried in her father’s neck. He frowned at you. “What happened?”

“She was using the force,” you said, voice low. Not that there was anyone there to keep her power a secret from but it set you on edge. He frowned, his brows knitting together. “It was her, it wasn’t him. I’m sure of it. She’s….” 

“We figured it out with him,” he said, kissing the crown of your head. “We’ll figure it out with her, too.” 

That was three and a half years ago now and, so far, you had figured it out. Not that it wasn’t challenging having two Jedi children, especially when neither you nor Din could move things with your minds, but Aidla and Grogu bonded through it. They would have all but silent conversations in their minds, the only sound the occasional giggle bursting out of Aidla like some uncontrolled thing. 

Ahsoka had her theories about what made Aidla strong in the force. Given your sensitivity to it, it’s possible that it was inherited. That your family had carried the trait for generations, it had just never fully manifested until your daughter. 

It was also possible that Grogu’s burst of power through you at Gideon’s facility had flowed through Aidla, too. She just held onto it, built it into herself, become who she was because of you and Din and Grogu together. 

You were almost certain that Grogu had reminded Aidla about the fob. Even though she should be learning to be sure of her hunting choices on her own, it made you smile, your son helping his little sister when she ran into trouble. 

“OK ade,” you said, trying to incorporate what Mando’a you knew when talking with your children. “What are the rules when we’re making a capture?” 

“We listen to you and Buir,” Aidla sighed, sounding bored. 

“That’s right,” you smiled a little. “What else?��� 

Grogu pushed an image into your mind, of him and Aidla inside a pod that Karga had made for the two of them. You nodded, still smiling. 

“Right again,” you said. “You stay in the pod.”

“When do I get to do that part?” Aidla asked as Din lifted her into the pod. “I’m a good fighter!” 

“You’re not quite big enough yet, darling girl,” you said, switching to Bothese as Din put Grogu in the pod, too. “Just keep practicing so you’ll be ready when the time comes.” 

She rolled her eyes and you smiled and shook your head as you sealed the pod. She was a skilled fighter. Of course she was, with a handmaiden mother and Mandalorian father. You and Din regularly worked with her, teaching her to fight and shoot. The beskar staff that had been broken in half by the Darksaber was the perfect size for her to use to practice and she loved to mimic your movements as you trained. 

You and Din made the capture easily, just a bail jumper who hadn’t anticipated being hunted down and hadn’t done a great job of hiding himself. Din put him into carbonite on the Crest as you settled Aidla and Grogu into the cockpit. 

“Buir,” Aidla asked from her seat behind Din, leaning forward to see the navigational charts. “Are we going to see Aunt Sosha?” 

“Eventually,” he said, starting the launch sequence. You held Grogu tighter as the ship took off. “We’re going to see Aunt Cara first, then Aunt Sosha and then we’re going to spend some time on our world before we go home.” 

“Do you think Aunt Cara will let me fight?” She asked, eager, her eyes wide. “I got better since last time!” 

“You’ll have to ask her, ad’ika,” you heard him smile below the helmet. “But I can’t imagine Cara saying no to you. Or to a fight.” 

You laughed a little as Aidla settled back into the jump seat, smiling almost smugly. You were looking forward to seeing Cara again. The two of you had become thick as thieves over the years, swapping war stories and laughing yourselves sick over a bonfire and whiskey as Din sighed, the firelight reflecting off his armor as you leaned against him. 

You and Sosha had reconnected, too, in the years since you’d gone to her for help getting Grogu back. She’d fallen in love with your son before she’d even made it out of the research facility. Sosha had been one of the first people to meet Aidla and immediately adored her, too. 

“Oh my stars,” she breathed, holding your daughter’s tiny body in her hands - one organic, one prosthetic. You smiled, tears swelling at the sight of your oldest, closest friend cradling your newborn child, your husband’s arm wrapped around your shoulders. “I’ve never seen anything so perfect in my entire life.” 

Aidla yawned, making a little coo as she scrunched her tiny nose. 

“I need one of these,” she said, glancing up at you with a small smile. “Don’t tell Pell.” 

“I’ll let you break that to him,” you smiled a little, lacing your fingers with Din’s. “These warrior men need some easing into the idea…” 

You felt Din give you a look from below the helmet and you smiled over your shoulder at him. He touched his forehead to yours, the cool metal its own form of familiarity and intimacy that you’d come to love. 

“Yes, Lady Djarin,” Sosha said softly to Aidla. “Definitely need to get one of you.” 

It didn’t take long for Aidla and Grogu both to fall asleep as the Crest went into hyperspace. Din gently lifted his daughter and carried her down the ladder to the small sleeping quarters you’d made in the corner of the cargo hold, not far from your first hiding place on the ship. He tucked her in as you brought Grogu down and put him in the bed next to her. Din removed his helmet and kissed them both before taking you by the hand and leading you to your quarters. 

He undressed you slowly, running his hands over your skin, fingers tracing along your arms, over your ribs, your breasts, your neck, your face. You pulled away his armor, piece by piece, until you were in each other’s arms with nothing between you. 

“I think we should make another one of those,” he said between soft kisses peppering your skin. 

“You really want to be outnumbered by Jedi?” You smiled a little as he pressed you back into the bed. You lay down on it, pulling him down with you. 

“If they’re yours,” he said, settling between your thighs, his weight a heavy comfort as his body swallowed your own. “It’s all I want.” 

He kissed down your body, over your chest, your stomach, his lips lingering on your skin below your navel. His mouth found your slit, the tip of his tongue tracing over your slick seam from your entrance to your clit, making you moan. He pressed his tongue into you, opening you gently and slowly, his nose against the bottom your clit. His large hand splayed out against your lower stomach, his thumb brushing and teasing the top of your sensitive nub. 

His tongue worked deeper into you, his fingers sinking into your flesh as your body got tight and hot around him, rocking your hips against him until you came with a strangled moan. 

He kissed back up your body while your limbs were still limp and pliant from your orgasm. He still tasted like you as his tongue slipped into your mouth, his fingers tangling in your hair, his hard length brushing against your dripping slit. 

“Cyare,” he breathed. 

“Yes,” you nodded, panting and aching and needy. “Yes, let’s have another baby, I want…” 

He swallowed your words, his cock pressing into you, making you moan at the stretch of him. You pressed your hips up against him until he was fully within you. He stilled inside you for a moment, his lips separating from you just enough to look in your eyes, joined with him as thoroughly as two people could be. 

Din moved in you slowly at first, so you could feel every part of him within you, your hips rising to meet his as you sank into each other. He increased his pace gradually, your body tightening around him, your fingers pressing into his back, trying to pull him as close to you as you could get. He was so deep inside you that you couldn’t remember a time where he wasn’t a part of you and you weren’t a part of him. 

“Din,” you moaned into him. “I…” 

He pressed into the soft, achy part of you that made your heart stutter and back arch, stealing the words from your mouth. 

“Need you to cum for me, Cyare,” he was panting, desperate. “Please, need to feel you, love you, need you…” 

You came, arching into him, your hands clutching him close and you felt him come apart within you, pressing as deep as he could reach inside you. 

He pulled you against his chest and tugged your leg over his hip before rolling you both onto your sides, his cock still inside you. The arm below you wrapped around you close to him as his other hand traced along the edges of your face, his eyes searching your own. 

“Think I’ll like being outnumbered with you,” you smiled. 

“We’ve made it work so far,” he kissed you softly. “We’re raising warriors.” 

You smiled, burying your face in his neck. He still smelled a little wild. Like the forest. Like home. 

It amazed you sometimes, thinking of all the places that were home to you now. Your husband and your children together. The Razor Crest where you’d first fallen for the Mandalorian who was now your riduur. The house on Nevarro that was always filled with the sound of love. The uncharted world where you brought your children and they learned to hunt and climb and you had a chance to paint. 

When you left Naboo, you thought you’d never find a home again, not really. Now, you had it everywhere, the comfort and security of it reaching into everything.

You pulled back from your husband just enough to see his face, the face of a Mandalorian warrior. Your fingers drifted into his hair and you smiled a little. In all of the galaxy you’d seen, nothing was quite as beautiful as Din and he was a sight that was reserved just for you and the family you made with him. 

“Cyare,” he said softly. “What is it?” 

“Nothing,” you smiled a little. “Just happy that I’m home.” 

A/N: WOW!

This is over. I can't believe it.

This was the first fan fiction I ever wrote, the first time I ever tried to make something new from a character that wasn't my own. Even though I only started it a few months ago, it feels like I've been with Din and Doll forever.

Thank you so much for being here for this story. I hope you enjoyed the ride as much as I enjoyed sharing it with you. Knowing you were a part of it, reading your comments, experiencing it alongside you all helped make this experience what it was. It's been incredible. Thank you.

I've started a new fic set in the TLOU universe called Yearling and you can find that here.

Thank you again for spending your time with my work. It's meant the world. I hope we go on another adventure again soon.

Love you all!

[doubleminor]

nick suzuki wins the chipotle pitch ‘n puck! nhl all star skills 2023

[bibbityboppitybillyharvgrove]

Unlikely Friends - S.Harrington

Summary - Lover’s lake was her favorite lake to skate on during winter break, usually only running into older men ice fishing. However, one night she runs into the captain of the hockey team, Steve Harrington. They become unlikely friends within the span of a night.

Word Count - 792

Warnings - Female reader, use of Y/N, Munson!Reader no physical description is given, foul language, not proofread

Author’s Note - Welcome to day 19! 6 more days left! This is one of my favorite pairings ever, hockey player and figure skater.

my masterlist

25 days of fics masterlist

Feedback is welcomed and encouraged!

Enjoy!

not my gif

not my gif

There was one lake in Hawkins that she liked to go to in order to practice over the winter break, that lake was lover’s lake. Usually it was vacant except for some ice fishers but not this night. No, this night there was a boy who was skating around with a hockey stick. She had recognized him, the captain of the high school hockey team, Steve Harrington.

She went about her usual routine however, unbothered by the new presence around her. That was until she was hit square in the back with a hockey puck which sent her flying onto the ice. 

“Oh my god! I’m so sorry! Are you okay?!” She heard his voice approaching her, panic lacing his tone.

“Holy shit that hurts! Goddamn Harrington! Do you have to hit that thing so hard?” She groaned out as she sat up, his hand reaching out to her to help her up to her feet, she gladly accepted and accepted the help.

“I’m so sorry! Are you okay?” He repeated, still panicking.

“I’m good, I’ve had worse but damn those things are hard as shit. Now I understand why so many hockey players are missing teeth.” This made Steve chuckle, tension leaving his shoulders at her foul language and realizations. “What are you doing on the ice on Christmas eve?” She asked him, rubbing the spot on her back gently.

“I could ask you the same thing. Coach wanted me to practice my slap shots, obviously they need work since I completely missed the goal and whacked you in the back,” Steve rambled.

“I need to practice my new skills before my next practice. My coach wants my routine to be perfect, said my skills were average at best.”

“Your coach sounds like a bitch.” This made her laugh as she agreed. Steve offered to step off the lake for a bit so she could feel safe enough not to get hit with a puck again and they’d switch off every 30 minutes so they could get breaks. 

Steve watched her, mesmerized by the leaps and twirls she was able to do without effort. She too, was mesmerized by how brutish Steve was on the ice but was an absolute sweetheart off of it. They continued switching who was on the ice for hours, chatting in between and getting to know one another. By the end of their turn taking, it was pitch black outside, the moon shining bright and the star glimmering. They sat on a boulder beside the lake and talked, and they talked. 

They talked for hours, about everything and nothing at all. Venting about their coaches and some of the people on their team. As they both took off their skates and put on their shoes, Steve asked her, “How did you get here if you don’t mind me asking?”

“I walked, I don’t live too far away, I live in the trailer park with my dad and cousin,” She replied.

“Do you want a ride home? I don’t mind, the trailer park is on my way actually.”

“That would be lovely, thank you.”

On the walk to his car, Steve asked about her family and who her cousin was. “Eddie Munson, super senior, school freak. He’s my favorite person, he’s a great guy, just misunderstood.”

“I’ve never talked to him before but I know he doesn’t like jocks very much.”

“God no, most of them bully the shit out of him. Once he gets used to someone, you get to see the real side of Eddie.”

They talked through the entire car ride, which was short and hadn’t stopped until he pulled into the driveway of the trailer, two men sitting on her doorstep with cigarettes in their hands and waiting. She kissed Steve on the cheek before thanking him and leaving the car.

“Where the hell have you been? We’ve been worried about you!” Eddie exclaimed, pulling his cousin into a protective hug.

“I was practicing for a while, met Steve and we lost track of time. I didn’t mean to scare you guys. I’m sorry,” She admitted.

“No need to apologize sweetpea. We’re just glad you’re home safe. We will be talking about that boy though,” Wayne butted in, kissing his daughter on the head before ushering the two teens inside. She waved at Steve one last time before the front door had closed behind her. She hadn’t left the area of the front door until she heard Steve’s car pull away and down the road. With a goofy grin on her face, she made her way into her room for the night. Happy she had the chance to get to know Steve Harrington. Happy that he wasn’t the asshole everyone said he was.

[angy-mouse]

Puck Bunny Part 4

6k motherfuckers! Can you tell I'm in love /j

As before, fluff with some suggestiveness, and some light self deprecating thoughts that get quickly shut down

<Prev >Next

“Oh, that whore!”

“Who’s a whore?” Your switch flew from your hands with a shriek, thankfully landing on the recliner instead of Niki’s face. “Nice shot.”

You jabbed an accusing finger at her, like she could be blamed for your lackluster hand-eye coordination. “You’re supposed to be at work!” 

Niki (who you learned did not hold grudges) handed your switch back, brushing your feet off the couch so she could flop next to you with a groan. “Becky asked for the last half of my shift. Her girl wants to play football next year, so she’s trying to get all the extra time she can.”

“European football or American football?” 

“Screw you… European.”

“That’s good, there’s less to buy.” 

“True, and less chance of a concussion. So, who’s a whore?”

You gave a shrug, going back to your game now that your curiosity’s been sated. “Fucking Marnie: I need to buy a pig before fall, but she’s too busy bouncing on the mayor’s dick to run her fucking shop.”

Niki leaned in close, peering over your shoulder only to see an 8-bit world of flowers, green grass, and a sparkling blue river. “... You need a hobby.”

“This is my hobby.”

“Another hobby. You could come running with me.” Your lip curls too quick for you to hide it. “Alright, point taken.” There’s a beat where you’re sure you were rude, and now that you’re not crying over the last guy or humping the next one she’s not interested in talking to you. Niki is kind, but maybe she doesn’t want to hang out with you, which you’re just going to have to be okay with.

You don’t realize she is talking until the back of her hand smacks down on your thigh. “I said, tell me about your date.”

You blink, pausing your day to not waste those precious minutes. “You wanna hear about my date?”

She’s leaned back, eyes closed as she rolls her shoulders, but she still nods. “Yeah. I saw the to-go in the fridge- where’d he take you?”

The switch clinks on the coffee table as you put it down, and the sofa groans under you as you pull your feet up. “Well, I don’t remember the name of the place because he wouldn’t tell me: I’d been bugging him about letting me pay for something so he said he wasn’t giving me the name so I could look up the prices.”

“And was that your plan?”

“Of course it was.” A warmth blooms in your chest as you get a high-pitched giggle out of her and the words start spilling out. “But the menu didn’t have prices on it, and I’m pretty sure he’d said something to the hostess to get that because it was nice, but it wasn’t snooty-fancy nice, ya’know?”

“How nice was it?”

“Complimentary bread, but plenty of families.” For a second, you think that wouldn’t make sense to anyone but you, but she nods, so you move on. “I said I couldn’t decide between the alfredo or the surf-n-turf- just making conversation- and when the waitress came up, he ordered them both and even ordered two entrées for himself so I didn’t look like a pig.”

“You’re not a pig,”

“Oink, oink.” 

You got another snort of laughter out of her. “What about dessert? A good man treats you to dessert.”

“I was stuffed! I told him I couldn’t eat another bite and he was all-” You furrowed your brow and pitched your voice down in a poor man’s imitation of Punz. “‘What about Niki? I don’t wanna be on the wrong end of her shovel. Have a bite just to make sure it’s good and you can bring the rest back to her.’ So, yeah, there’s half an alfredo bowl, some sirloin, and a slice of cake that’s all yours if you want it.”

“Good man.” You barely have time to wonder if that’s a joke before she’s reaching over to take your hand in hers. A soft smile painted across her features, the kind that made her eyes shine with a soft affection that couldn’t be faked. “I’m happy for you,” she promised softly, like it was a secret to be shared only with you. “You deserve a good man. And I really hate to change the subject, but either I’m sleep-deprived or someone’s playing country music outside our window.”

You take a moment to listen. 

Now she’s coming home to visit

Holdin’ the hand

Of a wild-eyed boy

With a farmer’s tan

“Who the fuck is listening to Trace Adkins that loud,” you muttered, pushing off the couch.

“Why do you know who Trace Adkins in?”

“Because he’s six and a half feet and the only sixty-year-old I’d bend over backwards for.” She gives a mumble of, ‘fair enough,’ as you reel up the blinds, laughter bubbling out of your throat at the sight on the lawn. “Oh my god,”

There was no way of knowing if Sapnap had started dancing at the beginning of the song or when he saw movement in your window, but he was going hard. Full-on country boy line dancing, complete with a white cowboy hat, as he held his phone above his head like a boombox. You’re pretty sure he even had a picture of a boombox pulled up to complete the look.

You pushed the window open. “What the hell are you doing?!”

You would’ve thought you’d shouted, “Yes, Sapnap, I will marry you!” He lit up like a bulb, a big cheesy grin spread across his cheeks, the apples pushing up into his eyes to turn them into little crescent moons. His lips moved, but all you could hear was Trace’s, “turn it up!” His face dropped into a pout when he realized and fumbled with his phone. He finally got the song paused and you waited for what could possibly be so important.

“Hi, sugar!” 

You snorted as he waved, wiggling your fingers at him. “Hey, handsome. What’s wrong, couldn’t find any pebbles to throw?” 

“Well, I wasn’t sure which window was yours: not a mistake I wanna make.” The way he shuddered made you think he did make that mistake, but the thought left as soon as it arrived because he was looking up at you with those puppy dog brown eyes. “Wanna go for a walk together?”

You get a vision. Fluffy brown ears and a tail wagging at mach 4. It fits way too well, especially when you imagine him asking, “Walk? Walk, walk, walk?” 

Besides the dog-like implications, it’s sweet. Classically romantic, and somehow it fits Sapnap perfectly. But still, part of you craves sitting alone in your room with a video game.

He waves again. “Hi, Niki!”

Her laugh vibrates through your arm as she squeezes into the window next to you. “Hi, Romeo. What’cha up to?”

“Punzy said I can either get my ass out of the house by myself or go to the gym with him, so I’m asking my sugar on a date ‘cause fuck ‘im.” 

Niki gave a solemn nod. “Fuck him indeed,”

There’s a part of you that’s terrified of what these two could talk about if given the time, and it pushes you past your slight hesitation, calling out, “let me find my shoes,” as you duck back inside. You can hear them talking as you scramble for some decent walking shoes.

“So, what’s with the hat?”

“It’s sunny out.”

“... So you just had that?”

“I’m from Texas, Niki.”

“Hey, don’t forget a water bottle.” You’re shoving your feet into your sneakers before you realize she’s talking to you. “He’s right, it’s pretty sunny out there.”

“I’ll be fine, mom.” You think you’re funny, right up until she sticks her head back out the window.

“She can’t come out to play, she’s gonna get her ass beat.”

You threw open the mini fridge. “I’m getting a bottle, Jesus!” 

“Alright, she’s headed down- whoa, look at him go.” Niki ended in a mutter, leaning further out to presumably watch Sapnap dash for the front of the building. You replaced your switch on the dock, just in case you were gone long enough for it to die, while she closed the window. “You got everything?”

“Yes,” you insisted, painting on a false air of exasperation just for the theatrics. “I have a water bottle, I’m wearing good shoes, cell phone’s in my pocket, and I’ll be back before the streetlights come on.” You made a dash for the door before she could snap back. “Bye, mom, love you!”

You’re halfway down the hall when you realize what you’ve said.

“I did NOT just tell her I love her. Holy shit, this is worse than calling your teacher mom. I DID call her mom!” 

Your phone buzzed against your ass and you almost don’t look at it.

Ich liebe dich auch :P 

Sapnap is waiting for you outside and lets you dive into his arms. “Hey, sugar,”

“Smother me,” you command into his sternum. 

His hand comes up to cup the back of your neck, thumb and index finger massaging circles into the base of your skull. “But then we can’t get ice cream.”

A snort escapes you as you adjust to give him a proper hug. “Oh my god, you’re so right. What was I thinking?”

“Crazy talk, that’s all it was.”

“Crazy,” you agreed, glancing up at him. Your cheeks warmed and a smile crept onto your face as you realized he was already looking at you. “Hi,” you hummed, pushing up onto your toes, hands braced against his broad chest.

“Hi,” he hummed back, meeting your lips as if he’d been desperately waiting for any sign that it was okay- as if he hadn’t done far worse with far less. He pressed featherlight kisses against you over and over, like he was as afraid as you were that too long and you’d fall into each other right on the lawn. 

When you finally peeled yourselves off each other it wasn’t far, his thick fingers threading through your smaller ones as you set out. “There’s a chocolate haus right nearby with all kinds of ice cream, I thought we’d go there. They make it all in-house, it’s really good.”

“How do you know where there’s a chocolate haus when the fat bitch who actually lives here has been going to Walmart for chocolate?”

He gave your hand a tug like a punishment. “You’re not a bitch, you’re my sugar bunny.”

“Oh, baby,” you cooed, hugging his arm to your chest, “I’ve got you pretty fooled, huh?” 

“And anyway, you’re too obsessed with your schoolwork to go exploring like I do.”

“I’m not obsessed with schoolwork!”

“‘I haven’t eaten, I’m too busy studying,’” he mocked.

“Your impression of me makes me sound like I’m in the eighth grade.”

“Well, in my impression of you, you only have an eighth grade education.” He beamed when you couldn’t even pretend to glare at him. “It’s alright, sugar: you get that degree, and we can try everything you missed together.”

Oh.

Oh. Thoughts of exploring life together filled your mind. Adventurous new toys in the bedroom, laughter as you bumbled through a new recipe in the kitchen, screams of joy on roller coasters too dangerous for you to ever try alone. Your heart in your throat in every one, but a tight squeeze of your hand- a promise that you’re not the only one who’s scared- gives you courage every time.

Sapnap isn’t as obscenely tall as Punz or Sam so it only takes a skip in your step to plant a fat kiss on his cheek. “What’s that for,” he hummed.

“I need a reason to give a cute boy a kiss?”

“No, but I’d hope you’re not running around kissing every cute boy you see.”

“Only the ones who feed me,” you tease, bumping him with your hip. “Pretty sure I’ve got a fat tab rung up for the fucking part of that deal.” 

He shook his head, bringing your knuckles to his lips. “It doesn’t count if we both eat: that’s just a good time.”

“You got that right, at least,” you mused as he kissed his way across your knuckles. His thumb wandered like he was anxious, drawing shapes and letters and random nonsense over your hand as far as he could reach without letting go. 

“... Your campus is pretty,” 

You glanced around. There was a game of Frisbee in full swing on the left lawn constantly tripping over the few people actually studying, and a sizable yoga group on the right. The trees were well past their blossoming stage, but still a bright green as they resisted against the cool fall air. “It is, huh?”

“Yeah. Our campus has, like, one tree. It’s all concrete and pavement.”

A noise of disgust fell from your lips without intending to make it. “Cityscape. Give me a forest any day.” 

“It kinda reminds me of home, but, yeah, over here is way prettier.”

You put on your best aghast face. “Wow, fake cowboy. You’re a total city boy, aren’t you?”

“It’s my darkest secret,” he drawled with a grin. Even with all his bravado, his cheeks were still pink. “Sam’s the country boy, I was a suburbia baby.”

“That hat is a lie.”

“But it makes my beard look way sexier.”

“Another reason to take it off,” you declared, snatching it off his head and placing it on yours. The brim dropped over your nose, so you pulled it back and let it hang around your neck by the strap. “You go around looking too sexy, panties start dropping, they have to put out a flash flood warning-” He obviously stopped paying attention the second you stole his hat if his dopey look was any indicator so you really went into it. “And I can’t fight off the entire female populous by myself, but maybe if I sat on your face in front of them all-” Sapnap stopped walking, his grip on your hand pulling you to a stop with him. “Hm? What’s up?” 

When you turned, you saw his gaze had fallen off of you at some point, the realization shooting an arrow through your chest. Were you boring him? You shouldn’t talk so much. Maybe some skinny yogi in a sports bra was getting his attention.

“That sign says ‘free.’ I’m trying to read the rest, but I think I need glasses.”

You felt ashamed for ever questioning his integrity.

“Free beginner’s yoga,” you read for him, “no experience, equipment, strength, or flexibility required.”

His thumb started strumming across your skin. “I wonder if that stuff actually works. I mean, I know football players will sometimes learn ballet…”

There’s a moment where you’re trapped in your own thoughts. Thinking about all those gym classes trying to keep up with the fitter kids, feeling their eyes as they were forced to wait for you before moving on. Thinking about your first roommate who wouldn’t stop trying to talk to you about your aura. 

Then the moment’s over because you remember the way he’d put it. 

We can try everything you missed together.

And he was so good for that, and he deserved someone who was going to be just as good to him, and you sure as hell weren’t going to give him up willingly, so you were just going to have to be good enough for him.

So your other hand joined your clasped ones and tugged him over. “Come on, let’s try.”

He shook his head, but his expressions were easier to read than a picture book: he’s not resistant, he’s embarrassed. “No, it was just a passing thought, we don’t have to, I just-”

“Trying everything together, remember?” A smile crept across your lips as his ears burned cherry red, but he let you guide him onto the grass. “Do you actually want to do it, or do you just want to see me put my ass in the air?”

“A man can want two things,” he pushed out with a cheeky grin.

You snorted, gesturing to your chest with your chin. “Yeah, I know: one, two.”

He held your hand for as long as possible as you walked away, calloused fingertips trailing down your softer ones until the very last second. You almost said ‘fuck it’ and tackled him for the touch back, but you restrained yourself. 

You followed the others’ lead, thankful for your position at the back to hopefully obscure anything embarrassing you might do. Although, you had to admit, it wasn’t that tough: you’ve been sitting criss-cross-applesauce since preschool. They were doing steeple with their hands, too: something else you had down pat.

The teacher was a thin woman with abs that made you jealous and a powerful voice. She’d given you a smile as you dragged Sapnap over, but now her eyes were closed. “Bring your chin down towards your chest,” she hummed, “and feel that amazing stretch in the back of your neck.”

Oh, shit, that actually felt great.

“Try to lift your chest towards your thumbs and see if that gets you to sit up a little straighter.”

A fucking moan escaped as your back popped in three different places, heat flooding your cheeks as Sapnap snorted. “Stop that,” he whispered. “If it feels that good, you won’t need me anymore.” The girl in front of you snorted, so you ignored him in hopes of pretending he wasn’t talking to you.

After a few minutes, you couldn’t figure out why you’d been so hesitant to yoga. Mostly, you’d only done cat and cow repeatedly, and it shocked you how good it felt. Like you’d been shoved in a crate in your sleep for the past month, and your body was finally able to breathe and move the way it was supposed to. You almost apologized to the collective group.

“Push up into downward dog,”

“Scratch that: yoga sucks,” you decided. You had a face full of titty, no upper arm strength to hold this pose, and Sapnap wasn’t even behind you to appreciate how great it makes your ass look, so what the hell’s the point. 

“Fuckin’ skinny people bullshit.” It isn’t until the girl in front of you laughed so hard she fell back down to tabletop pose that you realized you let your inside bitching turn into outside bitching. You could feel the heat rushing to your face and it wasn’t just because of this stupid pose. “I’m so sorry,” you whispered, trying to backtrack, “I didn’t mean-”

“Nah, girl,” she insisted as she pushed back up, “don’t apologize: you gotta stick by your guns.”

There was a murmur of agreement from beside her that drew your attention. Unfortunately, you were stuck staring at their ass from the way everyone was positioned, but you did appreciate that ‘they’ was printed on one cheek and ‘them’ on the other. Props for both hilarity and remarkable efficiency. “Say it with your chest,” they insisted. “Speaking of: this move was definitely made by someone without tits. I’m suffocating.” A snort escaped you, but Sapnap sounded like a leaking balloon as he wheezed trying to hold his laughter in, flopping on his side in the grass like he’d officially given up. 

“Friends,” the instructor called out, and you just knew you were going to get kicked out. Kicked out of a free yoga class: you’ve never stooped so low. “Reminder that if I’m telling you to do something your body doesn’t like, please listen to your body. You know yourself better than I do.”

“I’m fine, I just like to bitch.”

“I’m not,” you admitted, dropping into a child’s pose to push your hips back. “But I’ll still bitch with you.”

You caught a glimpse of an enthusiastic thumbs up. “Fuck yeah: big bitch solidarity.” 

The first girl turned around to face you instead of the instructor, giving you an eager smile. “You should totally come back next week: Adrienne usually brings her dog to class. We got totally cheated this week.”

“Benji is getting his teeth cleaned so no one passes out when he starts panting. Drop back into tabletop, and stretch that left ankle back for me as far as you can. Remember that we’re trying to create a long stretch through the spine, and the crown of the head is an extension of the spine.” 

“I never realized how heavy my head was,” you admitted as you consciously lifted it. 

“You got too many brains in there,” Sapnap claimed. “Play more video games.”

You cocked your head to make sure he saw your false offense. “I play so many video games. Hey, why are you on the ground? Get your ass up here and suffer with me!” 

“It’s haaard!”

“Oh my god,” the person in front of Sap cackled, “how long have you been dating?”

You can feel a heat take over half your face. “What makes you think we’re dating?”

“You sound exactly like us.”

The girl cackled. “‘Yoga is sooo easy,’” she mocked. “They do strength training and the first time I dragged them to class they threw such a fit!”

“Don’t tell them my shame!” The two of them followed along with the teacher in some contortionist move you could never pull off unless you suddenly lost forty pounds and half a tit, but it did mean you could finally put a face to the other. “You do this every time we meet new people! Stop using my embarrassment as an icebreaker!”

Sapnap’s grin was palpable in the air. “Now, that’s an idea.”

You pointedly didn’t look at him. “Another word, you won’t see me topless ever again.” 

“Shutting up.”

The girl wobbled again as she laughed. “You’re smarter than Andy, at least.”

Sapnap retrieved his hat from the grass where it fell off your head and settled it back in place. “I know my place. Sapnap, by the way.” 

“Josie,” she gave back, and you offered your name, too. “My partner Andy. Romantic partner, not yoga partner. They’d never last.”

“I don’t blame them: I’m tapping out,” you admitted, sitting up properly. You blinked when you realized you were just a bit taller than usual and your constant headache was gone. “Okay, hold on, this might be worth it.”

“Right?! Doesn’t it feel so good after? Hang on-” Josie leapt to her feet and skirted through the crowd, rifling through the instructor’s bag.

“Do you mind, Jo?”

“Damn it, Adrienne, I’m trying to network for you, but this purse is a disaster area. Aha!” She brought the flyer back to you with all the pride of a cat delivering a dead mouse, so you would’ve felt bad not accepting it. Especially as she eagerly started to point out the different lines of text. “The club gets together every week, and Adrienne puts together different routines, so one week is stretching, then core strength-”

Andy grabbed their girlfriend around the waist and manually pulled her back. “Personal space, babe.”

“Sorry,” she gushed, “I get kinda excited.”

“That’s okay,” you told her, because it really was. When was the last time someone got really excited talking to you? Asking you to join them? 

You knew the answer as thick fingers laced with yours. “Should we go, sugar?” He pressed a kiss to the back of your hand, almost like a little beg. I’m tired of sharing you. “Think we earned our ice cream,” 

The thought enters your mind that he’s too pretty and sweet, and he deserves a good kiss. Sweet and pretty boys need a good kiss now and then. So you kiss the back of his hand clasped in yours just like he had as you murmur, “yes, we have.” You offer the couple your best smile, too, just to make sure they know you aren’t fleeing. “I’ll have to come to another class without my tag-along.” Sapnap makes an indignant sound as he pulls you to your feet, especially when Josie responds with, “same here,” and then Andy is indignant, too. 

“You two can have fun turning into pretzels,” Sapnap promised, “Andy and I will bring the actual pretzels.”

“Ooh, we should get pretzels, too.” You bid your goodbyes as you resumed your walk, detangling your fingers from Sapnap’s to hug his arm as you consulted the flyer. It was little more than a time and place under a curly Yoga Club header, but still you searched for something to convince you to go again. 

“They were nice.”

Sapnap. Shame on you. Nice boy wants to go for a walk with you, and you’re giving your attention to a half sheet of copy paper. You pressed yourself more firmly against his shoulder. “They were,” you admitted, forcing yourself to believe it. Pushing aside every insecure thought about how they secretly hated you for intruding on their space- a space that anyone with eyes could tell wasn’t yours to take.

No. They were nice. They were a cute couple, and they were nice. 

People can pretend to be nice.

Sapnap leaned down. His nose bumped against the crown of your head, getting you to look up enough for him to kiss your forehead. “You thinking about joining?”

You’re shaking your head before he’s finished speaking. “They don’t need some amateur slowing them down,” you tell him with a forced laugh. You hope he takes it as a joke and laughs along.

He doesn’t. His eyebrows furrow under his white brim. “I don’t think it’s that kind of thing. I mean, the head yogi or whatever even said that if you can’t do the pose, you can just do child’s pose. Which, I thought was ‘drank too much last night’ pose, but whatever.”

“Okay, first: instructor,”

He grinned. “Yogi Bear,”

You chose to ignore him. “And second: they were probably only inviting me to be nice, so it would be awkward if I went.”

There’s a beat of silence where you think you’ve successfully ruined the conversation, letting your anxieties out into the open where they should never be. You stumble as you realize Sapnap’s stopped, peering up at him as you try to place his expression. 

Somewhere between adoration, exasperation, and maybe constipation. 

“Sugar,” he cooed. A heavy hand came up to caress your cheek, covering the entire side of your face in his palm as he strummed across your cheekbone with his thumb. “You are wonderful-” You practically melted in his hand. “And breathtaking-” Oh, you were a puddle! “And usually so smart, but that might be the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard, and I live with a bunch of hockey players.”

“What?!” He’s still petting your cheek so you move to shove him away and get pulled into his chest instead, lapels fanning out around you like even his varsity jacket was trying to suck you in. “Don’t hug me! You’re an ass!”

“Sweet, sweet, bunny,” he cooed- oh, you could hear the grin on his stupid handsome face. That bastard! “Don’t fight it. Just listen for a sec- I said don’t fight it- listen for a second.” He let you thrash against him for another minute, knowing full well you could slip out if you really wanted to, until you settled against him with a huff. “Okay, sugar, now hear me out,” he bargained. “If they were just being nice, they would’ve just been nice. There was absolutely no reason to give you the date, place, and time they meet up at if they didn’t want you there. People don’t do that, sugar. That’s some next-level soaps type conspiracy where you go just to find out your evil twin is sleeping with your sister.”

You don’t know what it is, and you’re definitely going to run some experiments to figure it out later, but something breaks past your anxiety. Maybe it was the factual way he said it, that your messed up brain said, “oh, we didn’t know that,” and accepted it the same way you don’t get anxious about what color the sky is: it’s a fact. Maybe it’s the heavy, woodsy scent that completely envelops you from inside his jacket, filling you with a warmth that went beyond just being protected from the breeze. 

Maybe trying to figure out why your evil twin would sleep with your sister, who would therefore be the evil twin’s sister as well, control-alt-deleted your entire system.

You took the win either way.

“I’m not trying to push you into going,” he promised with a firm squeeze, like he secretly wanted to make his jacket so comfortable you decided to live in it with him. “But I know how easily anxiety can drown out reality.”

Something in his tone strikes you. You get flashes of your previous ‘dates’. A desperate clutch on your hand as you walked out of the rink. An arm behind your head like he didn’t want you to forget he was there. Holding you tight to his chest, still inside you as he declared, “You can’t take her, she’s mine!”

You pushed your arms around him, still under the jacket, and squeezed him tight. You didn’t know what to say. What could possibly convey, “I’m a fucking anxious moron, but I’ll try to help you not be an anxious moron because I like you way more than I should.” You settled for, “maybe I’ll go. Niki did say I should get a new hobby.”

He buried his nose in your hair like he understood what you meant to say. “Yeah? Three guys not enough to take up your time?”

“I don’t think sex counts as a hobby.”

<3E>

You were panting, breath coming out in long, drawn-out gasps, emphasized for his benefit. “Oh my god,” you gushed, “It’s too much! I can’t handle it!”

“It’s a fucking thirteen degree slope.” His giant grin is what saves him, because if you’d detected a single ounce of judgement for your unfit lifestyle, you would have turned around immediately. 

“It’s fucking unconstitutional, is what it is,” you tell him instead. 

“Unconstitutional,” he repeated back, like the word was hilarious.

“Telling a cute girl you’ll buy her ice cream, then making her walk. It’s not right!”

“Well, you won’t let me carry you,”

You huffed, taking another bite of your ‘Oreo Brownie Explosion’ which was somehow even more chocolatey than the name suggested. “I already stole your hat and made you do yoga: I’m not breaking your back, too.”

“I’m making Punz record me next time we work out,” he promised, extending his hand that didn’t hold his own cone to help you over an uncovered root. It was probably a two-inch tall obstacle, but he was so cute, you took his hand anyway. “Maybe doing some hip thrusts and benching with your weight on the bar will get it through your thick, pretty head.”

“Nice save with the ‘pretty,’” you drawled. He didn’t let go of your hand after you conquered the root, so they swayed between you. “Although I’m not thick: I’m fat.”

“Deliciously,” he agreed, suddenly aiming his teeth to your neck. “All the more to eat, my dear-”

“Stop, your lips are covered!” 

Any attempt at saving your pores bites the dust when he starts blowing raspberries across your sensitive skin, your roaring laughter echoing through the trees. Especially when he mutters, “oh, shit, sug’, made a mess of ya” and starts kitten licking ice cream off you.

“What flavor is that, again?”

He offered his cone. “Mint Mountain. I think it’s got Andes bars and York patties in it.”

You wrinkled your nose. “Ugh: you had to be a mint lover, huh? We better get to this secret you wanted me to see quickly. I can’t be seen with someone who likes mint ice cream.”

“It’s got chocolate in it, just like yours!”

“Don’t you dare compare that monstrosity to my amazing chocolate!” 

“Watch your step.” He helped you over another root, hand sliding to the small of your back. “It’s right over here.” 

“Are you gonna tell me what it is?” His cheeky grin says ‘no’ without him having to. “I want you to know,” you told him emphatically, “if you’re taking me deep into the woods to kill me, I will haunt your ass ‘til the end of time.”

The trees gave way as you walked to reveal a grassy hilltop dotted with wildflower patches. Bright purples, reds, and blues sprinkled through the lush grass to mirror the bright stars starting to peek through the foggy sky. The other side of the hill was much steeper, letting the city landscape sprawl out like a blanket thrown over everything. Sapnap squeezed you tight and a warmth bloomed in your chest. He found this beautiful spot just for you? It touched you so thoroughly you nearly forgot what you were even talking about before.

Until he leaned close, lips brushing across your ear, and hissed, “then we’d be together forever.”

“Oh my god, you do that too well,” you snorted.

“And ever, and ever-”

“Stop!”

He threw his head back so he didn’t destroy your eardrums as he cried, “AND EVER,” into the dusk with a giant grin. He clumsily shed his letterman as he ran in front of you, passing his cone from hand to hand to keep the jacket clean, which was promptly null as he tossed it on the ground. Maybe it was the ice cream he was worried about ruining. “My lady,” he offered with a dramatic bow, kicking the lapels open for more surface area. 

“Why, thank you, my dear.” 

The name sort of slipped out: he called you my lady, so you were just playing along. He flushed so pretty, though, and when you sat he snuggled right up to you like he was accepting it. Yes, he seemed so say as his arm stretched out on the grass behind you, I am your dear. 

You pressed yourself into his side, settling in and soaking up his warmth. “This place another result of your exploring?”

“Just call me Dora.” Lights started flickering on across the city. Golden arches on the west side, living rooms all throughout as families settled in for the night. “In the summer, there are fireflies,” he told you, voice soft in your ear. You tucked your head against his shoulder. “I took my sisters out here camping once. I never got to see that kinda thing growing up, so it was fun.” 

A hum rumbled out of your throat as his thumb pet over the back of your hand. “Yeah? How old are they?”

“Too fucking old.” You laughed against his neck as he shook his head. “I have two baby sisters and a brother, and they’re all growing up too damn fast.”

“Kids do that,”

Sapnap hummed in agreement, and for a minute you were just sitting together. Cuddled up under the stars with ice cream, acting like you needed to share body heat even as you ate your icy treat. 

“They’d like you.” You pulled back to look at him. The dimming light did it's very best to hide his deep blush, but he didn’t. A different kind of smile spread over his lips- softer and shyer. “My sisters,” he clarified. “My step-brother doesn’t like anyone but his PS4, but the girls would like you.” He seemed to realize what he was implying, burying his mouth in his cone. “Probably try to humiliate me with stories or tell you you’re too good for me-”

A hand in on his cheek dragged his lips onto yours. He grunted into your mouth in surprise but fell against you, lips moving together soft and slow. You licked over his lips but didn’t push further, scratching your nails through the hair on his jaw as you pulled back. You pressed a peck against him when he tried to chase after you, smiling into it as it seemed to satisfy him. 

“I’m sure I’d like them,” you promised. A drop of something trembled on your lip as you spoke, and you licked it off. “Hm. Maybe mint’s not so bad after all.”

[ladylooch]

Letters in Your Last Name - Chapter 28

A/N: He's here! He's here! Luca Fiala is here!

Word Count: 5.1k

Warnings: pregnancy, graphic descriptions of birth, pregnancy related medical issues.

March

I carefully balance the Boom Chicka Pop bag on my large belly, giggling as my son kicks in response and moves the bag slightly to the left.

“Hey. I only have a little bit longer to balance things on you before it’s going to be frowned upon.” I soothe him by rubbing my hand over what I presume is his butt.

“What are you doing to our baby?” My husband wonders as he comes into the living room. He places a kiss against the crown of my head before I tilt my face up towards his for a real smooch. His lips gently connect with mine and I sigh, wrapping my hand around his neck to holding him to me. He just got his hair cut so the strands of his fade feel soft against my fingers. “Mmm.” Kevin murmurs to me as he pulls away. “I’m going to miss these hormones when the baby comes.”

“Oh, you’ll still get them. But there might be more tears than orgasms.” I joke with him, tossing another kernel of popcorn into my mouth.

These last 8 months have both flown and dragged by as we’ve waiting for our first baby to join our world. In preparation, we spent a majority of our downtime putting the finishing touches on our house, including the woodland themed nursery. Our new home and quiet community has given us a chance to prepare for the arrival of the newest Fiala in comfort. The house is massive, more than we need right now, but we already know our plan is to fill it up slowly.

We did a small gender reveal in November with a few friends and family. The reveal consisted of a puck filled with powder that Kevin obliterated in our driveway. The blue powder had barely filled the air before he was next to me, lifting me into his arms and twirling me around. It didn’t take long for both of my brothers to begin pitching their names for our son. Neither of them made the list.

Overall, my pregnancy has been blissfully smooth. I’ve passed all my tests with flying colors. Our baby has been developing in perfect synchronization with all the charts and pregnancy books we can find. My hormones have kept our sex life fairly active even despite the obvious changes to my body. I’ve never felt sexier than I do carrying Kevin’s baby, but only because he reminds me of it every day. There have certainly been annoyances like heart burn, swollen feet, weight gain and constant elbows to the ribs that prevent me from sleeping. But all of that is worth it to me for this perfect, little boy.

“Not having you for weeks after this baby is going to be tough.” Kevin murmurs to me as he sits next to me on the couch. “I hope your mouth will still be open for business.”

“Ha! You wish. I’m not going to want to even look at you after I push this thing out of me.” I say to him, narrowing my eyes playfully.

“We’ll see.” Kevin slowly grins at me as he reaches for a piece of popcorn. He pops it in his mouth and chews it slowly while his eyes smolder at me. The heat creeps up my neck and across my nipples.

“Stop….” I whine at him. “You’re too sexy for your own good.”

“Lucky you.” He reaches for my hand and laces our fingers together innocently. Again, the heat increases and I find myself wiggling over trying to lean into him. Kevin can’t help but laugh at my struggle before he pulls my hip towards him to help me turn over.

“So… uh… that was super sexy…. Wanna bang?” I giggle and kiss his neck.

“No, but not because that wasn’t hot.” He laughs genuinely with me. “I’ve gotta get working on my pre-game nap. You can join me though.”

“I’m not tired.” I mumble to him, wrapping an arm across his abs and attempting to bring myself closer to him.

“You’re not now, but it’s going to be tough for you to stay awake at the game tonight.” He smooths my hair and rests his cheek against my head. His stubble is at just the right length that it pricks my scalp through my hair.

“Ugh.. I don’t want to go to the game tonight.” I say to him. “All the girls look so pretty and put together and then I roll in looking like the Michelin man in a track suit.”

“Babe, that’s an exaggeration.” Kevin soothes me.

“No, it’s not. You should have seen Danielle at the last home game. She looked like she was going to some fancy date night and I had chip crumbs stuck in my boobs all night.” I can feel Kevin’s chest heave as he tries to stifle a laugh.

“Well, I think you’re beautiful no matter what. Your body is a temple.” He gives me a squeeze.

“What baby daddy book told you to say that?” I roll my eyes at him.

“Every single one of them.” He confesses with a snort. “Regardless, I’m not comfortable with you staying home alone tonight.”

“Why?” I ask, pulling away to look up at his face.

“Because you’re 38 weeks pregnant and what if you go into labor here without me?”

“What!? How is this any different than when you go on road trips for 7 days, like the one you have coming up next week?”

“Yeah, I’ve been meaning to bring that up. We need to get this baby out of you before then.” He reaches for my belly and begins to rub it then gently shake it. “Eviction notice!!! Time to come out!”

“Oh, so you can do that but I was wrong for resting a bag on him?” I slap Kevin’s chest, rolling from side to side to get momentum to stand up. Kevin’s hand on my butt offers the gentle boost I need. I grab the popcorn bag and begin to waddle my way around the couch to refill my water.

“If you don’t go to the game, I’m going to be distracted and play like shit. I’ll worry about you.” Kevin’s voice follows me from the living room as I walk into the kitchen. I throw the bag of popcorn on the counter and let out a heavy sigh. Our son is kicking against my stomach and I press my hand into him, trying to guide his foot away from there. If he keeps going like this, I’m going to get acid reflux and start gagging.

“I thought we had an agreement long ago that you play the way you play and I have nothing to do with it?”

“I was being an asshole that day. This is genuine concern for my wife and child.” He calls to me from where he is still on the couch. My top lip curls in petty annoyance at that. How dare he care about us.

“Kev.” I wine at him as he finally wanders into the kitchen. I take in the look on his face. All joking aside, I can tell he is being honest with me. He pouts exasperatedly; his brown eyes turn into doe eyes. I wrinkle my nose in response. “You better make this worth my while by scoring a hat trick.” I finally concede. A large grin pulls his lips apart and he crosses the kitchen like a victorious king.

“I have a feeling I’ll be scoring on and off the ice tonight.” He reaches for my hips and pulls me into him. His lips find mine; I instantly get hot and light headed. When he pulls away, he is wearing a smug grin while observing my flushed cheeks.

“Go take your nap.. asshole.” I quip at him with narrowed eyes.

“I’m your asshole, baby.” He snips back at me playfully before slapping my ass.

Later that night, I’m in the family suite munching on a cookie in the second period, watching as Kevin sprints down the ice on a breakaway. The Hurricanes goalie comes to the top of the crease, watching Kevin for his next move, but I know he doesn’t stand a chance. Kevin fakes like he’s going strong side left, but he goes right and buries the pick behind the goalie’s right shoulder. The goalie slaps his stick in frustrating at giving into Kevin’s move. My husband is oblivious as he brings his stick into the air, thrusts his knee up and lets out an enthusiastic yell.

“Woo!” I answer excitedly, clapping along with the other fans in the arena. My son dances in response to the noise and I press onto the top of my bump to soothe him. As I do so, I can feel liquid beginning to pool beneath me.

Um, am I peeing right now? ask myself. I give a worried glance to Lauren who is settling back into her seat next to me.

“What a nice goal.” She says to me. Her eyebrows pull together when she takes in the look on my face. “Are you okay?”

“Um.. I don’t know if I just peed my pants or….” I look away and concentrate on what I’m feeling. I shift, trying to feel if anything is different. All I can feel is wetness. “I went to the bathroom at intermission though and I don’t think I have to go…”

“Let me check.” Danielle leans down and, bless her, sniffs. The four time mom pulls back and looks at me with a glint in her eye. “No smell. That’s amniotic fluid. Your water broke.”

“Holy shit.” I whisper to her, eyes going wide. My heartbeat accelerates as I begin to panic, glancing down on the ice. Kevin is out again, trolling the left side boards int he offensive zone, looking for his next goal.

“Stay calm. Here is what we are going to do. Lauren is going to grab someone from Hockey Ops who will go to the bench and get Kevin. Then, we are going to get you downstairs to the lounge, grab you a pair of dry pants and you and Kevin are going to go have a baby.” She gives my hand a squeeze as Lauren climbs quickly over the back of the seat to do as she is told. I nod in response and grip my belly, trying to focus on my task of staying calm. “Lauren!” Danielle yells at her. “See if guest services can get us a wheelchair.”

“I think I can walk.” I tell her.

“Honey, your pants are wet. You don’t want to walk to the elevator like that.” She rubs my arm assuringly.

“Yeah, I think this seat is ruined.” I laugh nervously.

I turn my attention to the ice as we wait. Kevin goes out for one more shift where he almost nets another goal. The whistle blows as the goalie covers it. The game breaks for a TCV time out as Kevin leisurely glides to the bench. Dean Evason is standing on the bench, waving Kevin over encouragingly. Kevin stops in front of his coach and is listening to what Dean is saying before he rushes to the second door and begins to run down the tunnel. His teammates slap their sticks against the boards in response.

“Sam, the wheelchair is here.” Lauren calls to me.

I stand up and Danielle walks with me as a guide. I am beginning to feel some slight cramping in my lower abdomen. I work on my breathing in response, even as it feels like my throat is blocked by a large rock. I get settled into the wheelchair and Danielle follows us with my purse.

“We don’t have our hospital bags.” I say to her after the elevator doors have closed.

“That’s okay. Give me your keys and I’ll grab them for you. Where are they?”

“In the mudroom. If you go through the garage they are on the bench by the door.”

“Got it.” She begins to text on her phone and we move out of the elevator. “Let’s go to the family lounge.” She points to the right. We turn and Kevin is there.

“Are you okay!?” He is out of breath, chest visibly heaving, and still wearing the lower half of his equipment, minus his skates. His hair is sticking up every which way with sweat and his brown eyes are wide with panic.

“She is fine.” Danielle answers for me as I focus on breathing through another wave of cramping. “Her water broke and she’s starting to feel some light cramping. She can talk through it so they aren’t contractions yet. But they’re coming. Go get your stuff off and shower.”

“Okay.” Kevin leans down and gives me a soothing kiss.

“I’m good. But don’t skip the shower.” I wrinkle my nose at the smell of him. “ I can’t focus on what I need to do with that smell.” I shudder.

“Okay.” He answers again with a quick nod. He gives me one last look before heading back towards the locker room.

“Wait, Kev!” Danielle yells. “Get Tony. Sam needs clean pants.” She is speaking of the head equipment manager for the Wild. Tony appears a moment later with several different size Adidas pants for me to try. Danielle and I go to the bathroom in the family lounge and I find a pair that work.

“I want to walk now.” I tell Danielle. She nods and sends the wheelchair away. As we are exiting the bathroom, Kevin jogs into the family lounge with his keys in his hand.

“We don’t have the bags.” Kevin looks terrified again and I can’t help the smile that breaks out on my lips. Earlier today, he was shaking my belly to get our boy out. Now, he looks like he would be fine if our son didn’t come today after all.

“I’m going to get them. Just go to the hospital.” Danielle assures him, giving his back a quick rub. “You’ve got this daddy. Just stay calm and get there safe.”

“Alright.. let’s go have a baby.” Kevin grins. Tears instantly build in my eyes as I take his hand and he leads me from the lounge.

“Thank you.” I say to Danielle as we pass her.

“Of course. We are family.” She reminds me and gives me a quick hug. “You’ve got this, mama.”

Kevin and I walk slowly from the depths of the arena to the parking lot. By the time we get to his car, I have to pause and breathe through what I know is a contraction. It’s painful, but not all consuming. I close my eyes and focus as Kevin rubs my back comfortingly.

“Good job, babe.” He encourages me once I stand up straight to get into the car. Kevin closes my door and rushes around to the driver’s side. Kevin pulls out of the parking space and begins the journey to the hospital. I text our midwife. Grace, who has already called the hospital to let them know we are on our way. She will meet us there.

“How are you doing?” He asks once we are on I-94 heading East.

“I’m okay… Glad you made me come to the game.” I joke with him. He glances over at me and we share a smile. “My water broke after you scored. He got excited.” I run a reassuring hand over my belly and close my eyes, trying to relieve the anxiety I feel simmering in my chest. I wish the baby was moving more, but since my water broke he has become still. “I’m a little worried. He hasn’t moved much since this all started. He was really active earlier.” He palms my belly.

“You’re okay, buddy.” Our son responds by giving a kick to my ribs. The anxiety settles a bit after that.

We pull into the hospital and a wheelchair comes out to greet us. Kevin gives them my name for check in and then settles me into the chair. He heads back to the car to park while I get taken to the maternity ward. Grace is waiting for me in our room and she helps me get into the hospital gown. When Kevin enters, the reality settles around us.

“We finally get to meet our baby.” He whispers to me, kissing my lips.

“Yeah.” I answer him with tears in my voice.

Grace begins to check in with me on how I’m feeling, timing contractions, and answering any questions I have. We talk about the baby’s lack of movement and she assures me that it’s not a concern at this time. I’m strapped up to a monitor for both myself and the baby and we are both measuring normal metrics. Danielle arrives an hour after we are settled and gives Kevin our bags.

Even though my water has broken, active labor doesn’t seem to be coming for me anytime soon. Grace suggests that Kevin and I try to take a nap while we wait for my body to move into the next stage. She turns the lights off and tells us she will be back in a half hour to check on me. After shedding his suit jacket, Kevin climbs into the bed with me and wraps his arms around me. His hands grip my bare stomach below the monitor. He releases a heavy sigh as his lips find my shoulder.

“You’re doing great, baby. He will be here soon.” He assures me. I move deeper into my husband and will sleep to come to me. My mind is too active and I find myself imagining our son instead. What will he look like? Will he have Kevin’s eyes? What will it feel like to see him? What will Kevin do? I picture seeing his face and finally getting to call him by his name- Lucas James Fiala.

All of a sudden, an alarm begins to sound in the room causing both Kevin and I to jolt in surprise. Grace enters the room and glances at the monitor. For the baby. We stare at her expectantly.

“It’s the baby’s heart rate. It’s dropped a little lower than we want to see at this point. It may just be that he shifted and the monitor’s having a difficult time reading it. But let’s call the doctor in for his opinion.”

The on-call doctor comes in and they speak in hushed tones together. While they speak, the alarm sounds again. He glances at the readings and doesn’t seem to like what he is seeing. He is going to order an ultrasound.

“It seems to be a correct reading that his heart rate is dropping. So, we are going to get a better picture of what may be going on so we know what direction to go.”

“Should we be worried?” Kevin asks. His expression is filled with concern, matching mine.

“Not necessarily. But we need to see what’s happening to know for sure.”

The ultrasound technician comes in with the radiologist a few minutes later. She squirts the cool, blue gel on my belly. I lay back and we all wait in silence while the tech moves the tool along the baby. I close my eyes because I’m afraid if I look, I’ll see something horrible. The tech seems to be focusing in one spot. Kevin gives my hand a squeeze but I can’t open my eyes to look at him. I’m too afraid.

The tech points to the screen and the radiologist nods. At the same time, the monitor alarm screams again and I jump in surprise. The care team shares a look before everyone leaves the room, so only Grace remains.

“Sam, Kevin.” she begins softly after putting a comforting hand on my shoulder. “When we started this journey, I said we would follow your birth plan unless Sam or the baby’s life was at risk. Unfortunately, this is the case. We are fairly certain the umbilical cord is wrapped around his neck so we need to get him out before he falls further into the birth canal. Therefore, the care team is recommending an emergency cesarean. There is an excellent obstetrician on call who is going to perform the surgery. I know this is a big change to what you wanted and it’s scary. But it’s the best choice for you both.”

I swallow as the fear consume me. Our baby is at risk. I am about to be cut open. Grace is right, this was most definitely NOT in my birth plan. The panic begins to close my throat and I have to force the words from my mouth.

“Kevin… can Kevin come with me?” I ask, terrified of having to do this alone. I’ve heard of the horror stories of mothers who have to give birth on their own due to emergency situations. I can’t do this without Kevin. I don’t WANT to do this without him either.

“Yes, Kevin will be with you.” I nod my head in understanding, looking over at my husband’s face. The same deep fear I’m experiencing covers his features. He tries to hide it for me, but I can see it in his brown eyes.

“It will be okay, baby. I’ll be right here.” He grabs my hand and gives it a squeeze. I pull away from him and grip my belly with both hands.

“I just want our baby.” I cry to him, tears slipping from my eyes. He stands and leans over to give me a hug, reassuringly whispering in my ear.

“It’s okay. He’s almost here.”

“Kevin, you need to go get prepped for surgery. I’ll wait with Sam.” Grace encourages him to move towards the door where another staff member waits to take him to preparation.

From there, everything seems to happen in a blur. I get an epidural without Kevin which means I cry the entire time. The nurse adds in some additional pain medicine into my IV to supplement. Luckily, things are feeling pretty numb at this point and it’s an extra dosage to ensure I continue to stay that way through the surgery. I close my eyes and listen to the sound of the monitor on the baby’s heart. To me, it sounds strong and steady, but knowing he’s in danger makes me nauseous. I slowly push out a breath, trying to steady my heart rate and blood pressure. I may not be able to deliver him how I want, but I am still giving him what he needs right now.

When we enter the operating room, Kevin is there waiting for me in blue scrubs. He seems calmer than before and so sure as he sits in the chair beside me.

“Everything is okay, Sam.” He reminds me confidently. “He is going to be okay.” I’m not sure if he believes it to be true or if he just can’t consider the alternative. He reaches down and kisses my lips softly. Tears stream from my eyes and he wipes at them.

“I’m scared, Kev.”

“I know and that’s okay. I know this isn’t what we wanted, but this is what we need to do. I’m so proud of you, babe. You’ve got this. There is nothing you can’t do.” He kisses me again and takes my hand. The nurse sets a hair net on my hair and the obstetrician enters the room. She comes to stand next to Kevin and I.

“I’m Dr. Anderson. I’ll be preforming your surgery. Is this your first baby?” She wonders to me. I nod because my tongue feels too heavy to speak. “Okay. Well, I’ve got steady hands that have helped thousands of babies enter this world.”

“That’s good to hear.” Kevin murmurs honestly, giving my hand a squeeze as if to say, see, it’s all going to be okay. I still have my doubts.

“Do you know what you’re having?” She asks as the world continues to prep around us. I feel more at ease as she talks to us. I can hear the monitors confirming my vitals are coming to a normal level. The baby’s heart beat continues to be strong and steady. I’m thankful the alarms have stopped.

“A boy.” I tell her.

“Does he have a name?”

“Lucas James Fiala.” Kevin answers.

“We are going to call him Luca.” I say as the nurse straps the oxygen tube into my nostrils.

“Well, let’s get Luca into the world.” She gives me a steady smile then steps behind the raised curtain. I let out a slow breath to try to calm my returning nerves. It does nothing.

“I feel sick.” I tell Kevin, seriously concerned that the nausea in my stomach is going to turn into projectile puking. My mouth crumples with unshed tears. I look at him, begging for reassurance. I can tell he doesn’t know what to say, but his hand comes to my forehead and his thumb brushes soothingly against my skin. It helps enough that I swallow and steady myself again.

“Sam, I’m about to make the first incision. Before I do, can you feel any of this?” Dr. Anderson wonders as she, assumingely, pokes around my stomach.

“No.” I respond.

“Okay, then I’m going to get started. You will feel some general pressure, but let us know if you’re feeling any sharp pains.”

Kevin leans his head down and rests his forehead on the bed next to me. I turn my head and kiss the top of his hair even though it’s covered with a net. He shudders and I can tell he is terrified but trying his best to keep it together. This is not what we had been imagining for 9 months. We imagined pushing and coaching and happiness. Not this all consuming fear that our baby is in danger. Kevin lifts his head and I take in the pale look of his face.

“Are you going to pass out?” I whisper to him. Grace, who is standing by him, puts a steadying hand on his back, rubbing slow circles.

“You’ve got this, dad.” She soothes him. She stands slightly behind him to catch him incase he does fall backwards. A nurse comes and gives him a cool washcloth for the back of his neck. His color seems to return after they coach him through a little breathing.

“I’m good.” He says sheepishly. He removes his hand from mine and instead places it on my chest where he can feel my heartbeat. I place mine over his and we grow silent together. We look at each other and Kevin gives me a small smile. For the first time, I believe what he’s been saying: I’m not going through this alone. I know he is with me. I know he would take my place in a heartbeat and that he is with me for whatever comes next.

“When he comes out, if he has to go.. you follow him.” Kevin nods in response.

“I will.”

“I’ll be okay.” I assure him. He nods again but I can see the doubt return to his eyes. His entire world is right here in this room. He has no control over what happens to us. He’s powerless as he sits and watches this. My heart aches for him even as my body is going through the trauma of birth. “I’m okay.” I say to him so he knows. He closes his eyes and kisses my shoulder.

“I see a butt.” Dr. Anderson laughs making us smile. New, happy tears spring to my eyes knowing we are seconds away from officially becoming parents. “Sam, you’re going to feel pressure as we pull him out.” I feel it, but it’s all bearable in my drugged up haze. “It is a boy!” She confirms. "Welcome to the world, Luca.” She says as a large wail fills the room.

In that moment, everything shifts for us. My breath catches in my chest and tears fall from the corner of my eyes.

“He looks great, mom and dad. The cord was around his neck but very loose. He is okay.” She assures us, passing him to a nurse as they cut said cord. The nurse towels him off a bit then immediately places him on my chest. He’s still goopy, sobbing and turning red from the shock of being born, but he is absolute perfection.

“Kev.” I say, as I wrap my hands around our baby. “Look at him.” I start to sob back to Luca as Kevin places his hand on mine over our son.

“Hi buddy!” Kevin murmurs to him. “Oh my god, Sam. You did so great.” He tells me. “So, so perfekt…” He trails off because tears have clogged his throat. He purses his lips as drops gather against his lower lashes. He lets out an incredulous laugh, seemingly overflowing with joy as he takes in the sight of us.

“Good job, mom and dad!” Grace tells me as she sticks the booger sucker into Luca’s mouth to pull out any excess fluid. “He’s got some good lungs, huh?” She smiles as Luca continues to wail.

“I know, bud. Being born is really tough stuff.” I coo to him. “Mama and daddy are here. You’re safe.” I tell him, rubbing my thumb over his head that is covered in thick, dark hair.

“How does he have so much hair?” Kevin laughs.

“I don’t know. But he looks just like you.” I whisper to Kevin already knowing how much trouble I’m in if he’s got his dad’s smile. As we speak, Luca has begun to settle deeper and quietly into my chest. I give him my finger and his little hand tightens intensely around it.

The entire world has faded from existence except the three of us. I forget I’m cut open on a table. I forget about the last hour of stress. Nothing else matters anymore, just that we are together, finally having this moment we have been dreaming of. Kevin lays a soft, praising kiss against my forehead.

“Just like you, he was worth every minute of waiting.” Kevin murmurs to me. “You’re amazing, babe. I love you. That doesn’t even come close to describing what I feel right now. But it’s all I got.”

“I love you too.” I turn to him, meeting his gaze with awe. “We made a perfect baby, Kev.”

“You did… Mama.” He nuzzles my nose. “Thank you.” I smile tearfully at my husband and we share another tender kiss.

My eyes stay closed after Kevin pulls away. A grateful sigh moves Luca deeper into my breasts. Kevin’s fingers spread out against mine to help support our son in my drug induced state.

Despite the sounds of the medical team working on putting my body back together, I think to myself, that there is no place I’d rather be than here with the loves of my life.

[gallonofgoldfish]

motocross!Bad Batch AU pt. 1 - Hunter

"He didn’t notice until now that the others had veered off the track some time ago—that he’d been riding alone, not ahead. They milled about the makeshift camp set in the shade of a lone rock formation, and paid little mind when Hunter coasted up to the cluster rigs and tents."

Characters: Hunter, Rex, Crosshair? (mentioned?)

Content: poor use of motocross lingo, red bull product placement, inaccurate depictions of west north america, highly probable mischaracterization, i don't think any warnings apply

A/N: this is probably kinda niche but i had a hyperfixation moment earlier this year while TBB was still airing + supercross season was in full swing so i wrote like four parts of this. i mostly just wanted to play around with ideas and designs. this has been rotting in my drive for a while now so i figured i'd throw it out there and see what people think!

also one of my friends read this and does not know im posting it so if u see this HELLO THANK U FOR LISTENING TO MY RAMBLING <3

WC: 1490

ALSO. lmk if u guys want the other parts. they're also pretty short but they're just some of my ideas for the other original batchers

The heat pouring into the bleak basin was familiar as the shadows of the jagged plateaus in the distance. Unfortunately, that didn’t make the suffocating humidity any more enjoyable, nor did it bring the skyline’s shadows any nearer. Orange sun still spilled in rippling waves from the blazing sun hovering just above the horizon, baking the dusty track into a puck of pale, gritty dirt. Even when wind sifted its way through the rocky mesa, it swept enough loose sand with it that the brief drop in temperature offered no comfort.

The rev of Hunter’s bike died down as he set the front wheel into a rut at the edge of the next carved-up straightaway and braced his feet against the pegs to stand. One hand still clutched the throttle, while the other found and released the chinstrap of his helmet beneath his jaw. He pitched down with the crumbly terrain, then set his course for the row of trucks and trailers at the edge of the course, before popping it the rest of the way off.

Tucked under one arm, blue sky danced in the plastic tear-offs stuck to the lenses of his cracked goggles. Sunlight wavered over the chipping black-and-red paint job. Sweat stuck long strands of black hair to his faded bandana, and the bandana to the sides of his head. The world crashed back into bright focus around him, pierced by the sharp smell of exhaust and the howl of the wind against the rocky basin walls. 

He didn’t notice until now that the others had veered off the track some time ago—that he’d been riding alone, not ahead. They milled about the makeshift camp set in the shade of a lone rock formation, and paid little mind when Hunter coasted up to the cluster rigs and tents. He flicked the kill switch beside the left grip, bumping the kickstand down and dismounting in one smooth motion to guide the muddy red bike up to the side of his short trailer.

The radio inside still spewed static down the open ramp door. Whatever station he’d left playing had been reduced to white noise, though by the weather or the container walls, he couldn’t tell. 

On days like this, when the sun beat down and the sky was clear, shade offered little help. It was like the arid climate had worked its way into the very fabric of Hunter’s hopelessly untucked black jersey just to follow him into the sandy-floored camper. The outside was rough enough on the eyes—white metal paneling showing through the mutilated old paint job, only really marked by the peeling Marauder Motors sticker beside the tires—but the inside was no marvel either.

Loose tools littered the gridded metal floor, only landmarked by stray cans and bottles. The toolbox and metal workbench secured to the floor on one side had drawers thrown open in a pattern Hunter could never remember the reason for, and his change of clothes was strewn haphazardly over the secondhand camping chair standing beside it. It was a tight fit; even with the bike outside, there was just enough room to move around and hardly enough to reach the cooler on the other side of the tabletop. 

Hunter set his helmet down on the workbench and pinched the fingertip of his glove between his teeth, shaking his hand free as he reached for the dented Yeti lid. Between the clustered drinks and the flattened styrofoam takeout containers, its contents practically jumped out. He plucked a narrow Red Bull can from the half-melted chunks of ice and shoved the lid back down.

By now, the spare clothes strewn over the camping chair had been sat on enough that they’d taken the shape of his body. At least, he hardly noticed them as he sank onto the fraying canvas, reaching for his phone on the metal tabletop beside him. Shifting his heavy boots farther apart, he tracked another line of sand across the ground.

3 NEW MESSAGES—3 HOURS AGO

Outside, an engine barked to life. A second followed, and they both grumbled by the open trailer in a blur of blue plastic. 

WRECKER—UNNAMED GROUP

TO YOU + 2 OTHERS

1 VIDEO ATTACHMENT

2 MESSAGES

Hunter’s thumb hovered over the notification. After a moment of consideration, he clicked expand.

time to see if you live up to that talk of yours

keeping an 👂out for the results 😎

Read by you, Cross, + Tech

He couldn’t help but heave a sigh, scrolling back up through the rest of the chats. Sent by Wrecker. Read by you, Cross, + Tech. Sent by Wrecker. Read by you, Cross, + Tech. Sent by Wrecker. Read by you, Cross, + Tech.

Hunter hesitated for another second before opening the video, turning the screen sideways for the full picture.

The audio began before the footage itself.

“What can you tell us about the preparation behind today’s race?” asked an unseen voice. 

While the phone searched for service, a little white loading circle spun in the middle of the buffering video.

“Well…” 

Crosshair stood with his hands in his pockets, wearing a sleek black suit and a smug half smirk to match. Close-cropped white curls sat neatly atop his head. The dark lines of the crosshair tattooed over his right eye were darker than Hunter remembered—refreshed by some pricier, more elegant artist than Tech, he was willing to bet. 

“It’s tricky, in a sport like this.” His voice slithered out of him, sharp and low like always, as he looked over whatever reporter stood off-camera with narrow eyes. Even now, he was calculating. Gauging what he was supposed to say next. Anticipating what would keep his image as sharp as the lines of his slender frame. “They say it’s a team effort,” he continued, “but at the end of the day, it’s you, the bike, and the clock. There’s no team there.”

In the brief moment of silence between them, the clamor of other conversations filtered through the microphone. It disappeared. Crosshair tilted his head and shot a sly glance right into the camera’s lens, waiting. 

“What can we expect to see out there tonight?” asked the reporter. 

The microphone popped back into frame. Hunter fought off a shuddering cringe as he popped the tab on the Red Bull resting on his knee.

“Success,” was Crosshair’s only reply.

Graphics began to slide over the interview—statistics and rankings and a dozen other displays Hunter didn’t much care for—but the clip cut there. With another sigh, he ran a hand down his face, over the skeleton tattoo covering half of his own features. 

Right on time, too. Just as he sipped his drink, another rider appeared in the doorway with one stained white boot on the ramp. Hunter glimpsed the Yamaha logo on the front of their jacket, but it was the helmet that gave it away. White plastic with blue paint smeared across the visor in the shape of hawks’ eyes. Tally marks scratched into the otherwise polished surface—one for every win. If he performed any better, Rex would run out of room within the week.

“You ready?” he called, pulling his helmet down over his head.

“You're heading back out already?” Hunter asked, setting down the soda and lunging over the table to grab his glove. 

“Can’t let you guys slack off too much,” Rex replied with a shrug. “You’ll fall asleep.”

“You're killin’ me,” muttered Hunter. “Do you always run your team like the Navy?”

“You can complain about that when you’re actually on the team, privateer.” Rex leaned against the door. In the sun, his bleached buzzcut seemed to glow. “Until then, just know they don’t call me the Captain for nothing.”

Hunter stood, knocking his boots against one another, and gave a messy salute. 

“I’ll meet you on the track,” said Rex. He gave a vague wave, then turned the 56 on the back of his practice jersey and the hawk eye decals on either of his shoulders to Hunter and walked away. 

Snatching up the can again, Hunter chugged the last of the acidic drink and lobbed the empty container at the far wall. It clattered into a pile of at least a dozen others while he smoothed a hand over his hair to push the stray curls hanging in front of his bandana back. 

He shifted his weight to one foot and drummed his gloved fingers on the workbench surface. His gaze wandered from his helmet to the board on the wall. To the map pinned up, and the red string crisscrossing the 50 states. He’d already pressed six thumbtacks into the crooked cork board, but the string told the story:

Anaheim. Oakland. San Diego. Anaheim. Glendale. Anaheim. Minneapolis.

It was a chase, by now. The series moved, and he followed, but never quite caught up. 

Reaching into the old Altoids tin screwed to the tabletop, he grabbed a sixth. He could have found the next point blindfolded:

Denver.

[cb1634]

THIS 😭😭😭😭

[hockeylvr59]

[cornsobsessions]

pitch n puck has been surprisingly more entertaining than i thought it would be

[justagalwhowrites]

Beskar Doll - Ch. 28: Dreams and Drives

You and the Mandalorian capture a quarry and deal with the fallout of danger. A continuation of Beskar Doll Ch. 1-27 found on Tumblr here.

Pairing: The Mandalorian/Din Djarin x Female Reader

Warnings: SMUT :D, PTSD. No use of Y/N. Minors DNI 18+ only

Length: 5.3K

Din was right. You caught up to the Mon Calamari that afternoon. He only caught him because of the tracker, the man fully submerged. The Mandalorian silently directed you up a nearby tree and you obeyed, drawing your weapon as he pulled the man from the water. 

He had been asleep, his large eyes blinking open in shock. 

“Crimi Acha,” Din said, setting the man on his feet. “You jumped bail. I’m here to bring you in. If you come quietly, this will be a lot easier on both of us.” 

“Please,” the man shrunk down. “I only jumped bail because…” 

“Doesn’t matter,” the Mandalorian cut him off. “I can bring you in warm or I can bring you in cold. My partner prefers warm. I don’t care. It’s up to you.” 

You tightened your grip on you blaster. This guy seemed shifty. You were waiting for him to lash out, try something. Not that Din couldn’t handle himself. It just made you uneasy to watch him put himself in harm’s way.

“If I come with you,” the man’s voice trembled. “You won’t hurt me?” 

“No,” Din replied. “I won’t cause you harm unless you wish to do harm to me or my companions.” 

The man thought for a moment before holding his hands out toward the Mandalorian. Din paused before cuffing him and giving you a nod. You jumped down from the tree, landing with a splash alongside him. The quarry jumped. 

“Maker!” He yelped. “I didn’t even see you!” 

“Good,” you smiled. “That’s the point.” 

The trek back to the Crest was about as miserable as the trek out. Better in that it was shorter - no more changing direction to keep track of where the quarry was. Worse in that you now had to take shifts watching the quarry any time you stopped. But eventually, you made it back, exhausted and water logged. 

“Put the kid in his pod,” Din ordered. “I’ll meet you in the shower.” 

“In the shower?” The quarry looked between you. “Oh! I thought I sensed something going on between you two….” 

You groaned. 

“Let’s go,” Mando dragged him off toward the carbonite chamber. “It’s not too late to opt for cold.” 

The child was already passed out in his bag, so you just carefully lowered him into the pod, keeping your fingers crossed that the change in environment didn’t wake him. He was out of it, though, so you sealed him in and went to the shower, heat starting to flow through your exhausted limbs. 

You were enjoying the heat of the water over your sore body, feeling warm for the first time since you’d left the ship. It didn’t take long before the door opened. You instinctively closed your eyes, even though the room was dark and all you could see was the Mandalorian’s silhouette in the doorway. You faced the wall as the door slid shut, leaving the room pitch black again. 

“Doll,” he growled. His voice was unmodulated. You swallowed. 

“Din,” you said, turning your head so your ear was turned toward the sound of his voice, his fucking gorgeous, unmodulated voice. 

“Why didn’t you listen to me in the field,” he said it more than asked it, his naked body pressing against the back of yours. 

“Because you don’t get to tell me to watch you die,” you said, voice thick with want, pain, frustration. 

“I get to tell you whatever I want,” he growled. “It’s my puck, my mission, my ship. The deal was you do what you’re told.” 

You could feel him, thick and long and hard behind you. But he wasn’t giving you anything, not the way he usually did. He was against your body but was hardly reacting to you, as though you were a wall.

“For safety,” you were panting for breath, pressing yourself back into him, desperate for it. “That wasn’t for your safety.” 

“No, it was for yours,” his mouth was against your ear. “And you disobeyed me.” 

His lips traveled to your neck and your hand flew out to the shower wall, bracing yourself as your knees threatened to buckle. He kissed down the side of your throat to your shoulder before he sank his teeth into your flesh, making you gasp. 

“It was…” you gulped in air, half collapsing against the wall. “An unreasonable ask.” 

You pressed your ass back against him, feeling the wetness between your thighs, his hard length resting between your cheeks. 

“You’re needy,” he said, running a finger over your lower lips. You groaned, relieved at the attention. “What makes you think you deserve to get what you want?” 

“I saved you,” you managed to gasp out. 

“That’s true,” he said, taking a half step back from you before notching his cock head against your entrance. “I may not be here to fuck you without your help.” 

He slid into you in one swift, demanding stroke, making you hiss and groan. It was the first time he’d ever entered you when he hadn’t helped prepare you first. It had been almost a week since he’d last been inside you and your walls weren’t ready for an intrusion of his size. He pulled back and slammed into you again, the force of it demanding, the stretch all painful pleasure.

“So fucking tight,” he groaned, picking up the pace and reaching a hand around to the front of you to rub your clit. You stumbled where you stood, head swimming. “Taking me so well…” 

He fucked you hard and unrelenting, his fingers bringing you close to the edge but pulling back as you got closer to it, waiting for your near-climax to ease before pressing into your clit again. 

“Could have lost you,” he growled in your ear before pressing his lips to your neck. “Could have gotten yourself killed…” 

“Din,” you managed. “Please…” 

He pulled himself from you and turned you around, slamming your back into the shower wall before grabbing your leg and hitching it around his waist, thrusting fully into you again. 

“Please what,” he ground out. 

“Kiss me,” you pleaded, reaching for him. But he pinned your hand to the wall. “Let me cum, please…” 

“Those are privileges, Doll,” his mouth went to your throat, biting and sucking you before trailing his lips along your jaw, leaving them hovering over your own. “This is what happens when you break the rules.” 

He brought you just steps away from the edge and stilled inside you, filling you with a strangled groan. You almost cried, body tight with aching need, as he pulled out of you. He ran a hand over your core, cleaning you, before turning the water off. 

“Close your eyes, Doll,” he said, voice less pissed now. You obeyed and he tugged you off the wall and against his body, guiding your arms around his neck and your head to his shoulders. He lifted your legs and you instinctively put them around his waist and he carried you, wrapped around him, to bed. 

***

He’d been cruel, he knew. That had been the point. Something had to get through that thick skull of yours. He had to make you understand, your life wasn’t disposable, not to him. 

It was a hard idea to get through to you. Which made sense when he stopped to think about it for even a moment. You’d spent your entire life being disposable, something to sacrifice for some greater cause or person or purpose. You’d survived as long as you had as much by skill as it was sheer fucking luck. There’d been someone else who died before it got to you or someone else who was a less valuable pawn in the fight against the Empire that fell on the sword. 

Now, you kept trying to plug yourself into the same damn role and he kept watching it happen. He’d seen it the first time you were on Hosnian Prime, you just willing to throw yourself at a problem because you thought you were remotely capable of solving it, to hell with the rest of the consequences. Again on Coruscant, going back back inside to burn the slaver’s house to the ground, assuming you were going to be left to burn with it. On Bakura you flat out refused to stay where it would be safest, instead going wherever you thought you could do the most good, regardless of the risk. Over and over and over, your life was at the bottom of your list of concerns. It was infuriating. It was terrifying. He couldn’t handle it, the thought of losing you like that. Especially if he lived because of it. 

But since he’d carried you to bed, you’d managed to put as much physical distance between the two of you as you possibly could while still being in the same, small bed. You were on your side, stretched out straight against the wall, arms tight against your stomach, back to him. It couldn’t be comfortable. He hated the distance. Not as much as you putting yourself at risk but it felt… wrong. Not touching you. Knowing he was the reason for it. 

“Doll,” he said softly. 

“Hm.” 

“Can I touch you.” 

You paused, like you were considering saying no. You gave in. 

“Yes.” Your voice was thick. 

He slipped an arm around your waist and gently pulled you away from the wall and into his body. It took a moment, but you melted into him, back curving over his torso, legs folding around his own, your head leaning back until it was against his chest. He pressed his face into your hair - fuck you smelled good with nothing between you - and kissed the crown of your head. His hand caressed your stomach, skimming over your skin, traveling up, between your breasts until it fanned out against your ribs, cradling you against him. 

“I don’t understand…” you said softly, but then stopped. 

“What don’t you understand,” his lips were still muffled by your hair. It tickled his chest when you breathed. He didn’t mind. 

“Why did you do that?” Your arms were out in front of you, like you were holding yourself back from touching him in return. 

“I thought I made that clear,” he kissed the top of your head again. 

“But why do you…” you paused, like you were searching for the words. “Care that much. I don’t understand.” 

“Cyare,” he breathed, his fingers pressing into you, pulling you tighter against him. Your hands drifted toward him, one reaching behind you to find his hip as you squirmed a bit against him. “Are you still needy?” 

You just nodded slightly. 

“Trust me to take care of you?” 

You nodded, faster this time. He slid the arm that was below you down the front of you to the apex of your thighs, finding your swollen clit and rubbing it gently, You gasped at the first brush he made, still wound tight from his treatment in the shower. His arm against your stomach squeezed you closer. 

“It’s OK, Cyare,” he said. His voice was soft, soothing as he tenderly worked your slit. His motions were slow, predictable, easy. He let your pleasure build gradually, feeling your muscles ease as you relaxed more and more, like the wall you’d tried to build between you was crumbling. “Just let go. I have you, it’s OK.” 

“Din,” the hand at his hip tightened, your voice breathy. 

“Yes, Doll?” 

“I…” you squirmed back against him. “I…” 

Your strangled moan silenced you. 

“Say what you want, Doll,” he said softly after you did nothing but pant and try to hold him closer for a moment. 

“You,” you gasped out. “I want you, I just want you, please…” 

He slipped a finger into you and you moaned, turning your face to press into the mattress. 

“I’ve already told you, Cyare,” he said. “You have me. I’m yours. Now let go for me. You’re safe here, just let go.” 

You came with a shuddering moan, your sex throbbing around his finger, whole body tense and rigid for a moment before you went slack with a gasping sob. 

“Oh Doll,” he breathed, pulling his hands away from you to roll you over and pull you against his chest. You shook, crying into his chest, sobbing so hard it was like you were choking on your pain. He clutched you to him, his fingers tangling in your hair and you clung to him for dear life, pressing yourself so tightly against him it was like you were worried you’d vanish if you weren’t holding onto him. “I have you. I have you. I have you.” 

He said it again and again and again. A prayer, of sorts. The Mandalorian faith had long ago shifted from the supernatural to the practical. He did not pray to gods or think of them when making decisions - just the guiding principles of the faith. But you were a prayer he knew, the only one he wanted to know. 

“I have you. I have you. I have you.” 

He wasn’t sure how long he held you like that before you fell asleep, your face still wet with tears. He didn’t care. He had you. He had you. He had you.

***

There was something… not right. You’d been here before. You knew this place. Near the palace, you knew just where to turn to get there, could picture the path ahead of you. Well, what the path had been, before the Empire had started blasting your home, trying to reduce it to ash. Trying to reduce you to ash. 

But it still wasn’t right. The stormtroopers weren’t sharp figures against the rubble, they were almost smears of white and black… like you were looking at them through sheets of water instead of air and dust. You couldn’t estimate their numbers this way. You didn’t think you had enough cartridges on you to kill them all, even if you felled one with every bolt. But there were bodies everywhere, so many bodies, almost no one else was left standing, you were all that was left to protect the palace, the city… 

The man in the pilot’s uniform walked toward you, but he was fuzzy, too. His features lost, the colors of his uniform winding and twisting until he became taller, broader, metallic. But his face was still a mystery, just a golden tan blur.

“Cyare.” 

The voice you knew. It was one that didn’t belong here. 

“No,” you shook your head. “No, you have to go, this doesn’t end well, you have to go…” 

He ignored you, walking through the rubble as though it didn’t exist, almost like he was walking through the city before the Empire tried to level it. 

“Din, you have to go,” your feet were stuck, you were knee deep in brick and twisted metal and you couldn’t move. “You have to take the kid and get the fuck out of here, the Empire is coming, you have to get him out of here, please!” 

He pressed on anyway, ignoring everything you were saying, ignoring the blaster fire and the screams of the dying, ignoring the damage done to your planet. It was inconsequential to him. It was going to get him killed. 

“NO!” You were screaming it now, could feel the word shredding your throat, ripping up from deep within you, threatening to pull everything you were out with it. You collapsed with the force of it, you knew what was coming, what happened next and you were rooted to the spot, couldn’t move to change or stop it and he wouldn’t fucking listen to you. He went down on a knee, almost on your level, lifting your chin to force you to look at a face that didn’t exist. “Please, please, you have to go, you’ll die here, you have to go…” 

“Cyare.” 

That word again, that fucking word that you wanted to mean what he said it meant but in this moment you hated it so damn much you thought it might kill you. He pressed his lips to your forehead, familiar and soft. He was so close that you felt him disappear, felt his body turn to smoke when they killed him. 

“NO!” 

“Cyare.” 

You were straining against something. It wasn’t metal or brick but was warm, caging you in. Your legs couldn’t move, your arms weren’t much better, pushing uselessly. You couldn’t see a thing, you weren’t sure if you were blind or if it was just that dark but it only made your panic worse. You couldn’t get a full breath, couldn’t get leverage to move, couldn’t see…

“Cyare!” 

You froze, whole body going rigid. His arms cautiously loosened from around you, his hands finding your face, holding you gently, thumbs ranging over your cheeks. You’d been crying, you realized, your skin was soaked. 

“Are you with me, Cyare?” His voice was soft. 

“You’re alive,” you managed through choking, gasping sobs. You realized then that you’d been shoving on his chest and you ripped your hands away from him, not wanting to accidentally put him any further away. His legs were around yours, holding you still. He let you go there, too, his hands still on your face. 

“I’m alive,” he said gently. “I’m OK. Everyone is OK. The kid, you, me, we’re all OK.” 

He brushed your hair back and pressed a kiss to your forehead and you nodded, still trying to remember how to breathe. 

“I… I felt you die,” your hands drifted back to his chest, just to touch him. You needed to touch him, feel his heart beating. “It was so real, I felt it, it felt just like…” 

You couldn’t say it, couldn’t say what it was like watching someone you loved die for you, feeling the entire galaxy crumble as their body fell, the pain that was your body being turned inside out. 

“I’m OK,” he said it again, stroking your hair. You realized you’d started hyperventilating again. “I’ve got you, it’s OK.” 

You nodded and tried to focus on breathing. 

“Where… where are we,” you managed, scrambling for something to focus on. You couldn’t remember anything from the last few days at least, it was worse than being drunk. “I don’t… where are we, what happened.” 

“Toydaria,” he said gently. “We had a quarry. We got back to the Crest last night. Haven’t taken off yet, I’ll get us off world once you’re OK. We’re going to Tatooine next.” 

“Toydaria,” you repeated, breathing calming, grasping at things in your mind. 

“That’s right,” he said. “We got the quarry a few days ago, but it was through swamp and it was slow going getting back.” 

Things were coming back to you now. The general misery of being cold and wet for days. The kid seemingly enthralled with all the life in the swamp. The quarry - a Mon Calamari you’d caught off guard - was shocked that anyone had found him in the swamps. 

And Mando getting pulled under by that… thing. And almost drowning. Ordering you to run.

“You almost died,” you voice cracked. 

“Did not almost die, Cyare,” he said. This time, his gentle tone sounded condescending. 

“Bantha shit you didn’t almost die,” you snapped, part of you wanting to push him away but too relieved that he wasn’t fucking dead to actually do it. “I had to beat the water out of your fucking lungs, Mando, that’s almost died…” 

“Cyare…” 

“No,” you snapped, getting teared up again. “No, you don’t get to tell me that I just have to watch you die. I can’t do that, not again. I can’t do that, I can’t…” 

You were hyperventilating again. He pulled you against him and held you as you trembled. It was like you were fighting off that gutting feeling again, except it was somehow worse, even though you knew it wasn’t real. Just the thought, the idea of losing him. It eviscerated you. 

“I’m sorry, Doll,” he whispered, his arms tight around you.

You remembered the night before now, realized exactly why you were both naked - really naked, no helmet, nothing - in bed. It had been like he was trying to prove a point at first. He’d always done the opposite of what he did the night before, made sure you came until you couldn’t see straight and couldn’t cum again. Last night, he’d expertly dodged your orgasms, leaving you desperate. He’d taken care of you later but the shower still stung. Even though part of you had… liked it. You couldn’t process that part quite yet. 

You put your arms around him as best you could, focusing on how much of him you could feel like this. You never got this much access to him, he almost always kept part of himself - beyond his head - covered. He was so big, so solid, it was comforting. It was hard to think something like that could just vanish. Be fragile, mortal. You knew he was but you could deal with that later, too. 

“Think you can sleep, Doll?” His lips were in your hair. “You were only out for a little while, you need more rest than that. Especially now.” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Your voice was thick. You were trying to sound offended but weren’t sure if you’d managed it. 

“I don’t know what just happened but it was… bad,” he said, his hand running over your back in a slow, steady rhythm. “You need to recover. We have hours until the kid is awake, we’re in no rush to get to Tatooine. Rest.” 

You pulled your face from his chest and looked up to him, so you’d be looking him in the eye if you could see. 

“Will you be here?” 

“Yes, Cyare,” he said. “I’ll be here.” 

He was. You weren’t sure he’d moved at all, his body was still aligned with yours, you were still in his arms, still tucked against his chest. You kissed his chest. 

“Cyare,” he said. 

“Din,” your voice was harsh and raspy, throat scratchy. You must have been screaming the night before and not realized it. 

“Kid will be up soon,” he said quietly. “Are you…” 

“I’m fine,” your voice sounded a little clearer this time. 

“If you need more rest…” 

“I’m fine, Din,” you insisted. 

He smoothed your hair back, pulling away from you slightly. 

“Can I kiss you?” His voice was hesitant, soft. 

“You can always kiss me,” you all but whispered it. 

He cupped your cheek and gently tilted your head toward his before covering your lips with his own. 

It started soft and slow, like a reconnection, before it shifted. The familiar aching want drew low in your stomach, suddenly acutely aware that you’d never had him like this - nothing between you, no flight suit, no helmet - except the night before in the shower, and that had been a practice in denial. You’d never kissed him while he was inside you and you suddenly - desperately - needed to. 

There were three sharp little taps from low on the door. 

“Patu.” 

It was so quiet you could hardly hear it. You groaned and Din laughed, separating from you and getting out of bed. 

“Is he out of his pod?” You asked, twisting toward the door. 

“Think so,” Din’s voice was modulated again. “I’ve got him.” You sighed and flopped on your back, listening to him get ready in the darkness.You heard his flight suit zip up before his hand appeared against your cheek. 

“I like being able to kiss you,” he said softly. “But I like being able to look at you, too.” 

“I think I prefer the kissing,” you smiled a bit. “But I’m biased.” 

“There are clothes you can use,” he said. “Panel below the bunk. When you’re ready.” 

You pulled the blanket over your chest and he opened the door to the hold and you squinted against the light. 

“Patu!” 

“Sorry kid,” he said, scooping him up as the door closed, leaving you alone. 

You lay there for a moment, staring into nothing. You wondered if he’d figured out that you were in love with him yet or not. The Mandalorian wasn’t the most emotionally in tune person, maybe he’d missed it. You’d rather he had. It couldn’t be healthy, for you to care this damn much about another person. Not someone who was connected to you so tenuously. 

You sighed and got up, finding the light panel so you could see something, obediently borrowing some clothes of Din’s and making your way to the rest of the ship. 

He’d already settled in the cockpit, the kid happily eating on his lap while he did the early stages of a launch. He glanced at you as you came in and sat in your designated seat. 

“I can take him if you want,” you offered, but he just shook his head. You watched him continue prepping the ship, the kid sometimes flipping something off that Din had just flipped on, Din automatically correcting it without so much as a second glance. They understood each other. Belonged together. It was a glimpse of what their life together must have been before you, the interloper, showed back up. 

You braided your hair while the ship took off and Din set the jump for Tatooine. 

“Should be there in just under a day,” he said. “We’ll be landing in Mos Eisley. Anything that will cause problems for you that way?” 

“If the Hutts are still looking for me it could be trouble, but that’s the case with any Hutt-controlled world,” you shrugged. “Shouldn’t be anything too bad there.” 

He just nodded slowly. You fidgeted with your pant leg for a moment, wanting to fill the silence with… something. You couldn’t think of anything. 

“I’m going to go train if that’s OK,” you said, flinging your braid back over your shoulder. “I want to break in those throwing stars, get some practice with the electrostaff.” 

“Please don’t break my ship, Doll,” he turned in his chair to look at you as you headed for the hatch. 

“Such little faith,” you gave him a half smile and descended into the hold, leaving him and the child to spend some time alone. 

You started with the staff, leaving it off at first to get a better feel for it. After Toydaria, you wanted more up melee than just your knives. You weren’t the most comfortable with the weapon that had once cut you open to the bone but you knew your way around a staff and the extra caution kept your mind busy. Anything to keep from remembering your dream the night before, the pain of feeling like Din had died in front of you. It would devour you if you let it and it was just a dream. You couldn’t let it. 

You weren’t sure how long you’d been working when Din brought the kid into the hold, but it had been a while. The clothes you’d borrowed from the Mandalorian were clinging to you in places, your body sticky with sweat. You just gave Mando and the kid a nod when they came down into the hold and he stood in an out of the way corner, the kid tucked under his arm, you not breaking your motions. You’d practiced offensive and defensive moves, one-on-one tactics and group, things meant to protect someone else and things meant to prioritize yourself. The electrostaff was a little weightier than you were used to working with - wider, too - but you were nearly to the point that your body remembered the motions before your brain thought of them. 

As you were about to start your next round of motions, you caught the kid’s eye. He was fascinated, the sparking staff leaving streaks of light in the air that he was enthralled by. You smiled, happy to give him a little entertainment. 

After one more round, you were breathless and your limbs were sore but you felt a little better equipped. You shut the staff off and collapsed it down, the child’s disappointment eating at you for a second. 

“I know, I’m so sorry buddy,” you smiled at him. “I’m very selfish, turning off the thing you liked so much.” 

“Still… strange,” Din said. “That you can read him like that.” 

“You’re sure it’s not you,” you half smirked, joining them across the room and leaning against the wall. 

“You’re the only person I know who can do it,” he replied. 

“Guess it’ll be our thing then,” you smiled, brushing your thumb over the kid’s wrinkled forehead before looking to his father. 

“Got anything I can use for target practice?” 

There was some scrap insulation that worked well to practice sinking throwing stars into. It took a little figuring out but, eventually, you got the hang of it, the disks sinking into just about the right place every time after a few hours of work. You weren’t nearly as accurate as you were with a knife or a blaster but they had the potential of being a very handy weapon when used the right way. There was a small case that came with them, one that held them ready to go and attached to your belt. Din just sat and watched you work, absently entertaining the baby on his lap as he did. 

“You must be bored,” you said after a while as you went to retrieve the blades from the insulation yet again. 

“No.” 

You frowned. 

“How?” 

“Doll,” he almost laughed. “I’m Mandalorian. Watching you work with weapons is for me what I imagine watching a musician is for you.” 

You blushed a little at that, some of the heat from what almost started in the morning igniting in you again. 

But that night, the kid was in rare form. Unwilling to sleep or fully calm down. 

“We pushed it too much this morning,” you sighed. “I should have paid closer attention to his schedule…” 

“We’ll bring him to bed with us,” Din said simply after more than hour of trying to get him to calm down. “You need to rest, Doll. You’ve been pushing yourself today.” 

The three of you went to sleep in the small bed, Din’s broad arm over you and the kid as you all seemed to try to get closer to each other in the darkness. It was almost strange, being in bed with the Mandalorian with your clothes on now. But, with the child there, it was a different kind of intimacy. One that you weren’t sure you’d really had before. Your heart swelled with it, the idea of being a part of something like this. Even if it was just temporary. 

The next morning, you held the baby on your lap as you approached Tatooine, the swirling yellows and oranges of the planet looming large in front of you. He was almost like a talisman, keeping you sane as you looked down at the world you’d once called home. The place where your parents’ bodies lay - or what was left of them. The place you’d been literally put back together from the Empire. You didn’t think you’d ever be back here and now you were. It was terrifying. It was invigorating. You weren’t sure what leaving this time would look like. 

“Doll?” Din asked. You kept your eyes on the planet. 

“Yes.” 

“Are you OK?” 

You weren’t. You weren’t going to say that. 

“Let’s find out just what’s waiting for us.” 

A/N: I don't know about y'all but I love me some Din getting dommy while Doll gets subby.

How these two fools deal with the other one being in mortal peril is going to become more and more important as the story ramps up here. There's a lot at risk - and baddies we haven't met yet but have heard tell of - that mean the stakes are very high. Just how will two control freaks navigate that? Just have to find out :)

[ultravioletlightwaves]

I have to reblog this because it made me laugh so hard there were actual tears in my eyes.

And like. You think the description is a joke, ha ha, that's not what happens on a nationally broadcast event for the entire National Hockey League. But you would be wrong, because the 2023 NHL All Star Game dunk tank/league-sanctioned wet t-shirt contest was very very real.

And Sidney Crosby did in fact ask for it.

i mean… my captain gave us a slutty wet tshirt contest…

[lunarfleur]

I don’t want to fight ~ Charlie Conway

CW:rivals/enemies to lovers, love confession

Character:Charlie Conway

Warnings:none

Charlie walked out to the frozen lake, shudders of cold running up his spine. He stepped through the snow, seeing them shooting pucks into their makeshift goal.

He stepped closer and closer, watching them closely. The sun was setting behind them, a painting of yellow and orange that hung in the sky. The ice seemed to glow. So did they.

Y/N looked over at Charlie, stopping their shots. They frowned at him, as per usual.

“Need somethin?” They asked. Charlie thought back to their last game, feeling the sharp pinch that remained in his knee.

“I need to talk to you,” he announced. Y/N scoffed.

“I don’t have time to listen to you confess your love to me.” Charlie stopped in from of them.

“Why didn’t you want me to go back into the game on Saturday?” He asked. It was quiet, suddenly, and Y/N stood up straight.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” they said hesitantly, shaking their head.

“Yes you do,” Charlie scoffed. “You were dead set on replacing me. Why were you so persistent?”

Y/N scoffed rolled their eyes. They held their stick in their hands firmly, aiming at the goal. Charlie watched them closely, seeing the way they glowed with the setting sun.

“Is it true? What Averman said?” Charlie saw the way they tensed up, the way their hands tightened around their stick. Y/N turned to face him. They were bright red in the face, their nostrils flaring and their eyebrows furrowing.

“Screw Averman,” they hissed. “He’s a moron.” Charlie sighed.

“So it is..” it almost came out as a laugh. But Y/N didn’t seem to find it funny.

“Poor Y/N,” Lester had teased. “So worried about their one true love.”

“I just told you he’s an idiot,” they scoffed, “no, it’s not true.” There was a certain attitude in their voice. Like a forced sense of hatred.

“That’s how some people flirt,” Charlie remembered Dean’s voice, “they treat you like shit.”

“Why didn’t you want me to play?” He asked again. They hesitate.

“I didn’t want you to win and get conceited,” they shrugged. Charlie chuckled.

“I don’t think that’s it.”

“I don’t think that’s it,” they mocked in a high pitched tone. Charlie scoffed.

“I don’t talk like that,” he insisted, “why do you see me like that?”

“Of course I don’t see you like that!” They shouted, throwing their stick onto the ice. Then they paused and watched Charlie’s gaze closely.

“Stop looking at me like that,” they whispered.

“Like what?”

“Like…like.” They shook their head and left their sentence unfinished.

“Y/N, why do you always make fun of me?”

“Because you’re easy to make fun of!” They shook in their skates. “Because you always screw up on the ice, because you always have to be so damn polite, because you’re dumb, because you’re clumsy!”

They threw their hands up into the air before shouting, “if I had feelings for you don’t you think I’d just come right out and say it?!” They took a step forward.

“No, I don’t have feelings for you-”

In one swift motion Charlie grabbed the sides of their face firmly. They sucked in a breath and paused, waited, for something, anything. Charlie stopped, the two faces nose-to-nose, and pulled away slowly.

“Why did you do that?” They asked quietly.

“I don’t know,” he shook his head, “it just felt right.” Charlie stepped towards them. “I don’t want to fight.”

Y/N nodded, rubbing their arm slowly. They looked at the ice underneath of them. Charlie looked at the hockey stick that sat untouched on the ground.

“Of course I like you,” they whispered. “You’re a good guy. If you got hurt, I don’t know what I would have done.”

Charlie noticed the way they trembled against the cold air. They closed their eyes harshly, walking over to the wooden bench next to the ice. Charlie followed.

“You couldn’t have just told me that?” He chuckled. “And all this time I was worried you hated me.”

They rested their elbows on their knees, head facing down. Charlie could see the way the frosty air moved when they exhaled. They sat up straight and turned ti face him.

“Don’t do that to me,” they whispered.

“Do what?”

“Act like I’m not putting my heart on the line. Say something, do something, anything.” They sounded desperate.

So he did the simplest thing. He leaned over and kissed them. And the world seemed to crack open.

“Asshole,” they chuckled. Charlie snickered right after.

“Don’t make me kiss you again,” he teased.