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mandoloriancookie · 9 days ago

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Omg. Can't wait for kids bedtime.

honey, honey | one: for the low, low price of!

sugar daddy! joel x f!reader

series masterlist | main masterlist

summary: you find yourself in a precarious situation financially, one that requires lying and risking the silver spoon you've grown up on. your father's oldest friend, joel, finds you in a compromising position but quickly becomes an unexpected solution to all your problems. 9.8k words.

warnings: 18+ MDNI, sugar daddy worthy age gap (reader is 21, joel is 54), inherent power dynamic imbalance from a sugar daddy arrangement, reader has shit parents and comes from money, one (1) jerk off session, playing it a little fast and loose with pov, slow burn!

a/n: well, here she is. i actually started this over a year ago but sent it to the back burner for ages, so it feels like such a long time coming! i hope you enjoy, these two are going on a journey together and i really hope you stick along for the ride. so, so excited for it! i'm attempting a slower burn with eventual smut this time around. it’s not the focus from the get go but instead some chemistry, banter, and confusing pining are taking center stage for a bit before they get freak nasty.

You stare down at your phone, scowling at the message on screen as the van jostles you on a turn, pulling into a new neighborhood. Your coworkers, Alicia and Gladys chat in the front seats while you sulk in the back. You don’t mean to be so off putting, but you’re reflecting on how you ended up here, staring at a text from your father inquiring about your day at the firm. Guilt squeezes your insides at the fabrication you’ve concocted, the way you couldn’t be further from the false narrative you’ve given to your parents, and with hardly anything to show for it yet.

“Wait…” you mutter, your eyes focusing and scanning along the perfectly manicured street of gorgeous brownstones rising up, all crammed together. You know that despite the small, more humble outsides of these homes, the insides are immaculate, thousands of square feet renovated to perfection. “I know this street.”

Alicia turns from the passenger seat, raising her eyebrows at you. “This richie rich neighborhood? Who do you know here?”

You feel your cheeks warm up, too embarrassed to admit to them that your own parents’ luxury apartment is on a street not too dissimilar to this. In fact, you don’t even need this job in the slightest, but have been desperate to make your own money under the radar, away from your parents’ obsessive peering into every aspect of your life. Every day that has passed since you hatched your little plan that had felt like some kind of genius at the beginning has only proven how futile it was to jump into it so hastily.

“I… swear I’ve been here before…” you mutter, mostly thinking out loud to yourself, eyes staring out the window as you wrack your brain.

When Gladys pulls into a drive, dipping below the house into a garage that opens for the van, your stomach tightens. It’s all too familiar, but you can’t quite place your finger on it. You haven’t been here for a few years, at the least.

“W-who’s our client today?” you ask urgently, tightening your hands into fists.

Gladys glances at her work tablet, filled with the itinerary for the entire week. “Mr. Miller, hon,” she replies before peering back down at the screen, confirming it. “Joel.”

You can tell you must look as shocked as you feel, eyes flashing with fear and going a little wider and your face dropping instantly.

“I-I know him,” you manage to stutter out. “Well, he knows my parents. Like, really well.”

Joel could not, under any circumstances, see you like this. What a disaster that would be - your rich daddy’s rich friend getting a house cleaning from said friend’s daughter. One who is supposed to be off interning somewhere. Instead, you’re plotting to live by scraping by, collecting money for what you hope could be an escape from this life, their life.

Your parents are both insistent on you taking over the family business - some corporate bullshit you have no interest in - so you’d sated them by claiming you were off gaining experience in between classes with some interning hours at a firm. You’re lucky that a friend of yours from college actually does work there, hoping if it came down to it, they could vouch for you. If the truth got out, you know the possibility that you would be cut off is high. It’s the kind of massive fallout you’re not sure you’re prepared to deal with yet.

The lies you’ve had to concoct and the harsh reality of cramming your schedule full between class and this job - scrubbing floors, endless vacuuming and wiping surfaces, your body aching after each and every day of work - was starting to get to you, but you had to persevere.

“They’re hardly ever even home when we come anyways, especially this Mr. Miller,” Alicia suggests at your panic, and you swallow and nod. Gladys agrees with her, then they shoot each other a concerned, confused look. They’ve been a team for a while, but you’ve only just met them a few weeks ago, assigned to train with them. Both of them are older momma bear types, having clung to your young ass like glue, vowing to teach you all the ropes and take good care of you, which you’d appreciated. You’d been lucky enough to have gotten a job with this particular company, having no experience in the field, or nay field for that matter. The client base they worked with was high end, their homes millions of dollars, the service only known to the more wealthy side of Manhattan.

“Y-yeah, you’re right. It’s totally fine.” You’re not sure if you’re trying harder to convince yourself or Gladys and Alicia, the two women staring you down with their brows wrinkled in worry.

It’s the last cleaning of the day, and all you need to do is get through it. It has to be fine, it just has to - you need the money. Desperately. You push out a small smile, moving to exit the van. “Let’s do this,” you add on a little more encouragingly after the two of them look less than convinced.

“There she is,” Gladys teases, giving your shoulder a gentle squeeze as you all start to unload all your supplies. You’re let in by a middle aged woman with dark hair in a sleek bob answering the garage door with a polite smile. His house manager or assistant, you realize. Men like Joel Miller had assistants, you remind yourself, to help take care of everything - the house, grocery lists for the week, light cooking, or even his schedule. She likely did it all.

You take in Joel’s home with wandering eyes, recalling now that you’d come here for dinner before - a family outing that your parents had dragged you to, the details of the place coming back to you as you all move further inside. It feels strange to be here without his permission, without your parents knowing where you are right now. Your chest is tight at the thought, but once you three get to work, you feel your anxiety dissipate as you get lost in the monotony of it - the drone of the vacuum, the mindless scrubbing of sparkling surfaces, the fresh lemon scent as you clean the bathrooms. Joel’s house isn’t all that dirty to begin with, an easy job compared to some of them you’d seen since you started.

You’re feeling downright pleasant by the time you’re finishing up, a job well done filling you with satisfaction as you wipe a thin layer of sweat off your forehead. You’re heading back to the main living room, hoping to link back up with Gladys and Alicia when you spot him.

He’s walking down the hallway with purpose, eyes glued down on his phone, dark framed reading glasses shielding his eyes from you further. His black suit hugs his body like it was meant for him, and you suppose it likely was tailored to his exact measurements, right to the very centimeter. You stop dead in your tracks, head whipping from side to side, looking for an out, a door you can rush into, but you’re trapped, the nearest one at least several paces behind you. When Joel glances up, he’s silent, stopping as he’s close to crashing into you and giving you a range of emotions rushing across his features - quizzical brows turning into full on confusion as he just stares.

Your name finally leaves his lips, almost incredulously. “Now what’re you doin’ here?” He takes in your outfit with his dark eyes - the branded tee shirt, your working slacks, and plain black work shoes - possibly one of the least flattering ensembles you could be wearing. “What is all this?”

“Not sure what you mean, Mr. Miller,” you spit out in a panic, keeping your voice professional, a high, sweet lilt as you hold your smile.

“C’mon now,” Joel urges, his brows coming together further in concern. He steps towards you with his voice lowered, but you step back a little almost instinctively, keeping your distance. Like you can run from this, from this mess you’ve suddenly made of your life. You break a little, lips faltering as your smile starts to fall. Tears prick behind your eyes, embarrassment from being caught creeping its way up from your chest.

“Please don’t tell my parents…” you mumble, darting your gaze away from his intense stare.

Joel pauses for a moment, adjusting the glasses up on his nose before deciding to take them off completely, tucking them into his jacket pocket.

“I don’t even know what I’d be tellin’ them, if I’m honest here,” he admits, rubbing a hand along his lips and chin, studying you. It’s starting to practically burn your skin, the way he stares, a man of confidence and command looking at you this way. Not something you were completely unaccustomed to, your father having plenty of business partners and associates with the same demeanor. But Joel felt different, like he was genuinely concerned for you.

“There you are,” Gladys huffs out, turning the corner behind Joel, her mouth forming a small "oh” when she sees who you’ve run into.

“Mr. Miller, great to see you, sir,” she chirps immediately, giving him her professional grin, one you’ve seen plenty of times already in the few weeks you’ve worked with her.

Joel, not forgetting his manners, smiles back at her and greets her, turning his body to let Gladys into the conversation. Alicia follows close behind, and you’re starting to burn up with embarrassment at this clusterfuck of a gathering you’ve found yourself in now.

“Everythin’ looks great, ladies. Why don’t you two head on out and I’ll steal her for just a bit,” Joel says, charming and smooth, his accent thick. “Think my office needs some special attention.”

Alicia and Gladys shoot each other a glance, then you, then Joel, seeming to try to piece everything together. Your cheeks couldn't possibly be any hotter, white hot and spreading up to your ears, knowing that this looks bad. Like Joel is about to take you into his office and do unspeakable things to you. The classic maid trope, or whatever.

“It’s okay,” you mouth quietly to the both of them, giving them an encouraging smile even though you feel shaky, like your stomach is bottoming out.

“She’s an old family friend in need of some catching up. In fact, I’ll drive her home after. Don’t y’all worry about it, I know you’ve got places to be,” Joel adds to sweeten the deal. The two ladies exchange another look, but then turn back to Joel, their faces slightly strained but professional.

“Of course, Mr. Miller. We’ll see you for the next service, then,” Alicia says a bit robotically. They both nod curtly and then bow out, not before peeking one last look at where you stand like a kid caught stealing from the cookie jar.

“This way,” Joel says, turning back to face you with a steely expression, brushing past you to lead you towards where you already know he’s going - his office. You hadn’t been in there today - Gladys had tackled the office, so it’s all new territory to you as you pass the threshold, taking in the modern but cozy decor. It’s mostly black and dark wood furniture, dark gray chairs but contrasted with airy white walls, a high ceiling, and colorful art, making the room feel spacious despite the dark features.

Joel sighs softly, shutting the door behind him, even though nobody else is here, no reason to need the privacy. It serves to make you even more nervous, and you lick your quickly drying lips, standing near the doorway with your hands folded in front of you.

“Look, Mr. Miller -” you start, wanting to explain yourself. Joel moves closer, sending you backing up into the room, cutting off your train of thought as his large, imposing form closes in on you.

“You gonna tell me what’s really goin’ on here?”

“W-what do you mean?” you ask innocently, knowing there are a myriad of very reasonable reasons for Joel to be questioning you right now. You’re not sure what charade you’re even trying to hold up at this point, it’s only pure panic. Another step closer, and another step backwards for you, he continues until the backs of your thighs hit the desk and you stop, surprised as you glance back at it behind you.

“Don’t play coy. Imagine my surprise when I see my one of my oldest buddies' daughters, knowing he takes care of his family, here cleanin’ my floors and toilets. Now don’t you think that’d strike me as odd?” His head cocks, and he looks at you seriously, brows raised. You can’t quite tell if he’s getting any satisfaction out of this, or if he actually seems angry.

“Mr. Miller, I - I can explain, okay?” you start nervously, and Joel waves a hand impatiently, as if to say go on then. “They, my parents, I mean, they want me to be in the family business, and I…” You sigh. “Don’t know what I want, but it’s not that.”

Joel stares at you for a long, quiet moment, flashing eyes studying your face, trying to read if you’re being truthful.

“And what’s this have to do with cleanin’ my house?” he asks curtly.

“I… well, it doesn’t. I mean, it does. I just need to make my own money. If I don’t follow in his footsteps, I think they’ll… cut me off,” you reply, deciding to try to be as blunt as he is. Your voice falters on those last words, the reality of it painful, twisting in your gut. What kind of parent cuts their child off for something so frivolous, so selfish?

Joel looks amused suddenly, cocking his head a little further, and you can tell he definitely doesn’t believe you. He’s so close, so in your personal space, you’re finding it hard to breathe. “So you’re sayin’ your daddy ain’t takin’ care of you?”

You bite the inside of your lip and give him a small nod. The thing about your dad was if you acquiesced, if you followed exactly the plan he’d laid out for you, you’d have been riding high, walking on easy street for the rest of your life. And if not, well, he’d always made it perfectly clear he didn’t deal with traitors, because what was the point of having children if they couldn’t take over your business for you? Sure, it was tempting to take the easy route, but maybe you’d gotten tired of it all, found your rebellious streak a little later in life than most people.

“Yes…” you say out loud, unable to believe you were sharing this with Joel of all people - someone more likely than anyone to feed this information straight back to your father. It’s not like you knew him well, despite him being one of your dad’s closest and oldest friends, one of his closest business partners and confidants. You’d spent a decent amount of time in the same room as Joel, but you only knew the surface level, just the polite, agreeable conversations you were expected to have. It typically was some kind of public function, or the holiday party at your parents’ place every year, maybe a dinner party sprinkled in here and there, but you’d certainly never been quite this close to Joel Miller. Or alone.

His face falls at the sincerity in your voice, seeming to feel the gravity of it weighing down on him. “Now what d’you mean, cut you off? Like, full on, ‘n everything?” He steps back a little, giving you some space, his brows scrunched together in concern and arms crossing over his chest.

“Er, with all due respect, Mr. Miller, I don’t think I should be talking to you about it all.” You slump back a little, pushing yourself off of where you lean back on his desk, glancing past him to look around his office. It’s tidy, bookshelves lining the far wall full of perfectly placed, perfectly organized books on all kinds of things - some practical and business related, some seeming more like guilty pleasures of fiction and nonfiction of various genres, but mostly mystery, it seems.

“Y’made it my business when you stepped into my house today though, didn’t you?” he quips back, but you detect a hint of teasing there, feeling it start to disarm you.

“C’mon, sit,” Joel says, seeming to soften when he notices you stuttering to reply, gesturing to one of the chairs that sits near the large bay window in the room, a matching one set up across from it. “This’ll be… confidential.” He smiles, trying to convince you, and you don’t know if you believe him, but the twinkle in his eye almost makes you want to. You decide to sit, smoothing your scratchy work slacks, crossing one leg over the other, feeling like you look as stiff as you feel.

Joel, on the other hand, looks relaxed as he sits back, legs spread wide, his large palms settling onto his thick thighs, fingers spread over them.

“I… don’t believe you,” you finally tell him. “What’s to stop you from telling my dad everything I say right now, or even that I was here in the first place?” you ask before feeling your heart sink a little at the likely prospect of it. Your life as you know it could be over, starting from scratch with one phone call from Joel.

Joel chuckles, the corner of one side of his mouth twitching upwards as he eyes you. “Look, I get it, I wouldn’t trust me either,” he replies, his hands lifting off of his legs to be thrown in the air before he fists his upturned palms and settles them on the arms of the chair. “I wanna hear you out, though. Your dad, he ain’t uh, without his faults, I know that.”

You try to hide your surprise, keeping your brows from twitching inward, your face showing the intrigue you feel. You breathe out, slow and steady. “My dad isn’t interested in anything but me being the next, well, him. And if I’m not interested in that, then I don’t think he’s interested in having me as his kid.”

Joel goes stone-like at your bare confession - so honest - and he seems to soak in the words quietly with serious consideration. “An’ where do they think you are right now, hm?” he finally questions, steady eyes on your anxious ones.

“An internship.” Your cheeks heat a little as you face your lie and how stupid it sounds when you say it out loud.

Joel chuckles again, this time looking a bit impressed by you. He shoots a handsome, devilish smirk your way and you avert his gaze. “Yeah? And they’re buyin’ it?”

You let out a small laugh of your own, releasing some tension, and shrug. “Seems like it.”

“Why… this? Why the, uh, cleaning?”

“Turns out the job market is pretty shit when you have no skills, no experience, and are trying to do things under the radar - y’know, name recognition around all the big places, and all of that.” Being spoiled for your entire life, never worrying about wanting anything, needing anything, had predictably led to you never having needed a job, even now into your early twenties. The only things you’d learned were with your dad, the days he’d dragged you up in his high rise to shadow him and start preparing you for the future. Your future, as directed by good ol’ dad.

Joel nods softly a few times, running a hand across his face. “Got it. An’ what exactly do you want to be doin’ if it ain’t workin’ for your daddy, fast trackin’ to CEO?”

“I…” you stutter, your eyes falling. That was the problem, wasn’t it? You hadn’t had the mindset, the freedom to wonder for so long, not realizing that you did have a choice in what you did with your life, that you could try to find a path you at least tolerated more than what your dad was going to have you do. You’d seen too much - the pressure, the stress, the kind of person it had made him into, and you wanted no part of that lifestyle.

“I don’t know yet, honestly,” you admit, embarrassed that you’d started this whole plan without an end goal, all built on a frustrated whim you had one day. “Maybe something in education? Maybe fashion, interior design? Something more creative, I think. Or I could even be a lawyer, help people out, or something.”

“Thas’ quite a laundry list, sweetheart,” Joel says, and your heart thuds at the pet name. You hate it, hate how it makes him sound condescending even if he isn’t meaning to, like you aren’t smart enough to figure this out for yourself.

“I know, I know,” you acquiesce. It was all a pipe dream, you knew that deep down. “I just needed to get away from it. I hate business school - it just feels like a load of shit, honestly, Mr. Miller. I don’t want to become like my dad.”

“An’ what’s that, hm? What’s becomin’ like your dad?”

You shake your head. “I-I’m not answering that. It’s your friend, and clearly you see some merit in him to stay close all these years. I… don’t want to ruin that for him, too.” The thought makes you sad. Your dad is already about to lose his only child if he finds you out, and you don’t want to bring losing Mr. Miller into it, too. While it was by your dad’s own choices and shortcomings that he’d lose you, you still find your heart squeezing a little for him at the thought.

“Fair enough,” he says with a small smile, rubbing his hands together before putting them back on the armrests, gripping it. He pushes himself up, standing and walking over to his desk, opening one of the top drawers and pulling something out. You can’t see from this angle, and fight the urge to get up and go see what has so suddenly grabbed his attention.

“How much?” he asks, grabbing a pen from a tiny box on the desk - a pen that likely costs more than what you’re making from this one job today.

Your lips part, mouth hanging open slightly. “What?” you ask, shaking your head.

“How much do you make in a week? Here at this job? I’ll pay you five times just f’you to quit it.”

“Mr. Miller… n-no,” you spit out, hopping up from the chair in a hurry. You rush towards the desk, your non-slip work shoes clunking along the hardwood until you reach the plush rug that surrounds his desk. “No,” you say a little more firmly, planting your hands on the desk, standing opposite of him.

“And why not?” He smirks now, like he’s somehow having fun here, and it irritates you. That would only make one of you having a nice time, because you are certainly fully out of your depth here.

“B-because! It’s ridiculous, that’s why. I don’t need handouts,” you say indignantly, now moving both of your hands to your hips, standing taller.

“Sounds like you might,” he half-teases, looking down at where he’s pulled out his checkbook onto the desk. His face falls suddenly and he rubs the back of his neck. “Jus’… I don’t like hearin’ what I’m hearin’. Could never imagine cuttin’ off Sarah, and if that’s true what you say about your dad, well, I…” he glances up to you with a more serious look in his eyes - pity.

Like your father, Mr. Miller also only has one daughter, Sarah, who as far as you’ve heard is well and thriving. Doing some kind of work in animal rescue, you think. You two had never been close given the over ten year age gap between you two - Joel had Sarah relatively young, and as long as you’ve known them, her mother hasn’t been fully in the picture. You’d always noticed how much Joel cared about her, how good of a father he was, remembering the pangs of jealousy you’d get as a kid when you saw how engaged he was with Sarah.

“You’re a good dad, that’s why,” you murmur in reply, eyes casting downwards.

“I try t’be, I suppose,” he says, sounding more bashful. “C’mon, jus’ name it, sweetheart. No harm done, it’ll be our secret.”

“Wh- what am I even supposed to do? If you give me the money? What do I…” You swallow hard. “Owe? What do you get out of this?”

Joel’s energy turns a little lighter, his smirk returning. “Let’s just say I enjoy helping you. I want to. Nothin’ owed, except coming by same time next week for your next check. We can talk more then, give y’some time to think.”

Think? About what? You almost scoff, but reign it in at the last second, fighting your eyes from rolling on top of it. “Mr. Miller, this is…”

“Ridiculous? Is it, really?”

Oh, he’s good, so convincing when he wants to be. Suave and calculated yet warm at the same time. You understand how he got to be so successful, how so many people likely fall at their feet to just be a part of the air he breathes, the aura he fills a space with. He’s a giant, knowing how to command a room, take up just enough space, yet feel so relatable at the same time.

“I’d feel too guilty…” you say quietly, your shoulders sagging in defeat.

“More guilty than doing this job, droppin’ out of school behind your parents back?”

Your skin is burning up, your brain at war with itself. He’s too insistent, there has to be some angle here that you’re missing, some reason he’d be so kind to you. Leverage - blackmail, maybe - to your father, to be able to hold it over your head to get what he wants at some point.

“Hey, c’mon. I’m serious, sweetheart. Just the check, nothin’ more,” Joel says more urgently, seeing the way you’re starting to waver.

“How can I trust you?” you finally spit out, and Joel leans back in his office chair, just watching where you stand. “I’m sorry, it’s all very nice and everything, but no. I c-can’t. I shouldn’t. I need to do this for myself.”

You turn to leave, and you hear the creak of Joel’s chair as he sits forward, watching you throw the office door open and move with purpose, rushing to get yourself out of this situation as fast as possible. You feel the spell lift immediately now that you’re out of reach, whipping past his fine furnishings and art as you move through the hallway back to the foyer. You hear Joel, hot on your tail, his energy a little more frantic than he’s been as he follows you.

“At least let me drive you home,” he finally offers as he rushes to catch up. You keep moving, shaking your head.

“N-no, I’ll just get a ride or something. Call my driver,” you throw at him over your shoulder, and his hand on your wrist stops you in your path just as the front door is in sight. You fully turn your head to face him now, and his eyes look soft, like he does care.

“Offer’ll stay on the table, okay?” Joel says and you just let your lips part, meeting his gaze for a moment. It’s intense, the standoff between the two of you, his eyes searching for weakness, for any crack that indicates you’ll give in. You offer him a succinct nod, slipping out of his grip and not looking back as you step out into the bright sunlight of the evening, shielding your eyes before pulling out your phone to call Karl, the man who has been your personal driver for years. Your father hired him, but he’s been nothing but loyal to you - you know Karl has kept every secret of where you’ve been, overheard phone calls, arguments with your father. He never says a word, never spreads the information - he’s paid well, and that extra cash pays for his silence.

In the back of the car, your phone buzzes in your lap while you stare contemplatively out the window. You ignore it, letting your eyes glaze over as you watch the houses pass you by on the way out of Joel’s neighborhood and back towards downtown.

What if this was your chance? Your only option to really get out from underneath your parents? It could be a huge cushion, much more than you’d make doing what you’re doing now. At this rate, it would take ages to get enough to push you through school, where you’d already have to start from scratch, leave Columbia and start an entirely new curriculum, most likely. Find a much cheaper school, then take care of housing, bills, everything on top of it that you’d never been prepared to have to worry about in your life, always promised the comforts of your parents money. You knew you were lucky, going around with your life spoon fed to you, but you wanted to feel something, the part of you that was excited about anything having died off completely when you realized the spoon had been fed to you through a cage. Live this way or we starve you, cut you off.

You sigh, dropping your head into your hand where it rests along the window of the car. The noise of Manhattan traffic goes in one ear and out the other, fading into oblivion as you realize you may have made a mistake by leaving so soon, not hearing Joel out.

Did you have a choice?

Your phone buzzes again, a reminder of the message from your father you’d ignored and you tear your eyes off the passing landscape to peer down at your lap. Your face falls, brows pushing together when you see it’s an unknown number texting you.

Unknown: If you change your mind, let me know. - JM

How the hell? You stare down at the message, eyes scanning rapidly over the screen in disbelief. You scoff quietly, but find your lips turning into a smile before you can stop it, unconsciously putting your fingers over your them as if Karl seeing you grin like this could give it all away.

You: How did you get this number?

Joel: I think you underestimate how persistent I can be.

You: Does it hurt your ego to take no for an answer? Is that what this is?

You eagerly lick your lips, smile growing as you find yourself so quick to banter with him. It’s always so much easier over text, you think to yourself, to be a little more bold, a little more careless. Joel had a warm, welcoming energy, but it doesn’t mean you’re immune to the way he charms, the way he seems to be a man who gets what he wants more often than not.

Joel: I think it’ll hurt you more than it does me sweetheart.

You: I’m thinking about it, okay?

Joel: Think away.

You tuck your phone away, flipping it over on your lap so you can’t see the screen anymore, drumming your fingers along the back of the case as you feel a surge of frustration wash over you. If Joel’s offer is genuine, if he really expects nothing in return, you’d be a complete fool to pass it up, right? Who passes up free money? You knew you were screwed either way, really - the job you had right now wasn’t getting you anywhere near achieving your dreams. You needed more, you needed support. Financially first of all, but if you were honest, someone like Joel with some life experience to help you figure out your next steps couldn’t hurt.

Fuck.

You wince and flip your phone back over, unlocking it to where the messages still sit on your screen, taunting you. Your fingers go flying before you can stop yourself, your heart starting to pick up in pace.

You: You’re serious? I wouldn’t owe you anything? Have to pay you back someday?

Joel: Serious as can be.

You: $800 a week. Without tips from lovely clients like you.

Joel is quiet on the other end for a while, slower than his usual response thus far, and your throat gets a little tight. You swear, if he was backing out now, or worse, sending screenshots of your conversation to your father, you were going to have it out with Joel Miller. And it wasn’t going to be pretty.

Instead, a few moments later, a text comes through, a photo. That same checkbook, the background the sleek black surface of his desk, with the top check filled out for four thousand dollars. Signed and everything, with the memo line reading ‘knew you’d make the right choice’. Your hand shakes a little, all of this feeling wrong suddenly now that it's gone this far.

Joel: 9am tomorrow.

Joel sits back, satisfied as he smirks at his phone. The check lays in front of him, taunting him, his energy buzzing and satisfied picturing your pretty hands taking it from him tomorrow. He sighs heavily, a hand creeping up his thigh to where he’s started to bulge through his black dress slacks.

“Fuck…” he murmurs quietly to himself as he palms it, his hard and wanting cock desperate for any relief. It would be wrong, should be wrong, if you’re the one involved in all of this. But he can’t care when he pictures your lips smiling with the check in hand, you depositing the money and buying yourself something pretty with it, taking care of bills, getting a nice meal. You spin in a new dress or top, showing it off to him, bought with that chunk of change he’d so willingly given to you. Just the tiniest of dents in his finances, so much more where that came from if you’d let him. He’s hardly realized it, the way his hand had undone his belt and zipper while he got lost in the fantasy, hard cock in his fist as he pictures it over and over. He tries to make it not you, not his friend's daughter as he immerses himself in the scenes, but he’d be remiss if he tried to deny that you’re a gorgeous young woman, that you’d look so good doing everything he’s picturing.

“Fuck, oh god…” Joel whimpers while his hand moves along his cock, slickened from the bit of precum leaking out the tip and the saliva he’d haphazardly spit down there when he started. He stares at the check, your hands on it over and over, your pretty lips and smile and the way he could give you more and more and more until you wanted for nothing. He grunts, hips stuttering forward as he fucks his fist quickly and finds himself coming faster than usual, his release taking him by surprise with a loud moan.

“Christ,” Joel murmurs as he breathes heavily, quickly cleaning himself up with a tissue before rushing to the powder room connected to his office, washing his hands of it all. He stares at himself in the mirror, such a bastard for what he’s doing, all the secrecy inlaid in his plan.

Your father… one of his oldest friends, and this is what he’s doing with that friendship? That empire of business savvy they built together? Years of trust, of advising one another, throwing it all away for a little gratification on his end? No, he knows this is about more than just him, this could really help you if what you said about your father was true. He knows your dad isn’t an easy man to live with - he’s got a short temper and is stubborn as hell, a black and white thinker if there ever was one. If he truly was saying he’d cut you off, then well, Joel was starting to think he’d believe that.

And he wants to be the one to ease that burden for you.

You fuss with your appearance yet another time, anxiety pooling in your gut as you inspect your hair and complexion, searching for anything amiss. It’s not like Joel hadn’t seen you a complete mess yesterday, your bland outfit so far from what you were used to wearing, your appearance an afterthought as you went into work at an early hour.

But last night, as you tossed and turned, anticipating meeting back up with Joel today, you’d wondered what he expected out of you. Someone pretty to look at, someone deserving of the money? Would you get there and find Joel completely different, taunting the check in your face unless you decided to get on your knees and suck his cock? Let him get a quick fuck in for the money? There was no way he was that charitable, just willing to drop four grand because you’d given him your daddy issues sob story yesterday.

So what was the catch?

There always was one - men with money didn’t just give it away for free unless it was to charity, wanting to look good. And you surely weren’t a charity case by any means. Sex for money seemed like the next logical option to your tired, frazzled brain as you laid awake in the dark. You didn’t know if he presented it like that, would you go along with it? Would you, this far in already, bring yourself to your knees for him?

Joel Miller is certainly handsome, nobody could deny that, but you’d never thought of him in that way, not really. Maybe noticing his broad, muscled shoulders stretching across his suits when you’d seen him, his cocky, warm smile that seemed to melt hearts everywhere he went. He’d always seemed kind, more amiable than your parents’ insufferable network of friends, which you’d taken notice of and respected Joel for over the years. But you’d never thought of yourself with someone older like him, despite seeing those young dates being toted on wealthy, older men’s arms to all kinds of charity events and parties over the years. Would you want that? To be seen like that?

You feel your skin tingle as the thought comes to you again this morning while you get dressed. Joel Miller in a lavish, designer suit, tailored perfectly to his body, you next to him in an equally gorgeous gown that he paid for, your hand slipped between his body and his thick bicep as he glides into a room full of people with you. And he’s proud of how good you look on his arm, how he can show the world just what he’s bought, what he’s paid for. Your head shakes violently as if to jolt the thought far away from you.

“No…” you whisper to yourself. It wouldn’t get that far, you wouldn’t let it. Maybe you’d just take the one check and run, tell Joel you couldn’t be what he was looking for. But that’s when you realize you don’t even know what it is that he may want to get out of this, the curiosity eating at you.

That bastard. Such an enigma he’d painted himself as yesterday when he’d so cooly offered you the money like it was no bother, like he’d expected nothing back. There was always something, always a trade - if you learned anything from your father, it was that.

You can't shake that incessant thought, walking up the steps of Joel’s brownstone, hesitantly knocking on his door and swallowing down the lump in your throat. The assistant you’d met yesterday opens it with a polite smile, beaming at you.

“Welcome. Mr. Miller will be right out,” she says, guiding you to a plush daybed off to the side. You just nod, a little dumbfounded as you step back into his grand foyer. It’s a lavish room with tall ceilings, a skylight at the top pouring extra light in along with the floor to ceiling frosted windows on either side of the front door. Joel’s dress shoes click along the floor, the sound bouncing off the walls as you stiffen and then freeze where you sit. You see him come into view, the top button of his pale blue dress shirt unbuttoned, navy slacks adorning the bottom of his look. He looks a little frazzled himself, like he’d tossed and turned just as much as you had last night. You hadn’t considered the possibility that Joel could have reservations about this now, too, since he’d been the one so eager to offer it up yesterday.

“Thanks, Clara,” Joel says kindly, giving her a nod before Clara skirts along the edge of the room, dismissing herself at Joel’s signal. You watch her go, confidently striding away before you skim your eyes up to Joel’s face, trying not to look too guilty.

“Back this way,” he says, holding out a hand in the direction of his office as if you weren’t here only yesterday. You stand, meeting him, and he quickly takes you in, noticing your complete change in style from yesterday - dressed much more like the businesswoman he knows you loath with a pencil skirt on. He tries not to laugh at the irony as you follow him back, taking that same path you’d just been on yesterday, a strange sense of deja vu washing over you.

You’re silent, just trying to breathe, to remember to stand your ground, not do anything you don’t absolutely want to do. You haven’t signed a contract, you aren’t bound to this, you two are just… talking. Joel smirks as he eyes you, clearly trying to walk in with confidence, but he knows this look - you’re apprehensive about the arrangement, you have questions. They always have questions.

He curves around his desk, pulling out his highback office chair and sinks into it, you doing the same in one of the sleek armchairs in front of his desk. It feels too much like a professional meeting, and your skin prickles with discomfort at how formal this all seems now. His fingers scratch along the checkbook on the desk, and you salivate as you keep widened eyes on it, knowing the number written on there, the promise of more of it to come. Your way out.

“So…” Joel says cooly, letting his hands link together and pulling them behind his head as he leans back a bit, the picture of relaxation. “Let’s talk.”

Is this some kind of sugar daddy situation, or what?

Joel laughs, a genuine smile across his face at your blunt question as he sits across from you.

“Well, in a lot of ways, I ‘spose it is,” he answers casually and honestly. You don’t understand how he can maintain this cool facade, this relaxed attitude given the circumstances. You’d think something so awkward and uncomfortable could get anyone frazzled, but then again, you take it this isn’t Joel’s first go-around with this type of offer. He goes on. “I’ll try to be blunt for both our sakes. We’re busy people. I want to… go beyond jus’ the checks. I’d pay for your lifestyle - school, car, whatever you want. Treat you, too. Give you money for all the things your pretty little heart desires, see you enjoyin’ it.”

That was not what you’d expected him to say. You stare wordlessly, stunned, expecting him to go on, to tell you now what you have to do to earn all of it. He remains quiet though, finally looking the tiniest bit sheepish as the both of you size each other up.

“…And you get?” you finally ask, your face screwed up in confusion as you shrug, throwing your hands up.

Joel smirks again, and you notice the dimple on the side of his face that he seems to prefer tilting his mouth upwards. “I get exactly that. What I said. You enjoyin’ it.”

Your mouth hangs open slightly, eyes narrowing in his direction. You give a tiny shake of your head. “No… there has to be something. One day you’ll turn it around on me, blackmail me or something.”

Joel laughs again, and you’re starting to get irritated at how blasé he seems about all of this. Your foot starts to tap anxiously on the rug underneath your feet, arms crossing over your chest. You try to remain unimpressed as you stare him down, but he’s not budging in the slightest, remaining cool as ever.

“You really think that’s the kind of guy I am, do you now?” he asks with amusement.

You scoff, pinching the inside of your lip between your teeth. “How should I know? You offer me a bunch of money and we hardly know each other, Mr. Miller.”

“First off, Joel, please, unless you’re into that, I ‘spose.” He gives you a suave smirk and your lips part a little, cheeks heating almost immediately at his words and their insinuation before you check yourself, turning back to the conversation. You’re determined not to let his charm get in the way of you walking out of here with your future secured.

“Okay, then, Joel. I just… you don’t want something from me in return? It’s not that I’m not grateful, I just can’t understand.” You tut and glance around the room for a moment to collect your thoughts. “I mean you get it, right? People with money always want something out of it. I’ve seen it my entire life.”

Joel gives you an understanding look. “I do, I get it, sweetheart. If you want me to want somethin’ out of it…” he trails off, pondering for a moment. “If that’d make you feel better about takin’ the money, then why don’t y’come spend some time with me. Let me take you out, or jus’ come by for a nice dinner, me ‘n you. Get to know each other a little, keep an old man company, hm?”

You roll your eyes with a breathy chuckle pushing out of you, feeling yourself relaxing the tiniest bit at his appeal. “Really trying to play the sympathy card calling yourself old, I see,” you say, quirking a teasing brow. You grow more serious with your next words, worrying that you’re signing yourself up for something you aren’t sure you want or even understand. “But uh, I… could do that… if that’s all you want.”

Joel’s gears are turning, and you see a flash of recognition across his face as it falls a little. He leans forward, propping his forearms on the desk, his brows knit tight and eyes narrowed while they watch you. “D’you think I expect you to sleep with me?”

You nearly choke on nothing, just the air that you’re now fighting to gasp in as you clear your throat. Your cheeks burn like something fierce, that notion you’d been so worried about as you tossed and turned last night now sounding so obscenely ridiculous when Joel says it out loud.

“I - I thought maybe that was how this sort of arrangement worked, l-like an unspoken expectation or something. But if you’re saying no -“

“I’m saying no.” Joel is hard with the words, concise, and his gaze ices over. He was kidding himself if he thought he wasn’t even remotely attracted to you, but he was already putting himself in a precarious enough spot with the secrecy of giving you this money behind your father’s back, let alone deciding to bring something as complicated as sex into it.

You didn’t need to know that just the thought of handing you this check made him start to get hard inside his slacks. You didn’t need to know that this wasn’t the first arrangement of this kind for him, the only difference being that most of them involved a relationship of some type, or at least something physical once and a while. There had been times it was just about the money, and sometimes that was enough to satisfy him without the women having to fall into his bed, too. He’d hated that he fell into such a cliche - wealthy older man toting around a younger, gorgeous woman on his arm - but he’d come to accept it by now that this was who he was, trying to come to terms with the shame of it.

“Right… right, good,” you confirm, trying to sound equally as sure. What was that you were feeling? Disappointment? Relief? All you could sense for certain was the way your stomach tightened with nerves as you delved into this conversation with Joel.

“We got enough on our plate without all that, don’t you think?” he asks, a very roundabout way of putting it, you think. Maybe he’s too afraid to hurt your feelings or directly tell you that he’s not interested in sleeping with you, even if that’s what he’d normally do in a situation like this. Joel Miller was nothing if not direct, though, you’d noticed in the last two days. You aren’t even sure why you’re thinking this way - it’s not like you’d really shown much interest in Joel, never thinking of him as accessible in that way. It never went past him being an extended part of your family, one of your father’s inner circle. So if he didn’t want to have sex with you, fine, your ego could take the hit.

“Jus’ the money, helpin’ out a family friend who needs it,” Joel adds, seeing the way you’re a bit lost in thought. You bring yourself back, meeting Joel’s eyes, noticing the rich color of them in the early daylight streaming into his office. They’re so warm despite the chilly facade he can put on.

You nod, giving him a small smile. “Yeah, when you put it like that… I mean we go way back, right? You’re practically family.” You cringe at the words, kind of hating the implication when you’re half flirting with the man and then proceeding to call him your family. “Uh, well, you know what I mean…”

Joel chuckles again, and you return it a bit nervously. “I do, sweetheart. Known your daddy a long time, so I’m trying to be, as dumb as it sounds, respectful.”

Fuck my father, your mind churns out in a flash, not daring to mutter it under your breath. Fuck him for putting you in this position, pushing you to this point where you’ve ended up in Joel Miller’s office, about to become his latest sugar baby because your dad can’t figure out how to love his only child apart from what it could bring to his business.

“Yeah…” you say, putting on a grin that you fear may have started to turn a little diabolical. “Respectful.” You’d be lying to yourself if you thought that this wasn’t starting to entice you more, the idea of such a big screw you to your father.

“So let’s talk terms…” Joel starts more pragmatically, picking up that same pen from the little box on his desk, tapping it on the hard surface a few times before he holds it over a blank page on an open black leather bound notebook. “I like t’start at five hundred for allowance. See how it goes. Then up to two thousand. An’ that’s just for you, and you alone. Your bills will come to me. Your apartment, tuition, your car, anything that’s a bill, I don’t want to see a cent of that allowance come out for it. Is that clear?”

Your mouth is slowly opening to gape at him, eyes tracking across his face as you try to follow what he’s saying, thinking it must be a joke. “S-sorry, but two thousand dollars? A… month?” you ask incredulously. That already sounds like too much to be going from Joel’s pocket to yours if he’s also taking care of your bills.

Joel goes completely smug, lips pressed tightly into a smirk. “You’re cute,” he deadpans. “Per week, sweetheart.”

You almost gasp, shaking your head. “I- no, I just need money for school, to make sure I can do any major I want in school, I don’t n-“

“Shh,” Joel interrupts you. “You came here lookin’ for my help, and this is how I like to do things. You deserve to have fun, not just pay for classes and have no extra money f’yourself.”

“I have plent-“ you start, referring to the extensive funds you have access to thanks to your parents. Funds that you do realize could be ripped out from underneath you at any time, you realize all over again with a quick jolt of fear.

“Enough,” Joel snips, raising a hand, palm facing you for further effect. “If what you tell me is true, I think your daddy ain’t gonna be too keen to pay for all your favorite things you’re used to gettin’ when he learns the truth, is he?”

You look down, ashamed. Were you really that shallow? Is that how you’d been raised to be? Joel sees through your facade right to your designer bag and clothes, all the expensive things you’d gotten accustomed to. But he doesn’t judge you for it - he understands it and he’s a part of that world, whether he likes it or not.

“No…” you murmur in defeat.

“And I’d like to keep seeing you in pretty things: nice clothes, shoes, gettin’ yourself pampered. So, two thousand dollars per week once you earn it.” He grins, setting the pen down and folding his hands together on his desk. You stay quiet, letting him go on, your heart steadily thrumming in your chest louder and louder with every word he says.

“Weekly allowance is, of course, a suggestion. If you need somethin’ more, you ask me. And otherwise, I’ll set your bills, tuition, all of it, to be paid by me.”

“I mean, weekly allowances?” you sputter out, “This is a sugar daddy thing.”

Joel doesn’t waver, he just smiles a little at you, completely unfazed. “We can call it whatever you want, but I see you want it too. I’m gonna be straight w’you here - I want to do this. I like you. I think you’ve got spunk and deserve to carve out a place for yourself in this world. Doin’ something you want, not half heartedly runnin’ your dad’s company someday. So… Do you still want this?” he asks, picking up the check, holding it out towards you. “Don’t think you’d be here if you didn’t.”

Joel’s face is kind, like he’s listening, attentive, acting like he doesn’t have a plethora of meetings or things on his plate today, which you know he must. He’s content to hear you, if you have something to say. You feel your whole body sitting tense and rigid in his chair, your mind spinning. It’s all becoming too much, this idea you had to get out on your own seems to be poked with more holes every day you’ve been trying to work and save up. You don’t really have much of a concept of money, once again thanks to your parents who never thought to put in the effort of teaching you. Why bother when there’s so much of it to go around?

“I- I know… what I’m doing now, the house cleaning, isn’t going to cut it long term. Especially if my parents find out I’ve been bullshitting them before I can save up enough for school and stuff… I just don’t k-“ you clear your throat, holding back the way your voice wants to crack as you fight tears springing to your eyes. “I feel so out of my depth,” you sigh. “I have so much to learn about real life and it’s been so… overwhelming.”

You breathe out a shaky breath, feeling your chest loosen a bit - you’d been holding this all in, doing it on your own for weeks now, not even able to trust your friends with the information even if just to vent about it because everyone in your world always has an angle. It’s exhausting.

Joel hears your words and stands up, going the few paces around his desk to stand next to you. He lays a hand on your shoulder, and you look up from where you sit, seeing him through slightly watery eyes, but you refuse to cry and break down in front of Joel. It would be too embarrassing to recover from. But you’d be damned if you didn’t feel like you were about to snap in half, holding in your tears for weeks now as you navigated this foolish path you’d set yourself on.

He gives your shoulder a squeeze before moving to sit down next to you, turning the identical chair to face you more, settling himself down and crossing one ankle over his knee. He leans towards you, and you do the same, angling your body in the chair to face him. His gaze is so steady and clear, giving you that full sense of his presence once again.

“Y’know…” he starts, scratching a hand through his beard. “I think you’ve got more potential than you’re givin’ yourself credit for.”

You snort, a tiny scoffing sound. “Oh yeah?” you spit out sarcastically, “That I have no experience, no references, nothing to show for all the time I wasted doing what my dad wanted? Except for a last name and a family that people recognize.”

Joel tuts and bites the inside of his lip. “You’re smart and so young with all this potential. You know this kinda talk ain’t gonna get you anywhere. Neither is feelin’ sorry for yourself. All you can do is use the opportunities you’re given, like this one landing in your lap from me today. Right?”

“Y-yeah, I mean, I guess you’re right. This just feels… kind of wrong.”

“Well we ain’t a couple of saints for doing this behind your daddy’s back, that’s for sure.”

You find yourself chuckling softly amidst the seriousness of the situation weighing on your chest. You honestly don’t have a clue how your father would react if he found out about this - he’s unpredictable and stubborn, and you’ve seen his vindictive side more than a handful of times. It makes your stomach clench a little at the thought of him unleashing any of that in your direction. You strengthen your resolve, unwilling to let your father stop you from exploring new horizons any longer. It was your life to live, and it was about time you did what you wanted.

“A-alright,” you tell Joel, sighing out a calming breath and sitting up straighter. “Alright, I’m in, then. What’s next?”

dividers by @/saradika-graphics

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mandoloriancookie · 16 days ago

Text

Bundle of Joy

Old man Logan x reader

—☀︎——☀︎——☀︎——☀︎——☀︎——☀︎——☀︎—

Whew,finally!! I've been keeping this thing in drafts for like a week now, all because of school (😠)

This is originally a request from @fluff-lover (I forgot to answer to their ask) :

"I had this idea of Old man Logan and reader living a quiet life in a cabin, and a pregnant dog comes to their door. Reader takes her in and helps her until she's given birth and the puppies are ready for their forever home. Logan has to drive to the shelter with the puppies to drop them off, but knowing Reader got attached he decides to surprise them by bringing home one of the puppies."

I absolutely loved this idea when I read it, so I really really hope this is what you imagined 🤞

Pairing: Old man Logan x reader

Words: 1,6k ish

Description: Look at the ask above,pretty much that + Laura in the picture bc I love her 3000

Warnings: Not many. Couple of swear words + me rambling; excessive use of the word "and" (my bad)

Tags: Fluff, domestic Logan :), reader sees Laura as their daughter, reader gets referred to as Logan's wife (I don't think there are any other lady reader indicators), attachments being formed with puppies (I love animals), Logan being the dad that says 'I don't want any pets' but then being found guilty of snuggling with the dog on the couch💔

A/n: English isn't my first language and I absolutely hate tenses, so lmk if there's anything I should fix :)

—————————☀︎——————————

James Howlett. Jimmy. Logan. Patch. The Wolverine.

How did a man that lived long enough to get called all those names end up here? Driving a limo, owning reading glasses and having to deal with aching bones?

And he's not driving a customer around this time — on the passenger seat next to him is an open box. Full of fucking puppies.

What had happened to get Logan here?

Well, it all started a month ago. You'd just came back to the little cabin you and Logan had the privilege of calling a home – after Charles sadly passed, you'd offered Logan to cross the border along with Laura and build a home. Start anew. And God, who was he to deny you?

So anyways, you'd just come home after work. Logan was, for once, early, already hanging his coat. Laura was on a week-long trip with her class, which left you and your husband some time to spend together, just you and him..

Or so he thought. Upon going back to the front door to great you, he had heard your voice, soft and mumbly, almost cooing at someone. Or something. His usual wrapping his arms around you and welcoming you home with a kiss – he'd do anything to catch a glimpse of that sweet smile of yours, even after all these years – turned into an eyebrow raise and a soft look of curiousity in Logan's eyes.

"Hi, darlin'. ..Who're you talking to?"

Too swallowed up in trying to get the mystery.. individual to follow you in, your head had whipped around in surprise at Logan's words. ...And a tiny smile adorned your features the moment you saw him.

"Lo, you're back early!" You called out, and your arms immediately outstretched, as if it was an automatic reaction to catching his gaze.

Aaand here it was. A man that everyone convinced he was a weapon his whole life, that he was born to kill, was now getting flustered and giddy at the sensation of the beautiful woman he got the privilege to call his wife, planting soft little kisses aaalll over his face. And he wasn't grumpy about it either – he was smiling like an idiot.

But the smile dropped to a surprised part of his lips, his eyes widening, as they got met with a rather interesting sight. As you hugged him,he had the chance to look at whatever was behind your back. And now he realized why you were cooing.

A dog. A not so big, yet not so small dog with glossy eyes and an almost sad look on its muzzle.

And it was kind of..round, too.

And that's when it sort of clicked for Logan. He pulled back, wide eyes looking down at you with astonishment, interest and some disbelief. "Where did uh... Where'd the lil' guy come from?"

It had taken you a while to understand what he was talking about. But some confused looks and a long 'Ooooh!' later, you were already explaining. "The little guy's actually a girl - she's been in the neighborhood for a while now. I gave her leftover meat once, so I guess she came back for more."

A pause. "... She's pregnant." Yeah. Logan could see that. But with the way your voice had softened, he didn't dare tease. "I was.. hoping we could take her in. Help her with the cubs... I mean, she looks really pregnant."

At first, Logan had stayed silent. Stayed skeptical. A stray? And a pregnant one, at that? Who knew what kind of diseases she could be carrying?? And yeah,he couldn't get sick and neither could Laura, but what about you? He couldn't bare anything bad happening to you...

But then, oh, then, he saw that look in your eyes. It's like he couldn't decide which one of you was giving him sadder puppy eyes - you or the literal dog behind you. And then you had given one simple "..please?" And he couldn't resist - he caved.

And so, the one month of taking care of the stray doggo had begun. You'd taken her to the vet to make sure everything was okay, just to ease Logan's paranoia. It had been hard for him to get used to her in the house at first anyway, however - and that was without having Laura around and having to explain to her what she could and couldn't do in order to not scare the poor thing - loud music or yelling wouldn't be a treat for the poor pup, even if Laura didn't do those so often.

It was a change of pace, that's for sure. Having yet another mouth to feed, even if it wasn't that hard to mix dog food with some meat twice a day. Having a four-pawed, big-eyed pet walking around the house, laying on the couch, sleeping on your shared bed...

What he couldn't get used to was having your attention on the pup more than on him.

Some might call it jealousy. It definitely wasn't jealousy.

...It was totally jealousy.

At first,it had stunned you to see Logan more grumpy than the usual. I mean, yeah, he'd barely agreed and yeah, he wasn't used to a pet, moreso a pregnant one, but why was he looking at the damn dog so weird every time you gave it a scratch or cooed at it?

And then it had dawned on you. He wanted head scratches too. Wanted you to coo at him and coddle him. And oh boy, did he get teased.

After you figured out why he was being more of a grump than usual, you got a good laugh out of it, (and you got to see your husband as red as a tomato) but after that, you made sure to give equal attention to both the pup and Logan himself. You made up to him with a looot of kisses, cuddles, even a back massage.

And the problem was quickly resolved.

A week in, Laura got to know the pup as well. After a 5 or so minute talk about pregnant animals and dogs and whatnot, during the whole entirety of which the girl had been silent, Laura asked a pretty good question.

"Does she have a name?"

And it hit you - she didn't.

And then came the next question of your daughter's - "Can I name her?"

That's how the dog ended up with her own name - Bella.

The following three weeks were a new experience for Laura as well, but she seemed to love having Bella around, just as much as you did. She'd help you with her food, offer to come with you to walk her in the evenings, she even tried to get the pup to sleep on her bed once.

But eventually, the time had come for Bella to give birth. You had done all necessary research - whether or not to interfere, how to help, what was normal and what wasn't. When you'd recognised Bella's odd behaviour as going into labour, you immediately scurried to join her side in the corner of your bedroom, crouching down to be closer to her.

After you gained awareness on Logan's little... problem - and solved it - your husband began to warm up to Bella too. You'd begun finding the dog curled up close to him while he read when you came home, he, in turn, had begun to help with her food. He'd stopped complaining about the dog sleeping in your shared bed. He'd even began petting her more than he'd like to admit.

——————————☀︎——————————

What you hadn't expected was for Logan to join your side too.

Bella had given birth with little to no complications - and her pups were just so tiny and so cute! It warmed your heart just thinking about it - the stray you took in had just had eight healthy puppies, eight! And, with the way Bella herself was eagerly trying to lick at your hand when you went to pet her, despite the exhaustion that must've been seeping through her, told you that she was as grateful as ever, too. It made your eyes water, even if you wouldn't admit it.

You and Logan had gladly let Bella stay until her pups were at least four months old. But both you and your husband knew that after they were bug enough, you had to give them to a dog pound - you couldn't feed eight more pups, you couldn't assure they were living their best life.

That time you hadn't hidden the tears. And that time, Logan hadn't said a word as he hugged you. He understood. Because he'd grown attached to the doggo too.

Aaand, back to present - here he was, driving a box full of puppies, lined with newspapers to try and keep the little things as comfortable as possible. Bella was in there too, looking up at him with those big, glossy eyes. It hurt to turn to the right exactly because he knew he'd likely never see her again..

You'd never see her again, either. He knew how sad that made you, and it made him even sadder knowing it. He was going to come home to you, to Laura, to his house, but he'd no longer her the sound of long nails and furry paws hitting the floor. He'd no longer have soft fur to absentmindedly stroke while he reads.

He'd left home with nine bundles of joy in a box, and he'd come home empty-handed.

...At least that's what you thought. Until you saw your husband open the door with one hand. Smiling softly.

(Another) A/n: Thank you so much for the love on my recent fics! I love when you guys leave silly tags when you repost btw, so don't be shy <33

Because his other hand was too busy holding one of Bella's puppies, letting the little bundle of joy get accustomed to its home. Your little bundle of joy.

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mandoloriancookie · 19 days ago

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each volume of fic recs will feature ten wonderful writers and eun's favorites of their works!

@mypoisonedvine | bankrupt | the martyrdom of st. valentine

@evansbby | pouty princess | dilf ari: scraped knee | daddy's little princess | halloween princess

@avintagekiss24 | polar

@angrythingstarlight | wind you up & tie you down

@cloudystevie | you are my delusion | red, white, blue's in the sky

@nony-bear | captain jealousy | matched

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mandoloriancookie · 23 days ago

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Wants and Needs

Look at the mess you’re in now, sweetheart, cryin’ on a cock that’s too fuckin’ big for you. What am I gonna do with ya?”

WARNINGS - Mean!joel, dom!joel, cock hungry!reader, impish!reader, one shot, size kink, Joel miller monster cock, ‘We shouldn’t be doing this’ vibes, cause Joel’s all guilt ridden and sexually frustrated, lots of dirty talk, guided masturbation (joel talks you through fucking yourself), mid-fuck pep talk from a man old enough to be your father, girthy legal but unspecified age gap, fingering, pain kink, brief mention of tummy bulge, dacryphilia, dubcon, unprotected PIV, cream pie, cum eating, aftercare in the form of oral sex (f!receiving) wedgie kink if you squint, horny brain took over when I wrote this, dingy motel sex.

FIC HELP - @tofics!!! Thank you for the thorough beta, sweetheart!!! you did so fucking much to help me with this fic and i'm really fucking grateful, more than words could say!! @beefrobeefcal @cum-a-calla and @/endlessthxxghts (rip i miss your presence on this shitshow of a website every day) thank you sweet babes for all of the encouragement and support!! I love you all!!

A/N - Long time no see! It’s been a while since I’ve posted a fic, even while since I’ve written for Joel. Gosh. I hope you’re all surviving the winter as best you can <3 it’s been a rough one, huh? Enjoy and have a safe rest of your week :)

The bed frame groans for the seventh time in a span of five minutes. Through his nose, Joel sighs in irritation at that sharp, grating creak, the sound of the bed hitting against the wood paneled walls to match. You’ve been at this for the last hour and a half - wriggling, flipping back and forth in the bed, tugging that old, scratchy, floral comforter off of Joel’s body to swaddle around yours, only to throw it off again seconds later. You’ve flipped your pillow more times than he can count, adjusting where you lay your head in search of that coveted cold spot.

It’s hard to sleep when you keep touching him. Mindlessly, you press up against Joel, and inch away again. His patience for this routine of yours wore thin long ago, sanded down by too many nights of this same ordeal.

Joel feels the mattress dip and shift a little, the subtle warning of you gearing up to toss your body again, but he’s had enough. He grabs you by the wrist before you can do so, holding you tight enough so that you feel the rough calluses of his palm on your skin. “Enough. Quit fuckin’ squirmin’,” he rasps, his voice tired but edged with warning. “I told you to go to sleep an hour ago.”

“I can’t,” you snap.

“Bullshit. Y’ain’t even tryin’.”

Joel’s heard this from you before. You’ve always been more restless, whereas Joel’s a heavier sleeper by nature, aided by the alcohol and the pills that lull him off into dreamless unconsciousness. But you’ll keep him up anyway, usually complaining that you’re too hot. Or too cold. Or you’re thirsty, and you need some of his water. No, you don’t have any. Yes, you know you’re a pain in his ass.

Joel will get you settled, only for you to start all over again. In the subsequent mornings, you’ll be crabby and snapping at him, and he’ll bite back just as hard, pissed off hours of his sleep were lost to you.

“So what’s your excuse this time?”

“It’s nothing,” you mumble, adjusting in bed again. You kick your feet, toeing at the tangled fabric of your pants bunched up around your legs. Joel squeezes your arm in warning, nails pressing into your skin a little. “Joel - stop. Just let me—”

Joel cuts you off, “Yeah, I know. Sit up.”

Obeying him, you sigh and sit up straight, playing with a loose thread in the comforter as Joel leans over your side of the bed, his body radiating warmth and his own scent of something you couldn’t name, something distinctly Joel - perhaps some sort of heavy soap or maybe whiskey. It radiates thick in the space between you and him. He fluffs your pillows a little, then places them back down. “Lay down,” he tells you, and you fall back onto the soft, warm mattress. “S’that comfortable?” he asks.

“Yeah.”

Joel nods quietly, then reaches for the comforter next. He shakes it a little to smooth out the bunches in the material, then lays the flannel sheet over your torso, following with the comforter itself.

“And you have to tuck the blanket in—”

“By your shoulders, I know,” Joel says, tucking the blanket under your chin and your shoulders. “Everything, huh?”

Joel settles himself next, situating his own pillows before lying on his stomach. “Now get some sleep. Do that slow breathin’ I told you ‘bout, remember?”

“I remember.”

“Good girl. G’night, then.”

“Night, Joel.”

Joel closes his eyes and nestles into the mattress, drifting off to something halfway between asleep and awake, but closer to the side of unconsciousness. You close your eyes too, counting your breaths. In for four seconds, just like Joel told you. Hold, out for four seconds.

Maybe it’d work if you weren’t trying to force your body into it. If you weren’t thinking about how very awake you are, when you should’ve been asleep hours ago. If you weren’t thinking about Joel.

He’s been on your mind lately, more than usual. You spent so much time alone with him, learning all the neat things about him. He was such a brute at first, and speaking honestly, he still is. But there’s a gentler side of Joel. Softer. Tender, in his own way.

You really, really fucking like Joel. You’ve never liked anyone the way you like him. He makes you feel all sorts of sensations. Anger, annoyance, joy. He makes your heart pound and makes you breathe funny sometimes, but not always in a bad way. You spend a lot of time just looking at him, tucking away the parts of him you love deep inside your brain, saving it for moments alone. His body is softer with his age, but his arms stay strong, shoulders so vastly broad. And his face, the wrinkles in his skin, those neat scars. That look he gets in his eyes when he’s pissed at you, and his lips and his frown. You watch the way he eats sometimes, fixated on the way his lips move, wondering how they’d move against another’s. Maybe your own. His hands, as he traces maps, books, whatever. Veins and tendons twitching. His palms are so fucking big, so masculine.

Joel keeps his distance, always decent. It’s not lost on you. You know he knows how you stare at him, contemplating whatever it is you think about in that head of yours. He doesn’t want to know. Can’t know.

His breathing is evening out now. His lips are parted, and you feel his warm breath on your cheek, tickling your earlobe. He looks so handsome bathed in that milky, bluish moonlight that pours in through the window over his face.

There’s an ache throbbing between your thighs, the same thing that’s been keeping you up recently. Arousal. Joel seems to worsen the pain, just by existing, somehow. Even just thinking of him makes you throb a little harder.

Squeezing your thighs together alleviates that ache momentarily, so that’s what you do. You cross one leg over the other and squeeze tight, but it’s not enough. Of course it’s not. You know what you need, something more sustainable than this. Something real, something raw. Something…Joel.

You give your underwear a gentle tug while rocking your hips, just needing that extra bit of pressure. Gripping tight the waistband of your panties while wiggling your hips, shaking the creaky bed a little in the process, the motion rouses Joel from his sleep. He opens one eye to watch you wriggle and jerk, noting that look of concentration painted across your features.

“What’re you doin’?”

“Joel!” Your whole body jolts and you straighten your legs quickly, flattening your hands at your side. “Nothing.”

He sighs, “If you’re gonna lie to me, sweetheart, y’need to be better at it. Now what is the matter with you?”

You have to be sharp here. You could tell the truth and have Joel inevitably scold you, call you a fucking pervert and that you should be ashamed of yourself or…

…you could bend the truth some, not much. Just a little fib. You spin the story quickly in your head. Something something…you can’t come on your own - lie, and you just need Joel to do it for you - another lie. Far be it from him to leave a girl in distress, right? He’s got to be the hero, always. Has to save the day while bitching that you’d be dead without him. Because that’s Joel Miller, always carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders, and always by his own doing. How your heart bleeds for him as you proverbially rub your pointer finger and your thumb together, the world’s tiniest violin playing just for him.

“It’s - fuck,” you groan, shifting in bed as you play up the lie. “It’s nothing. Just - something kind of hurts, that’s all.”

“What hurts? Let me see.” Joel sits up quickly, reaching for the light. “Show me,” he says.

“No, Joel. You can’t - it’s like, I don’t know. It’s…embarrassing, I think.”

“I don’t care,” he grumbles. “Y’gotta tell me. So spit it out, kid.”

You exhale softly, closing your eyes. Joel’s lying on his side, sitting up a little as he carefully searches your face. You can’t look at him right now because fuck, you’re a bad liar. You turn away so you don’t break and smile or something. “I’m like, throbbing,” you murmur, “And wet, uh…down there, I guess. I don’t know–”

Joel holds up a hand, “Alright, enough. Jus’ - go deal with it. I’ll give ya some privacy,” he says, sitting fully upright and taking off the covers.

“Deal with it how?” you ask, feigning ignorance. You’ll take this as far as it needs to go, or until you’re caught red-handed.

“You know, like…” Joel waits for you to get the picture, but you just stare at him blankly.

“Won’t it just go away?” God, you are so full of shit, you almost make yourself sick.

Joel scoffs quietly, and you have to bite down on your smile. You’re playing him like a fucking fiddle. “It don’t work like that, sweetheart,” he says. “You have to handle it on your own.”

“Can you do it?”

“Fuck, no,” he answers quickly. But Joel looks down at you, contemplating. God, you’re fucking...this is the reason you keep him up so late? Part of him wants to leave you here, just like this, to figure it out and deal with it on your own. But Joel’s not confident that’ll happen, since you’ve gone this long without it, apparently. Feels like a lie.

“Or can you help me?”

“Help you how?”

“Just…make sure I’m doing it right. Like, how you’d do it to your lover or something.”

“You are fuckin’ ridiculous,” Joel sighs under his breath. “How I’d do it to my lover, huh?”

“Right.”

Joel thinks for a moment, then speaks, against his better judgement. “Alright.” He takes a deep breath in and out, taking in you on the bed, scanning the gorgeous outline of your body. “I’d spread her legs,” he says, watching the comforter move as you part your thighs. “Wider than that,” he adds.

“Like this?”

“Jus’ like that, s’good,” Joel nods. “And I’d take my hand,” he says, reaching for your wrist, “Put it right here, between her thighs,” laying your palm over your mound. “Under her pants.”

“Fuck, yeah,” you murmur, sliding your hand beneath your pants and panties. You press down a little, groaning softly at the pressure. Fuck, it feels good. Even better with Joel’s presence. “Feels good,” you sigh, pressing your fingers down harder against the sensitive bud. You can feel it throbbing beneath your fingertips.

“I’d rub her in circles.”

“Hard or soft?” you ask. “Fast or slow?”

“Whatever she wants,” Joel answers.

You spread your legs a little wider, your knee nudging against Joel’s tummy, and it takes everything he has not to touch you. It wouldn’t be right, he believes. This act alone is pushing the bounds of his morals.

“Like this, Joel?”

Joel watches the comforter move above your hand as you trace steady circles into your clit, and stifles a groan. As his cock thickens and twitches in his pants, he inches away from you so you don’t feel his arousal. “Yeah, darlin’. Like that.”

“And then what?”

“I’d keep goin’ til…well, you’ll figure that out.”

He takes a moment to watch, admire the show. Brows pinched together, a little bit of sweat sparkling on your temples. Joel can feel the heat radiating from your body as you work yourself, chest rising and falling, hips and legs twitching. “M’gonna leave you to it, then,” he mumbles finally, getting up to leave.

“No,” you gasp, reaching for his arm with the hand you used to fuck yourself. Joel feels your arousal on his skin, and notices how wide your pupils are. “Stay.” He does consider it for a moment. His fucking balls ache, desperate to find his own release too.

“It’s - it’s not enough, Joel.”

Clarity hits him then, and he shoots you a knowing glare. You’re such a bad fucking liar, laying it on way thicker than you need to be. “It’s plenty,” Joel snaps, “I’m leavin’. Hurry up an’ sort yourself out.”

“Don’t go,” you beg. “Can you try it?”

“What? No.”

“Why?”

“Because,” Joel says. “It’s not a good idea. C’mon, honey, I know you’re smarter than this.”

“But I can’t do it on my own,” you argue back. “I think - fuck - I think I need you to fuck me. I need to come on your cock.”

“Jesus Christ, sweetheart, you can’t say shit like that. M’old enough to be your fuckin’ daddy.” Joel rolls his eyes. This absolutely tracks for you, averse to doing any hard work at all. He pauses, then speaks, “You don’t need me to take care of this for you. Y’just want it. I know you, kid. You don’t like doin’ any hard work yourself. Am I right?”

“No,” you insist, “I really think I need it. Need you.”

You look at Joel, silently begging him to give you what you’re asking for. Joel’s eyes dart left and right as he searches your face, breath hitched in his throat. God, the way you look at him. Your eyes are all wide and innocent and pleading, he knows you’re giving him that look on purpose. “Don’t look at me like that, you fuckin’...Christ almighty,” Joel groans. “Fine,” he concedes.

“You’ll fuck me?”

“Absolutely not,” he snaps. “You can have my fingers. If I do this for you, will ya settle down an’ go to sleep?”

“Yes,” you agree, nodding quickly. “I’ll go right to sleep, Joel, I promise.”

Joel eyes you from the side. “You’re fuckin’ trouble,” he mumbles, scooting closer to you. His bulge presses against your hip, eliciting a gasp from you. “Jus’ ignore it,” he says. “Don’t get any ideas.”

He loops his fingers over the waistband of your pants and panties, then tugs them down your thighs until he can’t anymore. “Take ‘em off the rest of the way,” he tells you.

You wriggle off your pants, then pull off your shirt, now lying bare on the bed underneath the covers. Joel’s eyes widen, then he shakes his head. “Selective hearing,” he grumbles.

“What?”

“Just needed the bottoms gone, sweetheart.”

“Oh,” you whisper, sliding down the mattress a little more, covering your shoulders with the sheets. Joel props himself up on his elbow, the side of his head resting against his knuckles. His free hand travels over to you, fingers drumming against your hips.

“Y’ready?”

“Mhm,” you hum, anxiety and excitement permeating the air. Joel’s hand slides down to your inner thigh, and he can feel the heat from your pussy, the way you vibrate with desire.

Joel should tease your pussy. He should make you ache for it, more than you already are. Trace your lips, press his finger against your wet slit to gather your arousal. Like he would with his lover, right? But he shouldn’t even be here with you right now, god. He’s too fucking old, and you’re too fucking young. The age gap alone makes his head spin, but fills a dark part of him with an animalistic type of hunger. A hunger to ruin you, you pretty, young thing. He reminds himself that this is simply a means to an end, nothing more.

He slides his warm palm over your mound, nudging your thighs apart a little more. When his fingers touch your clit, you sigh in relief. That alone feels miles better than your own fingers, so much more concentrated.

“Jesus,” he murmurs, then rubs your clit. Not in circles, like he instructed you to do. He just rubs you there, fingers sliding back and forth over your clit as you relax into his touch. “Y’should be doin’ this yourself.”

“But it feels…it feels…”

“I know,” Joel says, slipping his fingers down the seam of your cunt to collect your arousal. You’re so fucking wet. He drags them back up, then rubs practiced, steady circles over your clit. It’s efficient and very bare bones, no bells and whistles or pulling out his usual stops. Joel has one goal, and that’s to get you off as quickly as possible, and that’s it. “Feels good,” he answers for you, then adds under his breath, “You’re playin with fuckin’ fire.”

You whimper, clutching Joel’s forearm as he guides you to orgasm. What he doesn’t realize is just how close you are, only from a little bit of his touching. You know you’re on the brink of orgasm, but you also know that when you reach that point, that’s it. You’re done. Joel’s made that much clear, that this is all you’re gonna get from him, and it has to be enough. But of course, it’s not. Not even close.

Joel dips his fingers lower, pushing his middle and ring fingers into your pussy. He keeps a palm pressed against your tummy, then curls his fingers rhythmically, bringing you to a place you’ve never been before. You moan loudly, writhing as he curls his fingers inside you, stroking that special little spot he loves so much on a woman. Silently, Joel moves his thumb to circle your clit, guiding you closer and closer to the edge.

Joel can tell you’re about there, and he’s correct in that assumption. You feel like you’re about to break, staving off release. Everything feels heightened, thrumming with something electric and almost sharp. Your moans come out all breathy, Joel’s name broken as it spills from your lips. Lost in your head, Joel pulls you back down to earth, speaking softly to you. “You gonna come for me, sweetheart?”

“N-no,” you whimper, shaking your head.

“Yes ya are. You’re right there, honey. Let go.” Joel rubs your clit a little harder to coax release along. He’s waiting for that golden moment, where you tense up and gasp before falling to pieces, a melting, shuddering mess in his hands. Only…it never comes. Joel studies you intently, watching the way your face moves. Finally, he realizes that you’re fighting it.

“What’re you doin’? I’m givin’ you what you want, sweetheart, just fuckin’ come.”

“No,” you repeat, squeezing Joel’s wrist. “I don’t want to yet.”

“Why not?” You squirm a little, and Joel stops fucking you on his fingers. “Hey - why the hell not?”

“Because I want you to fuck me,” you whisper quietly.

Joel scoffs. “Oh, you are workin’ my last goddamn nerve. I already told you, sweetheart. You come on my fingers or you don’t come at all. Choice is yours.” Joel continues circling your clit, but you still fight him.

“But I want you to fuck me,” you repeat, begging, balling your hands into tight fists as you stave off release. “I just - I told you already, but you’re not - you’re not fucking listening to me, Joel. I need–” Your desperation makes the mask slip. You have got to pull yourself together before you fuck this entirely.

“Hey - adjust the fuckin’ attitude. I already told you no, sweet pea. And I don’t have to listen to you. You listen to me,” he grits, his tone biting. “Get that through your skull, because m’sick of repeatin’ myself.”

“Why?” you complain. “Why won’t you do it?”

“Because,” he explains, “You can’t handle it, kid, I know you can’t. Too big f’ya. And it’s wrong,” he adds, “I shouldn’t even be doin’ this to you.”

You love the challenge his words incite. Oh, you’ll show him what you can handle, alright. Filled with a renewed sense of perseverance, you ground yourself and focus hard.

Joel focuses too, hellbent on not being a worse man. What he’d really like to do, really, is split you in two with his cock. He’s not unaware of his size, what he does to a woman. Especially one like you, who’s absolutely in over her head and has not the faintest notion of what he could do to her. He’d teach you a fucking lesson, maybe. Shove his cock down your throat to watch you choke on it, feel that delicious pulse as you gag. He could fuck your ass, too, watch your eyes roll back into your skull as he makes you take all of him. That’d teach you to listen to him for once, right? A little pain to put you into place, you fucking brat?

You’re right on the edge. You know it, and so does Joel. The way you soak his two thick fingers, your cunt pulsing around them erratically. Your brows are knit together as you twitch and shudder, trying your goddamn hardest to not come. Joel’s amazed at your will.

“C’mon, kid, just come for me. Be done with this,” Joel urges, frustration laced in his tone. “Don’t piss me off, sweetheart. You don’t want that.”

You shake your head, “Mm-mm - n - I wanna, I need your -”

Joel holds his palm over your mouth, cutting you off. “No. You’re not ready for it,” he tells you. “Y’don’t know at all what you’re askin’ for. Not a fuckin’ clue.”

Joel lifts his palm. “I do, too,” you argue. “Please, Joel, I can handle it.”

“Sure you can, sweetheart.”

“I’ll be good.”

Those three little words make Joel’s breath hitch in his throat. You have to know exactly what you do to him, with the looks you give him and the way you beg. You’ll be good. God, he’s gonna end up fucking giving it to you. He shouldn’t, he really fucking shouldn’t.

“Please?”

Joel sighs heavily, worn down by your incessant, sweet fucking begging. And honestly, what he wouldn’t give to ruin you. To fuck you in half, shatter you into pieces. So be it, he decides.

“Fine,” Joel says. “But this didn’t fucking happen. Do you understand me?”

“I understand,” you answer sweetly. Christ, your fucking good girl act. You have to know what you do to him.

“A’int fuckin’ right,” Joel mumbles, rising and yanking the covers off the bed. He quickly takes off his shirt and shucks off his pants, gripping his cock tightly as he hovers over you. He never should have fucking indulged you, but here he is. Joel reaches between your thighs to collect your arousal on his fingertips, then coats his cock in your mess. He’s fucking huge. He’s generously thick as well as long, and you’re not sure if you’ll be able to handle it like you said you would. “No backin’ out now,” Joel says.

“I’m a little nervous,” you admit.

“I’ll bet you are,” Joel says, and your heart races. He lowers himself, then presses the thick tip of his cock against your pussy, dragging it through your folds before notching it inside your tight entrance. “Your pussy’s too pretty f’ya to let me do this to you,” he says. “Now take a deep breath.”

You take a deep breath in, and that’s when Joel begins working himself inside you. You whine in pain, scooting back towards the headboard to try to slow it down.

“Where d’ya think you’re goin’, huh? You stay right there, sweetheart.”

“Slow down, please—”

“What’s the matter? Thought you could handle it, tough girl,” Joel taunts, squeezing your hip while sliding further inside you. He’s not even a quarter of the way in yet, and you’re already reeling from the pain of his thick cock stretching you out. He draws out a little, admiring the tip of his cock coated in your arousal, then inches back in. “S’really hurtin’ ya, huh?”

You grab any part of him that you can, attempting to temper the way he enters you. Make it slower, gentler, less…less. He pulls out a little, then pushes in further than before, earning another high-pitched whine from you.

“Who tried to talk ya out of it, sweetheart? Hm? Who warned ya? You remember how to say my name? It's Joel, darlin’. Sound it out.”

Joel’s being so mean, and it makes you feel like crying. He draws in and out of you, still yet to bury himself all the way inside, watching your reactions as he holds a hand on your ribcage, making you take it all.

“Yeah, I know. S’a big stretch, huh? Hurtin’ pretty bad?”

“Yeah,” you whimper, looking down at where your bodies connect. You’re not even close to taking all of him in, and already it feels like he’s fucking you in two.

“Mhm. In over your head, aren’tcha, kid? You gonna listen to me next time?”

“Yes - fuck!” Joel pushes in another inch or so, and it makes you yelp in pain. “Yes, I’ll listen,” you say, voice thick with tears. Joel watches them begin to fall, and he quickly wipes them away with the back of his hand.

“Won’t hurt forever,” Joel grunts. “S’easier f’ya rip off the bandaid. Want my help with that, sweetheart? I’ll make it quick.”

“N-no,” you sniffle. “I need you to go slow.”

Joel nods silently, continuing working himself inside. A small movement of his hips out, then in, then out again, and in a little further. He could make you take it all right now, be done with this whole song and dance. It really would be easier on you. The proverbial mercy-kill. That dark part of Joel sort of likes the pain he gives to you, though. He tries not to think about that too hard, stuff that feeling down deep.

Oh, the tears you cry. The pretty face you make, features all contorted in pain. Joel gives your hip a soothing little rub before moving his hand to your clit, massaging the sensitive bud as he pushes into you, making you whimper even more.

“I know it hurts.” Joel presses his palm against your cheek, rubbing your lips with his thumb as your cunt pulses around his length. “Let it be a lesson to ya, huh? Stay out of a grown man’s business. He knows better’n you. ‘Cause look at the mess you’re in now, sweetheart, cryin’ on a cock that’s too fuckin’ big for you. What am I gonna do with ya?”

“I don’t know,” you sniffle.

“I know you don’t. Tried to tell ya this wasn’t a good idea, sweet pea,” Joel whispers. “Now buck up. You’re halfway there.”

Joel takes the liberty to speed the process up, to sheathe himself in you fully, and does so quickly. At least, quicker than you’d like him to, as evidenced by your high-pitched whines. “Shhhh,” Joel hushes, pushing his fingers into your mouth as if to pacify you, or distract you at the very least. “I know, I know, I know.” You bite into Joel’s palm, squeezing your eyes shut as you feel his cock splitting you in two.

“Quit your cryin’, and breathe. I got you, kid,” he says, “We’re finishin’ this,” then pushes in you the rest of the way, the blunt head of his cock kissing against your cervix. “There,” he grunts, “Worst is over.”

You open your eyes, first looking at Joel and then between your bodies, where his connects to yours. You don’t see any of his length left, only the long, wiry, bits of graying hair that surround his member. What you don’t see - what Joel does see - is that pretty, thick bulge his dick makes against your tummy.

He lifts his hand from your mouth, “I did it?” you ask.

“You did it,” Joel affirms. “Good job. Proud a’ ya, kiddo.”

Joel gives you a second to get used to the feeling of him buried inside you, to wrap your head around it. There’s not much thinking going on in that head of yours, though, that much he can tell. All cockdumb and he’s barely even fucked you.

It doesn’t feel good yet, like it should. It’s an intense pressure, an awful stretch, and it worsens with every throb and twitch of Joel’s massive cock. You squeeze his biceps as he lowers his head and bites your shoulder hard enough to leave a mark, and then you bury your face in his curls. He draws out of you and oh, there it is. “Attagirl, easy does it,” he groans, “You just lie there and take my cock, sweet girl. Take it good for me.”

Joel sets his pace then, steadily pushing in and out of you. It’s not violent or cruel, not even particularly harsh, but the hurt is still there. Joel rocks his hips, pulling out of you all the way and filling you right back up again with each and every stroke. Soon enough, you’re moaning.

“Yeah, that’s it. Goddamn, sweetheart. Don’t hurt so bad anymore does it?”

“No.” You shake your head. “Still hurts,” you murmur, voice tight with pain.

Joel chuckles. “Oh, it does, huh? Tsk. Well, you’re in it now, darlin’. Gotta see it through. Don’t try an’ quit on me.”

Joel increases the speed at which he fucks you, damp curls falling over his forehead as sweat glitters on his skin, a bead of it rolling down the length of his aquiline nose. He watches you intently, a stern sort of expression painted across his features. That dimple on his right cheek flashes as he purses his lips, a grunt escaping his throat.

“Joel,” you choke out.

“M’almost done, sweetheart. Gimme five more minutes. You can do five minutes, can’t ya?”

The pain is relentless, unwavering, until it starts to vanish, replaced by a dull pleasure. It builds in time as Joel pounds into you, increases with every brush of his pubic bone against your clit. He keeps a hand on your breast, squeezing the flesh there hard enough to bruise, pinching your nipple before soothing the ache with a practiced flick of his tongue. Jesus Christ, you feel good. Your soft body, all for him. The way your poor cunt hugs him so sweetly - he’s not lasting much longer now.

“Why don’t you try an’ come for me, pretty girl? Can you do that f’me?” Joel licks his fingers and starts to rub your clit in those same circles from earlier, coaxing along your release.

It’s no surprise you come as hard as you do, as quickly as you do. All pent up for god only knows how long, and the way you were hellbent on staving off your climax earlier. It’s enough to ruin anyone.

With a couple more good, hard thrusts, you’re clenching around Joel’s cock, his name spilling from your lips as you come undone. Poor girl. You look so overwhelmed, so fucking wrecked as you come so hard, and it’s no wonder to Joel why exactly that is. “There it is,” Joel coos, wiping away the tears you cry. “Ohh, yeah. That’s a good one.”

Joel guides you through your orgasm as he chases his own, fucking you harder and deeper. He pounds you in non-rhythm, his thrusts frenzied and frantic before he’s coming too, spilling load after hot load of his come inside you, filling you with the most soothing warmth. He pulls out of you quickly to watch his spend spill from between your thighs, and it’s so intimate, the way he watches you experience that private pleasure.

“Goddamn, baby. I fuckin’ ruined her,” Joel whispers, gathering a bit of his spend on his fingertips to push it back inside. “Why’d you want me do that to ya, huh?”

You only shrug. Words are hard for you right now.

“She still hurtin’ a little?”

“A little,” you answer quietly.

“Mhm, she’s all swollen. M’gonna kiss her all better, alright? I’ll be nice an’ gentle.”

Joel taps your hip and mumbles something you don’t hear, what with the ringing in your ears, then lifts your bottom half and slides a pillow beneath you. He parts your legs, and is so profoundly tender as he drags a thumb through your sensitive, slick flesh.

As promised, his lips replace his fingers. Joel begins with a quick kiss, then another, and another. His facial hair feels almost sharp against you, almost painful, but his tongue is so soft. So practiced as he licks up the seam of your cunt, tasting his own work - not that he minds, really. His lips quickly attach to your clit, and he suckles gently. You don’t need much, not right now. He keeps himself buried in that beautiful space between your thighs until you’re coming again, a little softer than before. Gentler. The quiet after the storm.

You’re crying, all overwhelmed still. Joel scoops you up into his arms and covers you with the comforter, quietly shushing you. “I know, sweet girl. It’s over now. Was a lot, wasn’t it?”

“Mhm,” you hum, sniffling still.

“S’why you gotta listen to me, hm?” Joel pushes some hair out of your face, then kisses your warm cheek as he lays you on your side. He fixes the blankets, lays them all out flat and even before taking his place next to you, curling his frame around you. “I gotcha, kiddo.”

As you settle into bed, Joel scratches up and down your side, and kisses your shoulder. “Two orgasms,” he mutters. “You made out like a fuckin’ bandit, sweet pea. You know that?”

Another shrug, and Joel chuckles. “You gonna be a good girl and go to sleep now?”

“Yes, Joel.”

“Alright. Sweet dreams, trouble.”

If you enjoyed, please please please reblog with some sweet thoughts or hop in my inbox 🩷🩷 your kind words go farther than you know in keeping me motivated to write. It’s been a while. I’ve missed my Joelie perverts 🫂💕

Kitty tax for my sweet readers 🩵

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mandoloriancookie · 25 days ago

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Can someone make a scrapbook from over the years, of my two big brown eyed kings in there outfits people love to hate on...Mr. Pedro Pascal and Robert Downey Jr.

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mandoloriancookie · 25 days ago

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Thank you @ladamedusoif and everyone who got me to 25 reblogs!

I totally see Din Djarin having a beer in the cockpit.

His over everyone shit.

#25 reblogs #tumblr milestone #thank you

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mandoloriancookie · 27 days ago

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Soldat

Pairing: Winter Soldier! x Doctor!Reader

Word Count: 1.0k

Summary: The reader knew her soft hearted connection to her unwilling patient would become a tool her captors used against her. So, after escaping captivity only to find the soldier waiting in her motel room to retrieve her, she shouldn't have been shocked.

Authors Note: Hi guys! This is the first of my works that I've ever posted on here, so please be kind :). This is a snippet from an incredibly long and complicated novel length fic I've written about a doctor being taken captive by Hydra Pre CATWS, to care for the Winter Soldiers declining health. Hope you guys like it!

Song Choice: Haunted by Beyonce

His silhouette cast a heavy shadow across her body. “Soldat…” She whispered, her gaze nervously flickering up to meet his.

He looked pained as he stared down at her. His tormented blue eyes were shadowed by his tightly knit brow. The black mask locking his jaw shut muffled any words he could have said. Though she doubted that he’d say anything if he could.

“Please don’t do this…” She whispered, too afraid to slide her foot backwards to put space between them.

His breath came in heavy pants against his muzzle. His metal hand slowly rose and slid around her wrist. She gasped at the cold feeling. “I can’t go back there-” She wavered, trying to tug her arm back. He just blinked at her, his hold on her like steel. “Soldat please- please tell me you can hear me-”

But he couldn’t. Because the man she was speaking to wasn’t just the Soldat. He was the Winter Soldier. And there was nothing she could do to stop him.

Not when she was his mission.

He took a slow step forward into her space, crowding her into the wall. Her breath hitched, stomach twisting fearfully. His cold flesh hand brushed against her waist before his fingers dug into her hip.

“Please…”

Her feet left the ground as he yanked her close and hauled her over his shoulder. She yelped, struggling against him, but his metal arm hissed as it circled her waist and locked in place. The man moved like smoke, slipping easily in and out of her hotel room without a sound. She sobbed as she writhed on top of him.

Panic surged in her veins, deep and piercing. She couldn’t escape his grip. And she couldn’t call for help. The Soldier would kill anyone who interfered with his mission, whether he wanted to or not. And she couldn’t bear the thought of doing that to someone.

She was trapped.

When she escaped, her only hope was staying hidden. But now it was too late.

The Soldier walked in steady silence, his heavy duty boots barely crunching against the pavement. “Soldat-” She grunted, her nails digging into the leather suit on his back.

She could reach for his belt. She could grab his gun. But he knew she wouldn’t. They all did. Because that was the whole point of sending the Soldier after her. They knew she would never hurt him.

She couldn’t even imagine it.

“Please listen to me-” She gasped, his shoulder digging into her stomach and stealing her breath. “None of this is real- you can come with me-”

But it was useless. The man inside couldn’t hear her. Not really.

He was trapped in the prison that was his body.

She could see it in his eyes, the fight, the cloudy daze. She could see the way his fingers twitched and his breath rose and fell quickly. Deep down he knew what he was doing, and god did he want to stop, but he just couldn’t.

A black suv parked in the alleyway behind her motel beeped to life. He laid her out in the back seat and grabbed her wrists. She heard the sound of duct tape tearing before she saw it.

She tried to scramble back but he caught her ankle and yanked her back to the edge of the seat. “Don’t do this- I’m begging you-” She wept, the sticky tape pressing into her skin as he taped her wrists together.

She reached out, her trembling fingers brushing his mask, long dark strands of hair tickling her knuckles. His gaze shifted to hers, dull and clouded. His brows knit together as she begged, the words falling flat before him. Recognition was just beyond his reach.

A gloved hand gripped her jaw firmly, but without excessive force. He held her there for a moment, steadying her as she verged on hyperventilation. “Soldat…” She whispered, willing him to hear the humanity in her voice.

His thumb swept over her lips, pressing them together. She swallowed around the lump forming in her throat. The soldier watched her as he pressed the last piece of tape over her mouth, his palm smoothing it down over her lips.

Tears slipped down her cheeks, staining her flushed skin. He watched one travel and drip onto his glove before he pulled away.

He pushed her back and the door slammed shut, and she knew it was over. It was all over.

Authors Note: I hope you like it! Just a little something from my hundreds of thousands words length fics I've been writing about my man Bucky. Please please let me know if you're interested in more! I have a lot, haha! Comment and let me know what you thought! (Please be kind)

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mandoloriancookie · 29 days ago

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Marked What's Mine

Pairings: husband!bucky barnes × wife!reader

Summary: You can hold your own—always have. But that doesn’t stop your husband from going full Winter Soldier mode when he sees someone laid a hand on you.

Warnings: Language, injuries, soft-but-intense husband!Bucky, protective behavior, possessiveness, comfort, fluff, violence mentioned (not graphic), "who did this to you?", lots of banter.

Word count: 1.3k+

A/n: this fic is from my poll where husband au and who did this to u prompt won. I will do the enemies to lovers in my next fic. Thank you for reading <3.

Divider credits: @saradika

Night- 1:47 AM

You turned the front doorknob with all the delicacy of a trained assassin—which, to be fair, you were.

No sound. Good.

You stepped inside, sliding your shoes off silently and tiptoeing like the floorboards might narc on you. You could practically hear your heartbeat in your ears.

He’d be asleep. He had to be.

You could get to the bathroom, clean up, hide the worst of it. He didn’t have to know. You didn’t want him to worry, to spiral. Not again.

You made it three steps down the hallway.

Then— “Don’t move.”

Shit.

His voice cut through the silence, low and lethal. It came from the living room.

You closed your eyes. "Hi, honey. I'm home."

A light flipped on.

Bucky stood by the couch, arms crossed, half in shadow. The sight of him—barefoot, hoodie loose over his broad chest, hair tousled from waiting up—would’ve been comforting, if not for the look in his eyes.

His gaze traveled from your face to your arms, your ribs, where blood had started to seep through your shirt.

He didn’t say a word.

You tried to play it off. “Before you say anything, it looks worse than it is—”

His voice dropped to a whisper.

“Who did this to you?”

You exhaled slowly. “Buck—”

“Don’t. Just…” His jaw clenched. “Stay right there.”

“Bucky, it’s fine. I dodn’t even need stitches—”

“You’re bleeding.” His voice trembled with something dangerous. “You’re limping. You snuck into your own damn house like a thief because you knew I’d lose it if I saw you like this. And guess what? You were right.”

He was in front of you in three long strides.

His hands—warm, shaking—came up to cup your face, careful to avoid the bruises.

“You weren’t supposed to see me like this,” you whispered. “You’d only worry.”

“I worry when you’re five minutes late for lunch. You think this is gonna lessen that?”

“I’m not made of glass—”

“You’re made of everything I live for.”

Your breath caught.

He scanned your injuries with haunted eyes. “Who did this?”

“It’s not important.”

“It is to me.”

You sighed. “I didn’t want you to spiral. Last time you saw me with a busted lip, you threatened to drown a guy in the Hudson.”

“I should’ve.”

“Bucky—”

“Tell me his name.”

You met his eyes. “If I do, you’ll find him.”

He didn’t deny it.

“And if I don’t?” you added.

“I’ll find him anyway.”

You groaned. “You are the most dramatic man I’ve ever met.”

He lifted you into his arms like it was nothing—like you didn’t have two working legs—and carried you down the hall.

“I’m intense,” he corrected. “Not dramatic.”

“You literally brooded in the dark waiting for me to get home.”

“You really thought I wouldn’t notice? Like my wife could come home hurt and I wouldn’t feel it in my chest?”

You let out a weak laugh. “God, you’re annoying.”

“You married me, doll. That’s on you.”

Twenty Minutes Later...

You sat on the bathroom counter while Bucky dabbed antiseptic over the cuts along your ribs, his brows furrowed like each mark physically hurt him more than it hurt you.

He hadn’t stopped touching you.

Even now, his thumb rubbed soft circles into your thigh as he worked.

“Doesn’t even sting,” you said.

“That’s not the point,” he muttered, placing another bandage carefully. “You came home bleeding. You flinched when you took your shirt off. You snuck in.”

“I didn’t want to see your sad little kicked puppy face,” you teased.

He glared. “You’re lucky I love you.”

“No, you’re lucky I love you. You’re high maintenance.”

“Says the woman who took on a six-foot mercenary solo and got cracked in the jaw for it.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You think I didn’t win?”

He paused. “Wait. You won?”

“Cracked three of his ribs and made him cry.”

He stared.

Then—slowly—he grinned.

“That’s my girl.”

You tried not to bask in it, but you totally basked in it.

Still, he wasn’t done.

As he finished wrapping the final gauze, he stood between your legs and stared at you like you held gravity in your hands.“I breathe for you,” he said, voice barely a whisper. “That’s it. That’s the only reason I get up in the morning.”

Your throat went tight. “Bucky—”

“You come home hurt, and it feels like the world’s off its axis. I can’t think. Can’t function. You’re not fragile, babe. You’re the strongest person I know. But the thought of losing you? I’d lose everything.”

God.

You buried your face in his chest, arms tight around him.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“Too late. You did. You always do.”

You looked up. “You’re a menace, you know that?”

“You love it.”

“Unfortunately.”

He grinned and kissed your forehead.

Next Day – 2:00 PM

You woke up to an empty bed and a note on the pillow:

Had to step out. Be back soon. Don’t move too much or I’ll find out and carry you around like a baby until you learn your lesson. I love you more than oxygen.

—B <3

You rolled your eyes.

And sighed.

And smiled.

He came back at sunset. Calm. Too calm.

You didn’t even have to ask.

“You found him, didn’t you?”

He dropped his jacket. “Yeah.”

“And?”

“He’s not gonna be walking straight for a while.”

“Bucky…”

“And probably won’t be talking much either.”

You stared at him.

“He’ll live. Probably,” Bucky said with a shrug. “I was nice. For the first ten seconds.”

“Jesus—”

“He laid a hand on you. You really think I wasn’t gonna rearrange his face?”

You huffed, arms crossed, but you were secretly touched. And maybe a little turned on.

“You are so dramatic.”

“No. Dramatic is you sneaking past your literal super soldier husband with blood dripping down your shirt.”

“Fine,” you muttered, walking toward him. “You win.”

He caught you easily, arms pulling you in.

“I always win, doll,” he murmured, kissing your bruised temple. “Especially when it comes to you.”

The Next Morning – 9:07 AM

Sunlight filtered lazily through the curtains, painting golden stripes over the bed where you were curled up like a cat. One leg over the sheet. A little sore. A little achy. But warm.

Bucky stirred beside you, his metal arm slung protectively over your waist.

“You awake?” you mumbled.

“Was watching you breathe,” he rasped, voice still sleep-rough. “You twitch your nose when you’re dreaming.”

“You’re creepy.”

“You married me, sweetheart. This is your fault.”

You snorted, rolling to face him, wincing a little. He was already awake, already watching you with that look. Like you were sacred. Untouchable. His.

“You hurting?” he asked immediately, shifting to sit up. “Need painkillers? Water? I can carry you to the bath—”

“Bucky.”

He blinked.

“I’m okay. It’s just a bruise, not a broken limb. Stop hovering.”

“I’m not hovering.”

“You’re three seconds from spoon-feeding me cereal.”

“…Is that an option?”

You groaned and buried your face in his chest.

“You’re insufferable.”

He chuckled, warm and smug, tucking you tighter under his chin. You stayed like that for a while. Tangled limbs. Warm sheets. His fingers trailing soft patterns on your back like he couldn’t stand not touching you.

“Don’t do that again,” he whispered finally.

You didn’t pretend to not hear it. “Okay.”

“I know you’re strong. I know you can take care of yourself. But if something happens to you—I stop breathing. You get that?”

You swallowed hard. “I get it.”

“I love you so much it makes me a little insane.”

“Only a little?”

“I toned it down for your sake.”

You giggled. “You’re cute when you’re crazy.”

“Good. Because you’re stuck with me.”

You looked up, brushed the hair from his forehead, kissed him slow.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

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mandoloriancookie · 1 month ago

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y‘all so after @bitchin-beskar has dropped the most filthy, the most delicious ex‘s dad!Boba AU there is, she has inevitably inspired me to a revenge sex idea:

Making a revenge sex tape with Boba??

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mandoloriancookie · 1 month ago

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Thinking about OldMan!Logan putting reader in the strongest, horniest matting press ever until she cries and begs him to slow down

You Make Me Feel So Young

Old man Logan X F! Reader

Logan's feeling feisty

A/N: I imagine Logan bursting into readers room like that big bird gif. You'll see what I mean.

Warnings: SMUUUT! MDNI, sexting/nudes, mutual masturbation, unprotection PiV, Logan gets a tad rough, and then a lil mean and teasing, mating press :), creampie

He hadn't felt this good in ages.

What was causing his sudden heightened mood, burst of energy, he didn't know. Maybe it was because he actually ate breakfast this morning, or the sunlight from earlier today and warm brush of wind that signaled Spring was here, or maybe it was because he has a pretty little thing by his side. All starry-eyed and eager to take care of him, make him happy.

Since you've come to his life, he has no excuse to stare down the bottom of a bottle every night. He doesn't skip meals anymore, because you won't let him. Even if he tries to tell you he's not hungry- you'd pout,

"You're really going to let me eat this all alone?"

And shit, he can never resist the way you stick out your bottom lip and look at him pleadingly with those stunning eyes. So he'll eat a few fries off your plate, finish off your sandwich. sip on your water with you.

What do you know, eating actual food, drinking water, it does make you feel better.

The aches and pain still come. The fits of coughing. The pain of his wounds healing themselves slower than they used too- yet still faster than an average man. Instead of bleeding to death like most men would with injuries he has sustained, he sits in some type of purgatory, not healed, but not dead either.

You're always there though. There to soothe the aches and pains. To rub his back when it gets too much. To clean him up and stitch what hasn't healed yet. You do it with a smile and a kiss.

He hasn't told you he loves you yet, but he's pretty sure you know.

It's not all about what you do for him though. Just who you are. Wonderful, full of life. He sees a future with you. When before, all he wanted was to take that last breath, finally be pretty to rest in the cold dirt; Now, he has reason to keep going, everyday.

The Chrsylers door slams shut, as he watched last of the bachelor's party drunkenly stumble back into the hotel. Normally he'd getting irritated chuaffering around a bunch of drunken fools but he couldn't deny that he was amused by them tonight. In a way, they reminded him of his young self. Bold, arrogant, didn't take life that serious.

As he watched the last nearly nosedive into the glass doors of the hotel entrance, he felt a vibration in his pocket. Pulling out his phone and glasses, he tucked them on and unlocked the screen where he saw your name popped up.

Busy night?

His expression softened at your name and text. Always checking up on him. It's late, you should be asleep. You like to wait up for him despite his pleas for you not too. One of you should at least have a full nights sleep. He looked back at the hotel entrance, making sure none of the bachelors have passed out in the foyer in their own vomit, before returning to the drivers seat.

Once seated, he texts you back.

Got a few jobs

He set his phone on his lap, waiting for you to text back while he stared out the window. The phone buzzed and he quickly grabbed it.

Should I expect you late, or do you think you'll come home soon?

Another text from you came in just as he read the first one

I miss you <3

A faint smile stretched across his face. He responds back to you.

I'll see what I can do. Miss you too baby.

He exits your chat, going to the app where he gets his jobs and communicates with customers. The next pickup isn't for an hour. He grumbles to himself, as he felt eager to join your company. He as scowled at the time of the job- your name popped up again.

He clicked on the chat.

To keep you company ;)

Below your text, was an image. An extremely delightful image to grace Logan's eyes. He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. He let out a soft gasp, eyes growing heavy as he observes the curves of your figure in the dirty picture you have sent him. Your hand strategically placed to block what he really wanted to see.

Fuck

His cock throbbed in his trousers and he quickly palms it with his free hand. He stared at every detail, every single pixel- as if he hadn't already committed you to his memory. He squeezed himself through his pants, a small groan escaping him.

Another picture came in, from another angle.

He swiped the chat away. Quickly going to the work app, he canceled the job. Fuck it if he loses some money- all the blood in his head has rushed down to his second head, he's not thinking straight anymore.

Once the cancellation was confirmed, he put the limo into drive, checked his mirrors and quickly pulled off onto the road, driving towards the highway.

Meanwhile, you're in bed, concerned by a lack of response from Logan. It's marked that he's seen it- and he usually responds. Sometimes you'd get a phone call from him, leading to some phone sex as you get yourself off to the sound of his voice. Never have you received nothing from him though. It made you worry if he got into some trouble.

It's not till you heard the familiar sound of doors opening and shutting that you sat up from bed. You held a blanket over yourself, still nude from the pictures you've taken, and listened to the sound of footsteps approaching the bedroom.

The door opened, and Logan stood there- looking flustered as hell.

"Oh-" You blinked in surprise, "Lo, honey what are you doi-"

Before you could finish, he was on you faster than you could blink. His hands tore your comforter off you, as he grabbed your ankles and pulled you towards him with a yelp, him kneeling onto the bed and slotting himself between your legs and his lips crashed onto yours.

You moaned as he licked into you mouth. He grinds into your core, you could feel his hard cock through his trousers. Your arousal was soaking the cloth of his pants but he didn't care. Your hands clenched at his shirt, desperately grabbing onto him, onto something because he was moving so damn fast you could barely process it.

"Logan!" You gasped, tearing yourself away from his kisses. "Baby- what's got into you?"

"You." He says, lurching forward again, his tongue pressed against yours. His hands explored your figure. Cupping your breasts and rubbing circles into your nipples. He slid them down your curves, pulling you flush against his hips as his kisses trailed down your neck and between the valley of your breasts.

"Mm-" You tipped your head back, arching into him as his tongue ran over your skin, becoming hot and sweaty from Logan's incessant grinding. You pushed him up, sitting yourself up in his lap while meeting him in a heated kiss.

Your hands pushed off his jacket, and worked on unbuttoning his shirt. Once you reached the last button, he pulled it off, discarding it to the side. You helped him pulled off his white tank. Revealing his torso, littered with hair and scars. You pressed open mouth kisses over his chest, running your tongue over a nipple- a deep moan from him gracing your ears.

He pushed you back onto the bed, and you watched him quickly undo his belt, unzipping his pants and pushing it down to his thighs.

"Those pictures really riled you up huh?" You smiled.

He looked down at you, and grinned. His smile sent warmth through you- and a little worry. Almost devilish in how he looked at you.

His thumbs hooked into his briefs, pulling them down to join with his pants. His cock waved at you in the air, and you couldn't help the small giggle that escaped you at the sight of it.

Reaching your hand up, you grasped his girth. Your thumb ran along the thick vein that ran from his hip, down to the tip of his head, red and swollen- leaking pre-cum that you used as a lube as you stroked him slowly, watching as his expression melted into something pleasurable.

He wasn't going to let you have all the fun though.

He leaned down over you while you jerked him. His free hand reached down between your thighs, finding your clit. His calloused fingers rubbed circles into you- at the same pace that you stroked him.

His lips brushed over yours, but he didn't fully kiss you. Only a teasing touch as he circled your clit, making your hips squirm. Every time your hand pumped him faster, his own hand worked you faster- until your panting, barely able to focus, your hand moving him on autopilot as you focused on your impending finish.

Only-

He took his hand away. You felt your pleasure melt away, leaving your core aching and needy.

"Logan-" You whined,

"Hush baby." He grumbles, bringing his hands to the back of your knees and pushing them up to your chest. "I got you-"

You angled his cock to your core, as he carefully thrusts into your folds, bumping your clit that elicits a harsh gasp from you each time. Then you felt his tip push into your cunt, and your head fell back in relief as he buried himself in you- inch by inch.

He barely gave you time to adjust- not wanting to waste another second of his burst of energy, he began pounding into your pussy. A moaned scream escaped you, as your hands reached to grab onto his wrists- where he still held your legs to your chest.

"Lo-!" You cried out. The bed shook underneath you, his thrusts coming in powerful droves where his hips slammed against yours.

"Taking me so damn well darling-" He says through gritted teeth, as sweat beaded his forehead, and his face becomes more flushed.

You never seen him like this before. While you and Logan had a fairly active sex life, his stamina and energy wasn't always there. Still better than anyone you ever been with though- the man can make you cum as many times as he desired, completely wreck you.

This, it was almost too much.

He was fucking into your harder and faster than you were used too. It felt so good, but so much. You couldn't think straight, you couldn't catch your breath. You're pretty sure the mattress is going to break soon under the power of his thrusts.

Breathless, you tried to say his name- to tell him to slow down but you could barely manage it. The buildup in you was intense. Your nails dug into his skin. Logan's grunts filled your ears, and you could only focus on the sound of him and the feeling of his cock splitting you open over and over and over.

He leaned down, his chest and hips flushed against you. Your legs hooked over his shoulders and he wrapped his arms completely around you. His pace didn't falter, in fact he seemed to get faster- using you as leverage to slam into you harder.

His knees spread farther and buried into the mattress, his heavy breath hit across your face. He tipped his chin up, staring down at you with parted lips- watching your every expression.

He never admitted to you how he wished he'd met you in his prime. Where he could go multiple rounds without breaking a sweat. Sure, his game is still considerably better then most men, but nothing like how he used to be. He can put you to sleep, happy, satisfied and filled with him to the brim. He always wants to give you more.

This? This was just merely a fraction of what he could do to you. Whatever this burst of energy he has, he's using every bit of it.

"Lo-" Your lips formed into that pout he always thought was so cute. "I- I-!" You whined, unable to form words. Each thrust knocking them out of your head.

"What sweetheart?" He grunted. You moaned, your head falling limply to the side, tears welling up in your eyes as exhaustion threatened to break you.

"Slow down!" You managed to cry out, before moaning when he hits that sweet, honey spot inside you.

"What's that baby?" He asks, clearly having heard you- but he wanted to hear it again. It may be awful, but fuck it fills him with pride to hear a young thing like you to beg him to slow down.

"Please- Slow, slow down?" You whined,

He obliges, pacing himself slowly in and out of you. It felt good, you could catch your breath- but now he was being painfully slow. He rutted deep into you, the coarse hair that sat above his cock brushed over your clit, sending shocks of pleasure through you that made your legs tremble- but it wasn't enough to push you over that edge you needed so badly.

"That better baby?" He coos, a teasing edge in his voice.

"You can...Go faster than that-" You mumbled lazily.

"Slow down, go faster, can't make up your mind now can you?" He taunts. He stops himself, buried inside you, but unmoving.

"Logan!" You cried. "Move!"

"Oh, that's not good enough either huh?"

You huff, opening your eyes to look at him- to be greeted by a cocky grin. Almost youthful in the way his eyes sparkling looking down at you. You realized he loved every second of this. He always teased you a little bit, but this was something different.

You like it.

"Please- Please you can do whatever you want just-"

You gasped when he picked up his brutal pacing into you again. Angling himself to pound into the sweet spot, that had you seeing stars. You've become mindless, just taking everything he gives you.

He could feel the way you clenched around him, the look in your eyes told him you were close. Contrary to his brutal thrusts, he softly pressed his lips over yours, gentle and loving. He whispered,

"Cum for me baby."

You let go, waves of pleasure rushing through you, seemingly never-ending as Logan fucks you through it. Your throat was hoarse from screaming his name- you didn't even notice.

Logan slammed into you one last time, as you felt his cock twitch inside you. With a loud grunt and locked jaw, he filled you up- just as he likes to, his messy way of claiming you all for himself.

His face buried into your neck when he finished, the both of you out of breath, covered in sweat.

"Lo..." You sighed sleepily. "Mm, that was nice."

"Yeah." He replies, before pushing himself up and pulling out of your carefully. Your legs were sore, and numb from being in one position for so long. To your surprise, he flipped you onto your stomach. "We're not finished yet, darling."

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mandoloriancookie · 1 month ago

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What happened to the mandolorian discord?

#din djaren #the mandolarian #din dijarin fanfiction #mando x you #the mandalorian

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mandoloriancookie · 2 months ago

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Touch: Part 9

Previous Chapter | Series Masterlist

din x f!reader (no physical descriptions, no use of y/n)

Chapter Summary: Exploring the Mines of Mandalore is a lot more dangerous than you expected.

WARNINGS: very graphic depictions of physical violence. Canon material to season three of the Mandalorian, SPOILERS, reader gets an injury, smutless, sorry everyone.

w/c- ~11k

a/n- if you read this on ao3, no the fuck you didn't. Reworked, slightly edited-- still unbetaed so all mistakes are on me.

Grogu sits in your lap while you look out of the front window of the cockpit. The child warbles softly and tucks himself into your robes. Din looks over at Grogu, and you now complete with black mechnosutures covering the three slashes on your face. You’re headed towards Mandalore, you can see it now. It’s covered in storm clouds and you can barely see the planet hiding beneath them.

“It looks scary, I know.” Din reaches and gives Grogu a squeeze. “It used to be green and beautiful once, when the songs were written. That’s Mandalore. The home-world of our people.” He tilts his helmet up to you know. “Every Mandalorian can trace their roots back to this planet…and the beskar mines deep within.”

You keep looking out of the window at the dark planet in front of you. It’s heartbreaking knowing what the Empire did to it.

“That’s where I grew up--n that moon.” Din points out the window to the right of Mandalore, “Concordia.”

Your head snaps to Din. “Wait. So if you grew up on Concordia… have you never been to Mandalore before? Is that why Bo-Katan told you where the mines were?” Din nods. “So…you don’t really know… where you’re going?” You raise an eyebrow at him.

“No, I know where to go. You just said, ‘Bo-Katan told me.’” He says evenly.

Oh. Okay.

Not that it changes anything, you'll still walk through those flames down in the mines for Din if he needed you to. “That’s Kalevala. Where we went to see Bo-Katan herself.” Din points to the hyperspace map on the dash of the ship.

It’s further away from Mandalore than Concordia but still within the same system.

“I like Bo-Katan.” You said suddenly as Din continued around Mandalore. “She seems nice.” Din chuckles when you say that. Why was that funny? What was so not nice about the woman that it made Din laugh? You eye him suspiciously. “What? Is she just being nice to me to make me look dumb or something?” Din snaps his head at you quickly.

“No. No, not at all. She doesn’t think you’re dumb. Quite impressed with you, actually.” He rasps from the Captain's seat.

What the fuck does that mean?

“Impressed with what!? I guess it's... nice that she thinks that, but I’ve barely met Bo-Katan. We’ve said maybe ten words to each other. How could she know?” You’ve now turned as well as you can in the co-captain seat, being strapped in and all.

A loud groan escapes from the helmet. “I... might have talked about you,” Din says it like he doesn’t want to. Like it might have been something he took to his grave if you had never asked him about it. “While you were away. I may have mentioned that you were training with the Jedi and that I maybe…missed you. Wished to see you.”

Your jaw drops. “You said that to Bo-Katan?” Your word filter must be broken because the words come out before you can sift through them and pick them apart and make them sound less… dismayed that those words could come out of Din to another person. About you…

“We spent a lot of time together. We talked. It’s how the lightsaber was brought up. She searched for a saber made of beskar.” Din explains and your heart beats quickly in your chest.

Are you in love with Bo-Katan? She’s the one who suggested the beskar lightsaber? You’re a fool to think that she’d do anything with Din when she’s clearly in love with you too.

You stare at Din for a long time. “I’d like to be her friend. A real friend; I’ve only got you and now the two of them.” You look to Grogu in your lap and R5 who has seated himself on the right of you, as far away from Din as he can possibly get. Din doesn’t say anything, he just keeps looking forward towards Mandalore. “What? Do you not want me to have friends?” You huff softly and look straight ahead as well.

“Bo-Katan can be…intense.” Din said after a couple moments. “Intimidating. Even to me sometimes.” You look over to Din and shrug your shoulders.

“I’m not scared of h-”

“ I never said I was scared of Bo-Katan.” Din interrupts you. “I said she was sometimes intimidating. There’s a difference.”

You shake your head at Din and roll your eyes. “Well, you’re intimidating. Maybe she’s just matching your energy. What would she even try to intimidate me for?” You turn your nose up to Din for not wanting you to have friends besides a robot and a green child. And himself but you’re mad at him now so you’re down to the two friends. Just the two.

“You’d be surprised.” Din shakes his head at you as you begin your landing on Mandalore.

“Surprised? She’s just a woman, Din. She might have beskar and a helmet but so do you and you don’t scare me.” You look over to him again and it's clear that he’s chuckling quietly under his helmet.

“I surprise you though, don’t I?” Din turns his helmet to face you, still chuckling.

You don’t even have a response for him because he does. Every interaction with this man has left you surprised after. Every single one.

“I’d like to have a slumber party with her, once we’ve explored Mandalore and you’ve taken your bath. I’d like to go.”

Din shakes his head at you. “Not happening.”

Din presses some buttons on the dash and you watch, making sure to remember what he’s doing even if he doesn’t tell you.

Why doesn’t Din want you to have a best-friend that isn’t him? He is intimidated by Bo-Katan. Intimidated that you’ll want to hang out with her and spend time in her beautiful castle and sit in her fancy stone throne? He keeps you trapped on this hunk of metal soaring in the stars.

Okay... not really. You’re here completely of your own free will. Din would drop you off at Canto Bight tomorrow if you told him you wanted off. But you don’t. You love this ship and your three friends.

“We’ll see.” You snap as turbulence starts to make the ship shake. “I hate this part.” You close your eyes and hold onto Grogu tightly.

“Open your eyes. Watch what I’m doing.” Din starts flipping switches and pressing buttons. “This one stabilizes the ship’s thrusters so you stop shaking so much.” Din has his finger on a black button next to seven thousand other identical black buttons, he presses it and the ship starts to just vibrate instead of shake violently.

“Okay.” You hold Grogu up so he can see what buttons Din’s touching on. “Can you see?” You look up to Grogu and he nods down at you.

“This one drops the landing gear.” Din presses another button on the other side of the dash. The ship jolts twice as the landing gears drop down on both sides. “This one sets off the landing thrusters so that we don’t drop down at full speed.” Din presses that button and the whole ship jolts again and starts to rumble. “You remembering all of this?” Din asks, looking over at you.

“We might need to label them, but yeah. I got it.” You nod up at Din. He shakes his head.

“No labels. You just know.” He looks back down at all the identical buttons on the dashboard he’s looking at. There are ten thousand screens and about twenty million buttons and the only thing that differentiates them is their colors. The three Din just pressed were all black.

“How am I supposed to just know right from the jump? They all look exactly the same. How do you just know?” You almost sneer at Din because what does he expect from you? The closest you got to a cockpit before you knew him were the games at the arcade! You tell him this and he just shakes his head.

“You have to learn. That’s why I’m showing you.” Din motions his hands over all the buttons. “You’ll figure all this out. Don’t worry.” You sure will figure it out because you’re gonna label them. You’ll label them so good. You nod at him and flick your eyebrows up one time.

“Oh, I’m gonna learn them. I sure will.”

Din tilts his helmet to the side. “I don’t know if I like the way you said that.” The ship touches down as Din finishes speaking and you un-clip yourself from the seat and hold Grogu close to you. Din places his hand on your lower back as he leads you into one of the weapon rooms of the ship.

Din grabs his blaster pistol– an IB-94 you learned recently, off the wall and holsters it to his belt. Then he reaches for something you had never really paid attention to before, you thought it looked like the clip to one of his weapons or maybe even a small held hand taser gun version of the Amban–which was gone now, sadly– but Din grabs it off the wall and holds it in his hand.

“Do you know what this is?” He asks, holding it out to you.

You take it in your hand and almost fall to the floor with it. Din takes Grogu from your arms and you hold the cool metal grip in your hand. You shake your head as you tinker with it, struggling to keep it in your hand because of its intense weight. Then you see a button.

Din has already taken several steps, still holding Grogu, and is covering the childs eyes.

Pressing the button unleashes a white plasma blade shaped like a sword. It almost knocks you back into your ass, but the metal table behind you feels you upright as it skids across the floor noisily. You're forced to walk backwards with your lower back pressed against the cool edge of the table until it crashes into the wall.

You had never seen or held a lightsaber like this before. Why was it so much heavier than all of the others? It felt like it was buzzing in your hand, not vibrating softly like your own on your belt already. No. This one felt like you were holding a container of angry kouhun bugs in your hand; they were jumping and flipping around in there waiting to escape to come sting you and with their assassin venom. Kill you. This thing felt dangerous.

“A darksaber." You sigh in dismay, holding it out in your hands away from you. It was like the thing was alive and had a mind of its own. So much power in your hands. “This is the darksaber that sliced your leg, isn’t it?” You glance over to Din, who is now standing in the hallway watching you from a distance with the child, his hand is still over his eyes.

“What?” He calls out to you from the hall.

You roll your eyes and try to tame the power you're holding onto tightly but it is hard. It feels like what the lightsaber felt like when you held it for the first time back in the Jedi temple. Like there was something actually living inside; fighting back against your touch in your palm. Something that didn’t want to be there and was desperately trying to escape you.

“This is the darksaber that sliced your leg?” You hold it up and show him the blade while you shout at him.

He nods and lets his hand fall from the child’s face like he knows you’ve got control of it and aren’t going to slice your own legs off and traumatize Grogu.

“Who did it to you? Whose was this?” You can’t take your eyes off the blade. It’s white but you can see through it like it’s not a solid plasma blade like all the others. Like it’s hollow in the middle. It’s still buzzing and fighting against you in your hands. You use all the skills and mind calming techniques that Ahsoka taught you back in the temple… it doesn’t work. This thing is fucking crazy.

“I did.” Din calls back from the hallway. You sheath the blade and stare at him as you hold just the grip in your hand now. “I don’t know how to use it very well. It’s like its…”

“Fighting you...” You finish his sentence.

He flicks his head to you and nods. “Yes. Fighting me.”

“I’m honestly shocked you even still have your leg.” You set the darksaber down on the table behind you. “That thing is unlike anything I’ve ever held in my life.” You’re in awe of it.

No wonder they call it a darksaber, the thing felt evil… you felt a little evil after holding it. Like you could do something bad. “I don’t like it.” You wrinkle your nose at it after a moment of staring at it.

“I’m shocked you could even hold it upright while it was on.” Din says as he walks back into the room now that it’s safe. “I try sometimes to work on it but it’s difficult. Less difficult than before, but not something I’d be able to use in a fight if I wanted to win.” Din looks down at you. “Maybe you could teach me.”

Your jaw hits and dents the metal table you're in front of and you look up at him.

“Me?” You hold your hand to your chest and look back at the darksaber on the table. “Teach you something?” You’re in complete shock. You’re not a dumb woman. You’re very smart and intellectual. A little conversation starved, yes, in desperate need of an interaction with someone besides Din and the child and the droid. Still smart, still intellectual but there was not one thing you thought you knew that Din would be interested in learning from you. Now he’s asking you to help him conquer the darksaber. “I don’t even know how to use it.” You whisper up to him.

“I’d let you work with it first. Figure it out yourself and then teach me. You’re more skilled with the sabers. I’m better with the blasting and flame throwing.” Din touches the pistol on his hip.

You’re still in shock. The fact that Din trusts you with this thing is an honor more than anything. When he met you a little over two years ago this thing in front of you would have sliced your legs right off. Now he wants you to show him how to use it.

“Okay.” You trace your finger along the darksaber again. You think you feel it buzzing softly still and you take your hand away. “Okay. I’ll figure it out. I can do that.” You look up at Din who was waiting for your response. Din nods and places the darksaber back up on the wall.

Grogu looks at it and warbles.

“No. I mean it. It’s too big for you now. One day maybe.” Din looks down at the child in his arms. “I mean it. No.” Din points his finger down at him and Grogu wraps the three clawed fingers around his gloves digit. “Ouch. I can see how he got you.” Din says, leaning in to look at the razorblades on the ends of Grogu's fingers.

“It’s not too bad. He also didn’t mean it. He was just playing.” You give Grogu a couple of scratches along his ears and he sighs and closes his eyes. It makes you smirk.

“He maimed you.” Din says flatly.

“You said it wasn’t that bad!” You pull away and bring your hand to your cheek. “You said that when we left the medical center! You lied to me!? I didn’t think you could lie!” You back away from him two more paces and stop. Din cocks his head to the side like a charhound would if you shook some snacks in its face. He stares for a long time that way.

“Why would I be unable to lie?” He’s so confused. You are too. You didn’t think he was capable of doing that, you don’t know why! Everything he says always just seems so innocent and honest!

“What else have you lied to me about!?” You point a finger at him. “Full of lies. Say I look fine and then say that I’m maimed. Which is it? Fine or maimed? Make up your mind.” You throw your hands up in exasperation and try to find a mirror but there isn’t one on this Maker forsaken ship.

“What are you doing?” Din asks, following you around as you try to find a flat metal surface to look into. You turn on your heel and storm over to Din. You stand in front of him and grab his helmet with both hands and pull his head down to yours so he’s level with you. Inspecting your mechnosutures in the face visor reflection.

“I am maimed.” You let his helmet go and you sound downcast, like it’s really true and you don’t want to believe it.

“You’ll be okay. I didn’t mean maimed.” Din puts his hand on your shoulder. “You’re still ner ad’ika ratiin .” Din says comfortingly. “Even with your evaar’la hokaanir aliik .” You hear Din stifle a laugh from under his helmet.

You frown and pull your shoulder away. “What does that mean?” You grumble. Furrowing your eyebrows at him.

“I don’t want to tell you.” He clears his throat of the giggles and chuckles he’s hiding in there. “You won’t think it is funny.” Din reaches for your shoulder again. You glare at him. “New cut sigil. You can wear it proudly! They’re your battle scars!” Din tries to make up for laughing at his joke, but he’s trying not to laugh again.

You don’t even wait for him to get the last word out before your strong straight hand sneaks in between the beskar plate on his chest and the one on his shoulders and you jab into his pressure point.

“New cut sigil .” You grumble as you turn to walk away. Din’s left laughing, holding his shoulder with his other hand. “Are you a comedian? Do you perform at the Canto Casino in the comedy lounge in the night after I’ve fallen asleep!?” It’s said while you throw your hands in the air. “I thought we had mines to go spelunk? You, wasting time making bad jokes.”

“I thought it was a good one. Because you are fine. Still perfect and beau-” You hold your hand up to him as he follows you out of the weapons room. You don’t stop walking.

“You don’t get to call me those things anymore.” You turn your nose up and walk faster.

“Says who?” Din walks quickly, sounding shocked at what you’ve said. He tries to step in front of you but you side step him and he does the same thing. “Says who? Not my little one. No.” Din puts both hands on your shoulder. “You are perfect and beautiful and now… intimidating.” Din says it like he’s trying to convince you that it’s true.

It’s not. You think you look dumb.

“You look like a warrior.” Din whispers through the modulator.

“I got scratched by a green baby.” You say flatly. You’re unimpressed with his attempts to make you less mad at him for his bad joke.

Din shakes his head. “No. You got these--" He rubs one gloved thumb gently across one of your mechnosutures, "...in the mines of Mandalore. Fighting alongside me.” Din says simply like it’s the truth. “We can lie.”

You gasp loudly, glaring up at him. “You lie all the time, don’t you!? Just a big beskar wearing liar.” You huff.

Din chuckles softly like you’re the funniest thing on Mandalore right now.

He better watch out, you’re getting your hand ready for that special pressure point of his.

“We need to send R5 out there before we can go.” Din says, ignoring you. “Will you talk to him? I don’t think he likes me much.”

“So, I know it looks scary out there. But you’re gonna be alright. You just need to go explore a little bit and then come right back and I’ll be right here waiting for you.” You point out of the window. The droid bloops slowly and sounds like he’s powering down. “No. Don’t go to sleep. We need your help. If you go out there and help us, when we all get back to the ship I’ll give you a good scrub and an oil bath? Does that sound nice?” You try and tempt the little droid to go out there like Din wants.

You’d rather go out there yourself then send your second son out there alone.

R5 scans his little head to look out the window. He bloops once and the beeps, and then his little lights flash on the front of him.

“Thank you.” You sigh. “Now go on and be careful. Hurry back to me, okay?”

Din’s watching from the doorway of the hull shaking his head. You walk back to him and Din shuts that door and then drops the ramp for the little guy. “You don’t have to talk to him like he’s a child.” Din says as the two of you watch him roll down the ramp.

You glare up at Din once again for the second time since you landed on Mandalore. “He’s like a child. He’s small and innocent and just wants to be scrubbed and bathed. Probably would like a snack if he could eat one. He is a child and I care for him.”

“You’ve known him for two days.” Din’s unimpressed with you. “I thought the Jedi didn’t get attached.” He tilts his helmet down to you when the droid rolls out of sight. You think it’s funny now when Din turns his head to look at you because you know that he doesn’t need to. His screen allows him to see you even though he’s looking straight ahead. He could see you like he was looking right into your eyes.

“I knew the baby for two days and I cared for him.” You say matter of fact and look out the window and see that the droid is gone. “How long do we have to wait?” You ask Din impatiently.

“C’mon. We can watch him on the scope in the cockpit. Din grabs your hand and leads you quickly to the dash and points at the radar screen. “Look, that little red dot is him–” He stops talking and keeps his head still and then speaks.

“Don’t be a baby. Just take the samples and get back here.” Din says into the comms in his helmet. Then he goes back to pointing at the radar.

“Be nice to him! He’s doing you a favor.” You grumble and look at the screen Din is pointing too.

“He’s doing what I bought him to do. Paid good credits.” Din shakes his head from behind you. He’s hovering over you and brings one hand to your ass to squeeze it gently and massage your flesh through your pants. Grogu babbles from the captain's chair and Din rips his hand away.

“Yeah. Got distracted and forgot the kid was here.” You mock him teasingly. You do push your ass back into his hips though, the hard beskar presses back against you tightly as he grinds his hips into yours subtly. You watch R5 through the monitor. His little red dot is rolling right along and then it disappears. “Where did he go?” You ask, looking back at Din over your shoulder but the screens on the dash all start to dim and flash softly.

“R5? Come in R5.” Din speaks into the comms of his helmet but he must get no response. You and Grogu watch Din with fear in both of your eyes. “He’ll be fine, it’s probably just interference.” He doesn’t say it convincingly enough for you or the child and you give Din a look.

“A child Din. He’s like a child.” You’re not messing around. Din needs to go find your other son.

“Ugh. Okay fine. I’ll pressurize my helmet and suit. You two sit tight.” Din leaves the cockpit and Grogu watches out of the windows as Din walks around to the front of the ship.

“Are you okay?” You ask through the ships comms. He nods and you both hear the thunder rumbling in the distance.

“The fusion– disrupted the– field around the planet. Down– on the surface–, you won’t be able to– with anyone– of the atmosphere. It sounds like it might be disrupting the– out here as well. Don’t—- if you can’t get in—with me. I’ll— back.” Din explains but he cuts out multiple times. You kind of get the grasp of what he’s trying to say and before you can say anything back to him he’s already walking away, out of sight behind a split in the rocks shooting up from the ground.

Din is only gone for ten minutes maybe before you hear grunts and growls coming from the coms of the ship. They’re cut out but it doesn’t sound like Din was trying to talk to you, it just sounds like fighting and shouting and– blasting!? Din is using his blaster pistol already?

You feel so helpless because you don’t even have a suit– that lying sack of shit!

He never planned on bringing you into the mines! You don't had a suit to go with him! Din is a beskar wearing liar, and you’re mad at him-- But his sounds of distress coming through the com-link are stressing you out enough to make you forget your anger.

“Din!?” You call out into the coms. He doesn’t respond, it's just more garbled noise and growls and grunts coming through the ship's speakers. “Din!? What is going on out there!?” He still never responds and eventually the comm cuts out completely and you’re left in complete silence.

You stand up and look out the window, waiting for him to come back. “Come on.” You whisper to yourself. Your hands grip the edge of the dash so hard you break two of your fingernails. “Come on .” It’s a plea for him to appear from behind the rocks. The coms never come back on.

Grogu babbles softly and is looking up at you with the saddest eyes you’ve ever seen.

“Okay.” You sigh it out like you’re trying to make yourself believe that everything is going to be okay. You’re shaking because you don’t know what you’re going to do. You haven’t stopped looking out of the windows for Din but he never comes. “Please.” You whimper, the helpless feeling starts to grow inside of you. You swallow hard when the thought comes into your mind. “Okay.”

You wait another ten minutes for Din to reappear from behind those rocks. You never take your eyes off them but nothing comes. Not even R5.

“Okay.” You remove your shaking hands from the edge of the dash and pick up Grogu. You set him into the co-pilot's chair and strap him in. He gives you a questioning look. “We have to save your dad somehow, don’t we?” You ask him as your trembling fingers fumble with the clips and clamps. You have to slow down and breathe and kneel before Grogu. “I’m scared.” You whisper to him. “I’m more scared than I’ve ever been in my whole life. I just need you to trust me and help me if you can. Okay? Use the force if you have to but I need to get this ship off the surface and I need to call Bo-Katan.” Grogu warbles as if he’s trying to encourage you.

The captain's chair feels different now as you strap into it. You look at all the buttons and try to replay what Din showed you when he explained how to take off. Your fingers glide over all the buttons carefully and you press the one in the top left corner and the ship starts to rumble as it always does when it starts up. You laugh, pleased with yourself and your still shaking hands move to the green button on the side of the dash. As you go to press it the child babbles happily from the seat beside you and you see Din and R5 walking from behind the rocks. You sigh and shut the ship back down.

“Why was the ship on?” Din asks through the coms.

“Because I thought you were dead!” You shout at him. “I heard all this commotion, and you didn’t answer me. I thought you were gone! I was going to get Bo-Katan’s help!” You snapped at him through the window.

“I told you not to worry.” Din says as he gets closer. He looks up at you through the windows.

“And the atmosphere ?” You snark at him, remembering your lack of a suit and helmet. Din nods.

“Breathable. R5 gave me a reading back in the cave. Are you ready?” Din asks, like he could sense that you had been doubting him, not trusting that he would do what he said.

You nod at him silently through the window.

"Okay then, I’ll drop the ramp.” Din starts towards the back of the ship and you grab Grogu, having to unstrap him, and set him in his floating orb as Din walks back onto the ship.

“I’m glad you’re okay. You scared me.” You look up at him as he takes his place by your side.

“I don’t want to bring you down there. But I told you I would. You need to listen to everything I tell you. Pay attention. Don’t stray from me. This is dangerous. More dangerous than pirates and Gorian Shard’s destroyer.” Din’s voice is serious.

You nod your head in understanding and not make any smart comments in fear he might leave you on the ship if you do.

“Okay. Let’s go.”

The three of you– you made Din leave R5 back on the ship now that his job was done and he could take a nap while you guys explored. The cave's entrance was dark and it smelled awful.

“Do you not smell that?” You ask, covering your nose with your elbow.

“Have your lightsaber ready.” Din ignores you, so you just follow his directions–like you’re not super fucking excited to possibly use your new lightsaber on someone.

Din takes one step in front of you and leads you into the mouth of the cave. Whatever Din had been fighting comes into view.

They're big, ogre looking type creatures-- and they fucking stink.

“Alamites.” Din explains when he sees you looking at one.

“Did you bring the darksaber?” You ask, inspecting one of the trolls wounds. A cut that looks like it had been cauterized in places.

Din nods. “I was barely able to wield it.” He shakes his head in frustration. “Got the job done, though.” Din motions you forward. “You’re going to have to hold onto me tightly.” He says as he wraps his arm around your waist.

“Why?” You ask, your head turned upwards looking at the huge dome top of the structure above you. It has holes and big open gaps from where the bombs fell so many years ago. Din holds onto you tightly and takes one step forward and you’re falling down. So far down. You cling to him, your arms around his neck and look down.

“Oh my Maker.” You close your eyes and press your face into the crook of Din’s neck. You stop free falling and now, you’re slowly dropping through the air. The roar of Din’s jet-pack is deafening.

“I really need my own helmet, and possibly my own jet-pack!” You yell into Din’s helmet.

He nods and keeps his grip around your waist as you two touch down onto the ground. Your feet search for the ground and they land on something metal. You step back from Din and your foot almost goes over the ledge you’re on, but Din reaches for your wrist and pulls you back into him.

“The mines are further down there.” Din points to where you almost just fell to. “Please. Be. Careful.” Din grabs your waist again and you wrap your arms around his neck as he takes two steps off the ledge.

“Hate it, hate it, hate it, hate it.” You grumble to yourself with your eyes still closed. The only good feeling about any of this is Din’s arm wrapped around you. It reminds you of sitting in his lap in the hotel room on Tatooine. That brings you good feelings and the next thing you know…your feet are wet and you’re standing in a muddy brown puddle.

Din takes your hand and leads you forward. Everything down here is so big. You’ve never been in any mines before. You had no idea if this is how they all looked or just the ones on Mandalore. You trip twice because you’re not watching where you’re going.

“Wow.” You whisper in awe at the sheer size of everything around you. “I wonder what this place was like before the Empire got their fucking hands on it.” You can’t even control yourself in front of the child. What the Empire did to the people of Mandalore and the planet they lived on was disgusting. An atrocity.

“Song worthy.” Din says simply like he’s thought about it before or maybe having the thought right now like you are. It is getting darker and harder to see now. Din turns the light in his helmet on and somehow the child also turns a light on from his floating orb. You’re stunned.

“I didn’t know you could do that.” You look down at Grogu in amazement. “What other cool stuff does your bed do? I thought it just floated.” You cannot believe it and you can also not believe that you’re the only one without a light. You glance and Din and in a flat tone tell him once again, "I need my own helmet."

“We’ll work on it.” Din responds as he looks for a way to go. The three of you enter a dark room and Din holds his arm out to stop you. “Wait here.” Din takes a couple steps into the room and looks around. His helmet and light fall on something stuck under the dirt and dust. You watch as Din leans over and picks whatever he found up and once he unearths it, you see it’s a helmet just like his. It’s dusty and broken. You are hoping he doesn’t turn around and offer it to you like it’s another one of his bad jokes.

Something rumbles beneath your feet and you take three steps back and Grogu stays beside you, following you. You’re suddenly lost in a cloud of dust as something shoots up from under the sand where you had just been standing. You press the button on your lightsaber and unsheathe the plasma blade. It purrs like a loth-cat in your hands. You can hear Din groaning and exclaiming in pain.

“Din!” You call out into the dust but he doesn’t respond. A red circle of light appears in the dust at least ten for fifteen feet in the air. It looks like there is an…eye…moving behind the red illuminated lens. You squint your eyes but something dark and big is coming at you in the dust cloud. You hold up your lightsaber and block your body with it. A large metal claw comes barreling at you. You hold the saber up as hard as you can and the claw comes into contact with the scorching heat of the blade you’re holding. It retracts for just a moment. You use that second step towards it and bring the saber down hard onto the metal claw. The handle vibrates wildly in your hand when you slice through it.

The cyborg-crab-spider-robot in front of you is visible now that the dust has settled. You see Din’s helmet peeking out of the chest cavity of the creature and take another step towards him, the lightsaber held over your head. You bring it down like an ax on to the cyborgs claw again, this time leaving a large melted gash in the metal.

“Drop him!” You bring the saber now sideways, slicing across the gash you just made. You leave a large melted X in the metal of the claw. One of the six legs of the cyborg comes up high above your head and you look up at it for a moment. “Shit.”

It starts to come down on top of you but you dive to the right, away from the child. You roll over on to your back immediately and see him pulling the one leg from the ground and another leg, a new one comes up above your head and comes down fast. You scramble backwards quickly, the leg comes down hard and pierces the sand and whatever was below that between your knees. “You son of a bitch.” You look up at the cyborg's red eye who is pinned right on you.

It’s claw is stuck now. He can’t pull it out. You point at the cyborg and stand while it struggles to free its stuck leg.

“” You swing the lightsaber at your side a couple of times in one hand, bring it to your chest, grip it tightly now in both hands, and with as much power as you can muster inside of you, bring it down sideways into the leg of the creature. You slice right through metal and the remaining part of its leg comes free from the piece stuck into the ground. The creature lets out a screeching, mechanical scream and takes a stumbling step back. He never releases Din as he turns and scurries down the metal pipe you were all just walking down

Grogu starts to babble and you look back at him. He’s pointing in the direction the cyborg just went.

“What? You want me to follow it? I don’t think I can take that thing by myself.” You’re panting, watching the cyborg scurry further away.

You’re in shock. You cannot believe you just did that. Who are you? An actual warrior? The cyborg is out of sight now. You keep your plasma blade extended while you rest your hands on your knees, trying to catch your breath.

Grogu starts to float after Din in his orb, babbling sadly.

“Okay. We’ll go see what we’re up against at least before I go running for help, I guess,” you sigh and keep your lightsaber extended as you follow behind Grogu.

You’re careful where you step and laugh softly at your earlier thoughts about not having a light. You had one this whole time. This saber was brighter than the lights either of the boys had.

Grogu leads you down the dark metal pipe underneath the Civic Center of the city. Metallic scraping and electric ticking fills the air. You sheath your saber and Grogu stops, holding his arms up to you.

Grogu and yourself carefully make your way into a large room like the one before but this one is filled with cages and chains and all sorts of other mechanical things you don’t know the name for. You and Grogu kneel behind a rock that’s shooting out of the ground. You’re higher up, on a ledge with maybe a two foot drop to the sand below in the room. You spot Din– he’s in one of the cages but this one is in the center of the room. The cyborg limps along before it rests behind a table. The eye in the center of the red illuminated circle disappears. A hatch opens on the top and a giant bug-like creature pokes its head out. It has multiple galls down the side and back of its body; sharp ones that look like they’d poke you real good if they got into you.

The bug has long legs and lanky arms. It might be the scariest thing you’ve ever seen. You watch as it walks to Din and starts to disarm him, tossing his weapons on the ground carelessly. The darksaber gets thrown into the sand like it’s nothing.

Grogu looks at you and you look back at him.

“It’s too big for you.” You mouth to the child. He looks at the lightsaber that’s in your hand. You sigh quietly. Grogu is good with a saber, not as good as you but he can defend himself if needed. Not really great on the offense if you can remember correctly from one of your few sparring sessions with him at the temple. “I don’t know if I can even get it.” You mouth to him, pointing at the darksaber.

Grogu closes his eyes and holds his little partially closed fist out and starts to concentrate.

“Oh my Maker.” You can't believe it as you turn your head and watch as the darksaber starts to wiggle on the ground sightly. “No fucking way.” It’s all silently mouthed, so the bug doesn’t hear you.

The saber starts to wriggle a little more and then it’s being dragged across the ground. It stops at the bottom of the rock you two are sitting behind. “Up. Lift it up!” You mouth to the baby, motioning with your hands ‘up’, watching the darksaber flop on the ground.

Grogu babbles at you in a whisper. You turn to him and plead quietly.

“I know it’s heavy but you need to lift it. Lift it up and I’ll grab it. We need to do it for Din.” You put a gentle hand on Grogu’s shoulder. “You can do it. You’re strong. Strong Grogu.” You encourage him and go back to peeking over the edge of the rock at the saber in the sand. “C’mon.” You whisper to Grogu. “So close.” It’s a strained whisper as you carefully and slowly start to reach for the weapon on the ground below you, it’s just out of your reach, flopping around in the sand. You’re fully exposed like this. If the bug were to turn around like it’s doing right now it would- shit.

The bug sees you reaching for the saber on the ground and lets out a shriek of surprise.

“Hi.” You wiggle your fingers at him as you let the rest of your body slide down the rock. The saber's in your hand already as you take a face and mouthful of sand. You somersault, unsheathing the blade as you land on your ass.

The bug is already coming at you. The darksaber pushes back against your hand like it’s being propelled in the opposite direction in which you're holding it.

“Knock it off!” You growl at it. Your own saber, the beskar lightsaber, the beautiful thing that Din gave you, gets tossed up behind your head. “Grogu, catch!” You yell over your shoulder as you grasp the darksaber in both hands now and drive it into the small lanky inside part of the thigh of the bug. It lets out another shriek, this time of pain and scrambles back towards its metal robotic spider.

You spit out the rest of the sand that’s in your mouth and scramble on your hands as knees as you try to stand, following the bug quickly.

“Oh no you don’t.” You bring the darksaber down hard where the bug just placed its hand. All of its fingers slide off of the limb they were attached to. “Yes!” You exclaim, looking at the blade of the darksaber. “C’mere,” you grunt, reaching with your free hand, grabbing the bug by its wounded, finger-less nub. You squeeze it as tightly as you can. The bug looks down at you, starting to chomp its angry and sharp teeth towards you.

You yank him down off the mechanical crab-spider-hybrid-robot-thing the bug was trying to crawl into. You bring the saber down on its arm as you’re still holding on to its wrist. The arm detaches in your hand and you throw it back at him angrily. The gross insect is attempting to crawl away on its back, looking up at you. “Yeah. I didn’t think I’d be able to do it either,” You hold the darksaber grip close to your side and reach out with your free hand now, holding onto the bug's shoulder. You lunge forward and drive the plasma blade into its chest. It shrieks again and lets out a small wheeze before going limp below you.

Grogu is standing behind you, your pale pink plasma blade extends from the handle as you turn around to look at him.

“Now you want to help? I’m already done.” You wipe the remaining sand off your face and out of your mouth, spitting as you walk towards Din. “Are you alright?” Kneeling beside Din in the cage.

“Yeah. Get me out please.” Din groans.

You stand up again and unsheathe the darksaber and bring it down hard on the lock of the cage. It melts apart and Din falls to the sand with another groan. You attempt to help him up but he ends up just yanking you down on top of him when he tries to pull himself up.

Your chest feels like it explodes when it hits his beskar chest plate. All the air you’ve ever known or planned on knowing is nowhere to be found.

Now, Din has to get up on his own and now help you up as you wheeze and writhe on the sand in pain.

“Why?” You wheeze up at him as he brings you to your feet. “I just…saved your life…and you knocked the…wind out of me… hit me in the… forehead.” You rub the new red spot on your forehead from the chin of his helmet and continue to wheeze and try to find new air somewhere.

Din places one hand on your back as you lean forward and rest your hands on your knees, a similar position to the other room but this time your head hurts. “Not helping you…ever again.” You groan as the wind finds you now.

“Fucking impressive.” Din says finally once you’re standing vertical again. “You figured out the saber then already.” Din half jokes, half can’t believe it himself.

“Gotta be mean to it.”

It's blurry suddenly, and you feel weightless. You’re being flung through the air–fast. The air is stolen from you, not just lost this time…no.

Someone you cannot see took the air from you when you hit the rock you were flung against. “Oh fuck," It doesn't come out as audible sounds, just wheezes and gasps for air.

Din is no longer standing where he was, he has the darksaber that you dropped when you got flung into the air in his hand, and is running for his blaster pistol.

How did you get all the way over here?

Grogo throws your lightsaber in your direction as you try to stand but everything inside of you is on fire, so you don't catch it. You think your back might be broken because you feel like jelly. The weapon lands at your feet as you struggle to kneel, unable to keep your balance even so low to the ground.

Din shouts something in distress, and you search harder for strength to stand somewhere inside of you, taking the lightsaber in your fist.

“I’m fucking over this thing” You wheeze, arching your back. Every single vertebrae you have snaps and pops back into place. It actually feels amazing. Something in your right shoulder pops when you roll them and that doesn’t feel too good but you press on. It hurts to lift the saber over your head, Din is still shouting though. You meet Din in the middle of the room as he gets knocked over onto his side by one of the quick moving feet. “Din!” You shout, holding your hand for the darksaber.

The bug, who somehow got back into the fucking robot’s back is to you but when you shout it turns and it’s red eye finds you and it screams at you, turning now with it’s pincers clanking at you loudly as it snaps them together repeatedly.

“I don’t know how I’m not dead either.” You sigh and take two quick steps towards and underneath the robot. It steps back with you but not quickly enough, missing the foot part of it’s one legs and it stumbles on the missing digit. “Okay.” You grunt as you shove your lightsaber up into the chest cavity of the bug. “Din!” You scream it at him as he aims his blaster pistol. You hold your other hand out but he doesn’t hear you. “Fuck!” You scream again, pulling the blade from within the cavity of the bug, oil spills out onto your face and chest as you push your blade upwards again. “Give me the fucking…darksaber!” You scream to no one as you try and drive the blade further into the chest cavity. You have both of your hands holding onto the grip.

The bug is stuck on your blade, you must be shorting something inside of the chest cavity but it’s still clicking its pincers at you and Din now. Din’s dodging giant metal legs that are trying to spear him.

“I need the fucking darksaber!” You scream it louder than you thought was possible. The bug is pulling away from your blade now and you don’t know if you’ll be able to get another good plunge upwards if he pulls away from you now.

Grogu is standing where he had been when you guys entered the fucking cave in the start, hasn’t moved and inch but now his little fist is being held out in front of him and you’re watching in disbelief as he uses the force to take the darksaber from Din’s hand. It falls to the ground immediately but he pushes it towards you, still with the force. Once it’s at your feet you try to reach for it but your arm won't reach while you still have your lightsaber inside of it.

You look between the bug above you and Din and Grogu and everything feels like it’s happening in slow motion. You yank your blade free from the bugs chest cavity, reach for the darksaber. The pain in your shoulder now is blinding as you drive your pale pink blade into the chest cavity once more as the bug moves over you, going after Din. You unsheath the darksaber with your other hand and drive that one up into the belly of the robot. The darksaber blade slices through it like it’s fabric and you’re able to tear along the belly of the bug-robot-crab-spider. You pull your own blade from the robot and bring it back to the darksaber blade and plunge yours alongside it. The bug tries to run but the blade tear further into the metal, melting it.

The sand on your knees is the last thing you remember.

“Gotta wake up.” Din’s rasp is ringing in your ears. You shoot up and gasp. “There she is. Told you she was alright.” Din speaks to someone. It’s Grogu. “You alright little one? You scared the child.” Din sounds scared himself.

“I don’t know.” You look at him with wide eyes. “What happened? Am I dreaming?” You look around, half expecting to be back on the Crest. You’re still in the robot-bugs room. “Am I alright?” Looking back at Din with fear in your eyes. “What happened? Did I fall asleep?”

“Slow down.” Din rasps gently. “You passed out. Your shoulder was partially dislocated. I set back for you though.” You look down at your shoulder which is still on fire now that you think about it. “Fought through the pain like a real warrior.” Din grabs your left hand and brings you to your feet.

“That thing’s really dead now?” You try to point but your shoulder sends fire to your brain.

“Dead. All thanks to you. I was able to put a blaster into its head once it went down.” Din pats your back gently. You’re shaking. Every muscle and bone and tendon inside of you feels like it’s going to slip out of your skin.

Din walks with his hand on your back like that for what feels like seventeen more hours until you come to a pool of water.

“Are these the waters?” You ask, leaning against a rock beside you. Din nods and takes a couple steps towards the edge.

Something in your heart aches when he does. You were hoping you’d never find them and he’d be able to keep his helmet off for you forever. Selfish thoughts. It’s hard to watch so you look away and pretend to inspect your shoulder but you sense Din standing in front of you.

“One more before I go in.” Din’s unmodulated voice whispers to you.

It makes your head snap up and his dark eyes and perfect everything are looking down at you. You touch his face, hold it in your hands even though your shoulder is falling apart. You try and memorize every single line and wrinkle and facial hair he has. The shape of his eyebrows and the cupid's bow hidden partially behind his perfect mustache. It makes your eyes water, thinking you won’t get to see it again.

“No tears.” Din leans in and kisses you softly. There isn’t force behind it. This isn’t a kiss of lust. This kiss told you how much Din cared for you. How gentle this man could be with you, and you alone.

It physically hurts you when he pulls away and puts his helmet back on. Din was right, this wasn’t time for tears. Din was doing what he came here for–what he wished for–so you’ll support him. Wish the best for him and hope he’s doing the right thing.

Din starts to recite the creed as he takes his first steps into the water. You watch as he slowly starts to sink lower and lower. Suddenly, he’s gone with a splash. You sit up and look at the now rippling water.

“Where’d he go?!” You look at Grogu who is still looking into the dark water. “Grogu! Where did he go!?” You shout at the child. Grogu just points where Din had just been. You run to the water's edge and look in. You can see nothing. You start to panic but you dive in anyway, you’re going to save Din. You break the surface and take a deep breath and look down into the water but it’s too dark to see anything and it’s deep. You’ll never be able to swim down to where the bottom could be. You look to Grogu. “Is that thing waterproof?”

The top half of the floating orb drops down and you can hear it seal from over by the entryway into this room. It speeds towards you and drops into the water in front of you. There are two handles right along the top. You place your hand in one and tap the top of his orb twice with the other before slipping your hand into the hold. You take the biggest breath of air you can into your lungs before Grogu submerges you. It's still dark down here but Grogu’s light is still on and you can kind of see. It’s mostly just rocks and then more darkness.

Your shoulder feels like it might actually be dislocating right now with the speed this thing is pulling you through the water. It’s hard to hold on. You’re still relatively close to the surface when you need to tap on the top of the orb. Grogu brings you to the surface where you gasp softly as your head breaches the water. You breathe for several seconds and put just your face in the water looking down below you. A light. Din’s light. It’s so far down. So, so far and still so far to the left of you guys. You tap the top of the orb after taking another big breath and steer the orb so you guys are right over Din.

Air. You need air. You knock on the dome and Grogu takes you to the surface again.

“Open.” You spit water out of your mouth as Grogu partially opens his orb. “He’s right down there. So far down–” Your head goes under the water for a second but you reappear and spit water out of your mouth again. “You need to go down fast, Grogu faster than you can make this thing go. I’m gonna grab him and hold onto him and you at the same time and you need to bring me back up to the top faster than you brought me down there, okay? I don’t want to die, Grogu. Please.” You feel tears coming to your eyes.

Gorgu closes his orb and revs its little engine. It makes you laugh as tears fall down your cheeks. You tread water for another minute before you inhale as deeply as you can and grab the hand holds. You knock twice.

Darkness. Plunged into a wet noiseless void. It’s worse than the room at night. At least Din was there to keep you safe and now you have to save him!? This was so much worse. So much fucking worse than you could have ever imagined anything Din did out here in the galaxy when you were back on the Crest. You’re so close and already your body is telling you to expel this bad air. You let out a couple bubbles and the pressure in your chest releases a little.

You’re at the bottom. You have your hands around Din’s waist but you can’t lift him. You try so hard, you calm your mind like a Jedi and try again but you’re not strong enough. You shout at him under the water but he doesn’t respond. More bubbles escape from your mouth as you plant your feet firmly on the wet sand below you and pull up from under Din’s arms as much as you can. He slides across the ground and you shriek. You get one arm under his chest and knock on the top of Grogu’s orb. He takes off as your hand finds the hold and you’re being rocketed upwards.

You can feel Din slipping and your hand is slipping out of the hold on Grogu's orb now too. Then it's gone. Grogu’s orb is gone.

You’re plummeting back down to the bottom and you connect with a muted thud. It’s not as soft and sandy as you remember.

You look down and instead of white gray sand it’s–scales? You look around as you empty the last of the bad air out of your lungs. You look directly into one giant yellow eye. It’s so close you can see your reflection in it. The eye itself is bigger than you are. You have no idea what you’re seeing. Horns?

It’s a hallucination. Something your brain came up with to try and comfort you while you die, surely this isn’t real. The eye blinks at you twice.

Din lays beside you, still unmoving as your body instinctively takes a breath in. Water fills your lungs and everything is suddenly warm and quiet.

Okay-- SORRY FOR THE CLIFFHANGER. Not really.

This was my little take on what happened in the mines. I had so much fun writing out reader being a fucking BADASS and saving Din's life with that weird robot bug. I also don't know how drowning works- so... lmk if you do.

tag list: @thereaperisabitch @pedrospookie @furiousmushroom @creepycorbeaux @harriedandharassed @realmamabear79 @blahkateisdone @picketniffler @cheekychaos28 @lilac-boo @pedrostories @wandamaximoff4578 @probablyreadinsmut @katw474 @cowboy-like-m3

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mandoloriancookie · 2 months ago

Text

Not the kind of partner I’m used to..

Bucky is referred to a paired therapy program..

Warnings: None, little bit of angst…Kind of?

The chair was too small.

Bucky shifted uncomfortably, arms crossed over his chest, shoulders hunched like a caged animal. The walls of Dr. Raynor’s office were the same off-white shade of every other government-sanctioned therapy clinic he’d been forced to visit, and the fluorescent lights hummed in a way that made his teeth itch. He hated it here. He hated therapy. And, most of all, he hated whatever new hoop Raynor was making him jump through this time.

"This is stupid," he grumbled, voice low and flat. "I don't need a - what do you even call this? A therapy buddy? A trauma pen-pal?"

Raynor gave him that look. The one that said she was just barely tolerating him. "It’s a paired therapy program."

Bucky rolled his eyes.

"You agreed to try," she reminded him, flipping through her clipboard. "The point is to help people with… let's say, complicated pasts, to build social connections. Get used to interacting. Being normal."

"Great. So you’re admitting this is a group project."

"Not a group," Raynor corrected, sitting back in her chair. "Just the two of you. One-on-one. You can do that, right? Make one friend?"

Bucky sighed through his nose, glaring at the ceiling like it had personally wronged him.

"Well, lucky for you, she’s not thrilled about this either," Raynor continued, glancing at the door as voices echoed from outside the office. "I warned her to be civil, but fair warning - she's not exactly a social butterfly."

Bucky’s interest piqued at that. He listened, keen ears picking up the muffled sound of a woman’s voice.

"Look, Doc, I’m just saying - do I actually have to?" The voice huffed. "I don’t need a therapy partner. I’m doing just fine avoiding people all on my own."

Bucky smirked.

"Y/N, you promised," the other doctor’s voice responded, a familiar level of exhausted patience in her tone.

A pause. A groan. The sound of a doorknob turning.

Then she stepped in.

Y/N had the kind of posture that screamed reluctant participation. She entered the room like it physically pained her to do so, crossing her arms and scanning the space with an expression that read: ‘this was not my idea, and I hate it here.’ When her eyes landed on Bucky, she froze for a fraction of a second - just long enough for him to notice. He was used to that reaction. The pause. The flicker of recognition. Like she was debating whether to acknowledge who he was or pretend he was just some guy.

Bucky arched a brow. "You must be thrilled about this."

She gave him a flat look. "Over the moon."

Raynor clapped her hands together, the universal therapist signal for ‘let’s begin.’ "Great! Now that you’ve met, let’s set some ground rules. The goal here is casual interaction, low-pressure conversations. Just get to know each other."

Y/N’s mouth twitched like she had about ten sarcastic things she wanted to say, but she bit them back.

"I’ll leave you to it," Raynor announced, already making for the door. "Try to keep the glaring to a minimum."

Then she was gone.

The silence stretched. Bucky stared at Y/N. Y/N stared at Bucky. The tension between them was less hostility and more… mutual disinterest. Like two kids forced to work on a school project together, neither wanting to be the first to break the silence.

Bucky sighed. "Guess we should start with the basics. Name’s Bucky."

"Y/N," she responded, shifting her weight. "But I already know who you are."

He tilted his head, not really surprised. "Yeah?"

She gave him a look like he was an idiot. "Because you’re Bucky Barnes. The white wolf. The Winter Soldier. Avenger. Internationally recognized brooding champion."

Bucky blinked, caught off guard. "Brooding champion?"

She shrugged. "You do have a very… ‘resting murder face’ thing going on."

Bucky stared at her for a beat, then snorted. "That’s a new one."

Y/N shifted again, looking slightly less miserable than before. "So, uh… what exactly are we supposed to do? Just talk about our feelings until we magically become better people?"

Bucky smirked. "Pretty sure that’s the idea."

"Gross."

"Agreed."

A beat. Then-

"Wanna get out of here?" Y/N blurted out.

Bucky blinked. "What?"

"Not, like, run away forever," she clarified. "Just… sneak out. Get a coffee or something. We can pretend to do the therapy thing and check it off the list."

Bucky considered this. On one hand, Raynor would definitely give him hell for it. On the other… he really didn’t want to sit in this room for an hour talking about his feelings.

He stood, stretching. "Alright, partner. Lead the way."

Y/N looked surprised for a split second before masking it with an easy smirk. "Try to keep up, Grandpa. We have an hour."

They stepped into the hallway, and Bucky couldn’t help but feel a twinge of nostalgia. It reminded him of old missions—sneaking around, trying to keep a low profile. Only this time, there were no explosions or rifles. Just the muted sounds of people trying to put their lives back together. The smell of over-brewed coffee and sadness.

"This way," Y/N whispered, jerking her head towards the stairs. "The café's less crowded." They descended the stairs, Y/N moving with the kind of ease that came from spending too much time in places like these. Bucky followed, watching the way she moved—like she was trying to be invisible, but couldn’t quite pull it off. She had a presence about her. Something that made people look, even when she didn’t want them to.

When they reached the café, it was indeed quieter than he’d expected. A few patients nursed their drinks, staring into the abyss of their pasts. The barista looked up, giving them a nod that suggested he’d seen this sort of thing before. Bucky couldn’t blame them—therapy was a weird gig.

They claimed a table in the corner, far from prying eyes and eager ears. Y/N slid into a chair, her eyes scanning the room with the kind of wariness he understood all too well. She was checking for threats, even though the biggest threat here was probably someone asking how their week had been.

"So," she said, breaking the silence. "What’s your damage?" Bucky raised an eyebrow. "Excuse me?" "Your tragic backstory," she elaborated, rolling her eyes. "You know, the reason you’re stuck in that soul-sucking building." He leaned back, arms crossing over his broad chest.

"You first."

Y/N’s smirk grew. "Okay, fine. I was in the military. Mission went tits up, ended up with a few too many pieces missing. Now I’ve got metal where there should be meat and therapy where there should be… well, anything else."

Bucky nodded, taking a sip of his coffee. He liked her. "Sounds like a blast," he said, voice dry.

Y/N chuckled, a low, dark sound. "It was. Literally."

The conversation flowed from there, surprisingly easily. They talked about their military backgrounds - Bucky’s HYDRA days, his time as a SHIELD agent. It was like two old soldiers swapping war stories, except the enemy was less about bullets and more about inner demons. She had a sharp wit, he noticed, and a way of cutting through bullshit that was refreshing. No pep talks, no pity. Just raw, honest words that stung a little.

As they talked, Y/N’s defenses slowly started to lower. She spoke about her past missions with a passion that was palpable, her eyes lighting up with a fierce intensity that made him want to lean in closer. And as she spoke, he realized that she wasn’t just some girl with a tragic past - she was a fighter. A survivor. And she’d earned every single one of those metallic scars.

Bucky found himself telling her more than he’d ever told anyone else. Stories of Steve, of the Avengers, of the endless nights spent trying to drown out the echoes of his past with a bottle of whiskey. The words poured out of him like they’d been damned up for too long, and for the first time in what felt like forever, he didn’t feel the need to censor himself.

Y/N listened, really listened, without judgment or the need to fix him. It was a strange feeling, one that made him feel both exposed and oddly at ease. They talked about their fears, their regrets, their hopes for the future - things that Bucky hadn’t allowed himself to think about in a long time.

The bell over the door chimed, and they both looked up, startled by the sudden intrusion of reality. The café was emptying out, the sun setting outside the window in a wash of orange and pink. They’d talked for hours. And they’d be in deep shit. Oh well.

Y/N’s eyes searched his, something unspoken passing between them. "Thank you," she murmured, voice low. "For not making me feel like a freak." Bucky’s smirk grew into a small smile. "You’re not a freak," he said softly. "You’re a survivor."

They stood, gathering their things. As they made their way back to the clinic, Bucky realized that maybe, just maybe, this therapy buddy thing wasn’t going to be so bad after all. It wasn’t fixing his life - not by a long shot. But it was a start.

They re-entered the building, the sterile air hitting them like a slap in the face after the brief taste of freedom. Y/N’s shoulders squared up again, the wall sliding back into place.

"You know, Bucky," she said as they approached the elevator. "I didn’t hate that." He chuckled. "Me neither, kid." The elevator doors dinged open, revealing the all-too-familiar corridor. Y/N stepped in, punching the button for their floor with a little too much force.

"So, what now?" Bucky asked, leaning against the railing. "We just go back to her office and pretend we talked about our feelings?" Y/N rolled her eyes, a hint of a smile playing on her lips. "If that’s what it takes to keep them off our asses." The elevator lurched to a stop, and they stepped out into the hallway. As they approached the room they were supposed to be in, they could hear the muffled sounds of a conversation - Raynor’s voice, and another therapist, discussing their patients.

"Looks like we’ve got company," Bucky murmured, glancing at the clock. They were cutting it close. Y/N nodded. "Let’s make it look good." They both took a deep breath and stepped into the room, trying to look like they hadn’t just blown off their session.

Raynor looked up from her notes, raising an eyebrow. "You two look… enlightened." Bucky and Y/N shared a look, the unspoken challenge passing between them.

"We had a breakthrough," Y/N said, deadpan. "A real emotional rollercoaster." Raynor’s gaze flicked between them, trying to gauge their sincerity. "Well," she said, after a beat. "I’m happy to hear that. Why don’t you sit down and tell me all about it?" Her voice was skeptical.

They sat, and Bucky launched into a half-true, half-exaggerated story about their heart-to-heart. Y/N filled in the blanks with sighs and eye-rolls, and somehow, it was convincing. They had a rhythm, a way of finishing each other's sentences that made it seem like they'd been friends for years instead of minutes.

"So, you've discovered the importance of sharing your feelings," Raynor said, scribbling on her clipboard.

"It's life-changing," Bucky deadpanned, and Y/N snorted. This might not be so bad…

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Here you go, My Lovelies! I just love the thought of someone matching Bucky’s energy in total contrast to the usual grumpy/sunshine trope 🫶

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