#sleepover saturday

[solar-sunnyside-up]

#memes #anticapitalism #solarpunk #art #sleepover saturday #mutual aid #hobby #fun

[pedrito-friskito]

hey kay bb!! hope you're doing well 💖

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

niiiiiiiiik my darling my dear hope you are also well 💗

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

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

sleepover saturday

uncharted territory

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

gif by @aceofwhump

Then you are a Mandalorian no more.

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

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

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

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

Where will he go?

You are a Mandalorian no more.

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

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

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

“Mando?”

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

“Sweets?”

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

+

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

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

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

Other times, he just wanted to see you.

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

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

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

He just shrugged.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Is that gonna cause me any problems?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Or nothing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He heard you gasp. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He wanted to taste you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I like it rough.”

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

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

Beneath the helmet, Din turned crimson.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

+

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

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

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

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

He never meant to get so attached to you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There’s a shelf of sweets above the workbench.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And he’d answered.

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

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

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

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

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

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

He could taste you easily now.

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

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

Din just nods.

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

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

What does that mean?

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

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

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

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

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

“I did.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sorry.”

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

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

All he can feel is you.

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

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

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

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

“You’re beautiful.”

“So are you.”

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

+

Din wakes to the sound of running water.

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

But more importantly: you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

To your bed.

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

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

“I’m out of practice.”

Your lips twitch again. “How bad?”

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

“You were a child.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Freezes.

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

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

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

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

Realization slides through your features. “Oh.”

“Yes.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I missed you.”

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

+

Din wakes alone in your bed again.

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

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

“You know Peli Motto?”

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

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

“You’re joking.”

“Swear on my hangar.”

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

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

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

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

“I didn’t—”

“Din.”

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

“Where is the Razor Crest?”

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

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

“It’s a long story.”

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

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

[paper-lilypie]

@maudiemoods I have decided to come to the sleepover a day early to not miss it

#ILL JUST STAY IN THE CORNER IN A SELF-INDUCED COMA AND NOT BOTHER YOU FOR 24 HOURS #JUST DONT LET BAM NEAR ME AND IM GOOD #sleepover crossover #sleepover saturday

[petals2fish]

Genius

Summary:

After Lily breaks her iPhone, she finds herself at the Genius Bar on Valentines Day, and an old flame is there to help her in all things technology and romance.

read on A03

Marlene McKitten: babes you're missing out on blackberry margs!!

Lily Evans: I’m sorry! It was the only time I could schedule a time for my phone to get fixed!

Marlene McKitten: you just hate me, its okay, you can say it

Lily Evans: you’re a drama queen, Marlene McKinnon 

Marlene McKitten: you love me anyways…find me a hot date at the apple store so I can get discounts!!

Lily Evans: if I find a hot guy he’s mine for the night

Marlene McKitten: further proof that you hate me 

Lily Evans: I’m here. … Pray this doesn’t take five hours and I can come meet you for drinks. 

Marlene McKitten: how hard will it be to replace a screen? … I bet I could do it myself with youtube and a little superglue

Lily did not reply back to her friend, she didn’t have the heart to tell Marlene that superglue and youtube weren’t the answer for everything. Even if superglue had proven effective at keeping Lily’s favorite mug together after it broke in the dishwasher. 

Lily just couldn’t believe she was spending her free time at the Apple Store because she'd somehow cracked her phone screen. In all her years of owning a phone, of course it would be the most expensive phone she’d ever had that broke. Even her flimsy flip phone had been more sturdy than her iphone. 

“Hi, are you here for an appointment?” A scrawny kid about her age asked, holding the iPad too close to his face as he approached her near the front doors.

Lily nodded quickly. “Yeah, Lily Evans, for a screen repair.”

“Gotcha.” The kid's nametag read ‘Peter,’ and he barely looked up at her as he typed away on his screen. “I checked you in; just go wait at the Genius Bar.”

“Thanks.”

Lily maneuvered around the cramped store, sighing all the while as she made her way to the Genius Bar. It was rather depressing to be alone on Valentine's Day, but it was almost extra disappointing that she’d had to skip lunch with her girlfriends to come here. Lily couldn’t believe she was missing out on the tacos at Casa Grande, a tradition that went all the way back to Uni. She nervously picked at the crack on her screen, most annoyed that she’d somehow forgotten to add the screen protector when she got her new case two months ago. Another sigh escaped her lips before she finally took a look at her surroundings.

There were three boys at the counter, each of them so different from the other. The first, on Lily’s left, was a bloke with a leather jacket, emitting a touch of emo metal head from his persona. The one on the right definitely looked like he belonged at the Genius Bar in the Apple Store, thanks to his perfectly pressed sweater vest and nicely combed hair. The man leaning against the table opposite Lily, typing into his iPad, was a sporty-looking bloke wearing slacks with a rumpled button-down shirt.

She thought to herself, Actually, no, that sporty bloke looks really familiar… Oh. 

It hit her like a freight train. 

She couldn’t remember his name for the life of her, but he’d somehow gotten hotter in the year since they graduated from college. It’d been almost that much time since they’d danced at a party, stumbled up the stairs to his bedroom, and he’d fucked her on his bed. Not even a quick go. No, she had woken up in his bed to find his arms around her, her clothes all over the room, and her phone dead from going all night without a charger. 

He’d been such a gentleman when he woke up. He had practically stumbled over his words when he realized she was there, in his bed, naked with him. They had both been drunk, so even he admitted it had probably been a bad idea. They’d parted ways an hour later, Lily promising that she’d be okay to walk back to her dorm, and he had let her go so she assumed he really hadn’t wanted anything more than a once go in the sheets. 

More than once, she'd thought about this bloke, wondering what happened to him. 

His black hair was in a mess of waves around his head, and he didn't look up from his iPad as she stared in shock. She didn’t know what she’d say to him if they did make eye contact. The last thing she’d said to him was ‘thanks for the sex’ which somehow grew more and more embarrassing the longer she sat here and recalled it. She kept picturing his naked body in that bed in the morning. What would she say if he looked up right now and she was there remembering the contours of his body? 

Hi, I almost didn’t recognize you with your clothes on.  

She’d save that gem for later. 

Probably never. 

Lily felt disappointed as he walked away without looking up, disappearing through a door that likely led to the back. Her heart slowed in her chest, just slightly, but she felt like her throat was drier than the desert. She cleared it twice, earning a look from the guy in the sweater-vest, but he just went back to his task at hand.

Since the other two men at the Genius Bar were preoccupied, she took that to mean she was going to have to wait for help. She checked her Tumblr, finding nothing of consequence, just some idiots in her ask box telling her to eat dirt and choke on it. A usual occurrence on her blog thanks to internet trolls with nothing better to do than hate strong women like Taylor Swift and Captain Marvel. Lily was fully convinced people just liked to find something to complain about. She tried really hard not to complain or take anything a bunch of internet ghosts said to heart. She scrolled through her favorite Taylor Swift blog and saw there had been a new song mashup released. She wished she had brought her headphones so she could at least listen to the music while she waited.

London Boy crossed with This Is Why We Can’t Have Nice Things would be absolutely disastrous and she was here for it. She reblogged it for later, then exited out of the app, settling for people watching instead. 

Around her, couples were looking over new computers, AirPods, and various other electronics. All the girls wore really pretty dresses, and all the partners kept one firm arm around each other's waists. Lily’s dress was pretty too, and she played with the edges of the corset cut as she stared at the door through which the fit bloke had disappeared.

Had he spotted her and run? Did he remember her? Did he forget her? She wasn’t sure what would hurt her more, if he walked away because he saw her and remembered her, or if he walked away because he forgot about her.

Lily wasn’t a bragger, but she knew for a fact he had fun with her a year ago. She remembered enough of that night to know that he’d been really, really enjoying it. Not many men would get between her legs for her, and very few actually made her scream. No, he’d been one of two, and he’d been the best of all. 

Lily crossed her legs, trying to ignore the heat gathering on her face (and in other places) as she recounted that night. Sadly, her body wasn’t listening to her imploring thoughts. She felt like a damn animal in heat, the way her entire body was strung up, waiting for his reappearance. 

Beside her, the emo guy helping the old Lady change her voicemail sent her a sidelong glance randomly, and Lily felt a blush raise on her cheeks when his eyes grazed up and down her body as if he were checking her out. She didn’t drop his gaze, and instead offered him a smile. His gray eyes snapped back to the old lady and spoke to her in a smooth tone that didn’t seem the least bit flustered. 

She looked down at her candy-colored nails, the pink already chipping from scrubbing her hands too much at work. The phone on the table in front of her buzzed with a text from her girls' chat. Marlene sent a photo of a plate of tacos in the shape of a heart. Lily smiled and opened her phone, hearting the photo. As she did so, the grandmother finished her session and walked away, leaving the emo kid free. Lily looked up from her phone quickly, expecting him to turn to her, but instead, he had his back turned to her as he talked into his headset.

“No, I won’t stall for you—Prongs! Don’t argue with me.” He sounded stressed, as if whoever was on the other end was ruining his life. “Then get out here, you idiot.”

Whoever was on the other end was clearly addressing the whole store through that headset, as Lily witnessed the sweater vest-wearing, scrawny boy, and the long-haired brunette nearby all turning to send looks in Emo’s direction with raised brows. Lily couldn’t help but feel as if they were all looking at her too, despite her not being privy to the conversation happening.

“Hi,” someone touched Lily’s shoulder from behind, making her turn in surprise.

A baby-faced woman with bubblegum-pink hair smiled kindly. “Have you been checked in?”

“Oh,” Lily blinked owlishly, feeling stupid for thinking everyone was looking at her. “Uhm, yes, Lily Evans? Screen repair?”

“Our screen repair guy is stuck on the phone with a customer in the back,” she said cheerily, “but he should be out soon.”

“Oh, there’s a guy?” Lily said in surprise. “I thought screen replacements were kinda a universal genius bar thing.”

“Oh, we can all do it,” The girl’s name tag told Lily her name was Tonks, “but someone called dibs already.”

“Dibs?” Lily didn’t miss that Emo kid was cackling as he typed something into his iPad.

“Did I say dibs?” Tonks put a finger on her lips. “I meant he was assigned to you by the boss.”

“Who’s the boss?”

“He is.”

Suddenly, the door behind them slammed open, and a body stumbled out quite dramatically. Lily perked up at the sight of the familiar form. Sporty boy was back! His black hair was even more wild around his head, as if he’d been running his fingers through it non-stop since he’d disappeared. His glasses were skewed too, but it only made him so much more attractive, to see how flustered he was.

Tonks peered around Lily’s shoulder, her pink hair falling into her eyes. “Smooth entrance, Potter.”

“Thanks for holding down the fort, Nymphadora,” Potter said. “I can take her from here.”

Lily’s eyes traced his tall form, realizing it had been a long time since she’d been able to admire it. When her gaze returned to his face, her eyes met brown orbs that looked delighted to know she’d been openly checking him out. Lily’s mouth opened, but no sound came out. She brushed nervously at her red curls, biting her lip as James waltzed over to her at the bar, leaning against it so he was only a foot or so away from her.

“Hi,” his voice was smooth, like an ASMR streamer. “I’m James Potter.”

“Hi,” she almost choked on her own spit. “Hi.” 

James’ fingers trailed along the edge of the bar, casual yet deliberate, as he said, “I heard you rang for a genius?”

Lily’s mouth quivered when she heard Tonks sigh loudly. The emo guy slammed his palm against his head, as if James had embarrassed them all. Sweater vest physically gagged. James just kept smiling at her though, as if he could tell she was attracted to him regardless of his cheesy pickup lines. And it was true, she was. 

“I heard you are the only one in this store who can help me,” Lily flirted, watching his eyes light up at the challenge. “I had no idea you were so important.”

“Me either, to be honest.” He placed his chin on his hand, supported by his elbow against the bar. “What was your name again?”

Lily tucked her hair behind her ear. “Lily Evans? We met about a year ago at a party.”

His eyes seemed to sparkle as he replied smoothly, “Oh, I remember how we met, it was just your name that escaped me last year.”

The blush was uncontrollable now as she reached out a hand for him to shake. “It’s nice to see you again.”

“You have no idea how nice it is to see you again.” James’ grin grew wider. “And on Valentine's Day, no less.”

"I know how to make an entrance." She managed weakly. 

James' eyes were molten gold mixed with green flecks, "you sure do, especially in that dress." 

“Get a room,” the guy in the sweater vest muttered.

“How about yours, Remus?” James shot back, a bite in his tone.

Remus pretended to be interested in his customer's macbook in response. When Lily looked back at James, she felt a punch to the gut as she saw nothing but pure lust in his eyes. She could practically pinpoint where his mind had dropped, thanks to his eyes staring at her breasts, which were practically popping out of the corset cut top of her dress. 

“Like what you see?” She asked boldly. 

"Yes." He cleared his throat, and her eyes dropped to his mouth when he licked his lip and then curled the edges up to smile confidently.

Hazel eyes.

His eyes were hazel, and she’d forgotten that, so now all her memories were being replayed with coy hazel eyes that undressed her without even trying. He wasn't even trying to hide it, especially not right now. 

“Well, what can I help you with today?” James asked, breaking her concentration on his eyes. 

Dinner. She thought desperately. A quick go in the back of the storage room. Instead she offered, “I think I cracked my phone screen.”

James looked down at the phone in question. Lily picked it up, popping off the blue protective case in one fluid motion, before handing it to him. She fiddled with the case as he turned the phone over in his hands once. 

“And you’re sure it’s not just the screen protector?”

Lily shook her head no, “I tried to pull it off, twice, but couldn't get it, so I’m pretty sure I forgot to put the protection screen thing on when I got my new case.”

“Oh Lily,” James clucked his tongue, “always use protection.”

Oh, that was the wrong thing to say. 

Her brain immediately fluttered into the pit of her stomach with ideas of all the things they could do with protection. God, she hadn’t been so turned on since the last time he’d gotten her into bed with him…only this time it was daylight and she hadn’t had a single thing to drink. 

Pure thoughts, Lily Evans. She thought. He’s just a guy. A hot, cool, incredibly charming guy. Fuck it, I’m screwed.   

James casually picked at her phone screen, seemingly ignoring the desire flickering in her eyes as he remarked, “The glass shouldn’t stick up like that; I think it’s just a screen protector.”

“I really don’t think–”

Watching in mortification, Lily winced as he used his thumbnail to pry at the glass. Suddenly, a sound of unsticking reached her ears as he removed a screen case from her phone's actual glass. Redness flooded her face for an entirely different reason. She’d been a total, utter, helpless idiot for bringing her phone here.

It hadn’t been broken at all. 

“Oh my god,” she whispered, “Oh, no, no, no, no!! I am such an idiot.”

“No!” He quickly reassured her, “You’re not an idiot!”

Lily felt herself spiraling with embarrassment, realizing she just hadn’t pulled hard enough to separate the sticky tape from the glass. “I swear—I tried so hard—I thought it was the screen.”

His thumb brushed the side of her wrist in comfort, but instead of soothing her, it sent a wave of shame coursing through her stomach. “It’s an honest mistake; it was securely fastened.”

“Yeah,” she squeaked, noticing he had leaned closer over the counter, now mere inches from her face.

“Seriously,” he seemed so amused, and that only humiliated her further, “it’s fine, I won't even charge you.” 

She didn’t know if she’d ever felt more stupid, and in front of the hottest guy she knew, too. “I’m really sorry for wasting your time.” He searched her face as if seeking something within it. Lily withdrew her hand from his shyly and then grabbed her phone. “I’ll just go, thank you, um, bye.”

Trying to escape the awkward situation, she hurried out, acutely aware of the stares from those around them who had witnessed the embarrassing exchange. She slipped her unprotected phone under the strap of her dress and brushed her hair behind her ears as she rushed to her car in the parking lot.

“Dumb, stupid, idiot.” she muttered over and over to herself, repeating the whole scene in her head. “How did you graduate college with a science degree, but you can’t even pull a fucking phone condom off.” 

She reached her car in record time, the lingering sense of humiliation mingling with a cocktail of other emotions churning in her gut. Her plan now was simple: she would rendezvous with her friends at the taco place and immerse herself in a flight of margaritas. Maybe if she got intoxicated enough, she could erase this entire fiasco from her memory. As she finished flinging her bag onto the console of the passenger seat, she heard footsteps approaching from behind.

Turning abruptly, she was startled to find James from the Genius Bar standing there, a friendly smile gracing his features. “Hey, Lily.” 

“Hi,” she managed, her voice high-pitched from her embarrassment. 

HIs eyes dropped to the phone, precariously held between her pale skin and tiny spaghetti thick dress strap. “Why do girls stuff everything right there?”

Lily looked down at her phone and then back up to him, feigning tucking her hands into the folds of her dress skirt, “most girls clothes don’t have pockets–so we improvise.” 

“Interesting.” He then asked promptly, “Did you know that I worked here?”

“No,” she swore, as the wind made her skirts gather around her legs, “I swear, I had no idea.”

A light flickered in his eyes, “that’s a shame.”

“Why a shame?”

“I was hoping you made up that entire thing about the glass cracking just to talk to me.” He grinned. “But you genuinely thought it was broken, didn’t you?”

“You were hoping I was lying?” Lily blinked owlishly at him, “really?”

He lifted a lunchbox in his hand, smiling awkwardly. “I only have an hour for lunch; why don’t we catch up, and we can talk about what I was hoping for.”

“What?” Lily asked, not comprehending anything because her hormones were cheering excitedly.

“Sorry,” he tucked the lunchbox behind his back again, “did you not want to eat with me? I think I may have gotten mixed signals from you back in the store…”

“Eat with you?” she repeated. “ With you?”

“I know it’s been a while,” he was rambling, “I know we aren’t even like–friends–but you showed up and I–I nearly had a heart attack seeing you again. A heart attack in the good way–not a bad way. You are definitely good. All good. So good.”

Lily still had one hand on her car door, her chest rising and falling as she struggled to find the words. “I–I’m an idiot who can’t tell the difference between a screen cover and a phone screen…and you want to have lunch with me?”

James shrugged, “despite working at the genius bar–” Lily offered him a snort of amusement, “--I prefer idiots, don’t you?”

“You're not an idiot,” Lily said, motioning to all of him, “you’re–you’re that .”

“Eloquent,” his smile was so wide, his eyes crinkled at the edges. “But I’m 100% just as much an idiot as you.”

“How so?”

“I was an idiot for ever letting you go without a number to text you at.” 

She felt her stomach erupt with pleasant butterflies. “What?”

James looked down at her body, then back up at her eyes with a coy wink. “Truthfully, I've been wondering where you disappeared to for a year now and would really like to catch up. I’d also really love your number, for your working phone, just in case you ever need a genius to fix it again. Is that okay?”

Lily felt like she might be dreaming. She pinched her arm. It hurt. Thank god. “This isn’t a joke, right?”

“No,” James walked forward, almost flush with her person now. “I do love a good joke, though.”

“Really?” He was so close, she could count the tiny freckles dotting his tan nose. 

James' hand brushed her arm, sending shivers racing up it. “What’s the best book to read while eating breakfast?”

Lily felt a smile replacing her confused expression as she leaned up on her tiptoes, allowing his free hand to cup her chin. “What book?”

“Much Ado About Muffin.”

"You're right, you are an idiot." She rolled her eyes, but her tone was flirtatious, "a really, really cute idiot."

"They'll hire just about anyone to work the Genius Bar these days." 

Lily didn’t wait anymore; she grabbed a fistful of his shirt and pulled him down, letting her lips muffle his laughter.

She could still feel his smile through the kiss though, even when he opened his mouth to taste her with an eager fever she had forgotten about. She kissed him back harder, especially when she heard his lunch bag fall to the ground near their feet, and both his hands grabbed hold of her long hair to keep her firmly attached. He tasted like mint gum, like he'd just been chewing it before coming to find her. Like he'd planned for this exact scenario to happen. 

She almost swooned at the thought. 

Finally, what felt like only a second later, he broke off the kiss. When her eyes opened, she saw nothing but him, and that only made her smile grow wider. His hands remained in her hair, but he tugged them forward to cup her cheeks, bringing the red strands with him. 

“So,” he said somewhat breathlessly, “lunch date?”

"What'd you have in mind?"

"Calling out of work, taking you home, and ordering pizza for a long movie we won't watch." 

Lily stepped forward, about to kiss him again for suggesting it, but then she felt her chunky heel step on something, and a resounding crack filled the air. Lily thought it might be the lunch bag he’d dropped, and for just a second she hoped, but whatever was under her foot was smaller. She looked down, face white, and all she saw were broken bits of glass under her heel. Her heart plummeted from its high as she stared down at her broken phone. 

“I broke my phone,” she realized, lifting her foot to show a screen in tiny bits and pieces. “Oh my god, I really broke it this time.”

James untangled himself from her and leaned down, picking it up carefully, and they watched as it disintegrated into multiple pieces in his hand. His eyes lifted from the phone to her. She stared back at him. Lily fell against her car, pressing her hands into her hair as she processed her disbelief. James' mouth was partially open, like she'd just stunned him to silence. 

“I can’t believe this!” she half laugh, half cried, while wiping her eyes. "I can't fucking believe this!"

Then, James doubled over with laughter, weeping from the irony of it all. Lily crossed one leg over the other as she laughed too, her head rolling back against her car. Passerby in the parking lot shared attempts like they were lunatics for laughing so hard. It only made them laugh harder.

"What am I going to do?" Lily cried, her side in stitches. "Oh god, I haven't even paid that phone off yet!"

"I can't believe you broke it!" James wiped the tears from his eyes, "oh my god, your luck!"

"Oh fuck," Lily pressed a hand to her forehead, "I don't know why I'm laughing, this is actually so bad, I need my phone for work."

James walked forward to plant a firm kiss on her mouth before reminding her, “Don’t worry, you know a genius who can fix it.”

~~~

[phone]: Lily??? Are you Alive??? Your bedroom doors been shut since yesterday?? have you even been home???

Lily Evans: holy shit I am so sorry, who is this? I have a new phone and forgot to switch my contacts over from the cloud

[phone]: ....Marlene....HOW BROKEN WAS YOUR PHONE??? It was a scratch the last time I saw it??

Lily Evans: funny story...

Marlene McKitten: where are you?!

Lily Evans: do you remember that one time I got super drunk at a party and woke up in a hot guys bed?

Marlene McKitten: ya...why?

Lily Evans: I'm currently in his bed right now 

Marlene McKitten: ??? get home right now or so help me god I'm tracking your phone and coming to you 

Lily Evans: save yourself a drive and meet us at the Genius Bar, he's taking me over there to fix my old computer I thought was broken. 

Marlene McKitten: ?????????????

#jily #lily evans #james potter #jily fanfiction #jily fic #sleepover saturday #JPLE

[c2-eh]

Hey love ❤️

Would you like to share your top 5 Charlos moments from 2023?

uuuu hi baby <33 yesss of course and with pleasure!!

1. the bracelet video. carlos calling charles darling. kiss kiss. you just had to be there. i love how playful and cute they are and so comfortable with each other 🥺❤

2. CAR REVEAL!! everything about that honestly. from tiktoks to photos to them talking on the radio. HELLOOOOO babe MATE!!!!!!

3. goggle games. the whole video tbf, they are so extremely cute in that and laughing the whole time, touchy feely, the hand holding.... i love them sm

4. c2 music challenge but especially this little moment... i mean. look at them :'))) i miss them doing challenges bc it looks like they have soooo much fun.

5. charles driving carlos at drivers parade in miami. idk this was so very important to me

i honestly love every single interaction but i can't fit it into this and my limit of 5 is reached!

#i will do a poll at the end of this year of the best moment just like i did last year #credits to alllll the creators are under the gifs! if you want me to delete the gif just tell me! #but omg there are so many???? i can't put the whole year here jsdikjs #charlos #sleepover saturday

[magpie-to-the-morning]

Anyone down for a sleepover? My askbox is open for:

Spicy thots/headcanons

Questions about my fic/takes on characters

What you’re reading right now (fic or otherwise)

What you’ve been meaning to read

Tell me what you order at the movie theater

✨Secrets✨

FMK

Whatever, let’s just chat!

#Sleepover Friday #Sleepover Saturday

[sorchathered]

I can’t believe we are already here!!

I’ll be hosting a sleepover party weekend next month to celebrate 300 followers (wait what?!?!)

Thank you guys so much for being here and reading my stories, I still can’t believe this is real!

More details to come!

Currently 0 followers away from 300!

We made it guys!!

#top gun maverick #bob floyd #jake seresin #top gun maverick fanfiction #rhett abbott #robert bob floyd #bradley bradshaw #jake hangman seresin #outer range #outer range fanfiction #Sorchathereds 300 follower celebration #🎉 #sleepover saturday #300 follower sleepover

[kiwiana-writes]

Your top three comfort fics are all so good…but they’re all also pretty popular. What about a top three under 300 kudos👀

I am SO INTO what you're putting down here, anon... except for the fact that I can't fucking sort my bookmarks by kudos 🤣 so this took a little longer than I expected! I've split the RWRB fics into two: ones published this year that might just be low because people haven't had the chance to read yet, and ones from 2023 and earlier that are hidden gems. Also, please check out my Five Under 500 List from the end of October, because a couple of those are still under 300 and they are all ABSOLUTELY WORTH A READ.

Once again in no particular order:

Top 3 under 300: Red White & Royal Blue (published 2024)

Going Stag by @cicigreen03 - SERIOUSLY an underrated gem and I have no idea why, y'all are MISSING OUT. Alex is hosting Liam and Spencer's bachelor party at the lake house, Spencer's douchey colleague Hunter invites himself along... and brings his boyfriend. You'll NEVER guess who the boyfriend is.

you were more than just a short time by @hypnostheory - MIND. THE. TAGS. But this is absolutely, one thousand percent worth the pain.

Paper Chains by @myheartalivewrites - y'all I tried to do the thing where I quote specific lines from this fic to scream about and I could not bring myself to stop reading long enough to do so. It is an INCREDIBLE journey and one you won't regret going on.

Top 3 under 300: Red White & Royal Blue (published 2023 and earlier)

Spoke Love to Soul by @celaestis1 - honestly my eyes glazed past this as I was skimming down my bookmarks list because I just ASSUMED it would have way more kudos but???? I LOVE a mythical retelling as evidenced by the Orpheus and Eurydice WIP in my folder and this one is STUNNING. A true, true treasure.

Sip You Like Cosmic Juice by @sparklepocalypse - okay listen this one's sitting on EXACTLY 300 so I'm squeaking in while it still applies but: RUGBY THIGHS. That is all.

I want to play a game by @hgejfmw-hgejhsf - Listen it's not a secret that my love of Saw (especially the first one) is like half my personality, so this may not be MARKED as a gift for me but in my heart I tell myself it is 🤣

Top 3 under 300: Schitt's Creek

Town Hall Meeting #5,204 by the_hodag - Genuinely incapable. of reading this without laughing hysterically, actually

The Midpoint by @roguebebe - The roguest baby's first fic and fucking HELL it's stunning. Chock full of Patrick and Stevie feelings, my favourite kind.

You Can Ring My Bell by @designatedgrape - A 5+1 from the POV of the bell over the door at Rose Apothecary, which naturally means it's actually extremely tender and sweet

And as a bonus because why the fuck not...

My favourite fic of mine under 300 kudos

For RWRB it is of course Empty your heart of its mortal dream, fae prince Henry my beloved.

For Schitt's Creek there's absolutely no question: Time until the end of time, the afterlife fic I co-wrote with @ships-to-sail aka a 65,000 word treatise on grief, growth, and our effects on the people around us.

[Sleepover Saturday]

#sleepover saturday #anonymous

[alltoounwellll]

okay for the sleepover, fuck marry kill

wolfstar, rosekiller, jegulus

oh, oh???? oh

asdfghjkl ok ok ok

marrying my beloveds wolfstar, they are so so dear to me 🥹

fucking jegulus because reasons 👀

killing rosekiller (they scare me 🫣)

ask me some sleepover qs !!

(& don’t be shy, come off anon 😉)

#ask alltoounwellll #ask game #sleepover saturday #marauders #marauders era #wolfstar #jegulus #rosekiller #fuck marry kill

[vergess]

give me your good and normal and positive opinions on madohomu

[Send me a ship and I will give you my honest opinion]

HAVE YOU SEEN

THE TRAILER

I am SO ready to once again watch Homura Do Everything Wrong As Catholically As Possible meanwhile Madoka is just like, "I'm enjoying this? Should I enjoy this?? I am enjoying it though..??"

Truly these girls have no fucking concept of self left at this point, and I LOVE WATCHING IT

Peak fucking girls love, and yes I know it's bait but listen. I'm falling for it. I'm always falling for the MadoHomu bait. It's how I live.

Truly taking all the worst Repressed Glasses Girl tropes Japan has to offer and filtering them through Catholic Grandiosity is just. it's artisanal. It's delicious.

Taking the classic Pink Girl archetype and being like, "what if instead of The Empathetic Ditz, we invert that, so she's unbelievably smart but completely fucking without a single ounce of social skill whatsoever, and just Let That Simmer over the Pink Girl fire for a while."

And then taking these two derangements on the theme of Pink And Purple Girlfriends, and letting them make out naked in space?????

Then do it again in the nethervoid???

Truly peak anime

#Asks #Answered asks #myfriendskickass #HomuMado #MadoHomu #Akemi Homura #Kaname Madoka #Sleepover Saturday #Ask Meme Responses

[solar-sunnyside-up]

How to start building your social village--

How do you go from isolated to being apart of a properly connected social circle?? How do I go from that isolated individual to an actually connected person without having to force myself out to be a regular at a club or something??

Pick the most used social media across all your connections (for my this is sadly Facebook but I'm sure you could do this through discord or some other site I'm like 90% sure this is transferable in some formate maybe other ppl could pitch those ideas tho-) and then add everyone you know! And here's the fun stuff you could do in your group!

Functional ideas Village Group for-

Offer to swap babysitting/chores/errands or even buddies for these things

Offer to exchange sale/coupon/bulk buying info (A good example of this is a have a friend who knows a butcher and so her family once every 2 months bulk orders from him directly and it'd WAY cheaper for everyone)

Holiday organizing

Dinner party ideas/hang outs (know 2 or more ppl who like sewing? Organize a dinner once every few months and watch a movie and sew! Do a book club!)

Trade/swap/leading stuff (ex tools, books, unused snacks, boardgames, clothes, etc..)

Offer to be apart of a shared calander (I use Cozi personally but again use your preferred)

Event spamming (community event sharing bc no one ever gets proper info on them in time)

Plant swaps (I personally know like 3 different plant ppl who specialize in different types of plants ex 1 person does a lot of herbs and another does all succulents and another does super well with berries and they always wanna get rid of the babies or spread the spoils)

Organizing work parties (repair parties ex fences/roofs/, bulk cooking parties ex my families perogie parties, tax prep parties, hair dying get togethers, etc..)

Fun ideas for village-

Make a village badge/crest of some kind (at one point was making badges for dinner parties as gifts so this is an easy one for me)

Funny pet photos/meme dump ground

This allows for a pretty fun way to also make ppl feel connected. If I get to know someone fairly well like my neighbor or another parent from my kiddos school- I'll just add them to my weird little club thing! Here's a patch for you. Your family now!!

#sprout guide #social #community #community building #solarpunk #hopepunk #is this anything?? #cottagecore #ref #anarchy #gift economy #sleepover saturday

[pedrito-friskito]

If you’re still taking requests, could I please have "You look adorable when you smile" with the resident grump, Mr Javier Peña 💖

nonnie how did you know that javier peña is the way to my heart?

my head is stuck on the ranch these days, and this was a fun little prequel to what’s already been published 💕 hope you enjoy! (no angst or smut, just fluffy goodness!)

sleepover saturday

meet-cute

(word count 3k)

He’s had a long fucking day.

Scratch that, Javier is having a long fucking week. Month. Year. Lifetime, whatever. There aren’t enough cartons of cigarettes or enough litres of whiskey that could take the edge off how he’s feeling. And today? Oh, today the hours had just ticked by, five minutes feeling like thirty, his watch moving so slowly that he was convinced far too early on in the day that the battery was dead and needed replacing. But no, the hands kept ticking away at a glacial pace, taunting him.

So yes, as soon as he’d finished his day on the ranch, he’d gotten into his truck, still dressed in his work clothes, and took off for the nearest bar. Not like they’re few and far between in Laredo; he could have walked if he was feeling athletic, or even ridden a horse — most bars within reasonable distance of the ranch have a stable out back.

But he didn’t have the patience to fight one of the mares into a saddle, so into his truck he went, dust kicking up in the rearview as the ranch disappeared behind him.

Javier has been home a few weeks now. The ranch has been officially his for exactly seven days, and he is bone tired. There is dirt in places there shouldn’t be, he’s half-convinced he pulled a muscle in his back, and his head throbs something fierce with every step. The state of him doesn’t stop him from plunking himself on a barstool, ordering three fingers of whiskey and shoving his head in his hands.

He’s not sure he’s cut out for this.

Sure, he was raised for it. Chucho was always adamant that Javi pull his weight, and he did. Or, tried. There were certain things his father knew never to trust him with, turning him towards easier tasks, things Chucho could do with his eyes closed. Javi can remember being offended, at first, his teenage brain filled with hormones that whispered rage quickly — why wouldn’t his dad just trust him? — but then as time wore on, as his attentions were diverted, pulled in the direction of pretty girls and far-off countries, the idea of a badge in his hand and a gun on his hip, he cared less and less. 

Eventually, Chucho stopped asking him to do anything, and then Javier was off to college, to becoming an agent, running headlong into Colombia before he really realized what he was getting himself into.

And then somehow, here he was, back in Laredo, right where he started.

Not enough whiskey in the world. His whole body aches for a cigarette, but he swore to his folks he’d quit.

He’s halfway through his second drink when the door opens, the tinkling of bells above it signalling a new customer. Out of habit, he’d perched himself within sight of the exit, and his gaze lifts as you step through the door. High boots, short dress, hair piled high on your head. You’re beautiful, a grin on your lips that has him inhaling deeply, inflating his chest as you bee-line for the bar, a gaggle of other girls staggering into the bar behind you. Judging from the Bride-To-Be sash on one of your companions, Javi assumes it to be a bachelorette party, and he chuckles into his glass as you approach the bar, much more sure-footed than the rest of your friends.

Javier stays quiet as you rattle off an order to the bartender, an odd mix of cocktails and beers, finished with a tonic water with lemon. When the bartender turns away, you lean heavily onto the bar top, and Javier doesn’t miss the way you seem to deflate a little as you wait for your drinks. You start to glance around the bar, eyes flicking this way and that, until they land on Javi, who realizes he’s just been caught staring at you.

“Hi,” you say, a grin lifting the corner of your mouth.

“Hi,” he mumbles back, lifting his glass for a sip. “Bachelorette?”

“Is it that obvious?” you laugh, tossing your head back. “Would you believe this is our fourth bar of the night?”

“Looking at you,” Javi drawls, letting his eyes drop quickly before they flick back to your face. Your own narrow at him, “no. Looking at your friends over there,” he juts his chin towards the women in question, “definitely.”

“And why’s that?”

“You’re upright, for starters.”

You scoff out another little laugh, mouthing your thanks to the bartender when he delivers the tonic and lemon first. You take a big gulp, breathing out a sigh as you wait for the rest of the drinks. “Yeah, well, someone’s gotta make sure they all get home to their husbands and boyfriends and fiancés.” Something in your tone makes him curious, and he can’t help his question.

“And who are you going home to?”

“My cat,” you say, laughing again, “and the attic bedroom of my aunt’s house.”

“Sounds cozy.”

You eye him sidelong, hand curled around your glass. “Are you from around here?”

“Born and bred,” he replies, noting the lift to your lips. “You?”

“Not exactly,” you return, taking another sip. Your face has fallen, brows pinched together as you stare down into the glass. “It’s a long story.”

“One requiring a much stronger drink than that?” Javier asks, and instantly regrets it at the way your lips turn down into a frown, the line in your forehead growing deeper. “I-I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“No, no,” you say quickly, expression going artificially bright, “it’s all right. It’s just…been a long day.” You glance over your shoulder as your giggling group of friends. “A really long day.”

Javi lifts his glass towards yours. “I’ll drink to that.”

Your smile has returned as you tap your glass to his, and Javi sips slow, savouring the burn down his throat. “I’m Javier, by the way,” he says, and sticks his hand out. “Javier Peña.”

You give your own name in return, taking his hand. Soft, is his first thought, the warmth of your palm against his making him jolt. You’re still shaking when the bartender turns back with a tray full of your ordered drinks. Behind you, Javier can hear your cohorts screeching your name.

“I better take these over there,” you say, your voice turning sheepish, reluctantly letting go of his hand. He doesn’t miss the hesitation, and it makes his chest puff out a little. He just nods as you slide your own drink onto the tray, thanking the bartender and sliding another few bills across the bar as you try and lift the tray as carefully as possible. “Maybe I’ll see you later?” you say, and Javi just nods some more.

He watches you walk away, and wonders if the swing in your hips is deliberate. His mouth goes dry, and he sucks back more of his whiskey.

Another few hours pass, and Javier is decidedly sober, too worn out to order another drink and suddenly desperate for his bed. He thanks the bartender and closes his tab, waves goodnight, and heads for the door. He has to pass your table as he goes — he’s surprised you’re all still here; the bar is relatively dead — and with a stutter in his chest he realizes you are nowhere to be found. There are a few harmless catcalls thrown his way by your friends as he pushes open the door and heads for his truck.

“You leaving without saying goodbye?” your voice calls, and he spins on his heel to see you leaned against the bricks, cigarette dangling between your fingers. “I think this is the only bar in Laredo that doesn’t let you smoke inside.”

He walks towards you, heart thumping with every step. “Possibly the only bar in the whole state.”

You give him one of those smiles again as he leans against the wall beside you. “Possibly.” You fish your pack from your purse, extend it towards him. “You want one?”

Javi eyes the pack, one filtered end poking out of the wrapper. “I shouldn’t,” he says after a beat, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “Tryna quit.”

You laugh, taking a drag, tapping the ash and blowing the smoke in the opposite direction of you two. “Aren’t we all.”

“Promised my folks,” he tells you, staring down at his boots. “I’m taking over the family ranch for my dad and well…it’s a…”

“Long story?” you finish, dropping the cigarette to the pavement, stubbing it out with your heel. “One requiring a strong drink?”

Despite himself, Javier smiles, broadly, the kind that tugs at his cheeks until they almost hurt. “Exactly.”

“Wow,” you murmur, and there’s something in your tone that makes his head lift, cheeks heating when he sees the way you’re almost scrutinizing him.

“What?”

“Nothing,” you say with a shake of your head, pinching your lower lip between you fingers. “You just…you look adorable when you smile. You should do it more often.”

Before you can get another word out, your group bursts front the bar, your name slurred by multiple women, all of them beckoning you to follow. You sigh, pushing off the wall, and go to take a step before you pause, fishing a pen from your purse and grabbing his wrist.

“Use this,” you say, scribbling on his palm, a string of numbers that make Javi’s heart crawl up his throat, “if the spirit moves you. Or if you feel like telling long stories over strong drinks.” You smile, and for a moment, Javi wonders if the ground is about to open up and swallow him whole. Or if he’s about to wake up in a cold sweat in his bed, that this is all just a dream. That you are just a dream. “Goodnight, Javier.”

“Goodnight.”

Nope, not a dream.

+

He doesn’t call.

As soon as he gets home from the bar, he’s scribbling your phone number onto a scrap of paper, taping it to the cabinet beside the phone with your name, underlining the word CALL three times, so hard the ink bleeds through the paper. His head is spinning, admittedly tipsy from the whiskey, but more on you. He’s intrigued, he’s curious, he’s pulled in like a magnet facing north.

He wants to see you again.

It sparks something in his chest akin to forest fire, and damn it all, if that doesn’t scare him to death. Yes, there have been women since he came back from Colombia; he’s lonely, not celibate. But you…he can’t put his finger on it. Something about the way you laughed, the smile on your face, the way he wanted to spill his guts to you right there at the bar before you got pulled away, how he wanted to do it again outside when you were whisked away once more.

Monday morning, he taps the piece of paper bearing your number on his way out to start his day, making a mental note to call you once he’s done. He’d managed to talk himself in and out of it at least ten times over the weekend, but Monday felt right. A new week, fresh start.

Except, he’d been lazy Saturday and lazier Sunday, skipping more than half the daily chores, which leaves him playing catchup most of the morning, well into the afternoon, only starting Monday’s tasks as the sun starts to dip in the sky. By the time he hauls his ass through the door, it is late, the sky black and the clock on the stove reading quarter to twelve. 

He talks himself out of calling you then easily; it’s late, you are probably asleep. He doesn’t want to wake you.

By Wednesday, he’s caught up on his daily chores, and is through the door by six. A reasonable time to call. But a tiny voice in his head says NO, and he takes a long shower instead.

Thursday seems promising, but when he picks up the receiver, the damn thing starts ringing before he’s even had a chance to dial, and suddenly Steve Murphy’s voice is on the other end, barking at him. “Javi! We still on for dinner tomorrow?”

He fucking forgot.

“Uh, yeah!” Javi chirps, trying not to sound as caught off guard as he feels. “Yeah, yeah, what time you think you guys’ll be here?”

“Six okay?”

“Yeah,” he says again, the word already feeling stiff on his tongue. “Yeah, six is great.”

“Good,” Steve replies. “Livvy’s excited to see her Uncle Javi.”

He forces a chuckle. “I’m sure she is.”

Steve pauses, and then, “You fuckin’ forgot, didn’t you?”

“Oh, shut up, Murphy,” he throws back. “See you tomorrow.”

Steve starts cackling. “Goodnight, Peña.”

The next day, he cuts his day short, in honour of his guests. He’s gotta cook a damn meal, for chrissakes, which means a trip into town for groceries other than whiskey and that instant mac and cheese garbage he’s been living off of. It’s easy, and tastes surprisingly good with a glass of Jack Daniels.

He’s not quite sure what leads him to wander into the bakery. It’s on the main drag, a few blocks down from the grocery store, and he managed to park his truck a few shops down. Something about the bright red awning draws him closer, his curiosity getting the better of him, and when he sees the array of sugary goodness in the window, his stomach rumbles something fierce, and before he can think twice, he’s pulling the door open, bells tickling above.

Javier goes absolutely stock-still when he sees you behind the counter.

The inside is just as bright as the out, candy stripes on the walls, illuminated display cases filled with all sorts of treats. One of those old-fashioned cash registers, brassy and imposing. You’re busy with another customer, handing the older woman a box tied with a bright red bow. You’re laughing as she says something, thanking her as she hands you money, grinning when you hand her back the change.

“Have a good night, Mary,” you say as the woman takes her box and turns. “Tell Paul I said he has to share that cake!”

The bell above the door rings again as the woman leaves, and then you and Javi are the only two standing there. There’s no way you haven’t realized that he—

“You never called.” Your voice is clear, unwavering, and you spread your hands wide on the countertop before leaning down and pushing your chin into your hand, nailing him to the spot with your stare. Javi stares at his boots.

“I know,” he starts, reaching up and rubbing the back of his neck. “I know, I was gonna, I just…” He pauses, inhales deeply and lifts his head. “I don’t have an excuse, I’m sorry.”

You balk slightly, brows raising as you straighten, stepping a little closer until there’s only the counter separating the two of you. “Wow, how honest of you.” The corner of your mouth quirks, but it’s not remotely close to the smiles you’d offered at the bar that night. Your shoulder lifts. “It’s okay, you know, if you didn’t want to call. I won’t get upset or something.”

“No,” he says far too quickly. “No, cariño, believe me, I wanted to. I really wanted to, and I have been meaning to. This is just…” He pulls at his collar, shoving his hand through his hair. Fuck, it’s hot in here. Or is it just him? “Would you have dinner with me?” he breathes out the question, the words a rush. “Saturday?”

You almost flinch, your eyes widening. Javi tenses, waits for the rejection he believes is coming. Why would you agree? He never called, even after meeting you in that bar had felt like the first good thing in a long time, and then he just shows up here, clearly where you work, out of the blue, bewildered as all hell, and asks—

“Yes.”

Javi can’t stop the smile that breaks across his face, and you give him one to match. His heart is racing. He steps closer to the counter. “I should have called.”

You nod, agreeing. “You really should have.”

“I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“It’s my aunt’s place,” you explain, toying with the string of your apron. “My cousin moved to Florida for school, and she really needed the help, so here I am.” You lift a finger, pointing it in the air. “And no, that’s not the long story requiring alcohol.”

Javier chuckles, crossing his arms over his chest. “Then I look forward to hearing the actual story.”

“As you should,” you say, your expression turning almost triumphant. “You should bring a notebook; I might just quiz you after.”

He laughs again. “I’m sorry I didn’t call.”

You lean forward on the counter, the space between you growing even smaller. “Play your cards right on Saturday, and I might just forgive you.” You glance around, eyes darting towards the door before your voice drops. “Though, there’s one thing I think we need to do before then.”

“What’s that?”

Without another word, you reach out, curling your fingers in the collar of his shirt and dragging him down to your level. You kiss him soft, lips meeting so gently Javi can feel himself melting into you already. Your mouth tastes like powdered sugar.

His cheeks are on fire when he pulls back, immediately licking the taste of you off his lips, half a mind to kiss you again. You’re beaming, thumb tucked between your teeth, and Javi almost stumbles back a step. “I should…” He rubs the back of his neck, gesturing towards the door. “I’m gonna—”

“Okay,” you say, the word tinged with laugher. “So, Saturday?”

“Saturday,” he agrees. “I’ll pick you up at seven?”

“Seven is good.”

“Okay.”

“Okay,” you echo, another little grin on your face. “Goodbye, Javier.”

“Bye.”

He’s halfway to his truck when he realizes he didn’t get a fucking dessert, or your address. He abandons the idea of the former as he clambers back into his truck and starts the engine; he’s sure Connie will bring something, perfect guest she is.

As for the latter, well, it’s a perfect excuse to call you.

#sleepover saturday #my fics #javier peña #javier pena imagine #javier pena x you #javier pena x reader #javier pena fluff #javier pena fic #the ranch #javier pena fanfiction

[neochan]

👻-hmm how about a mtl to be fuckbois for 127/dream (who you’re comfortable with saying)?

most

jaehyun

yuta

jeno

johnny

chenle

jaemin

haechan

renjun

mark

taeyong

jungwoo

doyoung

jisung

taeil

least

jaehyun, yuta, jeno & johnny compose the nct frat line, what more could you expect? jaehyun listens to cigs aft. sex, you really think he isn't fucking any bitch he wants? yuta is more experimental than the guy who came up with the word, jeno is hot and johnny doesn't want the weight of a gf.

chenle, jaemin, haechan, renjun & mark like to think they're fuckboys, but the truth is they're far from it. they get pussy once and they're over the moon, especially haechan. chenle's only first bc he gets the most pussy, jaemin is too affectionate to be mean, renjun is too nice and mark is too awkward.

taeyong, jungwoo, doyoung, jisung & taeil compose the nct husband line. they have full ass families back home and would never, ever sleep around. it's funny if you think they would. okay maybe jungwoo would...n tae.

#👻 — [anon] #sleepover saturday #nct smut #nct dream smut #nct 127 smut #nct x reader #jaehyun smut #taeyong smut #jeno smut #jaemin smut #haechan smut #renjun smut

[7-wonders]

More sleeover things! Talk about slutty Morpheus! Write about Whorepheus! Share your dirty thots! XD

Okay this is probably totally self-gratifying but Morpheus finding out that he has a virgin kink because reader tells him that they’re a virgin, like never even been kissed before, and he just LOSES IT internally. He’s gonna be your first everything? You’re completely untouched, and he’s going to get to have his way with you. He starts to realize why the gods of old favored virgins so much, because being looked up to (while you’re on your knees learning to pleasure him) in such a way, him guiding you, is intoxicating.

Join us for sleepover Saturday!

#chat with claire #sleepover saturday #Morpheus #morpheus imagine #morpheus x reader #dream of the endless imagine #dream of the endless #dream of the endless x reader

[lewmagoo]

Sleepover Rooster Smut of 13, 25, and 29?

For an imagine where maybe the reader has never had an orgasm and Rooster offers to help show her how? 🥴😏 I feel like that's hot idk...

join in on sleepover saturday!

"up for the challenge"

pairing: rooster x nondescript fem!reader (she/her pronouns)

"i've...i've never had an orgasm before." bradley had been incredulous at her confession. never had an orgasm? well, that just wouldn't do. if there was one thing that could be said of him, it was that he was always up for a challenge. and when she insisted that she was broken, that it was impossible to bring her anatomy to soaring heights of pleasure, he scoffed, and said, "watch me, sweetheart."

and that was how she'd ended up spread out for him, her naked form on display as he sat on the edge of the bed, watching her through hungry eyes. he was still fully clothed, which added to the intense eroticism of it all, and she was on fire, warm to her very core. "touch yourself," he drawled, and the force with which he said it nearly knocked the oxygen from her lungs. his voice was low, gravelly, trembling with barely contained desire.

she felt compelled to obey, thrumming with the need to please him. so, she brought her hand down between her thighs, fingers searching for her slick cunt. bradley nodded in approval. "go ahead and touch that pretty little clit for me, baby." trembling fingers encircled the little nub. he talked her through it, encouraging her to be vocal about what she was feeling. then, he urged her to use her other hand to slide to fingers into her soaked entrance. "deeper," he coaxed. eventually, he reached out and guided her hand, pushing her fingers until they were as deep as they could go.

"there you go. keep going with both hands." and she did, attending to her clit, and to that spot inside her that sent crackles of electric pleasure through her entire being. large, warm hands were trailing across her body in the process. he squeezed at her breasts, played with her budding nipples. the intensity was rising, and she was gasping, breathless. "does that feel good?" his husky tone filled her head like swirling cigarette smoke.

"yes!" she cried, louder than she intended, but it didn't matter. she was feeling such intense pleasure, unlike anything she'd ever experienced before. bradley continued to coach her, and he watched in awe as her body writhed and trembled against the bed, consumed with the feelings coursing through her. but his own hands were itching to be the cause of that pleasure. to his surprise, she suddenly stopped, and as if she'd been reading his mind, she breathlessly said, "touch me there." she brought his hand to where her own had been just moments before. "right there."

he locked eyes with her, just as he began to slip his middle and ring fingers into her. her mouth fell open, a broken moan tearing itself from her throat. it sent a shock of need right to his groin. he wasted no time, quickly building a rhythm. along with the fingers inside her, he brought his thumb up to press against her aching clit, and she grew more vocal, crying out his name as she shook beneath him.

and oh, she was so fucking wet. to the point where she was quite literally dripping down his fingers. "you're so fucking pretty like this," he rasped, still in complete awe of her. but she hardly heard him. she was too overwhelmed. the pressure was building and building, ringing in her ears, vibrating through the very marrow of her bones. it was unlike anything she'd ever experienced, and she never wanted it to end.

bradley kept it steady, fucking her with his fingers. the sound of her wetness filled his ears, and he growled lowly. "let it happen, baby. i know you're close. probably gonna come all over my hand, aren't you? don't fight it, honey. come for me." she was losing herself, grabbing at anything she could to hold her steady, which happened to be bradley's forearm. his mouth parted as he gazed down at her, and he could tell she was seconds from falling apart.

chest heaving, thighs trembling, fingers digging into his flesh. it kept building, and building, and building, until- "oh, god, bradley!" she let out nothing short of a scream as she was suddenly engulfed in molten, all-consuming euphoria. it started deep within her, and spread throughout, all the way to the top of her head and the bottom of her feat. she thrashed against the mattress, unable to contain herself as she all but wailed, bradley's name still on her lips in a bliss-filled prayer.

he watched her as she was overcome, and he realized it was the most beautiful scene he'd ever witnessed. he found himself wanting to make it happen again and again. but all too soon, it came to an end, and her body went limp against the sheets. he pulled his hand away from her, all while she laid there, staring up at the ceiling, desperately trying to catch her breath as she processed what had just taken place. her eyes flickered to his own, and suddenly, she reached up, pulling him down for a deep, needy kiss. "holy shit," was all she could utter when she pulled away. "let's do that again."

#bradley bradshaw smut #rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw #rooster x reader #rooster bradshaw imagine #bradley bradshaw x reader #sleepover saturday

[ramonaflow]

Top 5 fav Noah outfits

Ok so I've just spent far too long looking at Noah photos and there are just too many good ones but I've settled on 8 😅😅

Thanks for asking 🥰❤️

#sleepover #ask game #get to know me #noah reid #anon asks #sleepover saturday