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spidernuggets · 5 months

Text

Jason Todd x Reader

"And who are you to judge him? It's not like you've tried to get to know him. You guys just don't know him like I do,"

"I don't get it" Rachel says to herself, staring at the couple. You're sitting on the island while Jason's head is buried in the fridge looking for another brew.

"Get what?" Gar chimes in, following where Rachel's gaze was at. "Jason and Y/N? What about them?", he quietly asks, not wanting the lovebirds to overhear their conversation.

"Yeah, I think I'm improving, but I still can't get the landing right," you say to Jason as he pops the cap off of the beer he finally finds. He replies with a simple hum of acknowledgement while taking a swig.

"He's so..." Rachel starts, trying to look for the right words to describe him. "Rude? Self-absorbed? He's not even listening to what Y/n's saying," she whispers back to Gar, finally turning away from the two.

Gar tilts his head to the side. "I don't know... They've been together for a good few months now, right? We don't see them together that often, we don't know how they're like," he tries to reason.

Rachel scoff, sitting on the couch. "That's another reason why he's a bad boyfriend. We never see them around. Does he not like showing off that they're together? Jason being a cocky-ass person, he's the kind of person to flaunt around his partner."

Rachel turns back to where you and Jason were standing just to see the two of you were gone as she scoffs once more.

Gar opens his mouth to speak once more as Kori and Dawn enters the room.

"What are we talking about?" Kori asks.

"Jason being an asshole of a boyfriend," Rachel almost laughs.

"How so?" Dawn questions.

"How could you not see?" Kori says. "Jason's always brushing Y/n off, blunt, short replies, puts missions before them, he's hardly ever acknowledging their presence," She laughs, listing all of Jason's flaws as a partner.

"I guess I've never really notice..." Dawn says, unsure.

~Meanwhile~

"Jesus, you drive me crazy," Jason says, his voice low, grinning at you like a school girl with her crush.

You're on his lap, hands cradling his face, his hands on your ass with a firm grip. You're placing soft kisses all over his face, a quick break from the hungry make-out session you both were so busy with.

Your soft kisses trail away from his face, down his jaw and onto his neck, kisses and nibbling all over. Biting a certain spot, Jason lets out a quiet gasp along with a held back whimper.

You let out a light chuckle while continuing to pepper kisses on his neck.

"I liked that," You softly say, kissing against the same spot. "Do it again," you teased.

Jason groaned. "You're trying to kill me, babe," he complains as he captured your lips against his once more.

You sighed in content, breaking the kiss and leaving another lingering kiss on his forhead.

"Don't let them get to your head, love," You tell him quietly. The both of you are well aware that the other Titans (maybe except Gar) don't see why you would date Jason. You're kind and considerate while Jason is... Jason. Jason has told you many times that he wants to be taken seriously by the other members, hence his cold demeanour. And along with those explanations, came affectionate apologies of him spending all his free time alone with you in either his or your room, cuddling, kissing, properly listening to your rants and more.

"They're right though," his reply is delivered rough and raspy, a change of voice that indicates to you that he's upset.

You sigh, arms wrapping around his neck, burying your face in his meck, breathing in his distinct scent of faint alcohol and strong cologne.

"No they're not," you say, just above a whisper. "I get it, Jay. You want to prove yourself. But you don't have to prove yourself to me. Okay? You're more than enough for me," One of your hands move down, grabbing hold of his own hand, bringing it up to your lips for another gentle kiss as your other hands cup his cheek.

Jason sighs, leaning into, your touch. "I love you, okay, Jay?" He nods in reply.

"I..." He tries to say it too, but fails as his gaze shifts to the ceiling in guilt.

"Hey, hey. I told you. Only say it when you're ready, you don't have to force yourself to say it, Jay," I assure him. "Now," You move yourself off of him, bringing him down to lie with you as you rest your head on his chest. "You're supposed to tell me about this book you were reading," You remind him. He smiles once more, his arms wrapping around you happily as he starts ranting about his new book.

"You guys got it?" Dick confirms with the rest of the group, finishing up a debrief with the other Titans. Everyone nod and murmur 'yes's and 'yep's.

"Alright, everyone get to training," He says as he departs.

You turn to Jason excitingly. "You wanna train together, Jay? You can help me with the new move I was telling you about!"

"Not today. I'm gonna train with Gar," Jason replies.

"Ah, okay! Have fun, teach me some new stuff you learn, later, kay?" You reach up to his cheek, giving him a quick peck and a short "Love ya!"

He responds with a grunt and a nod and leaves you with a quick caress on ur cheek as he goes to one of the training rooms with Gar. Oh how much he wants to just pick you up and kiss you and hug you and hold you for all eternity.

Hank scoffs at Jason's reaction as he walks off. Donna shakes her head in disapproval as she followed along too. The other women in the room have their eyebrows furrowed, judging looks towards your boyfriend and crossed arms as they looked at you with a lovesick grin and heart eyes, watching your love walk away til he disappeared.

You quickly turn around, smiling at the rest of the members. "Any of you guys wanna train with me- what? What's with the looks?" You ask, confused.

"What's with your boyfriend?" Rachel hisses.

Your face scrunches in slight offence. "What about him?"

"Honey, he's..." Dawn starts to say though her words trail off.

"You can do better," Kori states, her hands landing on her hips.

You lightly scoff "Why's that," You say lowly, eyes narrowing, ready to defend Jason.

"Y/n..." Dawn speaks up. "We're just looking out for you. We just think you and Jason... Aren't the best match."

"We think Jason is selfish, rude and annoying, is what she was meant to say," Rachel said quietly, but loud enough for all of you to hear.

You roll your eyes. "And who are you to judge him? It's not like you've tried to get to know him. You guys just don't know him like I do," you barked, almost wanting to cry for Jason.

"Y/n, we just-" you cut Kori off by putting a hand uo, refraining her from continuing.

"No. No, no. You can talk to me when you find some respect for Jason." You coldly say as you walked away to train.

The girls looked at each other with disappointed and worried looks.

The team was on a mission that involved Deathstroke. It was wild and messy to the point where everyone was split up, and only some of the Titans returned back to the tower.

Jason is pacing around, alone in his room. He's covered in blood and bruises, but those don't matter to him right now. The only thing in his mind was

Where the fuck were you?

It's been two hours since he came back with Dick, Gar, Rachel and Donna but there were no signs of you coming back. Or of the others coming back he guesses. You're comms weren't working and you weren't answering his messages.

To piss him off more, Dick forbade him from going back out, knowing that Jason's impulsiveness would bring further damage.

"He's not even worried," Rachel says, sitting in the couch cleaning the blood of herself, noticing Jason's absence of worry.

"He could be?" Gar shouts from the kitchen, trying to reason again.

"Why are you even trying to defend him, we know how he is."

"He's our teammate, Rachel. We can't go off judging him if we don't know him that well," He says softly, trying not to get a rise out of the purple haired girl.

She scoffs and reply with whatever.

Dick and Donna walk into the room. "We got a message from Kori," Dick says. "The comms were breaking up but they're all safe."

Rachel and Gar sigh in relief.

Around half an hour later, you, Dawn, Hank and Kori finally return.

You're cracking your back and stretching your arms. Parts of your hero outfit is ripped and some of your blood that escaped your skin was dried and dirty and bruises littered your face, but you were always in a bright mood.

"She's finally back and bird brain isn't even running out," Rachel whispers to Gar as his shoulders sink.

"Oh my god, I'm gonna need a lie down for the rest of my life," You groan, cracking your neck.

Even from his room, Jason heard your voice as he rushed out and saw you there all battered up.

He heavily sighed in relief, running up to you, lifting you up. You lightly shriek at his sudden appearance, wrapping your legs around his waist, hands on his shoulders.

"You're okay... you scared me..thought you weren't coming back," he admits quietly, but as the other Titans stare silently in shock, especially Rachel, they heard him loud and clear.

Jason lets you down slowly and litters your face with kisses before pulling you in closer, attaching his lips to yours, finally not caring about the presence of the other members.

"Hello to you too," you giggle, leaving a kiss on his nose.

"You're hurt," he says, looking at your scrapped body.

"I'm okay, Jay," You reassure him. But he shakes his head, carries you bridal style.

"I need to patch you up," He says, giving you another kiss on the cheek before heading to his room.

"Okay, that just happened," Kori said in amusement.

"They're cuties, aren't they, Hank?" Dawn asks, looking up at the lover of her own.

Hank rolls his eyes and answers with an "I guess so" before they leave the room.

"So?..." Gar grins in success and amusement as he looks at Rachels shocked reaction.

She sighs and leans back against the couch.

"Yeah, yeah you're right, I was wrong. They are good for each other," She admits.

"In front of them too?" You question, sitting on Jason's bed as he wipes away any dried blood before patching you up.

"I don't care," He says, keaving you surprised. Jason patches up your last wound, giving it a kiss before getting up and cradling your face. "Your safety is more important to me"

You lean into his touch, your hand coming up to hold his. He leans into you for a deep, passionate and long lasting kiss.

Breaking it, he leans his forhead against yours.

"I love you," He quietly but confidently say.

Your eyes brighten and you couldnt helo but break into a wide smile, feeling giddy like a kid receiving a oresent from Santa.

"I love you too"

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flightlessangelwings · 15 days

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Jealousy Makes You Taste Good

Comandante Veracruz x fem!reader "Cariño"

Word count-2.9k

Warnings- s.mut (18+ ONLY!), jealousy, we meet V's ex, oral (m receiving), unprotected sex, riding, feelings, alcohol

Notes- This is written for the @swiftiscruff Pedro Fandom Friendship Exchange! What better way to show love for my friends in the fandom than a Veracruz fic?! And while I'm tagging people I consider my close friends (those who I've chatted with a lot, have my other socials, my number or even met in person), please know that if we interacted even once, I consider you a friend! <3

Dedicated to- @the-purity-pen @spiderispunk @rae-gar-targaryen @ithinkhesgaybutwesavedmufasa @spoopyredacted @clonecaptains @ollypopwrites @babiiface95 @agirllovespancakes @moonknightly @wildemaven @thirsty-flygirl @fromthedeskoftheraven @freelancearsonist @mikeisthricedeceased @pedrorascal and everyone else who I have met and chatted with in this fandom <3 I would run out of tags if I tagged everyone lol! Love you all!!

@flightlessangelwings-updates is my update blog so feel free to also follow that and turn on post notifs to stay up to date on when I post!

The bar clamored with life around you. Veracruz had taken you out for a night of drinking with his men to celebrate their return from another successful deployment. Part of you was disappointed to have to share your comandante with others for the night. But, you also knew it was a part of his duty to take care of his subordinates. Plus, you would have plenty of alone time with him soon enough…

Men laughed around you as they drank to their heart's content. You could tell they were happy to be back home, even if they weren’t gone for too long. Many of them were familiar with you and greeted you with respect, knowing you were the comandante’s woman. Others weren’t bothered by your presence and instead turned their attention to the other ladies who hung around the bar, hoping to get lucky on their night back.

“Enjoying yourself, Cariño?” Veracruz’s voice rang from behind you, his presence hovering from behind you.

You took a sip of your own drink and turned to him, “It’s good to have you home, V,” you replied.

He leaned in close to murmur in your ear, “It is good to be home, Cariño,” he paused as he voice dropped, “And it will be even better later,” he groaned as his hand slid down your body and grabbed your ass.

“Why wait until we get home?” you purred as your tone dropped to match his sultry energy.

Veracruz smirked against your ear as he nipped at the nape of your neck, “Eager tonight, aren’t we?”

“Well, I missed you,” you gave him a fake pout.

He hummed in contentment as he trailed a line of bites along the muscle of your neck. He wouldn’t admit it out loud, but Veracruz missed the way you moaned under his touch, when you giggled softly as he hit a sensitive spot. Mostly, he missed having you in his arms, and the loyalty you showed him.

But, before he could suggest ducking away so you could welcome him home properly, a sultry voice interrupted with Veracruz’s first name.

You both turned in the direction of the voice, which came from behind him, to find a tall, beautiful woman. Her lips were painted red as rose, her hair was full and luscious, and she stood tall in her red high heels. You had to admit she was stunning to look at, but the awe quickly dissipated when you noticed the way she was looking at Veracruz.

“I thought I recognized your voice!” she exclaimed as she opened her arms for an embrace.

“Rosalia,” Veracruz muttered as he tensed his jaw and gave her a kiss on each cheek, “It has been a long time, chiquita.”

“That is has,” she purred as he looked him up and down, “The years have been good to you.”

You cleared your throat to insert yourself in the conversation, “Comandante, who is this?” you tried your best to keep your tone level.

“Oh,” his eyes went wide as he glanced between the two of you, caught in a rare moment off guard. He introduced you by name first, “This is Rosalia. My…”

“We were together,” she extended her hand to you, “It’s a pleasure,” she addressed you before turning back to Veracruz, “A comandante now, is it?” he smirked, “When we were together he was just a captain,” he hung on his shoulders as she spoke.

“Pleasure,” you replied back, hoping your tone wasn’t as sour as you heard it in your head. Swallowing the bitter taste in your mouth, you tightened your lips together and straightened your back, “I’m going to get another drink. You want your usual, V?”

He nodded, noticing the slight change in your demeanor but chose not to comment on it.

“V?!” Rosalia giggled as you turned and walked away.

You clenched your fist and resisted the urge to turn around. You didn’t want to watch her hang on him any longer, and you certainly didn’t want to hear whatever remark she had for your special nickname for him. Instead, you kept your eyes in front of you as they landed on the bartender. Ordering two of the usuals, you leaned forward on the bartop to force yourself not to look at the beautiful woman who seemed way too interested in the comandante for your liking.

But her laughter rang through the bar and you couldn’t help but snap your neck up and you instantly felt rage boil under your skin at the sight you saw. She practically nuzzled herself into his lap, tucking her hair behind her ear in an obviously flirtatious manner. You were sure your expression was unmistakable from the jealousy that bubbled under your skin, but away from Veracruz, you didn’t care.

Just in that moment, Veracruz glanced up and saw the look on your face. However, instead of a boasting feeling of seeing you jealous over another woman, he felt something else inside him. Instead of feeling proud and gloating that something made his Cariño jealous, instead of smirking at the satisfaction, Veracruz felt a tightness in his chest. He thought it would make a fun game for the night: he would pretend to show interest in the woman he used to be with, you could get jealous, and then you would go home and have the most explosive sex yet. Yet, the feeling in his chest were the completely opposite.

Catching his eyes, you quickly looked away and ordered a shot of something to try and drown out your emotions. You slammed the drink down in one gulp and slammed it down onto the bar before ordering another.

But a voice in your ear stopped you, “Are you sure you should be drinking like that, Cariño?” Veracruz purred.

“V…” you turned around, shocked to find him suddenly next to you and Rosalia nowhere to be found.

“Want to get out of here?” he groaned.

“Yes,” you whispered back immediately, thankful he offered to leave before you had to ask.

Veracruz was always more in tune than either of you realized. And he always knew what was best for his Cariño. And as much as he wanted to tease you a bit on the car ride back to his place, Veracruz found that he couldn’t bring himself to say anything. And you sat in silence the entire car ride, lost in your own thoughts.

The moment the door shut and Veracruz locked it, it was like a switch flipped in your head. Before he even opened his mouth, you lunged yourself forward, pushing him against the front door.

“Cariño?” he stuttered, finding himself in a rare moment of being caught off guard.

“Don’t speak,” you hissed as you slipped your hands underneath his shirt.

A fire burned behind your eyes as you massaged Veracruz’s pecs for a moment before you slowly dropped down to your knees. Sensing the change in the air, Veracruz smirked as he watched you settle yourself on the ground and unzip his pants.

“Needy tonight, are we?”

You gave him a glance that had the rare effect of silencing him before you freed his cock from the fabric. “Quiet.”

Veracruz couldn’t even form a response before you had his cock in your mouth. He let out a low growl as you started with a fast and harsh pace, liking and nibbling along his length and taking him into your mouth as hard and deep as you could. His knees almost bucked under him from the fervor you sucked at him.

Heat emanated from your body as you devoured the comandante with fervor. All the emotions that you tried to push down bubbled to the surface as you took his length as far as you could into your throat. Tears filled your eyes as the tip hit the back of your throat but you kept going

Veracruz let out a growl as one hand landed on your shoulder while the other dug into your scalp. His eyes involuntarily rolled back into his head as he felt you suck hard around him. A groan reverberated from deep within his throat as you ran your tongue along his shaft and left a nibble on his tip.

“Ay… Fuck… Cariño…”

You hummed around him, opening your eyes for a brief moment to glance up at him. The inferno burned behind Vercaruz’s eyes as he looked down at you, on your knees before him like you had been so many times before.

Closing your eyes, you went back to work, taking him in as far as you could. You were almost to the point of gagging on his cock, yet you kept going. Where words failed you, action spoke loudly enough, and Veracruz heard clearly. Slurping echoed in the room as you bobbed your head up and down, letting his thickness fill your mouth over and over again.

As much as Veracruz enjoyed being in your mouth, and the obvious jealousy that drove you to act this way, this was not how he wanted the night to end. He didn’t want to fill your mouth with his seed, watching you swallow every last drop as you had done so obediently before. No, the way you acted after his ex showed up spanked something within him. And he wanted to feel you around him while you both came together.

“Cariño,” he hissed through his teeth as he yanked you off of his cock.

You let out a questioning hum as you looked up at the comandante with your mouth wide open. Lines of drool spilled from your lips that still connected your bodies. “V?”

Pulling you up to your feet while you were distracted, Veracruz let out a huff, “Is there something bothering you, Cariño?”

You swallowed hard, melting under his gaze, “N-no…” Not even you believed that lie.

He smirked with satisfaction, “As much as I am enjoying your little outburst, Cariño…” he paused as he leaned in and kissed you without warning. He swallowed the gasp you let out as he savored the taste of himself on your tongue. “Jealousy makes you taste so good, Cariño.”

“I’m not jealous,” you murmured.

“Hmf,” Veracruz hummed against your skin, “Why not show me then?” he bucked his hips against yours, “If you will not tell me… Show me.”

A yelp escaped your lips as you found yourself flung away from where you stood. Veracruz growled in both satisfaction and desire as he captured your lips with his own once more. Heavy breaths were all that was heard over the shuffling of your bodies as he led you into the bedroom. Veracruz only broke away from you to strip both you and him, leaving a trail of clothes to his bed. You surrendered yourself to him, allowing him to take control like you trusted him to time and time again.

As soon as you felt the edge of the bed, you were about to throw yourself down so that he could cover you. But, Veracruz stopped you. Instead he spun your bodies around so that as you both launched onto the mattress, you landed on top of him. He looked up at you with a satisfied smirk as you straddled your legs over his body.

“Show me, Cariño,” he growled, “Show me how seeing her made you feel.”

“V…” you breathed as you found yourself looking down at him. It was not an angle that you got to enjoy often, and it was even rarer that he deliberately chose it himself. Yet, there was something undeniably hot about the position, and you felt yourself clench as a rush of heat pulsed through you.

Leaning forward, you placed your hands on his chest and gave his pecs a squeeze as you rocked your hips back and forth. Both of you gasped as your cunt dragged along his stomach, and Veracruz could feel the slick wetness that you left behind.

“I know this is not what you want to do to me, Cariño,” Veracruz teased as his hands fell to your hips, “I know there is more to you than this.”

You clenched your jaw and let out a soft growl as you shimmied yourself down slightly. Feeling the warmth of his cock under you, you once more rocked your hips along Veracruz’s body. Only this time, your pussy dragged along the length of his cock. As much as you tried to keep yourself from breaking, you couldn’t help but let out a moan as you felt the veins of his cock hit your clit.

“V…”

“Come, Cariño,” he squeezed your hips before his moved his hands to your ass and gave it a slap, “Let me see how you fuck when you are jealous.”

Unable to deny the allegation once more, you gulped as you lifted your hips. Moving as if you were in a trance by his words, you sank down onto Veracruz’s cock. A gasp left you breathless as you felt the familiar stretch of his thickness take you inch by inch.

This time it was different, though. This time, you felt more of a comfort in the burn of his cock into you. It was that connection that you craved, that you needed to feel. You needed to feel him around you, to know that he was there. Somehow, Veracruz was able to sense that, and he knew exactly what you needed before you even did.

“V,” you moaned as you started to ride his cock.

You started slowly at first, lifting and lowering yourself as the tip massaged your inner walls over and over again. But, feeling that desperation quickly rise as the thought of someone else doing this for him, something else took you over. You moved faster, bouncing on his cock harder.

Veracruz watched your display with fire in his eyes. Between the way your face twitched in pleasure and watching his cock disappear inside you over and over again, it drove Veracruz wild in the best way possible. And when you slammed yourself down onto him as hard as you could, both of you moaned in pleasure.

You kept yourself close to his body as you leaned over. Instead of bouncing up and down, you rocked back and forth. The feeling of his length hitting your sweet spot combined with the way your clit rubbed against the bone of his hip made you cry out in ecstasy.

“Cariño…” Veracruz growled as he ran his hands up your sides.

In a flash, you suddenly found yourself on your back with the comandante on top of you. His hands never left your body and he never pulled out of you as he flipped you over in a flash with every ounce of strength he had in him.

“Ay! Fuck!” you screamed as Veracruz wasted no time in drilling into you.

He growled a string of curses in Spanish as he pounded into you, feeling your pussy clench around him and your legs on either side of him. Your cries spurred him on just like they did every other night. He even found himself groaning your name as he fucked you as hard as he could.

Your hands dug into his bare shoulders as you felt like you were floating on a cloud. The way Veracruz pounded into you always made you feel weightless, yet clinging to him kept you grounded at the same time. No one ever fucked you like he did, and you knew no one else ever would. From the overwhelming emotions and the way his cock hit your sweet spot over and over again, tears started to fill your eyes.

“V… I’m gonna cum,” you whimpered.

“As am I…” he grunted as he yanked you over closer to him, feeling as much of you as he possibly could.

It only took a few more thrusts of his hips for you both to fall apart at the seams. You came with a loud scream of his name, digging your nails into his skin hard enough to draw blood. Veracruz leaned forward and bit your shoulder to stifle his own groans as he came right behind you, spilling himself to fill you to the brim.

With one last huff, Veracruz pulled out of you and flopped down next to you. For several moments, neither of you moved; both of you were too exhausted to try. But, it was Veracruz who moved first, rolling over to gather you in his arms.

You hummed contently as you settled into his embrace. You were silent for some time, both to recover and to gather your words. “V,” you finally spoke, “I…”

“I know, Cariño,” he interrupted you, deciding he actually didn't need to hear you say it. It would also mean he would have to admit something out loud that he wasn’t ready to. And that he didn’t enjoy seeing you riled up from jealousy as much as he thought he would…

Instead of pushing it, you just sighed contently and closed your eyes as you listened to the sound of his heartbeat.

Several moment of silence passed, and as soon as Veracruz was sure you were starting to drift off to sleep, he mumbled, “Cariño, know this,” he took a breath, “As much as you are mine,” he enunciated the last word, “I am also yours.”

“I wasn’t worried about you, V…” you yawned, “I was…” you didn’t even finish your thought before sleep finally took you, and you drifted off with a smile on your face and comfort in your heart.

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vodika-vibes · 3 months

Note

Hi Vodika 🥰

I'm back with a second ask for your follower celebration!

Could I get a Wolffe x Fem!Reader with a narcissus and pansy bouquet? Where the reader ends up in the hospital and Wolffe confesses his love for her when he visits and realizes how much she means to him?

Please and thank you 💚😘💚

@the-bad-batch-baroness

Accidents Happen

Summary: You've been crushing on Wolffe for, what seems like, forever. But you're convinced that he'll never feel the same. However, when you're injured at work, things change.

Pairing: Commander Wolffe x F!Reader

Word Count: 2020

Prompts: Narcissus - unrequited love, Pansy - you occupy my thoughts

Tagging: @trixie2023 @n0vqni

A/N: You did say that Wolffe was on your brain! So I hope this story makes you happy! And here's your personal divider that I made for you. As a note This is Wolffe's message, and This is the reader's messaging.

Early mornings are the worst, you think as your alarm goes off at 5 am.

You lay in bed for a moment, listening to your alarm scream at you from across the room, before you sigh and swing your legs out of the bed and push to your feet.

Early mornings where you actually have to do work the whole day are even worse. You blearily cross the room and hit the button on top of your clock, before you flip the lightswitch, making it impossible for you to go back to sleep.

And then you cross back to your bed, and grab your comm from its charger.

Several messages from your friends from the night before. Several more from your boss from last night and early this morning. A handful of emails that need to be deleted or responded to in kind.

You sigh heavily, and open the app for your work. You quickly log in for the day, before you go back to your emails. You absently answer several work emails as you pad through the apartment into your kitchen.

You set your comm down on the counter, still scanning your emails, and you grab your electric kettle to fill it with water. You set it back on it’s stand and flick the power switch, before you grab your comm again and turn to leave the room.

You start to reply to an email when the dark blue bubble of your instant messenger pops up on the screen.

You up?

Your heart speeds up and your face heats when you see the simple words sent to you by Wolffe. Your crush on him is, frankly, embarrassing.

Tragically. Morning Wolffe. What’s up?

Comet has been harassing me to remind you about the book. The one with the birds.

You stare at the screen blankly for a moment, You mean The Raven Emperor series?

How should I know? Probably.

You giggle, Wolffe, there aren’t any actual birds in that book.

I really don’t care, sarad.

Well, someone’s grumpy this morning.

You’d be grumpy too if your twin brother stole all of your caf.

What, the GAR doesn’t give you a caf supply.

The GAR wouldn’t give us armor if we didn’t need it to win the war.

You can hear him rolling his eyes across the text message, and it’s kind of impressive.

Anyway

Me and the boys are going to 79s this evening

Coming?

I wish.

I have a building that I need to appraise, and it’s something like 200 apartment buildings.

I’m going to be busy until midnight

🥺

Ah.

Well, next time then.

You wait a moment for Wolffe to say something else, but he went offline soon after.

I want to go on a date with you. Your finger hovers over the send button, before you sigh and shake your head, deleting the message.

Wolffe would never be interested in you. Not like that.

You just have to be happy with his friendship.

And here you thought ‘love unrequited’ was just something in the trashy romance novels you read in secret.

You allow yourself to wallow for a whole 30 seconds, and then you remember that you still have to shower and eat breakfast, and you toss your comm on your bed as you hurry into the fresher.

The chat with Wolffe means that you don’t have time for a proper breakfast, especially if you give yourself time enough to shower properly, but you think it was worth it. He’s Wolffe, after all.

Fifteen minutes later, you’re scrambling out of your fresher, pulling your wet hair into a messy knot at the back of your head, and you hurry back into the kitchen.

In your rush you accidentally pour some hot water over your thumb as you fill your travel mug with the water, and you release a pained hiss. “I don’t have time for this,” You say to the empty apartment. You eye the blister critically, and decide that it’s not worth the hassle of treating it

Quickly, but carefully, you finish putting your breakfast together, and you hurry out the front door.

Your boss wants you at the complex by 6 am.

And luckily, you make it. By the skin of your teeth, maybe, but you’re still on time.

“You’re almost late,” the stern looking older man scolds.

“The keyword there being almost,” You counter, as you look up at the building, “This is the Meridian Complex?”

“Yep.”

“You spent how much on this?”

“2.5 Million Credits,” He sounds proud about it.

“This is a death trap.” You point out, cringing as a fake shutter falls off a window three stories up.

“It just needs a little work.” Your boss says, and then he pauses, “You are up to date on your vaccines, right?”

“Ha. You’re hilarious.” You pull your datapad out of your car, and glance at the information on the screen, “You have the keys?”

“Yup, all of the door codes are set to 00000.”

“Noted.” You make a note on the datapad, “After you.”

Half an hour later, you realize that your conservative estimation of this taking until midnight was far, far too generous. This is going to take days.

You look around at the rotting floorboards, and at the graffiti and holes on the walls, and you sigh. At least the paycheck is going to be really nice.

“Hey! I think I found a half decent apartment!” Your boss calls from down the stairs, “Second floor, 209. We can use this as a staging room.”

“Coming!” You shake your head at the sheer mess, and half wonder if you could message Wolffe and ask for the Wolfpack to help. You laugh softly at the idea, the boys would be more than happy to help, you’re sure, but it’s not realistic.

You start up the stairs.

But, if he was willing to help, you could spend more time with Wolffe, which would be a win.

A weird noise makes you slow to a stop, and you pause, tilting your head to listen better.

“What are you doing?” Your boss asks from the top of the stairs.

“...I heard something-” You trail off as there’s a cracking noise under your feet.

Your boss’ face goes gray. “Hurry!”

You go to take one more step, when the cracking noise returns. And when you put your foot down on the stair…it keeps going.

You don’t even have time to scream as the staircase collapses under you.

The last thing you see as you topple backwards is your boss’ horrified face, and you hear a shout of your name.

Wolffe is not having a super day.

On top of the fact that Fox stole all of the Caf and the fact that he’s been confined in his office doing paperwork all morning, the fact that the Wolfpack’s pretty sarad won’t be joining them at 79s tonight just shoved him into an awful mood.

Nights out are always better when she’s with them.

He glowers at the various documents that need his signatures. He should be grateful. He’s not Marshal Commander. He’s seen the amount of work that Cody, Fox, and Bly have on a daily basis.

He’s lucky that he is only a commander and he only has this much work to do.

…yeah, nope. That didn’t help.

He rests his head on his hand as he taps his stylus against the table. “When Alpha said that a command position was worth it, he was a filthy liar.” Wolffe announces to the room at large.

He should make Comet do this paperwork in exchange for the free time he’ll need to read that book series he’s going to borrow-

Wolffe’s thought process is cut off when his office door slides open and Comet bursts in, “Commander!”

“What is it?”

“Sarad is in the hospital.”

Wolffe’s heart drops into his stomach. He drops all of his work and grabs his helmet, “Which hospital?”

“Coruscant General. Sir, where-?”

“I’m going to go check on her, of course.” He pushes past Comet, “You’re in charge until I get back.”

“Yes, sir.” Comet pauses, “Let us know how she is?”

“I will,”

The trip to Coruscant General doesn’t take long, Wolffe is able to walk the distance. And, as luck has it, no one stops him when he enters the hospital properly.

“Can I help you sir?” The nurse at reception asks.

“I hope so,” Wolffe replies, before he offers her name, “I was told that she’s here.”

The woman nods, “Are you the husband?”

Wolffe pauses for half a second, “Yes, that's right.” He lies.

She nods again, “On the fifth floor, room 517.”

“Thank you.” He marches over to the lift, and presses the button for the fifth floor. Wolffe’s mind is whirling. How was she hurt? How badly? Does he need to set up a guard rotation for her?

Did someone attack her? Does he need to get the guard involved?

The lift comes to a stop and he steps out, and heads to the nurses station. He offers her name once more, and again, lies about being her husband, and he’s pointed in the right direction.

The door is shut, and Wolffe lightly knocks on the door. He doesn’t get a response, but he pushes the door open anyway.

“Sarad?” The lights are dimmed, but not so much that he’s not able to see her.

She looks…bad.

Covered in bruises and bandages. Various machines attached to her, monitoring her heart rate and blood pressure and giving her IV medication.

“Oh, cyare.” Wolffe walks over to her, and looks her over. Every inch of her is covered in angry looking bruises or cuts. “What happened?” Gently, very gently, he brushes a strand of hair out of her face.

A lot of the tension he hadn’t realized that he was carrying drains from his body now that he’s sure that she’s not dying or dead.

It’s kind of funny, in a way.

Sure, he’s always known that his sarad was important to him. He’s not been blind to the fact that she’s always on his mind and that he never isn’t thinking about her. But he didn’t know just how important until this very moment.

Wolffe’s fingers linger on her cheek, and he’s startled when he hears a soft moan from her. “Sarad?”

Hazy eyes peer up at him, confused, “‘lffe?”

“Yeah,” He smiles at her, “It’s me. How are you feeling?”

“...wh’re?”

“You’re at Coruscant General, you were hurt, do you remember?”

Her fingers flex, and Wolffe takes her hand in his free hand, “Stairs,” She mumbles, some of the haze leaving her voice, “The stairs collapsed-”

“Unlucky,” Wolffe says quietly, as he sets his helmet on the side table and then sits in a seat, “How are you feeling?”

She’s quiet as she considers his question, “...fuzzy.” She finally says.

He chuckles, “I’m not surprised, by the look of it, you’re on some good pain medicine.”

“Wolffe?”

“Hm?”

“Why are you in the hospital? Are you hurt?” She asks, her brow furrowed as she tries to puzzle it out.

“Come on, Sarad. You know the hospital doesn’t treat clones.” Wolffe brushes his fingers across her lips, “I’m here for you, of course.” He pauses, “I also let everyone believe that I’m your husband. Sorry.”

She hums, “I don’t mind.”

“That I lied?”

“Being your wife.” She clarifies, “Sounds like fun. Let’s do that.”

Wolffe laughs, “I think we’re skipping a couple of steps, Sarad.”

She hums again, her eyes fluttering closed, “Don’ care. Love Wolffe.” She mumbles.

His breath catches in his throat for a moment. And then a wide grin crosses his face. “Are you still awake, cyare?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“I love you.” He whispers into her ear, and then he presses a light kiss to her temple, “You’re not going to remember this when you sober up, and that’s okay. I’ll just tell you again and again, as many times as you need.”

She smiles at him, the drugs hitting her hard again, “Stay?”

“For as long as you want me, sarad. Promise.”

#star wars #tcw #vodika-vibes follower celebration #commander wolffe x reader #wolffe x reader #star wars fanfiction #x reader fanfiction #f!reader fic #answered asks

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spicedrobot · 5 months

Note

Obi wan is in charge of shepherding Maul back to the temple after a disastrous mission saw Maul lose his memories. However, Maul is left with strong, complicated emotions for his carer, which he doesn't not interpret as hate... Aka Obi-Wan can't make two steps without Maul flirting and trying to drag him into bed.

Commander Cody knew who the prisoner was before anyone mentioned him by name. He didn’t know how he knew, exactly. Rumors, perhaps. The GAR was created as the perfect fighting force, but they weren’t droids. They talked. And certainly General Kenobi had never mentioned this man, no matter how nebulous their relationship was. The general was too professional, too closed off, to bring up his past outside of facetious, off-handed comments that could always be more amusement than truth.

Cody decided, immediately, that the prisoner was ugly. Clawed head, clawed hands, clawed tattoos—everything about him was sharp, marked him as dangerous as a Thunian wart-hornet. He was prone to sneering and snarling, unwilling to be touched though he was in dire need of medical care. Left alone, he watched each medic warily as they checked his readouts and went about their business. That was another thing Cody didn’t understand. The prisoner was a Dathomirian zabrak, red with black tattoos, half metal, with an earring in his left ear. There was only one person he knew that matched that description. Only his eyes… they were a muted brown. A Sith’s eyes, Cody knew, were always yellow.

His unease only compounded when General Kenobi arrived. The general often looked tired, but now he looked exhausted. He had several burn marks peppering his roughspun robes and an angry, crimson wound across one cheek. His lip was also split, and a deep bruise darkened the underside of his jaw. Cody hadn’t been there when the ambush occurred. But he knew without a doubt that he could thank their new prisoner for every wound on the general. He unfurled his fist, unsure of when he had first tightened it.

“Thank you for holding down the fort, Commander,” General Kenobi said with a small smile. The expression was empty of its normal mirth. “I can take it from here.”

“General?” Cody replied.

But the man was already walking past him… past him, and towards the prisoner. Towards Darth Maul.

The general spoke the name that everyone had been avoiding, but the single syllable word went soft at the end, unsure.

The Sith’s dour expression evened out. A placid, neutral mask. He watched the general, unblinking. His nostrils flared once. Cody bristled. Was the zabrak… smelling him?

General Kenobi hesitated again. He stood a few steps away from Maul, watching, waiting. Cody watched too, hand balanced on his blaster. He knew how quickly Jedi could move, and Maul could move just as quick, judging from the poor state of the general.

The Sith made a sound, a long, low growl. Non-threatening. Considering. “I know you,” he said, at last. A pause, a moue. “Who are you?”

Jedi could be quiet. Eerily so. Cody had walked in on the general meditating, had entered a room a time or two, thinking—knowing—he was alone, only for the general to greet him. General Kenobi went just as quiet now. No movement, no breath, no blood through his veins.

A flicker. A shudder, so slight as to be unnoticed. He could hear the warmth in the general’s voice as he spoke.

“You’re injured. I can help, if you’ll let me.”

The Sith grimaced, but he didn’t show his teeth, didn’t coil tight with violence as he’d done before. He nodded, after a few beats, unfurling from the wall and easing himself to the edge of his cot.

Was Maul serious? This had to be some kind of trick. Then, Cody thought of his eyes, hard but dark. His obvious, steely confusion. How he had fought his medics, but hadn't hurt any of them.

Still, Cody took a step forward and to the side, keeping an open angle as General Kenobi approached. The general was unarmed. It didn’t mean he was helpless, but. The feeling in his gut kept churning. General Kenobi couldn’t possibly trust this man. He was more level-headed than General Skywalker, but Skywalker had learned his foolhardiness from somewhere. Cody had also witnessed General Kenobi in some highly avoidable situations, situations that he’d had to clean up himself. This, Cody thought, might be one of those.

The general perused the medkit that was next to Maul’s cot, abandoned by the first medic that had tried to treat him. While his head was turned, Maul’s nostrils flared again. His eyes were fixed on the general, his lips parted, expression lax.

“Will you show me where it hurts?” the general asked as he faced Maul. Wordlessly, the Sith slipped his robes off his shoulders.

Tattoos everywhere. Expected. But not the wounds, fresh and angry, burns that he knew matched the general’s. Cody hadn’t thought it was possible for a single opponent to go to toe to toe with him. He’d seen the general kill with effortless precision, a single swing of his saber, the curling of hand into fist. Maul, Cody realized, had been difficult for him to overcome.

The Sith had older wounds too, harder to see but no less present. And lower, where the man’s artificial midsection began, a mass of scar tissue so complete there was no unblemished skin left. A killing blow. But the man lived and breathed.

Cody felt sweat pebbling at his temple. If he shot to kill, would it even matter?

The general began to touch and prod. The Sith frowned then, but he didn’t fight, didn’t swear or snarl. The general asked Maul to lean back. To turn. Breathe in and out. Hand over the left side of his chest. Then lower, where a spleen would be on a human. The second heart, Cody knew, from the schematics they had pulled for treatment. Bacta was carefully applied, the perfect picture of field care. Were his legs in need of maintenance? The general assured him a droid would be by for inspection and repair.

Then, without hesitation, he touched the Sith’s jaw. The Sith let the press lead him, tilting his head to the side, neck long, exposed. His eyes were half-lidded by then, lips pursed. He had not flinched from the general’s touch. Not once.

The general held the Sith’s face, thumb balanced beneath the swell of his lower lip, while he administered the hypos. Cody knew his eyes weren’t playing tricks on him. He was alert, so keenly focused as if he was still on the battlefield.

The Sith was relaxed. He had leaned into the general’s grip. And the general had let him, had held him for a few moments longer than necessary. His thumb had even slid over his chin, once, before he withdrew.

It was bizarre. Inappropriate. It was a thousand things that burned and smarted and confused. The general never touched anyone outside of a friendly clap on the shoulder. Cody could not see the general’s face, nor did the general see his own.

He was glad for it.

Only his training, his unerring loyalty, kept him from turning away, kept his hand on his blaster still, though there was no longer a reason for it.

Not with the soft question that came again from the dark-eyed Sith, free of anger or threat.

“Who are you?”

The general told him. Quietly, the Sith repeated his name. Not general, not even Kenobi.

Obi-Wan.

This time, Cody looked away, and forced his hand from his weapon.

Next chapter ->

#asks #fics #obimaul #maulobi #en talks #darth maul #obi-wan kenobi #star wars #wwlwwg

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butwhyduh · 4 months

Note

Hi hiii if your reqz are open can I pls pls ask for 'All the other friends abandoned the movie night' for Jason todd x reader (titans jason would be great but honestly any Jason at all will do perfectly fine! 💕)

No warning. It’s cute fluff

Movie cued up, popcorn popped, movie room cleaned and candles lit. Then the phone rang and you already knew.

“Hello?”

“Heyy,” said Dick. “We’re kinda in a situation and won’t make it tonight.”

“Cape situation?” You said, sitting up. Jason looked over at you concerned from across the couch.

“No nothing like that. It’s- well, I’ll tell you later,” he said with a tense laugh. “Have fun. Gotta go.”

“Okay. Bye,” you said before turning to Jason. “Dick and Kori aren’t going to make it.”

“Gar just texted that him and Raven are stuck downtown with all the snow,” Jason replied.

“Well.. I definitely made too much popcorn,” you said tossing a kernel at Jason. He easily dodged it.

“That’s how you treat guests? I see how it is,” he chuckled while lightly tossing a pillow at you. Your heart beat a little faster. You’d always thought he was attractive but never had the courage to act on it. Somehow fighting killer robots was easier than telling someone you liked them.

“You’re lucky you’re a guest. Otherwise I’d have you hanging from the ceiling by your toes,” you quipped. He sat back on the couch next to you to reach in the popcorn bowl.

“Damn, good thing I didn’t put my shoes on your coffee table. Who knows what horrible punishment you’d come up with.”

“That’s classified information. Wanna start the movie?” You said.

“Sure.”

The movie was a slasher horror movie. As the film started, Jason reached up and turned off the overhead light leaving the lamp, candles on the coffee table, and the horror movie as the only light sources. You scooted close to Jason. Your legs touched and he looked over subtly before going back to the movie. His eyes wandered down to look at your legs in tights and a shorter skirt.

On the screen the killer used a large hatchet to attack teenagers in a ski lodge. He sharpened the weapon in the garage before sneaking in their rooms.

“Not my weapon choice but the aesthetics aren’t too bad. Could be a worse choice,” Jason muttered and you looked up at him with a shocked laugh. He was so close. You could see the light bouncing off his jaw and his eyelashes as he looked down at you.

“Maybe don’t identify with the villain,” you teased. “Some people might find it creepy.”

He grinned and put his arms on the back of the couch. “What can I say? I’ll leave the hero work to someone else.”

The movie was all but forgotten as you turned to him. “And what do you think you do?”

“Fix shit mainly,” he replied with a smirk. He looked down at your lips as you grinned up at him. His arm dropped down over your shoulder.

“And why is that different?”

“That’s classified.”

You couldn’t help but touch a scar on his arm where he had saved you in a fight. He looked down before staring at you as you slid your finger up the scar and onto another scar. Your hand was barely touching his mid arm but Jason felt chills up his spine. He always had a soft spot for you.

“I think it’s bullshit,” you whispered in a teasing tone. He turned towards you even more. There was a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“Why do you say that?”

“You’ve saved my ass too many times.”

“Maybe your ass is very save-able.”

“Think of my ass often, Todd?” You quipped.

“Occasionally. Sometimes,” he replied. Jason pushed hair out of your face. “That doesn’t make me a hero to save you. I might just like saving you.”

“What makes me so special,” you asked as his hand lingered on the side of your face.

“Everything,” Jason answered simply before leaning forward as you turned your head. Your lips softly brushed together. His hand slid to cup the back of your head and you wrapped an arm over his shoulder.

The movie was forgotten in the background. Even the screams of the victims and the chainsaw of the killer couldn’t pull you apart as you made out. Luck was really on your side as the Titan Tower was usually full of people.

Well, luck for a little while.

Jason’s hand brushed over the fishnet on your thigh as the door opened.

“We made it!” Said Gar before falling silent. You and Jason broke apart quickly. “Awkward.” Gar was overflowing with shopping bags in both arms and Raven carried a few as well.

“Let’s go put these in the kitchen,” Raven said while pushing him out of the room.

“Save me some popcorn,” Gar called as he was dragged from the room.

Jason chuckled a little as he wiped his lip. You rolled your eyes. You turned towards the screen but still sat closely to Jason. Maybe 10 minutes later Gar and Raven joined you both. The movie ended and there was a small argument between the group before another movie was put on. As this movie played, Jason’s arm reached over your shoulder and down your arm to hold your hand.

Dick and Kori came in the tower rather loudly. They walked in slowly and Dick seemed to deflate upon seeing the four of you sitting on the couch.

“I told you two to come back hours later,” he said while rolling his eyes.

Jason looked between Dick and Gar. “Did you all plan this? Was this a forced date?”

“Yeah, but when we came in you were kissing so it worked,” Gar replied in earnest.

#jason todd x reader #red hood x reader #jason todd fluff

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justjams2003 · 6 months

Text

Fast Pace-2

Summary: You're a hard-working Chef in Paris and after a freak accident run-in with Carlos Sainz, your life makes a 180. Let's just say with a certain agreement, you get your bills paid and in return stand in as Carlos' girlfriend for the press. But will you be able to handle the pressure and ensure the lines don't blur?

Pairing: Sugar Daddy!Carlos Sainz x Sugar Baby!Reader

Warnings: I've aged up Carlos, he is 33 in this fic.Smoking, smut, sexual themes, age difference, manipulation, control, slight obsession, tell me if I missed any

Dividers by: @firefly-graphics and @s-silk

Taglist: @httpjeonlicious

Word count: 2,8k

Masterlist

Part 1~Part 3

"What? Am I hearing this right? The Carlos Sainz, famous Ferrari Formula One driver approached you, in an alleyway, during your smoke break and paid you three hundred euros to hide in a cramped bathroom with you.” One of your best friends from high school screams into your ear. You can’t help but cringe, hearing exactly just how famous he is. You blow the smoke from your cigarette and gaze out across your balcony.

You wish you could say the view is beautiful, with the Eiffel Tower in the background with music of the people in the background. It’s none of that though. The view is another apartment block, and you so wished the man on the balcony would close the curtains. You avoid the balcony in the fear of getting treated to a view of his wrinkled body. How you wish you didn’t have to deal with the gross apartment building.

“Um...Yes...?” You reply, not really sure what to say. “Not only that, Jasmine, but he then gave her his number and said he would make sure he would see her again!” Your other best friend, Ilsa, on the group call squeals out. You facepalm, knowing they can’t see you, but still, your embarrassment is uncontainable. “What are you going to say?” Jas asks, you can already hear her plotting.

Your silence says a thousand words. “You are going to text him, right?” Ilsa clarifies and they go quiet only to hear your sigh. “What would I say? Hi, mister million-dollar man, I really liked being cramped in a bathroom with you, and would love to do it again!” You scoff at the ridiculousness of it all and take another puff from your cig. “I mean...” Jas says but you quickly shoot the idea down.

“Okay, okay, how about this? Address the elephant in the room. Tell him you googled him and then ask him what exactly he wants with you.” Ilsa suggests and it actually doesn’t sound that bad. Your stomach rumbles and as you open the fridge door you can’t help but sigh. Some old cabbage, one egg and a pack of cheap tomato sauce. Another hungry night.

“Yeah, so that you can be prepared if he just wants a quick fuck!” Jas calls out and again you can’t help but cringe. “Jasmine!” You yell out, glad they can’t see you blush. Even that wouldn’t be so bad. It’s been weeks since someone touched you with any sort of kind intent. Much less how close you two were today.

You’d already given the full three hundred euros to your landlord. He just scowled asking where the rest of it is. Not to mention, the electricity is threatening to shut off. Along with the student loans, water bills, phone bills, and insurance, everything is piling up and you feel like you can’t pick up enough shifts to survive.

I hear her groan, “Come on, Y/N, this could be a really great opportunity for you.” This time it’s Ilsa encouraging you. She’s right, maybe a little distraction from life is just what you need. Not to mention you’d do anything to look at that handsome face of his one more time. The photos and videos online don’t even come close. He’s so much more even just being near him makes you want to beg him to hold you.

“Fine, but if he gave me a fake number, I’ll ignore you guys for a week.” It’s an empty threat as always. “Yes, of course, as expected.” Jas’ voice is dripping in sarcasm. “I’ve got to go, je vous aime les gars, au revoir.” Ilsa says goodbye, and with that, the call ends. Dinner, wouldn’t that be such a good idea? You open your banking up only to see but a meek two hundred left for the end of the month.

While you’re on your phone, you might as well text him...right?

Y/N: I assume you wanted me to google you when you gave me your real name?

Carlos Sainz 🌶️: And, do I live up to the pictures?

Y/N: No, you’re much shorter in real life

Carlos Sainz 🌶️: A dagger in my heart!

Y/N: 😝

Y/N: I’m glad you didn’t give me a fake number then. But I can’t help but ask what exactly it is you want with me?

Carlos Sainz 🌶️: How about this: I’ll explain it all to you on our first date

Y/N: You intrigue me...

Carlos Sainz 🌶️: When do you get off from work, tomorrow?

Y/N: I work the morning, until lunch tomorrow. So I’m free from 16:00

Carlos Sainz 🌶️: Send me your address, and I’ll pick you up at 18:00. Wear something nice.

What on earth am I thinking? He could kidnap me! And yet you find yourself in front of your closet picking the one nice dress you bought for your first interview. It’s a simple black, form-fitting on the top but flares at the bottom with frills on the sleeves. It looks so boring to wear on a date with someone like him, but it’s all you have.

Along with the only heels you have, once more plain black chunky pumps. Your hair lays right below your shoulders in your natural waves and curls.

You can’t help but groan at your situation and throw a pack of cigarettes into your handbag. It’s a bad habit, you know and everyone around you has told you so many times to stop. But it’s so hard to when living in France and not only that it’s the only thing that seems to help.

You finish it off with a red lip, hoping to add a slight bit of colour to the dull outfit. Not that you have much time to think of something else, at exactly six, there is a knock on the door. With your heart in your ears, you open the door to Carlos holding a bouquet of pink tulips.

Not only that but he looks ravishing in black dress pants and a dress shirt, but of course with the sleeves rolled up. You bite your lip, already wanting to jump his bones.

That tan skin of his has you imagining him, shirtless under the hot summer sun on a Mediterranean beach somewhere. Not only that but his hair seems to fall perfectly in place. So soft and silky and voluminous. Your hand twitches, wanting to rake through his inky black strands and then, of course, ask him about his hair-care routine.

“How did you know these are my favourites?” You ask, walking inside and placing them in the sink before returning to him. He shrugs, “I have my ways. But enough about that. Querida, you look enchanting.” He takes your hand and guides you to a spin, showing off all of you. Your dress flows and his touch is like fire lighting in your body.

“Really? I hope it’s fancy enough, it’s all I own, and I don’t really have the money to buy something right now.” You say with a blush coating your cheeks. Why would you tell him that? Now he’s going to think you want him to buy you a new dress. Or maybe you’re only going on the date because you know who he is.

“Of course, niña bonita, I’m honoured to have such a pretty lady on my arm.” He then takes your hand and helps you down the stairs. And his words cause a blush on the tips of your ears. He helps you all the way to his fire-red Ferrari. “Woah....” You can’t help but utter out, you’ve never been so close to such an expensive car and the fear of breaking it looms in the back of your mind.

“You like, niña bonita? Comes with the job, of course.” He winks and then opens the door for you, which of course opens upwards. You can’t help but let out a playful scoff, “Duh, of course!” He chuckles at your reaction. “You must tell me if I’m going too fast, no? I like speed of course.” His wink shoots electricity through your skin, not only that but that breath taking smile of his.

You don’t have a licence, you never needed one living in France all your life. Even in the smaller town where you grew up, you could walk everywhere. And yet the way he speeds down the freeway causes a thrill to tickle your toes.

Every time he switches the gears, his forearm muscles flex and you have to control yourself. Not to mention, he doesn’t even have road rage, every move, every turn, every gear shift is as smooth as can be.

If it wasn’t for your culinary degree you’re certain you wouldn’t have understood anything on the menu. Even so, you’d been eyeing this place for a while and some of them you’re still unsure how to pronounce. What shocks you the most is the prices, some things on the menu are half the price of your rent. “What do you think of getting?” He asks, leaning back in his seat. “Um...the breadsticks?” He looks over his menu and raises his brow.

“The breadsticks are free?” He clarifies, those luscious brows of his furrow in confusion and you nod with a smile. You try not to show him how nervous a fancy place like this makes you. And also how you yearn to be at home in a place like this. “Yes.” He sighs, “Niña terca, I am paying, pick what you want.” That actually makes you feel even worse.

“Oh, no, it’s alright you don’t have to. I brought my wallet.” You reply, clutching your purse as a reminder. “It is not up for discussion.” He replies, going back to the wine list he’s holding. The guilt shoots through you. You desperately need to accept the money but stil your mother’s manners creep up on you. “Then the...salad.” He rolls his eyes and takes your menu and closes it for you.

You go to protest, but he calls over the waiter before you can. “The lady will have the Salmon Meuniere and I shall have the steak. With the Chilled Pinot Noir.” Again, he chooses your favourite option. “How did you....” As if he knows exactly what you’re about to ask, he just shrugs, “We must have similar taste.”

The fact of these two choices being so similar doesn’t make you suspicion. Instead, it makes you feel warm and at home almost. How similar are you two already, and how much more can fall into place? You eye him, raising your brow as he too studies you. “What is it, estimada. You want to say something.” He guides with his hand to open up the conversation.

“How do you know?” You ask, in awe of how much detail he sees. He chuckles and then leans forward and smooths out the area around your eyes by your temples. “You get this crinkle, when you are holding something back. I noticed it yesterday.” You can’t help but blush and cover your face.

“It’s my job, estimada. To notice the small things, in the car, in the track, in the ladies I like.” His words are smooth like butter and those dark eyes of his stare you down.

The waiter comes and pours your wine and places down your food. You take a sip from the cool beverage. “You owe me an explanation.” You shrug, the only response you give. Not trusting your throat. His jaw locks tight and he leans in a bit closer to you. He bites down on the juicy steak and the way his jaw muscle flexes causes obscene thoughts to fly through you.

“What I tell you next is not to be known by anyone besides you and me. Let’s put it like so, my managers believe that I should, how you say, casarse ya.” He switches to Spanish so easily. You have no idea what he said but merely nod along. All while savouring the taste of the perfectly cooked salmon and expensive wine that pairs so well.

“I turn 34 next year, one of the oldest on the grid. They believe that I should stop wasting my time and just settle down already. My publicist also believes it would get more sponsors and boost my public image. So, I am coming to you with an offer.” I raise my brow; I knew this would be too good to be true.

I should have known that someone like him wouldn’t bother getting close to someone like me. Clearly only there to entertain the people as always. Does he want pity points from his fans? Embracing a poor Frenchwoman from the slums. Doing some sort of charity work? I cross my arms and lean back; I can tell that he sees me retracting from the conversation entirely.

But still, I allow him to continue. “I will pay you, any amount you wish, shopping, jewels, vacations, even something more practical like the rent or student bills. In return, you pretend to be my long-term girlfriend. You come with me to the races, show up in the paddock, and tag along in interviews. The whole deal.” He bites those plump lips of his and now you wish he’d be more hideous.

For once he actually looks a bit nervous. You can’t help but scoff and roll your eyes at this. “So...like a sugar daddy situation...?” He senses your resentment towards the idea and is careful to reply. “I suppose so,” his eyes seem to panic and you can’t believe your ears.

You grab your purse, “I can’t believe you, Carlos! I thought I’d finally met a decent well-off guy, but no. Ces foutus garçons. Je ne peux jamais faire confiance aux hommes. Jamais!”

You can’t help but switch to your native language. The translator in your mind fails due to your anger and you can feel tears prick in the walls of your eyes. With your purse in hand, you push your seat back and in a rage go to leave. But suddenly you’re forced back down onto your chair by Carlos’ firm grasp on your wrist.

“¡Siéntate, niña testaruda, y escucha!” His translator too, is out the window. You pout and cross your arms, shocked at his audacity. “Listen here, and listen well, little girl, because I can clearly see you are in desperate need of some discipline. Mocoso.” He leans over you and the way he speaks with such a demanding voice makes your core ache. And yet you can’t help but want to defy him more.

He sits down again but is clearly ready to catch again if needed. He then grabs you by the chin and makes sure you look him into those swirling brown eyes. So dangerous and ready to attack if need be. “I can see it in your eyes, dollface. I can see it in the way you eye the Porche that passes, the Louis Vuitton handbag in the window and the most expensive item on the menu.”

Has your eye really been wandering so much? Or is his attention to detail so fine-tuned? If it weren’t for his hand clasping your chin, you’d long since would’ve looked away. “You have champagne taste and I’m giving you the whole vineyard. Don’t make another stupid choice and accept the offer. I won’t ask again.”

His voice is strong and commanding and the way he speaks makes you want to get down on your knees and open your mouth for him. He lets go of your jaw, allowing you to speak. “And if I want something more?” You ask and can’t help but dial up the charm fluttering your dark lashes. He smirks watching you go from bratty to begging.

“I can feel the chemistry too, estimada and I can see the need burning behind those eyes of yours. If this were to become something more, then so be it. And if you want this to be a quick fling and your intro into the limelight, then so be it. And if you want it to only be an exchange of money and appearance, so be it too.” He shrugs, watching your reaction to each option.

Then he turns serious again. “That all can be decided later. What must be decided now, is whether you’ll join me or not. I must apologize that I can’t give you much time to think about it, I have an early flight tomorrow. You’ll have to join me.” I furrow my brows, I thought he had the whole week? Anyways a choice must be made....

My taglist is open! If you wish to be tagged in this story alone, please comment or reblog with the words 'tag'. And if you wish to be tagged in all my posts please comment or reblog with the words 'tag all'.

#carlos sainz #carlos sainz jr #carlos sainz x reader #carlos sainz x you #scuderia ferrari #sugar daddy!Carlos sainz #sugar daddy!carlos sainz x reader #sugar daddy!carlos sainz x sugar baby!reader #f1 #formula 1 #formula one #f1 x reader #carlos sainz smut

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kiwisbell · 7 months

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The Light of the Stars: Chapter 1 [din djarin]

Your celebration for Din’s name day goes horribly wrong. And a group of pirates sees the worst of your Mandalorian.

chapter 1 | chapter 2 | chapter 3

read part one here (not necessary, but encouraged!): told before and told again

series masterlist | my masterlist!

status: complete

pairing: din djarin x f!reader

rating: 18+ (mdni)

tags and warnings: established relationship, unprotected piv (no following the leader), the helmet stays on, but the gloves come off, in more ways than one, hand kink???, animal handler!reader, grogu being a good kid, extremely protective din, kidnapping, BAMF din, din gets mad, dirty talk, fingering, blood and violence, creampie, rough sex, multiple orgasms, top din, soft din, din fucking the babysitter, extreme amounts of fluff, din is in love, mando'a pet names, porn with feelings, porn with plot (there actually is a plot this time), din is touch-starved, it's din's birthday!! (sort of), din being so in love that it's disgusting

word count: ~ 4.3k

this is installment two of my din djarin series entitled told before and told again, and is divided into three chapters. this series in particular is inspired by joanna newsom's divers album. it's a fantastic listen.

obligatory mando’a to english translation: “Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum.” — “I love you” (literally “I will know you forever.”)

chapter 1: you will not take my heart alive

Looking at you is peering into the far, sunny horizon as a storm rages overhead.

Together in your little cot—far too small for two people, and yet you manage: mostly by draping half your body over his, not that he’s ever minded—you and Din doze. Well, you doze. He doesn’t sleep much on the best of days, but he likes the intimate quiet of this stifling space. Wasting time does not exist when it comes to you.

Your legs are tangled together, one of his wedged between both of yours as your thigh remains hitched up on his hip. You like to sleep as close to him as possible, but his armour makes it uncomfortable, especially in moments like these when he does not have the precious time to take it off. So you curl up your shared blanket and use it as a pillow, tucking your head under his arm. Now, your cheek rests on his breastplate, your breath pushing past your parted lips in soft snores that fog up the steel. Your lashes rest on your cheeks and your hand on his chest.

You are a human lullabye. He does not know how he slept before you. Now, he wants to close his eyes and dream by your side, warmed by your body.

His gloved hand finds your serene face and brushes a stray lock of hair from your eyes.

There are always storms to weather, but you are the telltale rising of the sun. He will look to you when the lighting crackles across the sky.

He isn’t sure how long he’s been staring at you by the time your lips begin to move in the shape of words, your eyes still peacefully closed.

“Do you know what day it is?” you ask him.

He does. He would prefer to forget.

“It's night,” he replies. “Go back to sleep.”

“Evading the question will not avail you, Mandalorian.” He wants to laugh at the frankly impressive way you can twist words even in your state of half-sleep, but does not give you the satisfaction. “What day is it?”

When he does not answer, your eyes peel open and you sit up, his hand falling from your waist. Even through his gloves, he feels the loss of your warm skin as if the sudden cold has seared a hole through the impenetrable leather. Your gaze is sleepy, your irises impossibly thin around cavernous pupils.

“Come back here,” he says plainly.

Your eyes narrow, your mind incisive as ever. He should know better by now than to try and outsmart you with the promise of physical contact—no matter how much he needs that contact right now. You square your hips as you shuffle so your body, all of it, is facing him. You’re wearing so few clothes that he can make out (even in this dusky darkness) the tight press of your nipples through your shirt. The shape of your waist and hips under the loose cotton pants you sleep in. His fingers flex. They crave the softness of your skin to plunge into.

“It’s your name day, Din.”

It is not. But you have always been persistent.

“You mean you’ve never celebrated? Not once?”

He didn’t understand why it shocked you so, but for some reason, seeing you so affronted made him question why, in fact, he’d never celebrated his own birth. “It’s… trivial,” he managed, unsettled by such distress in your face.

You lay on your back in a patch of grass next to his toolkit. Normally, he would scold you for freeloading, but the sun was out, and you saw it so rarely. So, he let you lounge with your eyes squinting harshly against the indelicate shine, casting your skin in bronze. Your collarbones pushed out gently with each exhale you took, and on every inhale, he would watch with rapt attention as your throat hollowed. There was a faint smattering of perspiration in that hollow, but you acted as if the relentless sun was revitalising you, not burning you.

“That’s silly,” you told him, your head turning lazily to face him. He was sitting on the ramp at the mouth of the hull, tucked inside the shadow of the Crest, working on repairing the access panel—again. He was beginning to think it was damned. He did not need another incident where you were trapped inside because the ramp refused to lower, or where neither of you could find the kid until you both realised he was outside, playing with dandelions while his guardians panicked. Din supposed his repair job doubled as child-proofing.

“Why?” he asked. “I don’t remember being born.”

“You’re missing the point.”

“Am I?”

You hummed. “I would think a warrior like you would want to celebrate living another cycle. Not all of you get that luxury.”

He wanted to point out that living was never a luxury until you. He did not.

“I’m perfectly happy to celebrate yours,” he told you. “That’s good enough for me.”

He caught a slight movement of your head out of the corner of his eye and knew, somehow, that you were rolling your eyes. Fondly. “Then I’ll choose a date for you.”

“No,” he said immediately.

But you were already getting up and planting yourself on the ramp next to him. “Today,” you said firmly. “It’s a beautiful, sunny day. Today is your name day, Din Djarin.”

Your fingers played upon the harsh edges of his helmet in some sort of dance, tracing each cool line and dip the way he had so often traced the warm flesh of your body. It knocked his world slightly askew to know there was someone who saw his armour as a body in itself—who didn’t crave to see what lay beneath, because to you, they were inseparable. One.

“Nothing about your life,” you said that day, in a near-whisper, “is trivial.”

Now, he decides being stubborn is the best way to get your body against him once again. “I don't have a name day,” he says.

You try to suppress a smile. “Well, you'll remember I gave you one. Don’t you remember?” Your fingers tap lightly around his thigh guards, down to his calves and back up toward his hip. You do this often: feeling out the shape of him as if you're attempting to imprint it into your hindbrain. He indulges you, but his patience is thinning. “When you were inside me? Deep and rough and—”

“Come. Back. Here.” He practically growls it, his cock stiffening inside his pants, his teeth grinding for a taste of you he can never have. He opts for a tight grip on your upper thigh, kneading the muscle and soft flesh there as he tries to pull you toward him.

You let him drag you on top of him, his strong hands keeping you firm atop his hips. There's a firm pressure at your spine, between your shoulder blades, pushing you down toward him so your bodies are flush. You nudge your nose against the cheek of his helmet and grin.

“Let’s go somewhere,” you say softly. “Somewhere nice. Somewhere we can celebrate.”

A gloved palm catches the line of your jaw, the thumb tracing its path. “My age isn't something to celebrate.”

“You're still spry. I have the limp to prove it.” He huffs, and even the small hint that he's amused spurs you on. “Come on. We don’t have to do anything near a crowd. It can just be the two of us. Even a desert, for stars’ sake.”

“You want to celebrate with the Tuskens?” He tilts his head in the way you're so familiar with: he's looking at you like you're simultaneously the most captivating and foolish person he's ever met. At the same time, his thumbs caress your body like it's precious. It is.

You bite your lip. “I want to celebrate with you.”

You have a funny way of looking at him. It typically accompanies your most outrageous ideas. Your smile casts a brighter light than the rays of sun through a clear windowpane. He dreams of that smile the way he used to dream about terrors. You’ve encompassed them with that look: the smile and the gentle brush of your mouth against his helmet. “Fine,” he says at last. “We’ll land on Nevarro.” When you open your mouth to gloat, he slides his hand around to the nape of your neck. “In the morning. Now, come back here.”

You can only tease your warrior for so long. Your lips make a path from his forehead to the spot just above his visor. He cups your face in his hands, not guiding nor pushing, just holding you here. Here, in the moment, when all he sees is you.

“When we go…” He tucks a piece of hair behind your ear and lowers his voice to the soft, gentle rasp that sticks to the edges of your skull. “You stay by my side.”

“I’m always by your side.” You smile, squeezing his hands. “You can’t get rid of me now, Din Djarin, no matter how hard you try.”

No, he can't. But he's not in the habit of trying to get rid of the things that are best for him. Not anymore.

He wishes now more than ever he could press his face into the sweet-smelling curve of your throat and kiss all the way down your body. He wants to bury his whole being deep in your soul, unmasked, unburdened.

For now, he will settle for the proximity: the intoxicating closeness he once only dreamed of and now gets to live. Every night, every morning, he gets to know what it feels like to exist alongside another soul. That will do.

“Cyar’ika.”

Your hands cover his. “Din.”

Even if his sensor could not detect the elevated rate of your heart thumping against your chest, he would be able to sense the slightest shift in your very blood from systems away. His own heart matches the rhythm, threatening to burst from his chest and bury itself inside yours.

“I want you,” he says.

He likes the way he makes you feel. Your heart kicks up even faster as your lips part. “You told me to go back to sleep,” comes your whispered reply.

His hands leave your face and skate down your sides, making you shiver when he reaches the hem of your shirt. “Is that a no?”

“I will never”—your eyes meet his, or they try to, serious and unwavering—“say no to you.”

And he doesn't deserve that. He does not deserve your faith or your support. But he will take down the straps of your flimsy shirt and he will shift so he can hover above you, and there will not be a fraction of him that is tempted to let you go despite all he doesn’t deserve.

He slips his fingers into the loops lining the waistband of your utility pants and pulls them down. Behind them follows your shirt, not soon after, his hands grabbing eagerly at the hem. “Arms up.”

You obey, and he tosses the shirt on top of your pants, which are surely somewhere close. He’ll find them later. Now, he looks down at your body. There are no articles of clothing for you to remove, which never makes you pout or whine in spite of any teasing remarks you may make. No—you trace the shape of the pieces reverently, treating them like skin. Like freckles.

“You’re beautiful,” you tell him, your chest heaving as he splays his hand just beneath your left breast, protecting your ribcage.

It is the dead of the night, and you are both exhausted, but Din lets a low laugh slip out. “That’s my line.”

“Well, I won’t be offended if you still want to say it.” Your grin is a blinding thing.

That. That is why he needs to keep your life in a little cage. That smile and the laugh that goes with it. He can no longer picture a ‘verse that exists without it. How can a galaxy turn without the bright force of a smile like that to inspire it?

“You,” he rasps, “are beautiful.”

Your hands find the buttons of his pants, the thick, hard length behind them twitching under your attention. He does not stop as you seek out his cock and wrap your fingers around the shaft. He does not stop the groan that rumbles up from deep in his chest when you look up at him with your tired, black eyes and stroke him slowly.

A drop of precum spills onto your navel, and when you dip your hand between them to swipe it onto the pad of your thumb, cleaning it off between your lips, he goes blind.

His hand is on your hip, grounding himself in flesh. His cock is pushing past the seal of your cunt, wet and warm and eager to accept him. He grunts. Your name. A curse. You take him the way you always do: with a pinched brow and a gasp he aches to swallow.

He watches himself disappear inside you, the way you greedily suck him in, his own restraint buckling along with his spine. He feels himself compressing, compacting, into this small square of time, sinking onto his side next to you. He can be closer this way, face-to-face, slipping his arm around your waist and pressing on your lower back. You hold onto his shoulders as his hips meet yours, your eyes unfocused in the haze of lust. He moves in a slow, experimental thrust, hissing at the way your cunt grips him so tightly on the withdrawal. “Relax,” he groans.

“Are you trying to fuck me,” you gasp, “or teach me how to shoot a blaster?”

He huffs, hitching your leg up over his hip and driving deeper. You cry out his name and he feels sadistically pleased, his hand pressing more insistently on your spine. You bow deliciously under his touch, slotting willingly alongside his shape, your naked body safe and warm against the cold bulk of his armour. He tucks you so close that your breasts are smushed against his chest and you have to bury your face into the crook of his neck. The warm cowl provides you the comfort of a blanket as he begins to fuck you. Properly.

Your gasps are wet and stilted. Din grunts with each thrust, your soft, hot walls stroking his cock. He will never get used to this: your closeness, your strength, the way you will happily clamber on top of him whenever he's frustrated. You aren't afraid of his moods. You always let him grasp your hips, as rough as he needs, and you draw the poison from the wound. You’re a tonic to his weary soul.

“That’s it.” His voice is a ragged grinding of gears in your ear. The punch of his cock inside you becomes easier with every stroke, your body becoming malleable and relaxed for him. “That’s it,” he coaxes.

You're so wet that the sound of your joined bodies echoes in the puny compartment. He will bruise your thigh from how hard he holds onto you, and your hips will be sore from his relentless pounding, but you do not care. “Din. Oh, fuck!” you moan, grasping at his cowl, your fingers bunching in the fabric. A low-pitched growl leaves his mouth, travels through the modulator, and makes your cunt gush around his cock. You are the only one who can get this close, the only one who can grip the cowl like you plan to tear it right off, because he knows you won't.

“You started this,” he says through gritted teeth, the pinching of the steel plates on his thighs sparking delectable pain between your legs. “Could’ve gone back to sleep.”

You laugh through a moan, rocking your hips down against his. The head of his cock reaches so deep that you can feel him in your stomach, and you know that's how he likes it best. “You weren't sleeping, Din.”

“No,” he rasps, “I was watching you.”

“Ever the charmer.” Tears prick at the corners of your eyes as you feel the coil in your belly wind up tight. You're so fucking full. He's thick and heavy, so warm inside you, and all you can think is how desperately you want his hot cum to drown your cunt.

His hand slips between your bodies and presses against your belly. You gasp with the white-hot pleasure, your head jerking back to meet his gaze through his visor. He tips his head forward to drop against your forehead. “Feel me?” He thrusts harder, but not faster, your poor, abused cunt taking him so easily in your pliable state. You mewl for him, your vision blurring, the coil tightening. “Feel how deep I am?”

“Din…”

“I asked you a question, cyar’ika.” The pressure deepens, somehow. Heightens. You feel as if you're floating above your bodies, separate altogether, watching yourself crash hopelessly into his body. “Do. You. Feel. Me?”

Every word is punctuated by the drag and thrust of his cock inside you, the movement of his hips growing sloppy. His cock twitches with the need to pump you full, to give you all of him and keep you wrapped up, safe, until morning. “Yes,” you whimper, your voice crackling. “Yes, Din.”

Good, he thinks. He wants to imprint himself on you forever. He already feels a sick sense of satisfaction seeing the divots he makes in your flesh with his fingers, the bruises already forming. The rest of the world would hurt you to make it hurt. He likes knowing he can hurt you and it only feels good.

“Ah, ah —fuck, Din,” you gasp, your lips perpetually parted once his hand migrates to your clit. Two gloves fingers apply pressure, rough leather circling the bundle of nerves. Your body caves in on itself, your entire brain bursting into flame, your vision white-blind as you come apart.

Your thigh quivering, still wrapped around his hip, you roll your hips into his hand, your brow furrowing in pleasure. He does not relent. He wants to watch you crumble, and he's getting it. “I… I can’t…”

“Yes, you can.” Your nose and lips slide haplessly across the ridge on the right cheek of his helmet, all of you trembling in his assured grasp. You are vaguely aware of the hard, throbbing cock between your legs twitching, pulsing inside you. “Fuck. Fuck, that’s it.”

Din comes hard, his visor tucked under your chin so he can tilt your head upward. He can smell you, the heady scent of sweat and sex and fresh air. You fill his lungs as he fills you, his cock pulsating with each hot spurt of cum. It stuffs you until you're brimming with him, and he still grinds deeper, deeper, so close to you that peeling your bodies apart will make you both colder. Lonelier.

When you both collapse, your spent bodies ending up in the same position as the beginning of the night, Din looks at his vambrace. It will be morning soon.

Your ragged breath is fogging up his armour as much as your sweat, and he will take this. The only mark you can leave on his body. He will take anything you give him, even if it is poisonous. He knows it will taste sweet, anyway.

“Happy name day, Din,” you whisper, your eyes smiling even as you continue to pant, your fingers fondly tapping his cheek.

Beneath you, both of you can feel the wetness of the cot as his cum drips steadily out of you in globs. He knows he has to clean you up. He just doesn't want to detangle himself from you. Not when you look so happy.

“Keep it,” you tell him. Always reading his mind, past all the steel that separates you. “I want to feel you today.”

When you tuck your face back into the curve of his throat and close your eyes, it takes no time at all for your breathing to grow steady. Din stays awake for a little while, idly stroking your hair away from your face.

When he finally feels sleep claw at him, Din does not dream. The colours dancing languidly on his closed eyelids resemble the hues of your irises.

For all his attempts to train you to shoot a blaster, you cannot fight for bantha shit.

“Don’t tuck your thumb,” he says, circling you on the grass.

“You say that like it means something. How ‘bout you come over here and show me how it’s done?” He watches you wiggle your brows and decides he would much rather watch you suffer.

“It means, don’t tuck your thumb.” He mirrors your closed fist but manages to make it look much more assured. “You’ll break it if you try to hit someone like that.”

“I don't want to hit anyone, Din.”

He cocks his head in that annoying way he does.

“But someone may want to hit you.” His body is stiff when he turns to square his shoulders, a little closer to you than you remember him being. The Crest should land on Nevarro within the hour, so you decided to occupy your shared free time with a spontaneous sparring session. Not that he ever actually strikes you. It’s more of a… one-sided talking session. With the occasional scolding.

“Not if you’re with me,” you remind him.

“That’s right.” Still, he circles you, always facing you, assessing your posture. “Kick your legs farther apart.”

You do, planting one foot slightly behind the other. You’ve seen him do it. Clearly, your mirroring attempt is wrong. “Not that far apart.”

“I think you’re doing this on purpose.”

“You need to learn.”

“I know that,” you huff, dropping your hands by your side. “It would help a lot if you actually fought me.”

“There wouldn’t be a fight.”

Cocky bastard. “I’m not asking you to punch me or shoot me. Just… fake it.”

His sigh is audible. “And what if I strike by accident?”

You cannot help but smile fondly. Your warrior, always trying to keep you safe in a galaxy that does not care in the least for your safety. “You’re a fool, Din Djarin, but you know your strength better than that.” You close the distance between your bodies. “If you don’t want me to fight, why am I still here?”

“You’re still here…” He brushes a finger over your cheek. “… because I don’t trust the world not to hurt you like it already has.”

Your voice lacks its typical conviction. “I’m not a child. I can take care of myself.”

“Well, the kid is. And he loves you. He trusts you.” He shakes his head as if trying to make an intricate blueprint of his next words. “ I trust you. I trust you to take care of him, and I trust you to be my partner.”

“It’s a shame I can’t trust you not to get yourself half-dead every time we visit a new planet. Wouldn’t have to worry about my heart giving out if I just up and left this hunk of junk.”

You’re taunting him, that delicious mouth of yours a beacon of wickedness. “Can’t rely on the ‘verse to keep you safe the way I can,” he says.

“That”—you tap him gently on the cheek of his helmet, clicking your tongue—“is dangerously cocky, Mandalorian.”

“Yeah?” He catches your wrist and squeezes. “People hurt you. They take what they want from you and toss you back. Or not. It’s not gonna happen.” He places your hand over his heart. “Not with me.”

You recall the long, lonely days before you met him. You recall the sleepless nights when an animal would be sick or injured, and you were the only handler willing to stay awake all night to monitor its condition. Sitting in a hard, rickety chair next to a bassinet or bacta tank, your fingers drumming nonsensical rhythms on your thighs. Dread curling in your stomach when your charge’s condition worsened. Sickening joy when they pulled through. You remember how cold the nighttime would get and how, when you made your home onboard the Crest, you would awake to find your curled-up body covered in more blankets than you fell asleep with. You confronted him about it one day.

I’m paying you to stay alive, was his cool reply. He never used to bother looking your way as he fiddled with the controls in the cockpit.

I’m used to the cold, you told him.

For a moment, you were certain he wanted to leave the conversation at that—not that it was much of a conversation. Then, as you turned to descend back down the ladder, he said, So am I.

“My life started when I met you,” you tell him now, and he isn’t fond of the little frown that comes over your face. “It could end right now and I’d be okay.”

“Don’t.” His voice comes out coarse as sand. “It’s not going to end.”

You lean forward and press your forehead against the cool metal of his. “You want me to live forever, Mandalorian?”

His hand finds the back of your neck, fingers digging into your scalp, as he keeps you there, firm. Steady. “Longer than that,” he says.

Your smile makes your cheeks ache. “I’ll do my best for you.”

His other hand grasps your hip. “That's my girl.”

“Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum.”

It leaves your mouth stumbling, grasping for the right vowel noises and falling clumsily nonetheless. But he chuckles, a soft gasping laugh that makes you shiver.

“Knew you were listening.”

“Learned it myself,” you whisper. “Your teaching style is ineffectual.”

Above you, in the cockpit, the navigation system begins to beep wildly. Din pulls away from you and wordlessly heads back, but you smile at the way his fingers take the longest to detangle from yours.

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