Adriana ~~ she/her ~~ 40s ~~ 18+ only! ~~ a little bit of an idiot ~~ in love with all the Pedro Pascal characters ~~ AO3 & Discord: baronessvonglitter
My name is Adriana, and if your'e on my page it's because of Pedro Pascal.. isn't it? Yeah, I thought so. Feel free to stay awhile and peruse some goodies on the masterlist below.
My blog is all about Pedro, with a few other fandoms sprinkled in.
Please check below for works on your favorite Pedro boys! (I do not write or reblog RPF.)
Feel free to leave an Ask and say hi, discuss fics, or plain just fangirl with me!
I am currently quite busy with some life changes and won't be able to fulfill fic requests immediately, but it never hurts to ask.
(Please be aware that this blog is for those 18 years or older, minors DNI)
Reed Richards - The Fantastic Four: First Steps
Ted Garcia - Eddington
Harry Castillo - Materialists
Joel Miller - The Last of Us
Marcus Acacius - Gladiator II
Lucien de Leon - The Uninvited
Clint Flood - Freaky Tales
Din Djarin - The Mandalorian
Dieter Bravo - The Bubble
Tim Rockford - Merge Mansion
Marcus Moreno - We Can Be Heroes
Maxwell Lord - Wonder Woman 1984
Frankie Morales - Triple Frontier
Dave York - The Equalizer 2
Jack Daniels - Kingsman: The Golden Circle
Javier Peña - Narcos
Pero Tovar ~ COMING SOON!
Max Phillips - Bloodsucking Bastards
Marcus Pike - The Mentalist
Oberyn Martell - Game of Thrones
My Most Beloved Fic Recs of All Time
Fucktober 2024 Birthday Writing Challenge
Reblogs and comments appreciated! I love that shit ♥️
Warnings: I’m rating this 18+. Hat theft. Implied future Sexy Time between consenting adults in an established relationship.
Writing prompt:
A/N: Thank you, @bergamote-catsandbooks, for the Ask in the Made-up Fic Titles that was posted by @tinytinymenace. As soon as I looked at the Ask, I knew exactly where I was heading with it. 😘
Frankie comes striding out of the bathroom wearing his favorite ‘fancy’ shirt and running his fingers through his freshly washed curls when he catches you, hat in hand, next to the garbage can. You can’t exactly deny how it looks… because it is how it looks.
“Baby… Whatcha doin’?” he asks, arms crossed, expression neutral.
“Frankie…” you begin.
“That my hat?” His brows tick up just a fraction as he nods toward your hand.
“Frankie.”
“Are you throwing my hat in the garbage?” Now he’s doing that ‘head tilt’ thing that he does when he finds you doing things you shouldn’t be doing… though usually it consists of you climbing on the countertops to reach something on the very tippy-top shelf in one of the upper cabinets.
“Frankie… look at this thing…” You hold it up for his inspection. The brim is completely fraying. There’s dirt so ground into the fabric that you’re not even sure what the original color was supposed to be. And there’s oil stains all over it from him constantly laying beneath his truck. You won’t even mention the amount of sweat that’s been absorbed into it. It’s seen better days. You Googled the godforsaken hat and found one that looks exactly the same… brand new on Ebay. “It’s falling apart.”
“It’s my hat. Baby… don’t…” he says warningly, eyes darkening as he watches your fingers twitch, just itching to drop it in the bin. He lunges forward, arm outstretched. “Don’t you dare!”
Gripping the hat tightly, you turn and run in the other direction. Maybe if you can get to the firepit in the backyard, you can give it a proper funeral pyre. You have about fifty feet of hallway before you can make it to the back door. You’re closing in with twenty feet left… fifteen… ten.
“Oooof!!” You’re tackled to the floor from behind but miraculously manage to maintain your hold onto the offending hat. You squirm beneath the weight of him, trying your damnedest to free yourself. He rolls you onto your back with minimal effort and continues to hold you down. Pinning your hands above your head, he leans dangerously close to your ear, his breath warm on your skin.
“I warned you,” he growls so deep he feels your body tremble against his.
“Frankie… the hat’s… disgusting,” you whine.
“I like my hat.” He nips at that place behind your ear that he knows will undo you.
“Then let me wash it,” you gasp, wrapping your legs around his waist, pulling him closer.
5k8 | Joel Miller x fem reader | ao3 | series masterlist | Masterlist
Summary: Joel and Ellie settle in Jackson and Tommy becomes a part of his brother’s life again. One day he brings Joel some unexpected news
Warnings: 18+ mdni. Angst, hurt/comfort, alt pov (Joel, Tommy, reader), mentions of panic attacks and surviving in the wild, mentions of Sarah, Joel's soft side reappears
a/n: as usual, this chapter references both the game and the HBO show. Thank you my baby @aurorawritestoescape for beta-ing and helping me 💕and @sawymredfox for your thoughts and support ❤️dividers @/saradika-graphics🙏
Part 2
**********
“Looks like Seth made it on time, but did some hungry beast attack it or somethin’?” Tommy asked, looking at the gutted birthday cake in Joel's kitchen, making his older brother chuckle. “Ellie isn’t really one to bother with manners. Or spoon, I guess…,” Joel replied with a smile. Ellie could be as sharp as a blade with frankness, but it stopped irritating his Texan heart a long time ago.
“I noticed she terrorizes pretty much everyone around here.”
“Even Maria?”
“Nope, not Maria,” Tommy said as his eyebrows shot up, and the two brothers laughed at the joke. It was impossible to mess with Maria; whether it was due to her nature or her past as an assistant district attorney, she wasn't the type to be impressed, and knew how to handle people, including Ellie.
And Joel.
Two months after settling in Jackson, he was still working on changing the way she was seeing him, but he didn't hold a grudge. He probably would have reacted the same way if he'd been in her shoes, considering what Joel and Tommy had to do to survive, until his brother couldn’t deal with it anymore, left for Jackson and found a new way of living.
A part of Joel started feeling guilty about it after Tommy told him he still had nightmares from that time. He admitted it during a heated argument when Joel and Ellie just came to Jackson. He really couldn't blame Maria, especially when those years wouldn’t let Tommy sleep peacefully at night.
At the same time, Joel was convinced he had done what he had to, and that it had helped them to survive for all those years.
“Is this a new guitar?” Tommy asked when he noticed the instrument, picked it up and brushed the strings above the engraved moth.
“Yeah. I told Ellie I’d teach her how to play. I wanted her to have her own and I customized it.” Joel paused and scratched his beard with his thumb, then added “she asked me to sing somethin’. I've never been so intimidated my whole life.”
“How can this small kid scare the shit out of us is a mystery to me,” Tommy smiled. He had liked Ellie immediately. She was a real whirlwind with a damn mouth on her, and at first he was amused to see her push Joel around. Then he noticed the way his brother was looking at her. It reminded him of the other version of Joel, the one from more than twenty years ago, which he thought he’d never see again.
“What did she think of it?”
“She said it didn’t suck.”
“Best compliment ever from a 15 year old, in my opinion,” Tommy smiled. “It’s good that Ellie’s in your life, she’s good for you. Changed you.”
“I reckon she did…”
Tommy noticed a veil of sadness over his brother’s face, Sarah probably on his mind. He didn’t want Joel to feel sad. The man had been miserable for twenty years, carrying his grief on his shoulders the whole time, turning into a dark version of himself. The weight seemed lighter since Joel and Ellie joined Jackson for good two months ago, and Tommy wished for his brother to keep healing.
“How's her arm?” he asked, wanting to change the subject.
“It’s ok. We went to the clinic this morning. It still hurts a little, but she’s tough.”
“She is,” Tommy agreed. Then he cleared his throat and said, “listen, there’s a party on Saturday night at the Tipsy Bison, with music, stuff like that. Wanna come?”
“I heard of it, I’m not sure. I’ll think about it.”
“It could help you meet people, y’know?”
Joel threw him a glare before answering, “People? ‘m not interested.”
“Come on, Joel, I’m not talking about dating, just… talking,” Tommy added, but was soon interrupted by Joel.
“I said I’m not interested. I wanna take care of Ellie and keep Jackson safe. So I do my stuff, go on patrols, with people by the way.”
“Sure. Ok,” he nodded and patted Joel’s back, before leaving.
Tommy closed the door behind him and walked home down Jackson's main street. He didn't bring the subject to upset Joel, he knew they handled things differently.
He was glad to have found his brother again, maybe not fully but a huge part of him, the one to whom he was so attached when he was little, to whom he wrote letters from a camp, missing him terribly.
Tommy couldn’t imagine what Joel had gone through. He wasn’t the one whose daughter died in his arms, and he wasn’t the one that lost the love of his life the same night. He had no idea how he’d have reacted if it had happened to him.
Tommy knew that you were still in Joel's mind. He kept going for so long thanks to the idea that you were alive, in the Boston QZ, until he checked the arrival records. Tommy was there that day, next to Joel as he turned all the pages, his face distorted by pain. Soon it morphed into anger and Tommy had to make him leave the office, fearing that Joel would hit a soldier as an outlet when he couldn’t find your name in it.
And now… Now Tommy didn't know if Joel was still holding on to the idea that you were alive somewhere, and he didn't dare talk to him about you. He wasn't afraid of being told to fuck off, he was used to it, but he didn't want to reopen the wound that Ellie had started to cicatrize.
When Joel and Tess grew closer, Tommy thought his brother would soften, but it only turned him into a guard dog, obsessed with the idea of protecting her, of succeeding where he had failed before. But once again, fate decided otherwise.
He wanted to see his brother happy, really happy, and thought that meeting someone in the safety of Jackson would help, but he also knew how stubborn Joel was. He still hadn't gotten rid of his watch, or at least put it in a box at home. No, it was still on his damn wrist, where he could see it, feel it, all damn day, because he was convinced he had to suffer his whole life as a punishment.
Joel was working on a wood carving when he heard a loud knock on his front door. He put his glasses down on the workbench and wiped his hands on his jeans as he went downstairs. When he opened the door, he gave his brother a smile but it vanished as soon as he noticed the look on his face.
“Joel, hey… can I talk to you?” Tommy asked, avoiding his brother’s gaze.
“Is Ellie ok?” Joel questioned urgently, worry loud in his eyes and voice.
“Yeah, yeah, don’t worry, Ellie’s fine.”
“What is it, then?”
"Can I?" Tommy nodded at the inside of the house and Joel stepped aside to let him in. His brother went to the living room, sat down on the sofa and pressed his hands against each other out of nervousness.
"You huh… you should sit down, maybe,” Tommy said, looking straight at Joel for the first time since he opened the door to him.
Joel was about to tell him to stop with that bullshit, to tell him right there, what was going on, but Tommy's look silenced him. The one of someone who didn't know how to say what he had to say.
Like an augury tingling in his chest, your image appeared in Joel’s mind, but he brushed it aside.
No.
He couldn't hammer another nail into his heart, into that part of him that never lost hope despite all the spikes planted in it, years after years. He couldn't possibly think that Tommy was gonna tell him he'd heard from you, letting hope nestle into its tiny place, like a flame that had never gone out despite the darkness surrounding it in Joel's heart.
Just to end up being heartbroken once again.
Even if Tommy's expression made it seem like he'd seen a ghost.
Time stopped, and Joel felt as if everything was moving in slow motion. He was afraid of what his brother was going to say, afraid that his stupid, endless hope would shatter into a hundred pieces, for the thousandth time, millionth time, like a glass after it fell to the ground.
So Joel sat down on the couch, unable to look at Tommy anymore.
“What is it?” he murmured finally, gaze fixed on the floor. His hands started to shake and he clenched his fists to stop their trembling, waiting for Tommy to speak. Joel thought he would wait all night if necessary, not rushing him, not forcing him to say what he needed to say, until he'd be able to tell him. Because hope was already settling in, cozying itself in his heart’s deepest corner, and he was afraid that it’d vanish as soon as his brother talked.
Tommy cleared his throat then said something, his voice so low that Joel wasn't sure if he heard him correctly. A million thoughts swirling in his mind.
Did he imagine it, or did he really hear your name?
Once again, he pushed the thought away, banished the hope he woke up with every morning, throughout all his years of wandering. Or maybe… Maybe a patrol found your body and brought it back to Jackson, brought it back to Tommy, like it would happen sometimes. The idea made him sick.
Or maybe you joined Jackson on your own?
His thoughts were racing, blood pulsating in his ears, and his heart no longer knew which rhythm to beat. Joel placed his hand on his chest, trying to calm it down.
"She’s here, Joel. She’s in Jackson,” Tommy said carefully, his concerned eyes fixed on his brother.
His words sent a shiver through Joel’s body and he was barely able to articulate a weak “what?”
“She’s at the clinic right now, they're checking her,” Tommy added.
“What… How… How is it possible?”
“There are new refugees all the time, Joel. They hear about Jackson, and they come,” he said softly. “You know it, we improve this place every day to offer them a decent home.”
“Yeah… Yeah, you’re right,” he answered, eyebrows furrowed, unable to really process what was happening. “Is she hurt?”
He noticed the way Tommy's eyes flicked away for half a second, before he responded.
"She’s alright. Weak and hungry, but she’s okay."
"Don't fucking lie to me," Joel growled, his glare darker than ever. It reminded Tommy of the Joel he never wanted to see again. The one that had kept them alive, for sure, but who was barely human. Just a cold and angry man. Ruthless.
"Shit. You're such a damn hound. She’s… she’s not in good shape. She was probably living outside for a long time. She’s dehydrated, weak, got some bruises-” He stopped talking when Joel stood up hastily, towering over Tommy before heading to the front door.
“NO! No, Joel. Calm down, stay right here and listen to me for fucks sake!" he said firmly, making Joel stop at the door and take a deep breath.
"She's at the clinic, they're taking care of her, ok? Calm down."
Joel felt his legs give way beneath him, and came back to the sofa to sit down, head in his hands.
“Ok… ok. Did she see you? Did you talk?”
“Yeah. I was there when they brought her and a man. I thought she was going to pass out when she saw me, you know… kind of like you right now, damn it!” Tommy got up to pour two glasses of whiskey and gave one to Joel, who downed it in one go.
“Easy, Joel… I can't imagine the thoughts in your head right now.”
But his brother wasn't listening. Couldn't listen.
“Did she ask about me?”
“Of course. She knows you’re here, and it was quite a shock.” Tommy looked at his brother again, hesitating, then added in a low voice, “she asked about Sarah. I… I didn’t wanna tell her. Not then, and it’s not my place,” he said before his voice broke and tears started to blur his eyes. “But she understood. She looked at me, and she just knew. Her face… my God, her face, Joel, her pain… I barely had time to catch her before she fell to the ground.”
“That’s enough,” Joel spat, his lips pressed in a thin line. It was all too much, and he couldn’t bear the idea that you were alone at the clinic.
“Joel…”
“I said enough! I gotta see her, I can’t leave her alone there. She must feel lost, she's probably afraid,” he added, his voice so cold and sharp that at first it stopped Tommy. But he couldn’t let Joel go there, not now, not when he was overwhelmed by his emotions.
“No, Joel! You can't just show up like that, she's not in the right condition. Not physically, not mentally. So you’re gonna wait until tomorrow and then you'll ask the doctors if you can see her. And if they tell you you can't for whatever reason, you leave. Promise me, Joel. Otherwise, I swear I'll post two guards there and tell them to shoot you in the knee if they see your goddamn face. You can't show up like that, she needs to rest so if she sleeps for three fucking days or more, you wait! Now, you promise me!”
Tommy’s words left Joel speechless for a few seconds, but soon he realized his brother was right, he had to do what was best for you.
“I promise,” he sighed, but met Tommy’s stare. “I said I promise, Jesus Christ. I’ll see her in the morning if they allow me. God, I can't believe she's here.”
“I know… I know, Joel…” Tommy said, squeezing his shoulder, looking at Joel whose gaze was lost in another place or another time.
Once his brother left, Joel sat down at the dining room table and looked at his watch. He was terrified to face the past and learn what happened to you, and couldn't fully realize that you were here, in Jackson. That you were so close.
He did not sleep that night.
“She was almost in a state of shock when they brought her last night. We haven't been able to give her a full exam yet. She asked if you were really here in Jackson, and of course we confirmed it. The nurse said she mentioned another name, Sarah, and cried."
Joel was trying to cope with the information and with his heart suddenly racing way too fast when he heard his daughter's name from a doctor who didn't know her or what she meant neither to him nor to you.
"She woke up several times during the night, and asked for you. We told her you'd come today. We had to give her some tranquilizers because she needed to sleep but was too agitated.”
"Is she hurt?" Joel repeated the question he had asked his brother the day before, trying to put aside his emotions after hearing that you had inquired about him, that you needed him. Meanwhile anxiety was whispering to him in its sly voice that once you knew what kind of man he had become, you would no longer want anything to do with him.
"From what we could see, physically she has some bruises, some fresh and some not. We stitched her lip up and bandaged her wrist. It looks like just a sprain, but today we'll make sure it's not fractured, with other exams she has to undergo."
He paused for a moment, looking at Joel carefully, then added, "mentally… It's hard to say until we know more about what happened to her. She's been living in the wild for a while, that's for sure. She was starved and dehydrated, very weak, so we put her on an IV drip. She's going to need time and support. You can go see her but don't wake her up, let the meds work. Tommy told me that you had known each other before the outbreak and that you hadn’t seen each other since?”
“Yeah, that's right."
"Okay, so it’s a shock for you as well. If you need help with it, come see us, okay?"
Joel agreed, even if he'd probably deal with it in his own way.
"There was a man with her, dehydrated and starving as well. I'm gonna check on him right now. Wait for her to wake up and then go easy.”
"Of course," Joel replied, then walked down the corridor, his gaze fixed on the third door on the right. The room where the doctor said you were. He couldn't believe you were so close, more than twenty years after being apart, after he lost you. He didn't know how he would react, he was afraid that the smallest scratch on your body would shatter the sanity he had left since the night before.
Joel paused when he reached the half-open door, his trembling fingers frozen in midair before he grasped the handle and pushed it open. Taking a deep breath, he stepped inside, forcing himself to move slowly, gradually taking in the room and the sunbeams on the foot of your bed. His gaze followed the curve of the blanket from there, your feet and your legs, your arms along your body, the IV, as he was taking long and deep breaths, trying to calm his heartbeat.
But when his eyes set on your head, he had to fight back the sobs that threatened to burst out of his throat at the sight of your gaunt face, your hollow features and your stitched lip. Your brows were furrowed and twitching in your sleep. He wondered what you had been through, what your life had been all these years and his throat tightened painfully.
Flashes of you in Austin, happy and smiling, appeared in his mind.
He remembered when you used to go to the lake, his hand on your thigh while he was driving there.
He remembered you in his arms, in bed. The way he could feel your heartbeat fasten when he laid his hand on your chest, the way you used to bite your lip before kissing him. The way you looked at him.
His memory went blurry as your soft expression faded in his mind, turning into a determined one, a will for survival plastered on it, then morphed into a scared one.
The visions made him clench his fists. He couldn't bear the thought of not having been there for you, there to protect you, as he should have been.
Scared to wake you up, Joel resisted the urge to take your hand that wasn’t wounded in his, and only sat in the armchair beside your bed, watching your face and your worried features, your chest rising and falling. His eyes mentally photographed every scratch, every wound.
He thought about the last time he had seen you at the airport. The smile you gave him when he told you it was just for a few days, that you'd be back soon, trying to cheer you up because he knew how disappointed you were to not be there for his birthday. The “I love you” you mouthed to him, before heading to your flight. He immediately started missing you.
Joel pushed back the thought of what had happened after, instead he focused on your face, and his gaze softened, as he was slowly realizing you were truly here, bruised for sure but alive. He had never lost hope and for the first time in many years he felt grateful and relieved.
And then you said his name in your sleep. A soft “Joel” escaped your lips, and without a second thought he murmured “I'm here” back and took your hand in his. Your features softened instantly, and he stayed still, amazed, holding your hand in his, his warmth gradually enveloping you, your heartbeat resonating from your wrist to the tips of his fingers. Joel was watching you, not tearing his eyes off, until he drifted off without realizing it because he hadn't been able to get a second of sleep the night before, anxiously waiting for the morning to finally visit you. His free hand slid off the bed and hung by the side of the armchair.
You woke up to the sound of birds, confused, trying to remember why you were on a bed, a real bed, in what seemed to be a hospital bedroom. And why you were overtaken by a feeling so familiar and comforting and had been lost for such a long time, that you were unable to put a finger on it.
Until you felt him, his presence, his hand on yours.
Joel.
That feeling was stronger than everything else, a certainty filling your entire being, without laying your eyes on him. It was the warmest sensation you had felt in two decades, before your brain went blank, heart beating so fast that you were afraid it could explode. You stared at the ceiling, needing some time before turning your head to check if Joel was really there or if you imagined it like so many times before.
You heard him straighten up and felt his eyes on you, as if they were a magnet you couldn’t resist. You turned your head to his side, and your heart felt like it stopped when your eyes met. A weak “fuck” escaped your lips, your hand leaving his to clutch at your shirt, just above your heart. Quickly staring back at the ceiling again, everything became blurry and you were afraid your body or your soul would dive into the mattress, scared that you were going to pass out.
“Christ, sweetheart,” he said as he got up, his voice, his drawl, unmistakable, even decades later.
Joel.
Joel was beside you and you were overwhelmed by a torrent of emotions that you were struggling to deal with.
You raised your hand, urging him to wait a second, catching your breath and processing what was happening.
Joel stopped mid-stride, slowly lowering his hands, desperately helpless as he watched you try to manage your emotions alone.
For a moment, he forgot the decades that kept you apart, acting on instinct, thinking that if you needed comfort you’d naturally turn to him.
As he instinctively, immediately, went into protective mode with you.
Thinking you’d throw yourself in his arms, seek comfort in his embrace to let go of all your fears and cries and the years that passed apart from him.
But you didn’t.
Letting aside the anxiety already trying to drown him, Joel relied on his rational side as best as he could, acknowledging that you might have to handle things differently, and need time to process your emotions.
He turned to the bedside table and poured some water in a glass for you but stopped when he heard your quiet “Joel?”, your eyes filled with tears fixed on him. The sight of the drip needle in your bluish hand broke his heart, then threatened to fill it with anger against the whole world, but he managed to stop his dark thoughts, realizing it wasn’t what you needed.
“Joel, are you really… is it real?” you sobbed, your shaking hands finally raised towards him, pleading for his touch. He sat hastily on the bed, and you finally wrapped your arms around him, burying your face in his neck.
“It's real, I'm here,” he said, and you let your tears flow as he roamed your back softly, cuddling you, whispering “I got you.”
And you broke down.
Your tears quickly turned into sobs, the ones you couldn’t hold back when it was too much, as loud as the ones you had let out on your first night in the QZ. But this crying in the clinic’s room was different. Full of joy at finding his arms again, and of pain at everything that had been lost.
Twenty years later, Joel and you were finally reunited.
Still crying, you let go of his shoulders and curled up against him, your fists pressed against his chest, indifferent to the drip that was pulling on your vein, as if you wanted to melt into him, into everything he was and that you had desperately missed all these years.
He was rocking you slowly, gently, his large hand resting on the back of your head, lulling you with soft and comforting words.
“You’re gonna be ok now”
“You’re safe”
“We’re gonna help you get better”
“No one will ever hurt you again”
“I got you”
I got you.
He repeated those three words several times, finally finding what he'd been chasing for so many years. What kept him going, making him more stubborn and persistent day after day, never losing hope as time went on. Now he could feel your body letting go, the tension slowly escaping second by second, and it was the best sensation he had felt for so long. His reward of not letting you go. Despite everything that had happened, all the losses and heartbreaks, this moment he’d dreamed of so many times before finally came.
As you felt Joel’s reassuring touch, you slipped your arms under his and wrapped them around his waist, snuggling close to him, as close as you could, letting him embrace you, surround you with his warmth.
And you felt safe, hearing his low voice again, nestled against him. Safer than you'd been in those two decades, your shoulders relaxing, the tension in your body gradually dissipating.
Both of you lost track of time, your nose pressed against his plaid shirt, tears rolling down your face continuously, until they slowed down then stopped, once you had no more tears to cry.
“I’m sorry about your shirt, Joel,” you sniffled.
“I don’t care about my shirt, sweetheart,” he chuckled, his voice so soft you were afraid to start crying again, his hand still cradling the back of your neck, keeping you against his chest.
“I’m afraid if I pull away, you’ll disappear,” you murmured.
“I won’t, I promise. I’m right here.”
You tightened your arms around his waist, resting your cheek against his bicep. You weren’t sure what to say to him after all this time, words seemed meaningless in that moment.
You looked outside, through the window. Everything was so quiet, but not the kind that used to make you wonder if something dangerous was hiding behind a tree, when you were outside. If someone or something was waiting to kill you.
This time, it seemed to be just a real, peaceful life.
Until you suddenly thought of Tommy. You had arrived here the day before when the doors of Jackson opened. The shock it had been to see him.
And it struck you, Sarah's face appeared in your mind, her radiant smile gradually blurred until it vanished as if it were made of smoke, and you gasped.
The effect of the medication probably made you forget what you had learnt the day before, the pain on his face when you had said his niece's name. Made you forget that she was gone. Tommy didn’t say anything, he didn’t have to.
So many times, you tried to imagine her face over the years. How she would look, at 16 years old, 20, 30. You didn't even know when she died. When you whispered "when? How?" Tommy shook his head, unable to answer.
You pulled away from Joel, your hands clasped tightly on his forearms.
“Tommy told me about Sarah. Well, not really, but…” you said, your voice breaking up. “ I’m sorry, Joel. I’m so sorry. I wish I could…”
His face changed, its indecipherable expression left you confused. A mix of harshness, repressed sorrow, and guilt. Then his features softened.
“Hey, hey, look at me,” Joel said, cupping your cheeks in his hands. “What’s important is that you’re here. Safe, okay?”
“But-”
“Please,” he begged. “I finally found you. We’ll talk about everything later, okay?”
“Okay,” you replied.
“I found you,” he said, then smiled, his dimples popping on his cheeks. “Well, you found me.” You tried to smile, too, but you couldn’t stop thinking about Sarah, making your heart bleed.
He probably felt it and took you in his arms again. The time would come when you could talk about what had happened to both of you, but right now he couldn’t deal with it, talk to you about Sarah, and probably disappoint you. He couldn’t handle saying her name for now, couldn’t see you cry over the loss.
A knock at the door interrupted you and the doctor came in, asking how you were going, nodding when you said you were ok.
“Your friend’s good, too, I checked on him this morning. A few bruises, and he’s suffering from dehydration, but nothing serious. Now we’re going to run some tests, okay?”
Your “friend.”
You hadn't thought about Eric once since you’d woken up, and you brushed aside the questions that would inevitably arise. But not now.
You looked at Joel, not ready to leave him. You were afraid to lose him again, to lose his reassuring presence, the way he was able to make you feel like everything was gonna be fine now. He exchanged a glance with the doctor, then agreed with him, “they need to check on you, okay? Take care of you. I’ll come back in the afternoon,” he said, nodding to you as a reassurance. He stood up and kissed your forehead.
“I’m so happy and relieved to have you back. That you’re here, in Jackson, safe”, he murmured. “Let the doctors get you back in shape,” he added, standing up, and smiled at you.
You nodded and smiled back, keeping your eyes on him until he left the room, doing your best to swallow the tears that were threatening to come again.
When you woke up in the afternoon after they had run their tests leaving you exhausted, Joel had kept his word and was in your room, sitting in the armchair turned towards your bed. He straightened up when you woke up, murmuring a soft “hey.”
“Hey,” you returned back, trying to straighten up as well, but the pain in your body made you wince.
“Woah woah, it’s ok, don’t push it. You must be tired and sore.”
“Yeah,” you answered weakly. You felt dizzy. You had so many questions to ask, but you wanted to respect Joel’s wish for a more appropriate time, so you talked about something more neutral, Jackson. You didn’t see a lot of it, but you were already amazed. The place had a clinic, it was highly protected. It felt surreal.
“So.. this is really a community? A whole town?”
“Yeah. Being run by Maria- Tommy’s wife, and him. They’re doing a great job.”
“It’s… it’s really amazing. We heard about it, but to be honest, I didn't really think it was possible. And I certainly didn’t expect something that big!”
“Yeah, a lot of refugees hear about it and join us. We’re working hard to make the place better, day after day. Where did you hear about it?”
“At the QZ,” you answered, and saw him frown.
“Which QZ?”
“Boston. I stayed there for several years. Got sent there a few days after… it happened, and… what?” you asked, when you saw his eyes widening.
“Boston?! I don’t understand,” Joel replied, eyebrows furrowed. “I went to the Boston QZ… I checked the arrival records, your name wasn’t there.”
It left you confused. Joel was there, at the QZ? Why didn’t you see him? Why didn’t you find each other?
“When were you there? I don’t understand either… All those years and I didn’t see you? I don’t understand,” you repeated, tears threatening to run down your cheeks again at the thought that you could have met sooner.
“I thought I could find you there, so Tommy and I left Austin right after the Outbreak day, but it took us so many years to reach it... And you weren’t there.”
“They checked me in… Put my name on the list, I don’t- Oh my god!”
“What?”
“I… I registered under your name… I said my name was Miller, I…” You couldn’t hold back the tears anymore. You’ve been so stupid to put a different name.
“You gave them my last name?” he said, his eyes so soft that you melted. He leaned towards you and wiped the tears from your face softly with his thumbs.
“Yeah, I… you were my family. So was Sarah and Tommy, and… I don’t know, it just felt so natural and I wanted to keep that connection. I didn’t know if you were alive, what happened to you… It felt like the right thing to do, but it was so stupid.”
“Hey,” he said, leaving the armchair to sit on the bed, and took your hand in his. “It wasn’t stupid. And I guess you already left the QZ when I got there, so it wouldn’t have changed anything.”
“But you could have known I was there!”
“No, stop torturing yourself,” he said softly, his big brown eyes fixed in yours. “Even if I knew, I wouldn’t have known where to find you, right? And I would have been even more worried to know you were outside.”
“Yeah, but you would have known I was alive, or at least that I was at some point and joined the QZ…”
“Sweetheart, quit it,” he cooed, and the nickname made you sob. His worried yet soft eyes were as comforting as they were before. Calming you down. Joel was here, facing you. Maybe you made a mistake, but being by his side was all that mattered now.
“I can’t believe I found you,” you breathed, seizing his hands in yours. You dreamed about it so many times, and finally he was here, with you.
“You did,” he smiled, and hugged you. You cuddled against him, letting him rock you. He was your happy place, your comfort, twenty years ago, and the fact that he was still now, making you feel safe again, in this world, was overwhelming.
“Ok, I’m gonna let you rest now. I’ll come back tomorrow morning, ok?” Uncertainty seized him when he noticed the way you were looking at him, as if you weren’t ready to let him go, as if you wanted to tell him something.
“What is it?” he asked.
“Don’t leave me,” you breathed. “Please, stay with me.”
Joel masterlist
Thank you for reading 🙏 Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated ❤️
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Can I request 📝 & public no. 6 (a quickie in a diner restroom before getting back on the road), with Dieter?? 🥰
thank you so much, Gideon! idk what happened but i took this and ran. hope you love this, my dude!
18+ mdni. dieter bravo x f!reader. sex in a public bathroom. w.c. 783
Ozzie’s 11k birthday sleepover
It was supposed to be a quick stop: fuel up, grab a bite, and get back on the road. However, you knew to expect a blip in your plans when Dieter was your co-pilot.
Today, though, the blip turned into 35 minutes behind schedule because someone wanted to play an old arcade game the owners had set up in the back of the small diner.
You let Dieter have his fun while you drank your coffee and went over your route once more. He looked so cute playing the arcade game in his long, green robe. You never could part that man from his robe. "I like to be comfy at all times," you recall him saying when he sunk into the passenger seat at the beginning of your trip.
When you couldn't waste any more time, you gave him a '5 more minutes' signal as you made your way to the bathroom.
The bathroom was what you expect in a local diner. Small but relatively clean, thankfully. As you finish washing your hands, Dieter frantically knocks on the door.
"Let me in," he whines.
He's already turning the knob as you unlock it. He shuts the door quickly and slithers into the tiny space. Your ass bumps into the sink as you make room for the broad man.
"What's wrong?" you ask, worry framing your words.
"Nothing. Just missed you." he smiles, pinching your chin between his thumb and forefinger.
"Dieter! You can't worry me like that." you chastised, poking his chest.
He plasters his thick body against your own, pushing you further into the porcelain sink. "Sorry, love. I just thought we could have a quick fuck before we got back in the car." he muses, a grin tugging at the corners of his lips.
You roll your eyes, but they stop mid-way when he rubs his large bulge over your belly. "Shit, D." you look at the door and then back to those wild, wanting eyes.
He wraps his arms around your waist and tips his head, looking at you under his lashes. "You know how quick I can be."
You huff with a laugh. "Okay, Mr. Quickie. Let's go," you happily prompt.
"Oh, that means you're Mrs. Quickie! " he muses, laughing until his cheer is struck down. His eyes zero in on your lower half as you hike up your skirt and tug your panties to the side.
"Well, what are you waiting for." you dare, propping your leg on the window sill and wrapping your hands around his neck for support.
Dieter goes a bit dumb when you and sex are involved. He usually relies on you to tell him what to do. The second you snap your command, he shoves his sleep pants down to his knees and takes his cock in his hand.
He teases your already slick opening with his throbbing crown before slowly pushing into your searing core. He doesn't stop until he's buried to the hilt, and his girthy base nudges your clit. He bites the side of his cheek, wantonly moaning into the small space as your walls stretch around him.
Your "magic pussy" as he likes to call it, is already working, teasing and tempting him to fill you up.
"Best be quiet, D. We don't need anyone interrupting us," you say, combing your fingers through his hair and slightly tugging.
A whimper bubbles up from his throat. You press a single finger to his pouted lips before branding him with a kiss. He sets a steady pace, angling his hips just right and grazing all those sensitive spots he knows that get you off the fastest.
His bulbous crown notches something profound and devastating, forcing your arousal to rise steadily until you're drowning in the salacious rapture. His brow pinches tight, furrowing with a heavy need to stave off his own pleasure until he feels you come on his cock.
His bottom lip trembles. With a silent command, you thumb at the plush cushion and plummet off the edge together, holding one another's gaze. Hushed whimpers and labored breathing fill the room as you melt into one.
You exit the bathroom first, praying that no one will notice Dieter leaving the tiny bathroom a few moments after you. You keep your eyes locked on the floor as you make a beeline for the main entry, casually looking over your shoulder to ensure Dieter is tailing you.
He curls a weighty arm around your shoulder, tugging you into his side as you push through the glass doors and walk out to your car together.
"You know we're gonna have to make this a road trip ritual now, right?" he grins.
Rating: Explicit. This blog and its contents are 18+.
Word count: 1.4k
Summary: Dieter accidentally makes a masterpiece and, unsurprisingly, it gives him ideas.
Warnings: Smut, established relationship, unprotected PinV, cumplay (so much but it's an art medium now so it's okay), fluff, references to art, no physical descriptions of reader apart from mention of body hair, no use of y/n, my spelling and grammar probably.
A/N: too much Friday morning traffic made this happen.
“Baby, I’m gonna come,” Dieter whines.
His words are drenched with desperation and muffled against your neck, his head buried in the crook of your shoulder as he rocks into you. The scratch of his untrimmed mustache, the sound of his needy whimpers and the tightening of his fingers intertwined with yours send another round of sparks to flame against your nerve endings.
You’re still clenching around his cock, the remnants of your own orgasm from seconds ago still lingering, pulsing and squeezing him tight, reducing him to even sloppier thrusts.
Suddenly, his hips stutter and fall into that all too familiar rhythm and his body that’s draped on top of yours stiffens as he hurtles towards his peak.
The heat between your bodies is sizzling, and has been for hours but a cool breeze washes over you as he abruptly pushes himself up, peeling himself away to lean back on his heels. With one clammy hand resting on your trembling thigh, he reaches down between your legs with the other and pulls himself out of your wet heat. His fist picks up speed stroking his glistening cock still slick with your release as he eagerly chases his own.
You move slightly to peer up at him and watch his broad shoulders slump and his head fall back towards the ceiling, exposing the veins in his neck. They pull taut, swelling with a cocktail of hormones and lust.
With one final, urgent pump of his hand and a cry spilling from his lips, he’s coming thick and hard over your tired body. It lands in hot bursts across your abdomen and belly, the last of it dripping from his knuckles onto your mound.
“Fuck,” he pants, open mouthed and exhausted from his efforts.
He stays like that, posed like a statue sculpted entirely from charm and sin between your legs, veiled in a sheen of sweat.
Slowly, he tilts his head forward, unruly curls clinging to his damp forehead as he crawls back to reality from his most recent high. His gaze falls upon the delicious mess he's made on your skin, half-lidded and almost hypnotized by what he sees with his cock still resting heavy in his palm.
Apart from the rise and fall of his chest to even out his breathing, he doesn’t move a muscle. He just stares down like you’ve lured him into some sort of unbreakable trance.
“Dee?” You nudge his leg with your knee to look for a sign of life. “Are you okay? Got a cramp or something?”
He doesn’t answer immediately but rolls his head to the other side. With a shaky hand, he points at your belly with that curious expression - the one that makes his lips part and his eyebrows arch like he’s holding onto a question.
“Look, baby. You think it looks like Kandinsky?” He shakes his head vigorously, squashing that idea to think a little deeper before concluding, “No, not Kandinsky. Rothko for sure.”
You glance down at your middle, looking at all the patterns and droplets he’s created with his come that’s slowly rolling down your waist and thighs.
“Really? You see Rothko in this?" you ask, a soft laugh leaving you as you tilt your head to get a different perspective, trying but failing to see what he sees.
Dieter nods and two blown out pupils are still fixated on the masterpiece he’s inadvertently produced. "Yeah, the way it like…,” he says, waving his palm in the air. “Spreads out...” he trails off, completely absorbed in watching it shimmer on your skin under the dim lamp light.
After a beat he moves to lie at your side, propping himself on his elbow to inspect his creation up close. You run your fingers through his damp hair, encouraging him to continue musing over his creation. Little moans escape him at the gentle drag of your nails over his scalp while he ponders his art, running his fingers through it to coat them.
“You don’t see it?” he asks, tipping his head back to look at you, his eyes searching for agreement.
You shrug, tucking a tuft of hair behind his ear, “Not Rothko. Jackson Pollock, maybe.”
Dieter turns his head back towards your torso and pouts at your observation before grumbling.
“Hmmm. Okay, yeah,” he says, tracing his fingertips through a creamy pool of it in the middle of your stomach. “Maybe if I do this,” he wonders, dragging his fingers upwards to push it towards the curve of your breast, trying to recreate the effect you mentioned. “You’re right, I see it now,” he concedes, a satisfied smile spreading across his face as he admires the new designs forming under his fingertips.
The stress he walked through the door with this morning is gone, replaced by a stillness and the silky glide of his fingers over your heated skin coaxes you deeper into the soft sheets. “Art really is everywhere, I guess,” You sigh contended, just happy to see him calm and satiated.
Dieter shifts to lean over you and his eyebrows knit together in concentration. You can practically see the cogs turning in his head while he conjures up something.
You know that look - you’ve seen it countless times before. It’s the look he gets when he’s trying to persuade a director he should change a line of dialogue, arguing that it’s vital for the integrity of the scene. It’s also the same look he gives to the wardrobe guy when insists that his character would *never* wear the particular color of pants he had initially agreed to wear when he hopped on board and signed a contract.
You love his boundless creativity and his endless artistic endeavors, you just…never really know what they’re going to be or where they’ll take him. Or you.
“You know, we should do this more often,” he states. “I think it’d help with artists' block, get my creative juices flowing naturally. I can take a picture of it and then paint it and—“
“Really?” You roll your eyes but can’t hide the smile tugging at your lips. “You want me to be your new art project?”
You’ve caught his pencil drifting to the margins of his script to sketch a quick outline of your profile before. Usually, while he sits at the island and you potter around the kitchen looking for ingredients you need to make whatever shade of green juice he needs this week. Other times he’ll make a line drawing of your silhouette next to a highlighted line of dialogue. They’re simple little doodles but the way he captures you with a few strokes of graphite and when he tells you that “it helps me remember the important parts”, he etches himself into your heart, immortalizing himself there in something greater than pen and ink.
It’s not the first time he’s used you for inspiration but this request certainly feels a little more unconventional.
“Absolutely. I can show you what I can really do,” he beams, eyes shining bright with a renewed and infectious enthusiasm. That crooked grin paints itself across his face and you can feel the excitement radiating from his body aligned with yours, like he’s about to start bouncing off the bedroom walls.
“And what would you call it? Abstract? Expressionism?” you tease, trying to imagine what sort of artistic category his latest idea would fall under.
Turning his head, Dieter's eyes drift back to your abdomen while he considers your questions, losing himself in thought for a moment before he answers, “I’d call it hot,” he breathes, low and husky.
Warm puffs of air from his nose fan over your bare chest while his fingertips continue to trace a lazy, sticky path across your tummy before trailing lower through the drops caught on the patch of coarse hair, making them trickle down between your folds.
“You can’t hang me in a gallery, you know that right, Dee?”
His fingers stop moving and his head snaps back to look at you, his earlier mischievous expression fading into something more serious.
“No. But if I could, I would,” he whispers. The sincerity in his voice catches you off guard, two brown eyes glint and plead with you from above and your breath catches in your throat.
“Okay, well,” you say, splicing the mounting silence. “I think I deserve some say in the creative process.”
“Deal,” he grins, leaning down to press a kiss to your lips to seal your new, messy agreement. “But only if you promise to keep inspiring me.”
With a warmth spreading through you, you drape your arms around his neck to pull him close, “I promise,” you mumble against his lips, looking forward to this new messy collaboration. “But I think you should clean me up and start a new canvas.”
My favorites from the month of May! Please mind the tags for each fic, and give the authors some love 💜
past fic recs
Joel Miller
Baby Mine , part 2, part 3 by @tateypots
Broken after losing Ellie to the fireflies Joel finds himself a new purpose when he’s taken in by a man and his daughter.
banana cream pie by @kiraavi
Joel is heading home after another long haul when he pulls into the travel center for the night. He's been struggling with his attraction to the waitress that works at the diner there, and is tempted to avoid you completely. The promise of coffee and an opportunity to stretch his legs, however, lures him in on a night you just so happen to be working the graveyard shift.
Closer by @time-for-my-weekly-spanking
Trying to control her attraction to you was one of the hardest things Tess had ever done. But she'd succeeded. Until you made it clear how much you wanted to get closer to her. For Joel, falling into this scenario was just the natural closing of the circle.
Heaven or Hell by @aurorawritestoescape
Joel helps you to master self-control - OR - your stepdad makes you cockwarm him.
A kid's dreams by @petalsinblood
When a child has big dreams and a little brother who he really loves, the world of possiblities seem endless when looking into the future.
Lead Me Not Into Temptation - part 23 by @tateypots
Season of the Wolf by @mcthsman
The giant wolf that has been killing people around town shares a very striking feature with the quiet man that keeps breaking into your home— They both have the saddest, warmest brown eyes you've ever seen.
Clint Flood
Obligations of Love by @ess-evo
Clint is the man of your dreams. You're planning a wedding; every day with him is filled with love and affection, so then why do you have a knot in your stomach every time he leaves home?
Frankie Morales
Over the Andes by @bergamote-catsandbooks
Tom yells "Are we really leaving 200 million on the fucking runway?" Frankie sighs "OK, she'll make it." What if Frankie had said something else? What if he had said no and stood up to Tom? Two years after these events, Frankie, Will, Benny, Santi, and Tom have made it over the Andes with a significant amount of money. But what happened there has changed the dynamics between the group of men, these brothers in arms. All of it culminates the moment you enter Frankie's life, leading to another decision he and his brothers will have to make, one that might shatter them.
Max Phillips
The Night Shift by @inept-the-magnificent
Lucien de Leon
like a stranger, or it's the living that kills you by @tinytinymenace
Lucien goes to a party, and meets a former ingenue.
Javier Peña
Somewhere only we know by @milla-frenchy
it’s a story about two people who are very dear to each other, but too scared to turn their friendship into something else. They search for each other in other people and places until fate brings them back together at the right time
Din Djarin
Human by @petalsinblood
When Din is forced to be without his helmet, the reality hits him harder than he expects.
Loving You Had Consequences by @604to647
Din learns of your engagement.
Yours To Tame by @604to647
Worried, Din goes after you amidst a rainstorm.
Ezra
Persistence by @insomniamamma
Self Recs
Endorphins ~ personal trainer!Joel Miller x f!reader
The hot personal trainer in your neighborhood gives you a one-on-one session.
Read My Mind ~ Marcus Moreno x f!telepath!reader
On your first date with Marcus, you reveal a big secret about yourself.
Video Vixen ~ Dave York x camgirl!reader
You're Dave's favorite camgirl and his ultimate fantasy. Could he ever see you as anything else?
Summary: Din saves you after your home is destroyed, giving you both a chance to finally come clean about your feelings.
Warnings: language, descriptions of death/violence, longing/pining, hurt/comfort, angst, smut (18+ MDNI), fingering, unprotected piv sex, dirty talk, reader wants his baby real bad
WC: 5.9K
---
He knew something was wrong before he even landed.
Naxore was never what one considers a paradise, but the dusty planet never looked as ashen as it did from this distance.
It was small, but it managed to house about one thousand citizens. From his experience, they're good people. They mind their own business and require very little from the galaxy. Most of what they eat and use gets produced right on the planet itself. It's small, ugly, and hardly a blip on the radar. This never stopped the people who live there from loving it with their whole hearts.
When he first arrived all those years ago, ship in desperate need of repair and Din in desperate need of hiding, the citizens welcomed him. They fed him and cleansed his wounds without a second thought. They put their lives and their little planet in danger to keep him safe. And when he left, the doctor who tended to him and gave him a bed said, Keep Naxore a secret.
And he did. But whenever Din had the chance, he would stop by and pay them a visit. He brought goods and wares from other planets, trinkets and toys for the children, and anything else he could think of they might find useful.
He always stayed with the doctor, whose wife passed on before Din had ever arrived, but still had a daughter.
You.
He told himself he was being kind, that the reason for his visits were virtuous, but deep down he knew it was you that kept him coming back. After every visit, he became more and more infatuated. Less and less time would pass before his next trip, just so he could get a glimpse of you, and when he was away, his thoughts were consumed with your laugh, your smile, the way your eyes sparkled when he unveiled to you whatever little gift he brought. He thought of you constantly. He longed for the conversations you would have, all alone, late at night around the fire. He grew hooked on your every word, eager to learn as much about you as possible. You would tell him stories of your mother, of the children at the school where you taught, how worried you were for your father as he aged.
You never once spoke of a partner, and he never asked. It would be considered too forward. Besides, what sort of life could he offer you if he tried to make you his? A bounty hunter, living a life of danger with no real home?
No, you were safer with your father.
Still, he enjoyed his visits. It temporarily satiated his thirst to be near you, to listen to you speak, to watch the way your nimble fingers worked to mend clothes or knead bread.
Din didn't have many pleasures in life, but that was certainly one of them.
So as he began his descent and saw your little planet was barren, his heart sunk. He discovered once he stepped off the Razor Crest that what little trees and foliage you had are burnt to a crisp. Everything is grey, death looms everywhere. Corpses, nearly skeletons now, litter the streets. Buildings collapsed, rubble crunch under his boots, and the entire town is silent, yet he still follows the familiar path to your father's house. He knows what he's going to find, but he can't stop himself.
Sure enough, when your house comes into view, his suspicions are confirmed. The entire building is leveled to the ground. He stumbles a moment, fighting the pain swelling in his chest. Not much is recognizable, but there is a chair that used to be in the sitting room. The same chair you used to sit in while he regaled you with his stories.
He falls to his knees then, and dips his head, fighting the urge to cry. He isn't even sure why he bothers. No one is alive and he still has his helmet on, yet he still blinks back tears.
You were so young and beautiful. You had your whole life ahead of you. You were kind and thoughtful and patient with the children in your class and with your father.
His gloved hand digs angrily into the dirt, fingers curling like he could find some answer for his pain. If he just visited more — if he took you with him, like he always wanted — maybe you would still be alive.
He feels sick. Enraged. His heart splits in his chest and his body folds over, slowly, as if the weight of his agony was trying to bury him.
Just then, there's a noise. It sounds as though someone's walking over the rubble, albeit much softer than he just did. His breath stalls and he scans the area, freezing with his hand on his blaster when he spots the source.
He can hardly believe his eyes. Yet, there you stand. Dirty, ashen, hair a mess and clothes torn. But still, you're there.
He blinks and a tear slips past his defenses. He's convinced at first he must be hallucinating, but then you move again, looking at him like you must be thinking the same. Like he's a mirage.
When you get closer, his hand falls from his waist and he slowly brings himself to his feet. He refuses to tear his eyes away, afraid if he does, you'll disappear.
Finally, you slowly raise your hands to cup your mouth. Your eyes crinkle and streaks of wet trail down your filthy cheeks and you call out his name with a broken sob.
"Din."
He closes the distance in a heartbeat. His arms wrap around you and he feels your body heave, bawling and shaking in his arms. He murmurs your name, tells you you're okay, and promises to take care of you.
You nod and continue to cry. Your fingers grab at him, searching for comfort. They slide over his steel armor, feeble fingers clawing at unwavering metal, and he never before felt so angry. Angry at whoever did this to your planet. Angry at himself, for not doing more. Angry at the promise he kept to remain hidden behind a helmet.
He doesn't ask. He leads you to his ship, slowly. Your shoes aren't as good as his and your body seems weak and malnourished. But when it starts to grow dark and you stumble next to him, he scoops you up in his arms. A squeal of surprise slips past your lips but your arms wrap round his neck, anyway.
"You need rest," he says by way of explaination. "I can carry you the rest of the way. I have food and a warm bed. You'll be strong once again, and you will be safe."
You simply nod and lean your head against his shoulder. He feels your warm breath on his neck through his cowl and he has to resist the urge to strip himself of his armor and press his body to yours the second he gets you safely on the Crest.
He feeds you and gives you fresh clothes. He shows you to the fresher, where you can wash up, and promises to wait just outside the door in case you fall or need help. You don't, but he never once leaves his post. When you emerge, your eyes look sunken and puffy. You're exhausted and he knows there was no use in asking you for details that night. He ushers you to his bunk and you crawl inside, collapsing into his cot with a deep sigh of relief.
"I'm going to get us out of here," he says. You just nod with your eyes closed. "Call out if you need me," he adds before flicking off the light. He gives you one more glance before he ascends to the cockpit. You look comfortable. You look at peace. And you look fucking incredible in his clothes.
He stifles a growl and heads up the ladder.
His priority is to get you to safety. Everything else can wait.
---
"If you never take it off, how can you eat?"
Din's eyes flickered up to you through his visor. It's been two days. You nearly slept for one of them. You look healthier and more like yourself now. The sight made him happy, more relaxed.
"I eat alone," he explains. You're sitting across from him at the small metal table that folds out from the wall. You are halfway through your meal, which is nothing fancy, just some freeze dried rations, but based on the noises you made since the first bite touched your lips, you'd think you're eating fresh tiingilar.
Your eyes drop to the plate in front of him, untouched.
"Oh," you say, recalling from his prior visits when he would retire to his room to eat. You always thought it was due to exhaustion or perhaps he didn't want to hear you prattle on about nonsense like you had a tendency of doing whenever he lingered in your father's sitting room. It was always so hard to read him when his face and body was covered in armor.
"What if I turned my back?" you offer. His head tilts and his fingers thrum against the tabletop.
"I can wait," he assures you, then asks, "Will you tell me what happened?"
Your face falls and you look down sadly at your plate. You push around the food and drag in a shaky breath.
"We were attacked," you say. "It happened at night. They ransacked the town while everyone slept. I remember—"
You choke on your words and he stiffens.
"I remember going to the window when I first heard the shouting. I... they were dragging people from their homes. They took the women and killed the men."
Din stops breathing. His jaw tenses behind his helmet. You sniffle, then continue.
"My father built a small bunker underneath our home when I was a child," you say, wiping a tear from your eye. "He hid me down there and I begged him to join me, but he wouldn't — I begged him, Din."
Tears trickle down your face now. He reaches out a gloved hand to stop you, rests it on top of yours.
He knows it's a long shot, but still he asks, "Do you know who these people were?"
You shake your head somberly, eyes drifting now to his hand. You think it over for a moment before lifting your other hand to place on top of his. Your thumb idly rubs the tough fabric.
"I never found another living soul," you whisper. Din's gaze is still locked on your hands. "I searched for days. I suppose it's fortunate my father was a paranoid man."
"Your father was a careful man," he corrects. You smile but it doesn't reach your eyes. He feels horrible because it's clear your heart is torn in two and filled with guilt, yet he sits across from you, brimming with joy and relief that you managed to survive.
"What will happen now?" you ask, "what will I do?"
He swallows and you must hear it because you tilt your head slightly.
"I can take you anywhere you want to go," he eventually says.
You laugh, but it sounds flat. You keep his hand sandwiched between yours when you say, "I have nowhere to go. I've never even left my planet before. I have no one. Well... except for you."
Your cheeks burn. You give his hand a little squeeze before letting it go and even through his gloves, he instantly misses the heat from your touch.
"Navarro is nice," he says, "I have people there that I trust. People who can help you get back on your feet."
"Oh," you breathe. Then you blink and drop your gaze to your lap, food long forgotten. "Yes, okay. That... okay."
He studies you through his visor. He can tell the idea makes you nervous. You're shifting awkwardly in your seat and anxiously chewing your bottom lip.
Then, he says something foolish. Something reckless and selfish.
"Or, you could stay with me. On the Crest. It's not much of a life, but—"
"Really?" you ask, cutting him off. You peer at him hopefully through your lashes and warmth spreads in his chest at being the object you chose to grace with that look.
"Of course. You're welcome here for as long as you wish. I just ask you listen to me," he tells you sternly. He wants to make sure you understand the seriousness of what he's trying to say, but you're practically bouncing in your seat from excitement. "It can get dangerous, at times. If I tell you to stay on the ship, you need to stay on the ship, no matter how bored you might be, or—"
"I will, I promise," you say before jumping up and rounding the table. He barely has a chance to blink before you throw your arms around him for a hug. It's clunky and awkward with his armor, but you don't seem to mind. You're grinning from ear to ear, the happiest he's seen you look in days. He inhales deeply, breathing in your scent through the filter in his helmet. It makes him dizzy. With his soap and clothes, you smell so good that it leaves him breathless.
"Thank you," you say softly. You pull back slightly to gaze up at him and for one second, he thinks you can actually see him. Your eyes lock on his and you hold it, and it all feels so real that it has his breath catching in his throat. Without thinking, one of his hands lifts to cradle your face. You immediately lean into his touch but your gaze never falters. Nobody has ever looked at him the way you did. It cuts him to the core in a way he never imagined.
The air between you grows too heavy and he can't resist quickly scanning your body. Through his visor, he picks up your heat signature is slightly elevated in your face and chest. And he tries to fight the urge, he really does, but he can't help scanning lower. He clocks the temperature between your legs and his cock stirs when his suspicions are confirmed.
"You said you've never left your planet."
His voice breaks the tension. You blink and nod with a smile before stepping back, creating some breathing room between you.
"You shouldn't hide down here, then. You're missing the entire galaxy. Let me show you the cockpit."
Your eyes flicker nervously to the ladder before slowly nodding.
"O-okay," you reply shakily.
Din frowns and reaches for your hand. "There's nothing to be afraid of. I think you'll like it."
Your shoulders square up. Your chin lifts confidently and he smiles when you say, "I trust you."
He climbs the ladder first, then reaches down to help you up. When you clamber to your feet and look around, your eyes grow wide and your lips part with wonder.
"Oh, my..." you breathe, gaze raking over all the lights and controls before settling on the huge windows. He can see the reflection of the stars in your eyes and he can't tear himself away. As he suspected, all traces of your earlier apprehension vanished. You're hypnotized by the way the bright stars stretch and swirl through hyperspace, completely enraptured.
"This view. It's... beautiful," you whisper, unblinking.
With his attention still fixed on you, he replies, "Yes, it is."
Your eyes dart to him and you try to bite back a shy smile when you realize he wasn't looking at the stars.
"I've never flown before," you tell him, "it's so incredible. I can't believe you can do this all on your own."
"Really? Never?" he asks, and you shake your head. "Then we should celebrate," he adds. Your eyes light up when he spins around to a small cabinet bolted to the wall and pulls out a half filled bottle of liquor. As he pours the dark red liquid into two glasses, he realizes he hasn't stopped smiling since you stepped foot in the cockpit.
"What is this?" you ask when you take the cup he offers you. You sniff it and your nose scrunches up.
"It's Mandalorian wine," he says, "try it, it's good."
You take a tentative sip then look up at him with surprise. "It's sweet."
"I don't have it often, it's hard to come by," he admits. Then his free hand unlatches his helmet and your eyes snap to the place his fingers hook under the edge. He swears he notices excitement flicker across your face for a brief moment before you turn around.
"I won't look," you promise.
He opens his mouth to tell you it was fine, that he was only lifting it a few short inches to take a drink, but he doesn't. He sips from his glass and allows himself to take you in fully without your heated gaze pinning him to the wall. He can just make out your reflection in the windows and you faithfully have your eyes squeezed shut, just in case you catch an accidental glimpse. He sips again and his eyes darken. He can feel his body responding to how obedient you are and it's growing uncomfortable.
He slips his helmet back down and when you hear the telltale hiss of the latch, your eyes open.
"Can I turn around now?"
A muscle flickers in his jaw. Fuck, you're such a good girl.
"Yes," he says, voice rough.
You pick up on his tone. Your face warms as you slowly turn around to face him and its imperceptible, but your thighs squeeze together in his fucking pants. It's a good thing you can't see him because underneath the helmet, he is fighting every urge to pull you into his arms. He's sure it's written all over his face. Maker, he wonders what it would be like to be touched by you, to be held by you, to be kissed by you. It's been so long.
You're nervous again, he notes, but not due to fear this time. Your gaze shifts around the cabin and you swallow thickly before pointing towards the controls.
"W-what do all these do?"
He follows your finger. You're pointing to the control wheel and dials right in front of his chair.
He sets down his mostly empty glass and sits. He begins to half heartedly tell you what certain switches and knobs do, and you nod along, sipping from your glass and leaning into the side of his chair.
You lean forward, across his lap, and squint at one particularly important looking lever.
"What about this?"
His eyes slide closed and he breathes deep. You're so close to him he can feel the warmth from your skin through the slivers of exposed fabric that lies underneath his armor.
"It— it's one of the controls that sends us into hyperspace," he mumbles. You hum curiously and take another sip, draining your glass. Your body still stretches over his lap as you study the control panel and he hopes you don't notice the twitching in his pants.
"One of?" you echo. Then your beautiful eyes find his visor. He swallows harshly, leather creaking over his knuckles.
"Yes," he rasps, "there's — well, there's levels I need to check first and a course needs to —"
He stops speaking when you straighten up and sidestep so that you're wedged between him and the control panel. He watches in a haze when your small hands wrap around the control column, right where his hands normally go to steer the ship.
His gloved fingers dig into the arms of his chair.
His legs straddle yours where you stand. If you sat, you'd be right in his lap. His hands twitch and his heart stutters in his chest. You're so fucking close, he could simply wrap one arm around you—
The ship hits an unexpected rough pocket and it jolts. It's small, nothing he would even wake up for, but you're not used to flying. Your knees give out and you fall back, right into his chest.
His arms circle your waist and you let out a squeak of surprise. Then your hands cover his. Instead of pulling them off your body, you tug them tighter and squirm a little in his lap, as if you're trying to get your bearings and stand, but it's taking just a little too long.
Din murmurs your name and you still.
"Cyar'ika, I'm a patient man. But you're testing me, and I think you enjoy it."
He can't see your face, only your back and shoulders, which tense at his words. There's a long pause as if you're trying to decide your next move and he holds his breath, hoping he didn't read things wrong.
Then, your shoulders drop.
Your fingers loosen around his hands but still remain in place, holding them to your stomach. When you tilt your face to the side and look at him over your shoulder, you give him a sly grin.
"Am I that transparent?"
He doesn't respond right away, but his cock does. It swells underneath you and a soft noise that has him forgetting how to breathe slips past your lips.
"Din—"
He shakes your hands off his so he can pull frantically at his gloves, one at a time. They drop to the floor, then his hands are back on you again. Your eyes flutter shut and you tip your chin up when you feel him — really feel him — for the first time as he explores the skin under your borrowed tunic. It has been so long since he's felt the warmth of another that it makes him weak. Under his helmet, his jaw drops open in wonder. You're breathing heavy, he can feel it, and it's making his vision blur.
He cups your left breast and you whimper before leaning into his hold. Stars, you're so soft and warm and perfect that he never wants to stop touching you.
Your body sags against his chest when he rolls your nipple between his thumb and forefinger. Your back presses against his beskar and your head falls backward onto his shoulder with a loud thud. You wince and try to hide it, but he sees it.
"Sit up," he orders. He releases your breast and you whine but you do as you're told and lean forward so he can remove the metal that covers his upper body.
He eases you down so your back rests on his chest once again. Now, the only metal you have to contend with is his helmet and the plates on his thighs. When the back of your head comes to rest on his shoulder, you instantly twist so you can bury your face into the crook of his neck. You inhale deeply, like you're committing his scent to memory, before fumbling for his hand and guiding it down, past your waistline. His fingers dip underneath your pants and he bites back a groan. The fabric is oversized and loose, making it easy for him to find exactly what he's looking for.
"D-Din," you stammer when the pads of his fingers slide through your slit. Your head rolls and your lips part when you lift your hips off his lap, chasing his gentle touch.
You must hear how fast he's breathing. Even though the modulator muffles it, it's so loud it's impossible you don't notice.
"Maker, you're soft. So soft and wet," he murmurs. You preen a little in his lap, hips rolling so his two thick fingers slip through your cunt, spreading your folds and slick with each pass.
When he sinks both fingers past your entrance, your hand flies back, slapping loudly against the side of his helmet.
"Oh!" you cry out, fingers clutching uselessly at the metal. Your back arches off his chest with a wet gasp when he pushes in all the way to the knuckle, then he's shushing you. His distorted voice is trying to quiet you down but, as it turns out, you both want each other so badly that it's an impossible task, even for a Mandalorian.
"Do you know how long I've thought about this?" he asks, watching the way your eyes pinch shut and your jaw trembles each time his fingers drag in and out of you. Your backside writhes in his lap and he has to use his other hand to keep you still, wrapping it around your waist from behind and pressing his palm flat against your stomach.
"No," you shudder. You're coming apart so easily for him, heat blooming in your chest and cheeks the faster his hand moves down your pants — his pants. He's so hard, his stomach hurts.
"Years," he grits. "Each time I left, I dreamt of taking you with me. Dreamt of your perfect mouth, your beautiful eyes, your smile, your laugh—" He curses under his breath when you clench tightly around his fingers. He can't wait to feel you wrapped around his cock, squeezing him so tight and milking him for every last drop of his release.
"You came b-back for m-me," you stammer breathlessly. "Y-you — oh, f-fuck, Din—"
A thin sheen of sweat covers your forehead. You're grinding down on his hand, back bowed and nails digging ruthlessly into his covered arm. You look so sweet, coming apart on his hand, moaning his name, that he wants nothing more than to kiss you, to taste you.
But, he can't.
So, he settles for driving you wild, for curling his fingers deep inside you, grunting in your ear, rubbing his palm against your clit until your lungs are empty and your entire body is pulled tight.
"Pl-please," you beg, "oh, please. Pleaseplea— I'm g-gonna come," you whine. You gasp hotly against his helmet, holding him so close with a hand still clutching at the back of his head that his visor fogs up.
"Come for me," he tells you shakily, even through the modulator. "Come for me and then I'll fuck this sweet little pussy, just the way I've always wanted."
That tips you over the edge. You moan his name so loudly that it echoes in the small room. You thrash your head around on his shoulder, body convulsing in his lap as he pulls every ounce of pleasure he can, and then your teeth find a small patch of exposed skin just above the collar of his shirt, below his ear. He swears when your teeth pinch him and his grip on you tightens, holding you steady until your orgasm slows and you relax in his arms.
He doesn't give you much time to recover. He can't. He's so pent up, it's making him dizzy. Sliding you off his lap, Din reaches down and pulls on his pants, lifting his hips and tugging the fabric down just enough to free his cock. You're still in a daze, slumped against his shoulder, chest heaving. When he tugs you back in place, leaning against his chest and sitting in his lap, he loosens your slacks, letting them pool to the floor.
In his crazed, lust-filled stupor, he manages to realize something through the fog. The position you're in — with your back pressed against his front — maybe...
His hand fumbles around until he finds the button he's looking for and he smacks it, probably louder than is necessary. You jump in his arms when the cabin goes black, the only lights filling the space are from some switches on the console, too dim to create a reflection. But, if you turn your head—
"Keep your eyes closed."
You open your mouth to ask the question, then clamp it shut and quickly obey. He regards you for a moment, just a moment. He trusts you. You wouldn't look.
A hand comes up to unclasp his helmet and it falls to the floor with a loud thud. You jump again but keep your eyes closed.
He says your name, voice clear to your ears for the very first time. You shudder in his arms and your brows pull together, like a blanket of warmth just passed over you. He smiles to himself, then his hand drops to grip his leaking cock. He presses the thick tip between your thighs and you twitch before spreading your legs as far as you can manage.
He can't wait any longer — his hips flex and you moan in unison as he slides inside your warm, perfect cunt. The way you clench around him, the noises you murmur in his ear — it all adds to the heat building at the base of his spine since you stepped foot in the cockpit.
"M-Maker—" he groans, "you feel so good."
Then you start to roll your hips, tight pussy gripping and fluttering around his length as you try to fuck yourself in his lap. Your legs drape over his thighs, feet dangling near his ankles, unable to graze the hard metal floor for support, yet you still try to work faster, just so desperate for him.
His hands grip your hips, helping you move. Your eyes are still squeezed shut but your mouth is open, gasping for air every time he pushes back inside to grind against a spot that makes you whine through your teeth.
"I've wanted you so badly, it hurts," you confess shamelessly. Something about not being able to see him makes you feel bold. "I would follow you anywhere, Din Djarin."
He groans and nips at your earlobe. You feel his chest rumble against your back and you smile. Your hand falls to where you're connected and your fingers spread, gasping when you touch him. He's thick and hard and soaked with your arousal.
"I always knew you must have had a nice cock," you whisper, still feeling emboldened with your eyes closed. "No one carries themselves the way you do without having the goods to back it up."
You cry out when his hips snap roughly against your ass, and your entire body is practically bouncing in his lap. If it weren't for his ironclad grip around your middle, you're sure you'd have fallen out of the chair.
"Keep — talking," he grunts. His wet tongue slides slowly up your neck before his lips pucker and he begins to suck a mark that will take days to disappear.
"I— I —" you stammer. He's fucking you so fast now, it's hard to think, let alone form a sentence. "I used to — to think about you — oh, f-fuck, right there—"
"Think about me?" he repeats, ignoring everything else.
"Yes," you hiss, then your hand reaches back to slide through his hair — it's thick and a little curly and you commit the feeling to memory before it's taken from you.
"I would think about you — wh-when I... when I would touch myself."
Your stomach muscles begin to bear down and your thighs go rigid. You're so fucking close, you can taste it.
"Yeah? You thought about me when you made yourself come? Thought about my cock in this tight pussy, just like this?"
His deep voice in your ear makes you shudder.
You nod with your mouth hanging wide open.
"Oh fuck," you whimper when the tip of his cock finds a sensitive spot deep inside. You writhe and roll your hips, eager to find the angle again, but Din knows. He knows what you need and he wants to be the one to give it to you, so his hands still your movements and he rocks upward. You're both breathless and sweaty, but it doesn't matter because he's there — he's right fucking there, right at the spot where you need him the most.
Your mouth creates a combination of noises and melted words. There's no sense to be made when he's fucking you like this. You push back, deepening the angle. You both moan so loudly, it echos, but you barely register it.
His fingers fall to your clit and he starts to swirl messy circles over the throbbing bud. Three, maybe four passes. That's all it takes.
You throw your head back violently, his name ripping from your throat as you cunt clenches around him, pulsing and squeezing. Your stomach flutters, the released tension rippling across your muscles.
He doesn't stop. His fingers move frantically and he fucks you through it until your body sags and you whimper when swatting weakly at his hand.
"That's it, that's my g-girl," he groans, abandoning your clit. He wraps his arm around you instead, keeping you upright so he can thrust into you as hard as he can. You moan and bite at his neck, his ear, his cheek... any part of him that's normally hidden by his helmet. You feel the stubble under your lips and you lick his skin, reveling in the sharp prickle across your tongue.
"Come inside me," you whisper. He makes a choked sound and shakes his head.
"Can't."
"Please?"
His movements grow erratic. He's losing rhythm.
"No, it's — too risky."
"Would that be so bad? Don't y— don't you wonder what it would — be like?"
You're babbling. You sound insane. You don't care.
"Please stop," he begs, then his teeth sink into your shoulder and he pulls out of you roughly, just in time to shoot hot cum all over your inner thighs. He's groaning your name into your skin and he's panting so heavily, you fear he may pass out.
"I'm not —"
Din swallows and then he drags in a deep breath. With your eyes still closed, you start blindly peppering kisses across his cheek.
"I know," you mumble, "I'm sorry."
Suddenly, his fingers pinch your chin and he tilts your head so his lips press firmly against your own. Your heart stops when you first feel what it's like to kiss him — never in your wildest fantasies did you think you would know what his lips felt like. The trust he must have for you makes you weak and you melt, getting lost in the taste of him when his tongue slides into your mouth.
"I wasn't going to give you my child without kissing you first," he murmurs when he pulls back, but he doesn't go far. His forehead rests against yours and he sighs when your hand lifts to get lost in his messy hair.
"Really?" you whisper in disbelief, but you're smiling like a fool.
"Is that something you really want? With me?" he asks. You don't need to see his face, you can hear the doubt — the shock — that you would pick him out of anyone in the galaxy.
You nod and peck a kiss to his lips. "I'm tired of waiting," you tell him. "We almost lost our chance... I don't want to waste another second with you."
He laughs and you grin when his soft exhale fans across your face.
"I will gladly devote my life to you, if you'll have me," he says.
And yes, it feels fast. But what's the point in waiting when everything you want is right in front of you? You very easily could have died, but you were given a second chance.
Summary: There are far worse things in the middle of the night than intruders. Things that make you question your marriage with Frankie.
Warnings: established relationship, drug use, heartbreak, crying, yelling, hurt with no comfort (I'm sorry), no proofread
Word count: 1,2k
The house is quiet.
Not the kind of quiet when no one is home and only the chirping of the birds can be heard from outside. It is the kind of quiet that feels heavy, that is filled suspense. Almost like it is haunted.
And in a way it is.
Frankie has been acting weird for weeks now. Averting his gaze too quickly when you look at him. Spending too much time on fixing things that work perfectly well. Going grocery shopping and coming back hours later, completely shaken and disheveled. You notice all of these small details.
At first you thought that he might be overwhelmed by the arrival of your little girl, but the idea was quickly thrown away when you saw pure love written on his face when he looked at her in his arms. Then you started doubting yourself. Maybe he stopped loving you, and he is only with you just because he doesn’t want to leave you on your own with your child.
And you hate every second of this rollercoaster that had been going down for weeks now, and that it doesn’t seem to have a clear destination.
You sleepily reach over the other side of the bed, and you frown when your hand falls against the sheets, the side where Frankie usually sleeps now completely empty and cold. You push yourself up with a soft groan, your eyes falling on the alarm clock on the nightstand.
2:34 AM
Then your ears perk up when you hear soft coos coming from the baby monitor placed beside it, the sounds of a child who is deep into the land of dreams. A soft smile spreads across your face for a second, but your mind is instantly plagued by the fact that Frankie is not asleep, that you can’t cuddle up to him.
You try to reassure yourself when you feel a sinking feeling deep down in your stomach. Maybe he just went to the bathroom. But then you would hear him move around. Maybe he went to the kitchen to get himself a glass of water. But then you would hear the clinking of the glass. Maybe your daughter started to cry and somehow you slept through it, so he decided to go and be the one to feed her and rock her back to sleep. But then you would hear his low and calm voice through the speaker of the baby monitor.
Your mind tries to come up with more and more scenarios — some even completely impossible.
When you finally convince yourself to go back to sleep, your hear a soft thud coming from down the hall, and your blood runs cold.
Your legs move on instinct, swinging over the edge of the bed. Your bere feet hit the cold floor, and you quickly stand up. You spare a quick glance at the baby monitor before you move out of the room.
The door of the nursery room is slightly open, the moonlight swimming through the little crack, and you can see the crib — the one Frankie built with his own hands — with your little girl sleeping peacefully.
When you hear another thud, you immediately turn around, walking down the hall carefully, looking out for any danger.
When you reach the living room, you doesn’t notice anything unusual. The small throw blanket is still draped over the back of the couch, a small dent on the pillows where Frankie was sitting with your baby girl laying on his chest the night before.
The kitchen is the same too. Unwashed dishes sitting by the sink, an empty mug left on the dining table.
It is all quiet. Seems safe. But a bad feeling still runs through your whole body when you see the light coming through under the door of the garage. You don’t hesitate to pick out a knife from one of the drawer’s, and you walk to the door on your toes to not make too much noise.
With the knife held out in front of you, you open the door, and step inside. But what greets you is not an intruder.
It is worse.
Frankie sits on the floor, leaning against the wall. His skin looks too pale, too sick in the dim light, and you see sweat glistening on it. His head is thrown back, his usual Standard Oil cap discarded somewhere. But it’s not the state which he is in that makes your blood freeze in your veins.
It’s the small and empty plastic bag laying beside him on the floor.
Your fingers weaken around the knife, the sharp object falling to the floor with a loud clatter. You see Frankie’s whole body jump at the sound, and a loud gasp leaves your lips when he turns towards you, his eyes locking with yours.
Loving and caring pupils meeting the empty and dilated ones.
You see the exact moment when realization sets in for him, and you watch breathlessly how he struggles to stand up, stumbling to the floor a few times before he finds his balance and pushes himself to his feet.
“How long?” The question just stumbles out of you, but all you can think about right now is the little empty bag. That empty bag which was full moments ago, and now all of its content is gone.
Frankie stands in front of you, trying to find words.
When he doesn’t say anything, you repeat your question, stepping closer to him. “How long, Frankie?”
“Just tonight.” His voice is hoarse, eyes full of sadness and guilt as he looks at you.
And that answer breaks you completely. Just tonight. What migh have happened that made him throw away months of sobriety so easily? Why now? A loud sob finally tears out of you, and Frankie instinctively steps closer, but you quickly take a step back, shaking your head.
He bows his head, raising his hands in surrender, and you see how much they are actually shaking.
“Why didn’t you wake me? Why didn’t you tell me, Frankie?”
“I don’t know,” he whispers.
“Our daughter is sleeping down the hall,” you remind him, and the words hit Frankie like you just stabbed him with a dagger, moving it around to make him suffer more.
“I know,” he sighs, and you see the first tears roll down his face too. “Just… Can we please talk?”
“Not now, Frankie. We’ll talk when whatever you took goes out of your system,” you say, squatting down to pick up the knife from the floor. “And I’ll spend the night in our daughter’s room.”
“Alright.” His voice breaks, and he watches as you pull the garage door shut behind you. He remains quiet for a few minutes before he breaks down completely, sobs tearing out of him followed by a river of tears. He sinks down by the fall, his hands raising to pull at his messy curls while he feels like his life is just falling apart in front of his eyes because of his mistake.
And maybe it is.
Because right now Frankie feels like there’s a whole ocean between you with the continents as the obstacles. And no matter how skilled he is at closing distances easily with a helicopter, he is not sure anymore how to fly across this one.
Taglist (let me know if you'd like to be added or removed from it): @picketniffler, @speaktothehandpeasants, @harriedandharassed, @bergamote-catsandbooks, @misstokyo7love, @shadowqueen2024, @missadangel, @annwrites24, @baronessvonglitter, @cozymochaa, @eviispunk, @johnssherlock221, @goonersquad101, @my-tearsricochet, @laprofesoratinacita, @nutbutterjellie
Summary: You give the mayor of Eddington a bit of good luck before he makes a big speech.
WARNINGS: 18+ Only! Established relationship. Unprotected piv. Office quickie. Creampie. References to the Covid-19 pandemic so... canon compliant? Reader is able-bodied female but otherwise not described.
A/n: I've just been thinking about this guy a lot, and was recently inspired by @joelmillerswife9 's Just Friends and Naughty Call. Go check them out and get Ted-fever along with me! (I'm outlining an unrelated Ted miniseries/collection so if anyone is interested just let me know 😊)
dividers by @cursed-carmine 👑
The moment Ted approaches the podium, faced by the media reporters and government officials, he stops being Ted, your man, and becomes Mayor Garcia.
He’s magnetic in front of the camera, just enough of a smile to be affable, to show his constituents he’s just like them – flesh and blood, carrying the burden of making Eddington a happy, profitable, comfortable place to live, to do business, to raise a family in.. Ted Garcia is the best man to lead this town.
But even the best of men have secrets..
What no one knows except you and him is that he has your cum-stained panties in his back pocket as he prepares for the live address to the town. He reaches back to touch the silky material, assuring himself that it’s there and that you’re there, in spirit at least, watching perhaps from the windows of City Hall behind him.
He has to force away the memory of you beneath him, hunched over his desk, bracing yourself as he grabbed your hips and fucked you deep and fast, your moaning in time with each thrust, nearly insensate as he pushed you over the edge. Your hands had wandered behind you, resting on his hips, wanting to feel them piston under your touch. His jeans and briefs pooled at his feet, his shirt pulled up as his slight paunch rested just above your ass as he watched the ripples on your cheeks with each thrust.
“That’s it, sweetheart,” he encouraged, “touch me, feel how hard I’m working for you.” His teeth nipped the nape of your neck.
“Mm,” you moaned, “my mayor’s working so hard for me!”
Jesus, he nearly came right then, but he held it together, wanting to wait for you, to feel you come and drench him. “Damn right I am. I’ll work as hard as it takes to please you.”
You gasped his name with each thrust, bracing yourself over his desk, the sound of your flesh smacking together driving both of you wild until you finally fell apart with the press of his fingers to your needy clit. You throbbed around him, milking his own release. Ted’s vision nearly went white as he filled you up, sparing no drop from your greedy cunt.
After, he’d wiped you down with your own panties, and you’d kissed his cheek, straightened his tie as he stuffed the lacy material in his back pants pocket. “Can’t leave without my good luck charm,” he’d said with a small smirk.
Now, facing the cameras and making a statement about the current public health crisis, the coronavirus pandemic that is sweeping the globe, making its inevitable approach to their small town. His words are a harbinger of hope, a reminder that nothing can be accomplished without doing what’s best for our neighbor, that rules are imposed for our safety, and that together we can transform our greatest challenges into our greatest victories.
The feed cuts off and he lets out a sigh of relief, rolling his neck and shoulders. He’s going to need you again, and soon. But first he owes you a new pair of panties.
this filthy (yet hard working!) mayor garcia knocked me on my simp behind!! he is criminally for having his good luck charm in his pocket while doing mayor things 🥵😮💨🔥
A/N: Sorry this is so late (and I never post on Sundays so I hope this will still reach ppl!) 🫣 Happy Mother's Day for those that celebrate! Mr. 604 and the kiddos' gift to me was uninterrupted editing time so I could finally finish this instalment! 😂 Set ~10 months to a year after the events of Loving You Had Consequences (technically could be read as standalone, but their relationship is better understood if you read some of their other stories 🥹) As a summary: post S3, the New Republic dispatched Din to Princess!Reader's planet where he trained her armies as their General; they fell in love, but when she became betrothed to another, Din left (wah!) TL; DR - they're idiots in love 🤷🏻♀️ Hope people like this one even though it kind of hurts!
Dividers by @saradika-graphics / Series Masterlist / Title by Camilla Cabello; inspo lyrics at the end.
He spots the bright emblem of your house crest on the armour of the Royal Guard first, clocking the familiar perimeter formation (the very one he taught them) immediately after; a quick scan of the coverage area is all it takes for Din to spot you.
Even among the glittering lights of Coruscant’s vibrant nightlife, you still shine brightest to him.
Quiet and stealth-like, Din approaches his former comrade, the man he left in charge of your safety, with his blaster raised, getting within two paces before the seasoned solider spins around, his own weapon armed and aimed directly at the Mandalorian’s chest plate, “Halt!”
“Good.” The amusement in Din’s voice evident as the two men face off, weapons raised for a second more before they’re lowered in peace, “For a moment, I thought you might let me sneak up on you, Lieutenant.”
“I was trained better than that,” the uniformed man chuckles, before straightening up and saluting, “General.”
“There’s no need for that, Lieutenant. I am no longer your commanding officer.”
“Noted… General.”
As the two men stand in silence, other members of the legion note the Mandalorian’s arrival and follow suit, stiffening their posture at their former leader’s presence. Looking up to follow the gaze of his one-time commander, it's no mystery to the Lieutenant what captivates the General’s attention: the lone figure leaning against the railing of a large, ornate balcony several stories above. Empty glass dangling delicately from your fingers, you seem oblivious to the surrounding revelry, despite the music from the nightclub behind you being loud and upbeat enough to be audible even from the lower levels. Your attention reserved for the sparkling neon of Coruscant’s skyline, thoughtful stare lingering on some far-off point in the night’s bright sky.
“How is she?”
“Permission to speak freely, General.”
A curt nod of the silver helmet is all that is needed.
“The Princess remains as you would expect, generous and benevolent as always…”
“Good.”
“… but she is sad.”
The heart beneath the Beskar thumps with worry at this revelation, but outwardly, Din allows the weight of the Lieutenant’s admission to sit in the silence between them until the other man continues,
“She speaks and behaves in her usual manner, the grace she bestows befitting of her crown, and yet… despite the Princess’ public smiles, the entire kingdom can tell that she is not happy. A light has gone out in Solana’s once brightest star,” Din’s former second-in-command’s voice cracks, as if the emotional well-being of his sovereign affected him personally. Knowing how much your people love you, Din can very well imagine that being the case not only for the Lieutenant, but the general population of the planet that was most welcoming to him and his son. He empathizes completely.
A change in subject is much needed. “What brings you to Coruscant, General?”
“Reconnaissance for a New Republic assignment; needed some intel from an informant who… needed some convincing to part with said intel.”
“Right,” the Lieutenant chuckles, “well, no one is more convincing than you, General.”
“Perhaps Grogu.” They share a hearty laugh, but both men know that Din’s son’s abilities make him a more formidable adversary than the two of them combined.
“And you? What is the Solanian Royal Guard doing in Coruscant?”
“It is Lady Beyonna’s birthday and the ladies of the court have come to celebrate,” the Lieutenant gestures briefly to the high-rise buildings that tower above.
“The Princess is celebrating?” Din looks up again at your solitary figure.
“She is trying her best.” As if on cue, the music coming from the balcony increases several volumes as a group of jubilant party goers join you, bringing a refill, hugs, and an invitation to come back inside. Din sees your attempt to reassure your friends that you’re having a good time with a smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes; he also sees how they don’t buy it. More than happy to bring the party to you, the ladies of Solana start a dance party right there on the balcony while calling for additional drinks. After four or five songs, and at least two rounds of Rhyllian Fizz shots, you relent - your good nature and desire to ensure your friend has a good birthday winning out; linking arms with your friends, they cheer and you head inside the club as a group.
For the next few hours, Din remains next to the Lieutenant, making small talk, catching up on the latest news from Solana, updating the other regarding their respective lives; every watchful, neither man takes his eyes off the balcony above. Din admits there’s some comfort in the familiarity of standing sentinel with his friend again, the only occasional interruptions being incoming coms with updates from the guards upstairs, or other members of the legion coming by to pay their respects to their General. But the longer he stays, the more imperative it is for Din to honestly answer one question: What is he still doing here?
He will allow himself one more glimpse of you, he tells himself, but no more. He internally promises he won’t try to make contact or speak with you; touching you is completely out of question. No touching, holding, or Maker forbid, kissing. Din vows to abide by these self-imposed rules tonight; to cross these boundaries would be too dangerous for his heart.
Just a glimpse, he tells himself again, to make sure you’re safe. He’s nearly convinced himself when a new transmission comes in: “Lieutenant, permission to initiate Exit Protocol Aurek. The Princess has requested to leave.”
With a precision and efficiency that makes Din proud, the Solanians on the lower level, seen and unseen, move in unison. The Mandalorian follows from a few paces back, making sure to stay separate from the guard, hidden.
A discrete door on the side of the building with the balcony opens and music streams out while the neon light show inside pulses against the outside night; but neither the thumping electro beats nor the blinding flashes have any hope of drawing attention away from the soft figure that sashays out – unsteady on your feet but not quite stumbling, you’re waving back into the club, blowing kisses, “Love you!!! Have a great time!! Be safe!!” Your melodious voice chimes all the way down the street, giddy, a little too loud.
When you turn around, Din nearly stops breathing – your eyes are glassy and the smile on your face is silly and crooked (clearly your friends were successful in showing you a good time!), and while it’s obvious you’re drunk, you’re still the most beautiful and graceful creature Din’s ever seen. You greet your guard like old friends, as happy to see them as they are you – Din has always known that his men’s loyalty to you was not purely a matter of duty but born from true affection for their sovereign.
Maker, he misses you.
After what he learned from the Lieutenant tonight, it abates his worry somewhat to see you like this, carefree and unbothered - even if it’s alcohol fueled. From afar, Din mentally records every curve of your figure, the brightness of your eyes, the song of your voice; he tucks these details away in the vault of his mind where they will sharpen the memories of his most treasured moments with you - the ones he always returns to on his most lonely nights. Satisfied that you’re well, Din starts backing away, ready to duck behind the nearest building and slink back into the darkness, when he hears,
“Din?”
Dank Farrik, you’ve spotted him! How?
You’re already skipping towards him, the excited bounce of your step indicative of just how intoxicated you are – your guards do not step in and instead, give the two of you a wide berth; their Princess is in no danger, better protected now than any other being in the galaxy.
You stop just short of the Mandalorian’s broad frame, looking at him with genuine wonder - tentatively, your hand comes up, slowly reaching for his chest. He lets you lay a soft palm to the shiny Beskar, amused at your little gasp of surprise when you feel the familiar press of the precious metal beneath your skin.
“Is this a dream?” The question is asked in innocent confusion - it’s clear that you’re too inebriated to comprehend the reality of his presence; you have not seen this man in nearly a year, but the devastation of the day he left remains acute and sharp in the hollows of your soul – that Din could suddenly re-enter your life without warning is an idea too outlandish for you to grasp.
“Yes.”
The smile that spreads across your drunken face is heartbreaking, the way it reaches your eyes even more so; they crinkle adorably as your fingers move to explore, gracing over his armour, fiddling with his vambraces and the fabric of his cowl, sliding down the sleek lines of his helmet. You tilt your head in astonishment, delighted that your subconscious is conjuring the details of your Mandalorian so vividly.
“This is so nice,” your tipsy grin irresistible, “It’s been so long since I’ve dreamt of you, Din.”
Oh really? I can’t go a single night without dreaming of you, Din thinks. “Have you forgotten me so easily, Princess?”
Immediately, he regrets his teasing; you’re too far gone to take him at anything but the face value of his expressionless helmet. The beauty of your face crumbles, sad eyes widening in contrition, “Of course not, Din, I could never forget you.” You look away now, voice breaking in explanation, “After you left, I dreamt of you constantly – all I had to do was close my eyes and we would be together again.” Tears flood without warning, “There was a time when I barely got out of bed, spending more hours asleep than awake – it was the only way I knew to see you.”
Having already broken his promise to leave you alone, Din had no intention of crossing another self drawn line, but upon hearing your tearful confession, he can no longer fight the instinct to pull you in, to hold you; you sink into his embrace, body moulding to his armour as easily as the day you were last in his arms, “But those dreams never ended well, Din, and I always woke sadder then when I fell asleep.”
Contemplative, you pull back slightly, and Din uses this opportunity to adjust the arm around your waist, giving you the support needed so the two of you can start walking; the moving formation of Solana’s finest soldiers flank your slow and careful stroll, silently guiding Din towards your residence. If you notice the disappearance of your guard, you don’t mention it - why would you? This is only a dream after all.
“One day, the dreams just… stopped,” you continue, looking down at your feet as you walk so not to trip; Din tightens his grip on you. “I’m not sure how or why. Perhaps it was an act of self preservation? My brain trying to protect me, maybe. I must be stronger now.” You look fairly pleased at the prospect.
“Princess, you’re one of the strongest people I’ve ever met,” Din offers warmly.
You scoff adorably, his earnestness no match for your humility, “I’m no match for The Might of the Realm! Really, Din, you have no idea how much the people of Solana still speak of you; I’m not the only one who misses you terribly.”
Swallowing the lump in his throat, the Mandalorian wishes he had the words to express how much he too misses his life on Solana, misses you, “I could only wield the strength I did because of you, cyare.”
“And now?” The question is asked soft, almost hesitant.
“I’m strong only for Grogu.”
The change in your demeanour at the mention of his son is nothing short of endearing; suddenly your own melancholy is forgotten, thoughts completely overtaken by the adorable green creature you had loved as your own, “Grogu! Oh, please do tell me of him! I miss him so very dearly.”
“As he does you, Princess.” It’s true; his son is wise beyond his years and emotionally resilient, but he’s never been subtle. The New Republic keeps them busy, but it’s by Din’s design – his son needs the distraction as much as he does; nothing keeps the longing for their previous life with you at bay like the thrill of an adventure, the rush of a hunt.
“I wish I had been able to say goodbye,” you lament, your previous cheer short-lived.
“I’m sorry, mesh’la,” Din has never forgiven himself for having deprived the two of you a farewell befitting the depth of your attachment, “If it helps, I would not wish the ire I faced from Grogu on even the worst of Imperial warlords.”
“Oh no,” your sweet giggle a balm on Din’s aching heart.
“He did not speak to me for nearly a month. And it was at least three before he shared any snacks with me again,” though the memory of his son’s anger brings him no joy, the happy chuckle and look of true sympathy on your pretty face softens the blow of reliving it.
“You can make it up to me now by telling me of Grogu's adventures since I saw him last,” your eyes are bright and glassy, but full of genuine curiosity.
Still unable to ever deny you anything, Din launches into story after story of his and Grogu’s New Republic missions; he’s rewarded with your unfiltered reactions and drunken enthusiasm, all of which he finds unbearably adorable. You gasp every time Din or his son is put at risk for grievous injury, audibly squeal at their death-defying heroics, clutch his arm and hold your breath while waiting to hear of their next narrow escape, loudly decry and boo the audacity of every bad guy from Colonel Ward’s deck of cards. The walk back to your hotel passes too quickly for Din’s liking, but he would not trade how warm and well-entertained you look for all the credits in the Core Worlds.
You’re still laughing at Din’s impression of the Anzellans calling Grogu a “horrible baby” when you land in front of the door to your suite. “Oh!” You look around, puzzled, nose scrunching adorably – to your alcohol addled brain, the locked door presents as more perplexing than plotting hyperspace calculations, “I... don’t have my key.”
“I’ll be right back, cyare.”
“No!” you cry out, frantically reaching for Din’s forearm, surprising sure fingers gripping tight over his vambrace, “I’m not ready for you to leave.”
The unreserved desperation of your voice pains Din to no end; he squeezes your hand reassuringly and runs a soft finger down the side of your face, mollified to see you relax a little at his touch, “I promise I won’t leave you, Princess – I’ll get the key and come right back.”
Though you nod and release his arm, Din hates how small and unsure you continue to appear – he hurries down the hall and around the corner, practically running into the Lieutenant who’s already anticipated him. Gratefully, Din takes the key card his former second-in-command holds out, pausing before voicing a request he has no right to make, “Lieutenant, if you agree, I would suggest there is no need to wake the Princess’ maids; I can help her settle in. I promise nothing untoward will occur.”
“I would never doubt your honour, General,” the man nods seriously, “or ever believe you capable of harming the Princess in any way.”
Your look of unadulterated relief and joy when you see Din returning could have reignited a dying star. “Din!” you exclaim, beaming at him as if he had brought you the moon, instead of a mere hotel room key. The grin beneath his silver dome is as wide as yours as Din unlocks the door and ushers you in, only growing as he follows your dancer-like flounce around the apartment suite. Buzzing, you chatter happily as Din clears each room, chuckling at how he hasn’t changed in the slightest (Always so protective!)
You’re reminded that things are not quite how they used to be when Din enters your bed chambers as you’re changing. Hands full with a water glass and some medical supplies from the fresher, Din pauses in the doorway when he sees your state of undress, averting his gaze before shuffling by awkwardly to set the water on your bedside table. “Din,” you snort, thoroughly amused, “You’ve seen me with far fewer clothes than this - there is no reason for you to avoid looking at me.”
Try as he may, the Mandalorian cannot help the sobering reality that eclipses the levity of your words, “That was when you were mine to look at, cyar’ika. And you are no longer mine.”
Your countenance changes instantly – mask of intoxicated merriment dropping and its place, an expression of pained understanding. You approach him gingerly, sliding your arms around his thick trunk, then laying your cheek against the cold sear of his chest plate, you squeeze him tight, “I’ve never stopped being yours, my love.”
The room around you dissolves and the two of you are transported back in time, to any number of shared moments devoted to your quiet love: Din finding you after a ball to bring you a plate, having noticed you hadn’t eaten; laying in a field of wildflowers outside the castle grounds, holding hands and watching the sunset as your horses grazed nearby; showing each passages in your respective books as you read shoulder to shoulder between the private stacks of the National Library; in the afterglow of your lovemaking, tangled in the sheets of your royal bed, whispering sweet nothings of devotion, commitment.
Din wishes to kiss you so desperately right now; what he wouldn’t give to once again taste the honey of your lips, to lick his adoration and want directly into your mouth and hear the soft whimpers of your affection as you kiss him back. It takes all the strength of his Creed to restrain himself, but this is one last line that he cannot afford to cross tonight – he knows that if he were to feel the press of your sweet lips against his own, he would lose all that remains of his self control and only complete ruin would follow. You save him from himself by lifting your pretty face to his, eyes doe-like and sad as you trace your finger over the Iron Heart of his armour, “I miss you so much, Din.”
“I miss you, too, cyare,” he realizes this is the first time tonight he’s said these words out loud; even now they feel too miniscule to express the depth of how he’s longed for you, yearned for you. A part of himself is forever missing – left back on Solana, or possibly permanently erased, he’s not quite sure; left in its wake is a constant, dull aching void that Din tries to fill with purpose, duty. It works to a degree, he would like to hope, the endless string of New Republic assignments doing some good not only for the galaxy but also his mental wellbeing. But at night, with only Grogu’s snores to keep him company, Din is ever aware of how empty his bed is, his arms are. As time marches forward and the number of days separated from you grows, your absence is sometimes more acute than his memories of your time together.
Interrupting his thoughts, you sniffle, “I can’t find you anymore.” Din tilts his head, wondering if you’ve somehow read his mind. “After you left, I thought I would see you everywhere; that the ghost of us would follow me day in and day out,” you continue, shoulders slumping in defeat, “But it’s been the opposite, Din. Every where I go, your absence is the first thing I notice. I can’t find you anywhere: not in the castle, any of our secret places, the training grounds, my bed. I go looking and find nothing - only emptiness.”
The despair of what you describe hangs heavy over your heads; Din has no words to comfort you though he desperately wishes to do so – he can only offer a pathetic, “I’m sorry, Princess.”
Your eyes, ever sorrowful, do not match your attempt at humour, “Why should you be sorry, General? I’m the one who had to go and get herself engaged.”
And there it is, your deepest shame, the source of all your worst insecurities and doubts: How could Din ever miss you as much as you do him when you’re the one who inflicted this pain on the both of you? Do you even deserve to be in his thoughts when it was you who necessitated your separation? All this glorious man ever did was love you unconditionally, give you everything you asked for and obey your every desire, prioritizing you and your well-being above all else - and how did you repay him? By surrendering to your duty and the breaking of both your hearts without even a fight. You’re the one who broke everything!
Your guilt is written all over your face and it guts Din to see you so needlessly harsh on yourself. He wants to tell you that he understood the realities of your stations when he fell in love with you and that he has not a single regret - every moment spent with you, however fleeting, had been worth it. Even the memory of such a love has given him a happiness he never knew possible. He could never think you selfish or inconsiderate, especially not when his own mind swims with the most superficial of concerns:
Does he treat you better than I did?
Could you love him?
Do you love him?
Not for all the worlds would Din allow this fiancé of yours steal any more of his time with you than he already has, but soul-destroying thoughts tend to take on a life of their own. Luckily, a distraction presents itself by way of the delicate silver chain around your neck. You’re fiddling with it nervously, and as your hand draws down your chest, Din spies the shine of something familiar nestled between your breasts. He closes his glove over your hand, forcing you to stop your mindless toying – together, you lift the necklace to reveal the Mythosaur skull pendant previously hidden beneath your clothes.
“You wear this still?”
Even if you had not drunk enough liquour to knock out a Wookie tonight, you would have answered this question with the same type of confidence normally attributed to liquid courage, “I’ve never taken it off, my love.”
Din rubs the precious emblem of his people between his fingers, and is just thinking about how this piece of metal has laid close to your heart the entire time you’ve been apart when, once again, you speak as if the two of you are of one mind, “Even when I cannot find you anywhere else, I know that I have you right here with me.” He lets you take the pendant back and watches with tremendous affection as you cradle it between your delicate fingers, treating it as precious. “I’m so grateful you left this part of you with me, Din. I only wish I had given you a token of me, of us, to take with you,” your chest balloons with regret, forever plagued by the grief of not having expressed enough love for your Mandalorian when you had the chance – of not being enough to still be his.
Even if you think him simply a figment of your imagination, Din cannot allow these sentiments any credence. He directs you to sit on the edge of your bed, then kneels before you, the most devoted knight; your curious eyes watch closely as he removes his glove, gasping in surprise when you see his uncovered hand.
Your hair ribbon.
The pop of colour from the soft velvet contrasts starkly against the tan of Din’s skin, making it easy to see how it wraps around his wrist, criss-crossing over the heal of his thumb and bound twice over the rough of his palm. The fabric has lost a bit of its luster, likely from having been concealed beneath armour and leather for an extended period of time, but you recognize it immediately as yours.
“You are with me always, cyare.” Teary eyed, you look at Din in wonder as he cups your face with this same hand, letting you nuzzle your cheek against his palm, taking comfort in the feel of the worn ribbon. He watches in real time as you come to the realization that everything he’s done with these hands since you parted - take out Imperial threats, pilot himself and his allies to safety, hold his son - he’s done in your name. Heart blooming, you continue to stare at Din’s meaty hand as he helps you get into bed, drink the water he brought you.
It’s only after the Mandalorian adheres a Bacta patch to your arm and says reassuringly, “There, no hangovers tomorrow, Princess,” that you look into the obsidian of his T-visor, grateful, “Thank you for taking care of me, Din.”
He grins at your dopey, sweet face, and responds lovingly, “I will always take care of you, be there for you, mesh’la. If you call, I will come running.”
You cannot help your disproportionate reaction to Din’s words, the alcohol in your system sending your emotions swinging - body locking up as if in pain, you turn away, trying to hide, “Really, Din? No matter what you’re doing, you would still come?”
With a pinch of your chin, the Mandalorian tilts your face back to his, truly confused, “And what is it you think I’m doing, Princess?”
“I don’t know!” You try to choke back your sob, shocked and embarrassed by the volatility of your emotions tonight (Damn that Corellian wine!); though you know none of this is real, there’s still some expected degree of control over your own behaviour – instead, it’s as if all the feelings you've bottled up over the past ten months have been amplified by tonight’s drink and can no longer be contained, spilling out uninhibited and inelegant during this dream. “And that’s one of the worst parts of all this! I don’t know anything. I don’t know where you are, or what you’re doing. Are you and Grogu safe? If you were hurt or in danger, would you have somewhere you could go? I worry all the time, and I know that I’ll never get any answers so I just worry more. I’ll never know if you’re alright, if you’re getting enough to eat, if you’re stitching up your own wounds or if there’s somebody else doing it for you, if you’re…”
Somebody else?
“… and I know I don’t have any right to know what you’re doing or have any feelings about if… there was somebody else? I would not blame you in the least, Din…”
Somebody else?
Surely you’re joking.
But the downtrodden look on your face and the ashamed way you’ve turned from him again betrays just how true to your heart this outburst is. What you’re suggesting is inconceivable – in Din’s heart of hearts, there could never be “somebody else”, the mere wraith of this unknown concept of a being offensive in its impossibility.
There just simply is no room. You are the occupier and owner of his heart, his soul.
In Din’s mind and within the very essence of his being, down to the last particle of space and time he takes up on this plain of existence, you are already his riduur. You are the only person in this galaxy with whom he is one when together, one when parted - with you and only you would he share all and raise warriors.
Somebody else? How can he absolve you of such a ridiculous notion?
The answer is so obvious and the decision he makes so instinctual, once made, he marvels that it wasn’t the first thing he did upon entering the suite.
You’re babbling now, inebriated brain working overtime to correct what you clearly feel was an overshare, “… and you’re out there flying all over the galaxy… performing noble deeds…” Clearly distracted by your own run-on thoughts, you completely miss the unlocking click and hiss of Din’s helmet, “… it only makes sense that you would attract admirers… I mean, if anyone would understand that it would be m-”
Stopped short, mid-meandering thought, you can only stare, jaw dropped at the sight of the bare face that’s now looking patiently and indulgently back at you.
Stunned, you lift you hand to test the legitimacy of what you’re seeing, fingers gingerly making contact with the sharp jaw that’s quietly ticking beneath a scruff of neatly trimmed facial hair. Upturning your hand to cup this rugged face, your thumb strokes the apple of Din’s cheek; in recognition of its shape, you sigh dramatically, content – the adorable sound causes Din to smile big, bringing a crinkle to his eyes.
Oh his eyes, you gasp a little as your own widen in admiration – they’re soft yet piercing, looking at you so knowing and kind. Though you’ve never had the privilege of seeing them before, the depth and richness of these brown eyes call to you, inviting you to come home.
Your other hand joins the expedition to explore the magnificence before you - gently caressing the lines of Din’s face, you run your fingertips over his lips, nose, then brush them featherlight along his hairline before carding them through the softness of his brown curls. The nerve endings in your hands and fingers spark at the familiar feel, coming alive as your brain closes the gap between touch and sight. How in Maker is this possible? Never in all your days did you think you could dream up a visage that so perfectly matches your sensory memory.
Still cradling Din’s face, you gently tilt it side to side so you can get a better look at your mind’s masterpiece; amused, Din lets you explore and study him to your heart’s content.
“Wow,” you finally break the silence, a whisper to yourself more than anything, “good job, brain.”
Din lets out a boom of a laugh, it shakes his massive frame and overtakes his entire face – the change is startling, he looks at least ten years younger. The joy of it is so infectious you can’t help but laugh with him.
“Really, Din,” you grow endearingly serious, it’s important you make him understand, “you’re so, so handsome.”
“Thank you, cyar’ika.” He’s imagined what your reaction to seeing his bare face might be a million times, prepared for anything but his sudden shyness.
“I’m honestly a bit put out,” your face scrunches, annoyed, “I didn’t think my imagination was capable of conjuring something quite so… beautiful. I’m sort of mad it hasn’t shown you to me before.”
Din laughs some more at your exaggerated pouting, it feels wonderful to really laugh again, “Have you truly never thought of what I looked like under the helmet?”
You look both delighted to be asked this question and fascinated by your own answer, “Truthfully? No. I wondered, naturally, but I never pictured anything specific beyond what you’ve told me, like the colour of your hair.” Running your fingers through Din’s soft curls, marveling again at how vivid this dream is, you appear to get lost in your own thoughts, “It was enough that I knew your face by touch, how it actually looked was inconsequential - yours was the face I loved, no matter what. I probably spent more time fantasizing about the reveal itself, rather than what might be revealed, if that makes sense?”
You meet Din’s eyes, trying hard not to get lost in the warmth of his baby browns as your voice fills with longing, “I wanted the face reveal for what it would mean for us. That we might have the future I always dreamt of, that we could belong to one another and that I would be your one and only. I imagined that feeling of being chosen countless times, even though I knew it would forever be a fantasy.”
Din’s heart sinks when he realizes the expression on your face is one of shame - shame for having wanted something you felt you had no right to covet; if only you knew what you dreamt of was already yours. “I’m here now, uncovered and exposed,” Din takes your hands in his and kisses them gently, “and it means exactly what you always wanted it to mean.” Your tipsy face brightens, but it’s clear that you’re not sure what to make of his words.
“This face is for you and you alone, mesh’la. There will never be ‘somebody else’; there will never be any one in this galaxy, save my son, for whom I will voluntarily bare my face,” Din cups your face in his hands to make sure you see his sincerity, “And I think you know that, cyare, which is why you’re seeing me as I am right now. I chose you long ago, and every day, I continue to choose you even if you don’t know where I am or what I’m doing. I hate that there will be times when your fears and doubts may try to tell you otherwise, but even seeing my face in your dreams means that in your heart of hearts, you know this to be true: I am and have always been yours. In every way imaginable, in all the ways that matter, only yours.”
You try to blink back your happy tears but find yourself terribly unsuccessful as you throw your arms around Din’s neck and bury your face into his neck, burrowing in, heart full.
“I’m so glad to finally dream of you again tonight, Din. I’ve needed this,” you whisper, tears spilling from your grateful eyes.
He replies honestly, his own eyes misty, “Me too, cyare. I’ve needed this as well.” I’ve needed you.
Laying a soft kiss to your hair, Din encourages you to drink one last sip of water before tucking you in under the covers; gently brushing a few strands of hair off your forehead, he grapples with the sad knowledge that your evening together is coming to an end, “Good night, Princess.”
Your eyes, already having started to slowly close, flutter open once more, “Din?”
“Yes?”
“Will I ever see you again?” The question is pure curiosity, asked with no expectations, completely devoid of hope; you’re looking at him the way Grogu does sometimes, steeped in the belief that his father holds all the answers in the galaxy.
“Do you mean in your dreams?”
You shake your head, understanding the confusion, “No, I mean, in my life.”
For a moment, Din considers what answer would give you the easiest night of sleep, before ultimately deciding on the truth; he’s never lied to you before and he won’t start now, “No.”
You give a trembling little nod and whisper, “I understand,” but he knows you don’t.
“If we were to meet once more, mesh’la, I would not have the strength to walk away again. I would steal you away without remorse - at the altar from your new husband, under the noses of the guards I trained, or like a thief in the middle of the night. I would have to have you with me for always, and nothing, no one, would be able to keep me from you,” the roughness of Din’s voice cracks with earnestness.
"I would become an enemy of Solana and the New Republic - a rogue despised by all those you hold dear and the very people I once vowed to protect. I would go to endless war to keep you as mine, forcibly dragging the armies of entire planets and star systems into a conflict that would wage ruin upon anyone who dare opposes me. Families would be forced to take sides and turn on one other, alliances that have stood the test of the Empire’s reign would crumble. Countless lives would be lost, sacrificed, and I wouldn’t care as long as it meant I was never to be parted from you again.” Din fears he may have gotten carried away, his dramatic embellishment merely a cover for the tragedy of the truth, but the sparkle in your eyes at his romantic hyperbole remind him that it’s worth laying his soul bare to you every time. At your satisfied little chuckle, he grins back, tone full of both feeling and mirth, “So, Princess, for the sake of all those innocent lives, we shouldn’t meet again.”
This time when you nod, it’s no less sad, but the light-heartedness that's been injected into the moment does provide you some comfort, “Of course, General. For the people.” You snuggle down further into your bedding, heart still soaring from the magic of Din’s words, quite pleased with how eloquent your subconscious mind can be.
“Will you stay, Din? Until I fall asleep, that is? In all my other dreams, you’ve had to leave… but this has been so nice! Don’t say goodbye, please - I want to remember us this way.”
When has he ever been able to say no to you? Din caresses your face fondly, promising, “As you wish, mesh’la.”
Your resulting smile nearly stops his heart, it’s moony and dazed, but unabashedly joyful, “Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum (I love you), General.” Your pronunciation still perfect after all this time.
“Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum, Princess.”
When your eyes finally close fully, mouth still curved upwards as your lovely face relaxes, you murmur, “Tell me another story, please, my love. One of the daring of Din Grogu and the bravery of his father, perhaps?”
Anything for you. Din recounts the details of his and Grogu’s latest exploits for the New Republic until your breathing evens and you purr with sleep. Tomorrow you will be told that your guard escorted you home and that Serene or Olivia helped you into bed, but right now in this moment, it’s still just you and him: the General and his Princess. He presses his lips to your forehead and inhales one last scent of your sweet perfume before he forces himself to leave you and a piece of his heart behind. In the doorway of your bedroom, Din stops to take one last look at your breathtaking beauty. An angel. How different was tonight from a dream, really?
“Sweet dreams, Princess.
🎶Never be the Same🎶by Camilla Cabello:
Something must've gone wrong in my brain
Got your chemicals all in my veins
Feeling all the highs, feeling all the pain
Let go on the wheel, it's the bullet lane
Now I'm seeing red, not thinking straight
Blurring all the lines, you intoxicate me
Just like nicotine, heroin, morphine
Suddenly, I'm a fiend and you're all I need
All I need
Yeah, you're all I need
It's you, babe
And I'm a sucker for the way that you move, babe
And I could try to run, but it would be useless
You're to blame
Just one hit of you, I knew I'll never, ever, ever be the same
I'll never be the same
I'll never be the same
I'll never be the same
You're in my blood
You're in my veins
You're in my head (I blame)
You're in my blood
You're in my veins
You're in my head (I'm sayin')
I'm saying it's you, babe
And I'm a sucker for the way that you move, babe
And I could try to run, but it would be useless
You're to blame (you're to blame)
Just one hit of you, I knew I'll never be the same
It's you, babe
And I'm a sucker for the way that you move, babe
And I could try to run, but it would be useless
You're to blame
Just one hit of you, I knew I'll never, ever, ever be the same
The face reveal?!?!? Tell me why I cried 😭 the whole premise of Din being her dream was so sweet. And he was able to be honest and to have a proper goodbye.
summary: it has been a few days since yours and javier’s encounter in the kitchen. things are starting to get better - slowly but surely.
warnings: cursing, grinding, choking (hand around throat), doggy style, hair pulling, JAVIER GRUNTING LIKE AN ANIMAL, mirror sex, soft!javier
word count: 3.9k
read part one here.
follow @sweetpascal-notifs for future fic updates.
It was nearing nine o’clock at night. The dishes were done, leftover dinner was wrapped in aluminum foil and placed in the fridge, bellies all full and moods lifted. Miguel had fallen asleep on the sofa, his thick framed glasses sliding down his button nose as he snored softly. You held in your laughter, smiling down at the small boy before carefully removing his glasses. The television volume was low as another commercial about a car salesman filled your ears. There was not much to do during the night. All you did was wait for Javier, and even then, waiting seemed forever.
Summary: You're Dave's favorite camgirl and his ultimate fantasy. Could he ever see you as anything else?
WARNINGS: F&m masturbation. Sex toys. Exhibitionism/voyeurism. Reader is a camgirl/has OF. TW: infidelity. Reader has pierced nipples. Unprotected piv (Dave has a vasectomy). Alcohol. Mutual masturbation. Publi/semi-public sex. Caught in the act. Car sex. Kitchen sex. Workplace relationship. Lovers to enemies. TW: misogyny. Stalking. M!oral. Ass play/anal fingering. Cum play/cum as lube. Elevator sex. Getting slapped w/a dick. Facial. Nonconsensual sex tape.
A/N: I feel if anyone would be rude towards or shame a sex worker it'd be Dave. Manipulative? Check. Misogynistic? Check. He likes people in boxes and hates how out of control things get when they don't stay in their assigned roles. He needs to lighten up. Anyway, enjoy!
dividers by @/omi-resources 👑
DAVE YORK MASTERLIST | FULL MASTERLIST
The house is blessedly empty for once. Silence wraps itself around Dave as he huddles over his laptop, cock pulled out of his boxers, fucking his fist with the unscented lotion he’d bought at the drugstore. He can’t have lube in the house or Carol would get suspicious, even though they stopped having sex long ago.
He has to get his kicks where he can.
Using long, lazy strokes, he jerks off in time with your movements onscreen, watching the bright pink dildo disappearing between your fat pussy lips, swallowing it whole. He imagines it’s his own cock buried deep inside you, making you moan like that, making your legs shake.
“Fuck,” you sigh. “So big.. you like this, don’t you? You stroking that big cock, daddy? Let me see.”
He positions the camera down, his hand wrapped around his cock as he continues with upward strokes. From your bedroom over two thousand miles and three time zones away, you salivate as you watch your best customer jerk himself off with you.
“I’m coming, daddy,” you whine, the dildo disappearing into your wet and willing hole. Dave's eyes are glued to the screen, his mouth filling with saliva, thrusting up into his hand and pretending it’s you.
“Come for me, pumpkin, you can do it,” he voice is deep, rocking through you, and you envision those words murmured against your throat as he works you. The image alone catapults you into bliss, your pussy walls gripping the toy like a vise. Dave comes with you, spilling into his hand, a few errant drops landing on his bare chest.
“If I was there, I’d lick it off,” you murmur, laying back on your bed, exhausted yet satisfied, watching him through the screen.
Something dark clicks in Dave’s brain. Within forty-eight hours he emails you a plane ticket to DC.
He uses the excuse of work to be away for the weekend, opting to meet you at the motel as opposed to picking you up at the airport. He needs to cover his tracks, as he does in all things. The secrecy makes it sweeter when he steps into the seedy motel room and finds you deliciously laid out on the bed, naked, fingering yourself and playing with your nipple piercings.
He’s on you in an instant, and for the rest of the night. All talk of safety discussed beforehand (he had a vasectomy after his younger daughter’s birth, and you had a clean test) you make the most of your first in-person assignation.
You weren’t sure what to think when Dave first started messaging you on the site. Customers paid a pretty penny to be able to reach out to their favorite content creators, and you vetted them carefully. Many had to be blocked. But Dave was different. He had a smooth way about him, as if he was aware of the fine line he walked in gaining access to your good favor. When you finally agreed to do one-on-one sessions with him, you realized how handsome he was, a strikingly good looking man wrapped in the package of a typical suburban family man.
That was, quite honestly, part of the appeal.
You weren’t faking getting off while you fucked yourself on camera with your favorite seven inch dildo - the very size of Dave’s own cock, though his own was thicker, a slight curve towards the head.
Plus he’s handsome, drives a nice SUV, and takes you to places to show you off. Granted, they’re a couple hours out of the way from where he lives.
Where you live as well now. Not necessarily to be close to him, but for work. The job you’ve been preparing for your whole life. Something more than just filming content. Even though you love it, you have a passion for something more, and are able to pursue it by moving to DC. At the very least it brings you and Dave together more often, even if you have to go out of your way to find places where people who know him are less likely to be.
Tonight he brings you to a club that smells like sweat, cigarette smoke, and spilled liquor.The bass is low and industrial, rattling your bones. You’re brazen on the dance floor, grinding on him, kissing, the only thing between you is the clothing you’re wearing.
Drinks in hand, you secure a booth partially hidden in a shadowy alcove. Emboldened by the alcohol and the music reverberating through you, you palm him through his pants as his hand finds its way up your short skirt, both of you gasping and sighing into each other’s mouths, splitting the taste of the boozy cocktails on your breath, getting so caught up in each other that you get on his lap without a care for anyone who can see.
“I want to devour you,” he rasps in your ear. You respond with a breathless sigh, grinding down on him.
“I didn’t think you were the rule-breaking type,” you whisper, the bass even more prevalent in the tiny booth. “They’ll kick us out if we get caught.”
“Fuck the rules,” Dave grunts. “Need that pussy wrapped around my cock right now.”
You glance around quickly, seeing only people interested in their own doings. “Hurry,” you whisper, helping him with his pants. You try to be discreet as he slides down his pants just enough, his cock jutting out from the fly of his boxers. Straddling him, you lift your skirt just enough, your thong already parted to the side. A rough groan slips past his lips just as a gasp leaves yours. For a moment all coherent thought leaves both of you.
“Move, baby,” he growls in your ear, “or I’ll fuck this tight little ass instead, right in front of everyone.”
You bite your lip on a broken cry as you writhe on top of him, hips moving seductively. Dave’s head tips back against the vinyl booth, gripping your hips as if he controls every movement. “Jesus Christ.. That’s it..” he grunts out between sharp breaths, his restraint unraveling with every slide of your wet heat. “Just like that..”
His fingers dig into the soft flesh of your hips as he pulls you down harder against him with each roll of your body. The booth is too small for this kind of thing, too risky, but god damn if it’s not the most exhilarating thing he’s done in years.
You grind down on him, deep and hard, the tip of him bumping close to your cervix, some pain mixed with the pleasure, as only Dave can give. His hands slide up under your top where you’ve gone without a bra, toying with your nipple piercings, lightly pulling and twisting. He leans in, tongue flicking the metal studs, teasing the tip of your nipple.
“Fuck!” you gasp as softly as you can, even though nobody would hear you over the music. “Dave..”
“Yeah?” he murmurs, big brown eyes peering up at you while one hand finds its way to your clit. “Keep moving, baby. Wanna feel you choking my cock.”
Your walls are squeezing him, his release threatening to spill over if you keep it up. “Good girl,” he growls against your ear. “Making me feel so damn good..”
His thumb flicks over your clit, tracing hard circles over the greedy little flesh, generating a sweet little mewl from you, your cunt clenching even harder. “Keep doing that,” you say in between gasps. “I’m gonna come..”
“Yeah?” You close, baby?” He teases your lips with his tongue. You’re not even trying to be inconspicuous anymore, bouncing on his lap, his fingers leaving bruising marks on your hips. Dave keeps up the steady rhythm, focusing on bringing you over the edge. Each roll of your body sends a shockwave of pleasure straight through him, but he holds back, wanting you to get there first.
“Come for me,” he rumbles, smirking when you start to fall apart seemingly on command. His own release coils tight in his gut as your own takes over, your cunt gripping and milking his cock. He makes sure you’re at the peak before he loses himself, burying himself to the hilt as he fills you up, his come jetting inside the deepest part of you.
He’s still inside you when you’re caught by security, a big beefy guy with a face tattoo and a backwards cap, telling you to get dressed and leave.
You park in an alleyway a quarter of a mile away. As soon as the car is parked in the shadows Dave wastes no time getting in the backseat after you. His hands are already on you, pulling your clothes off and his own. “I fucking love how eager you are for me,” he growls against your skin before sinking his teeth into the swell of your breast. You cry out as he pushes into you, already setting a punishing pace. His hands grip the backs of your thighs as he drives into you with deep, relentless strokes. The car rocks with the motion, the windows fogging up with your breath, the air around you thick with the smell of sex.
“Baby! Don’t stop!” you moan as your thighs shake in his grip. “I’m coming!” you moan, crying out his name as you finally go over the edge. His hips stutter before burying himself deep inside you one last time, spilling into the heat of your body with rough pulses, as if you hadn’t already drained him moments ago in the club.
You lay there as one, panting, sweaty, sated. Making a face, you frown at something digging into your lower back and lift your hips, pulling out a Barbie doll accessory. Laughing, you flick it under the seat. “Kids?” you ask breathlessly.
“Yeah.. always ruining the moment,” he mutters, reluctantly pulling out of you.
“Married too, I suppose?” You sit up, grabbing a tissue from your purse to clean up.
“Yeah. Though I take it that’s not a problem for you.”
You shrug, tossing the tissue out the door. “Does she not fuck you anymore?”
“It’s complicated,” is Dave’s clipped answer. “And none of your business.”
“Jeez. Sorry,” you mutter.
He lets out a long breath. “It’s fine. Didn’t mean to snap.”
Despite this flare-up, you invite him inside when he drops you at your place.
Your apartment is small but done in bold colors and prints. A small cat sleeps in its fur bed by the TV. Dave scans the place, noting how different it is from his own sterile, controlled environments. Fairy lights cast a warm glow over everything.
“Cute place,” he remarks, closing the door behind you both. “And that little demon?” He nods to the orange tabby cat.
“His name is Waffles.” You smile and give Waffles an affectionate rub on his head and he purrs in response. “What do you want to drink?” She asks Dave, going behind the bar. “Whiskey?”
“Whiskey sounds good,” he answers, strolling over to take a seat on a barstool. He notes your apartment is nicer than he anticipated. You must be doing pretty well for yourself with your revenue from webcamming. He watches you, gaze roving over your curves as you pour two drinks. “What kind of a name is Waffles?”
“He likes to eat Eggos every morning,” you explain, hiding a smirk.
Dave hmphs. “That’s one spoiled pussy.”
“Not as spoiled as mine,” you tease.
He rounds the bar, hands on your waist. “Yeah? Prove it.”
Your lips are on his immediately, savoring the taste of the whiskey on his tongue. He lifts you onto the counter.
“You ever fuck your wife in the kitchen?” you ask, briefly breaking the kiss.
“No,” he admits, “but I’m thinking about fucking you in yours.”
Skirt pulled up, panties shifted to the side, his jeans and boxers pulled down, cock free, he rocks into you again. You’re still soaked from earlier – the club and then his SUV. Small traces of his cum are still slipping out of you as he pushes in, raw and needy for you.
“You gonna scream my name for me again?” he rasps, thrusting harder and deeper.
“Yes,” you whimper. “So fucking good! Oh Dave!” His fingers dig into the soft flesh of your thighs, holding you tight against him while his hips piston with a rhythm that leaves you both panting and desperate.
“That’s it,” he grits out between clenched teeth. “Let the neighbors know who owns this pretty pussy.”
You moan his name over and over as you come, putty in his hands. Dave follows you over the edge with a rough groan, his release spilling hot into your warmth as he buries himself deep with the final thrust. “Damn right,” he mutters hoarsely. “You’re mine.”
Your core pulses around him one more time, your hands snaking around to grab his butt. “You’re insatiable..”
“Only when it comes to you. Now.. bedroom?”
Later, sweaty and sated, tangled in your sheets, you try to catch your breath in unison.
“Jesus,” Dave mutters. “You really are hell on a man.”
“Complaining already?” you smirk.
He presses a brief kiss to your temple. “Hell no. I’d be more than happy to keep going. I’m just not as young as I used to be. I might need a few minutes to recover.”
“You fuck better than any guy my age.”
A grin. “Experience counts for something.”
You sigh, letting him rest his head on your chest as you lazily stroke his hair with your fingers. “You should be home,” you murmur sleepily, “with your wife.”
Dave snorts. “Tell that to my dick. He seems to have a mind of his own when it comes to you.”
“Mmm.. I love this dick.. wanna spoil him..” You nuzzle his neck, gently cupping his still-spent cock. “Biggest cock I’ve ever had. Makes me feel like a virgin all over again.”
He’s half-hard at the thought of you as a shivering, curious virgin. It’s a thought that doesn’t stay long in his head – he’s so used to you as fantasy material, a three-holed wonder that belongs to him alone.
You look up at him. “You gonna stay, or..?”
He falls silent. He knows he should leave. No good can come from staying. He’s a married man, after all. He’s supposed to be better than this.
But he isn’t.
“I’ll stay,” he murmurs against your neck.
The routine becomes too easy, too comfortable. It worries him because he’s not supposed to care about you. He can’t. He’s a married man. But he still comes back each time. He gives you pieces of his time when he can: movie dates at theaters more than an hour’s drive away; late night diner escapades; but the majority of the time he’s at your apartment, bending you over the bathroom sink or slipping between your legs in the shower.
It’s not an ideal relationship – you wouldn’t dare to call it that anyway
On a random Monday in the office he’s chatting with the other agents, trading weekend stories. He wishes he could tell them about you, brag about his little slut. He’d be the envy of the whole office. But his work life and private life have to keep a respectful distance from each other.
Something pulls his attention away from Carl’s fishing trip story and he glances up, his gaze landing on you.
A knee length dress and blazer, sensible heels, your hair pulled back away from your face, minimal makeup.. he almost wouldn’t recognize you. He blinks hard to make sure he isn’t dreaming.
And this is the kind of dream he’d have.. you, showing up to his workplace, pulling him by the tie with that mischievous little smirk on your hot pink lips as you pull him into his office.. He’s thought about it more times than he’ll ever admit.
But by the looks of it you’re here on business. He mutters some excuse to his cohorts and makes his way over to you, weaving through the crowd that has accumulated until he’s standing right in front of you. On instinct he nearly reaches out, but he stops himself in time.
“Dave.” Your eyes dart around, willing yourself to maintain normalcy in your new surroundings. “I didn’t know you work here.”
That’s because I never wanted you to find out, he thinks. “Yeah,” he says, a little self-consciously, hoping this won’t turn into some ridiculous rom-come type of misunderstanding. “And I didn’t know you’d be working here too.”
Your agreed-upon terms of nondisclosure kept you from getting to know each other’s personal lives, the details of which you both remained blissfully unaware. You didn’t care where he took his family on vacations and he didn’t ask about your family or your friends. In hindsight, perhaps some honesty would have been helpful.
“I didn’t think you were interested in that part of my life,” you retort. Is that a hint of pain in your voice?
“Of course I’m interested,” he whispers, his gaze flicking about, checking for eavesdroppers. “But you didn’t exactly give me any indication that you were more than..”
“More than an OnlyFans girl?” You arch a brow.
“Yeah.” Chastised, Dave exhales sharply through his nose, fingers flexing at his sides before he shoves them into his pockets. He glances back at the group of guys and a few of them are watching him. To all appearances it simply looks like he’s chatting up the young, pretty intern on her first day. Nothing out of the ordinary.
“I’ve been assigned to you.. your casework, I mean,” you chew your bottom lip, wondering how he’ll take it.
“Really?” His eyes are like ice but there’s intrigue in his voice.
“Look, if I ask for reassignment now, it’ll look odd. They’ll ask why.”
“So we’re stuck with each other, huh?”
You nod. “For the time being.”
“Great.” Dave crosses his arms over his chest, his gaze never leaving yours. “Just what I need – a pretty little thing stalking me at work every day.”
“I’m going to remain professional and so are you.”
Professional. After he’s had his dick in every one of your holes and left his cum behind in them too. After he’s fucked his fist to every one of your videos.
“Yeah,” he says dryly. “We’ll see about that.”
Neutrality is part of the job. You’ve always been able to compartmentalize. Your secret job has provided you with enough money to never need to depend on anyone, but it’s not what you want to do forever. Working for the DIA has been a dream you’ve treasured for years, and just when it’s in the palm of your hand, your private and public selves are at risk of colliding.
During the week you’re in meetings with upper-level staff and being shown around by other agents who are just being nice and giving you tips on which food carts to avoid in the lobby. Luckily there’s not much face-to-face time with Dave, just forwarded emails and when you are in his presence, others are there. No calls or texts happen after office hours, and you don’t dare let yourself be the first to reach out.
At the end of your first two weeks there’s a meeting and of course you’re running late because of traffic. Dave’s waiting for you, a little smirk on his face but his eyes giving nothing away. He walks after you into the meeting room where the new interns go over a debriefing of their work so far. Dave keeps his expression neutral throughout, his posture relaxed but alert.
He doesn’t look at you, can’t afford to risk it, but he can feel your presence like an electric current. You only look at him when he’s speaking. When the meeting finally, blessedly adjourns, he’s the first to leave.
He waits until you’re at the water cooler before he approaches you. “Come to my office in five minutes,” he mutters. “We need to talk.”
You swallow hard, faking a smile as you meet him in his office, closing the door behind you. Dave is leaning back against the edge of his desk, arms crossed over his chest. “Come here,” he orders quietly, his gaze locking onto yours.
You approach with caution. “What do you want?”
“You know damn well what I want.” He reaches out, fingers curling around your wrist to pull you closer. His grip is firm, just enough to make sure you stay put. “But right now?” his lips brush against your ear. “We need ground rules.”
“Rules?” You’re trying to keep your hips from grinding against his.
“Yeah, pumpkin. And the first one: this–” he grinds his pelvis against yours, just enough to tease, to send a spark through you both, “--stops at the door. No touching at work.”
You stifle your whimper. “Agreed..”
Dave’s eyes darken with a predatory gleam. “Good girl. Rule number two: keep your mouth shut about us.”
You pull away from him, shocked (but not really) that he would even consider that you’d go and blab about fucking the agent you’ve been assigned to shadow. “Dave, really? I thought you knew me better than that.” You rub your wrist where he had a hold on you.
He seems annoyed by your comment, and shoves his hands into his pockets. He’s been doing a lot of that lately, training himself not to reach for you just because you’re there. “Just making sure we’re on the same page, sweetheart. Because I swear to god, if anything about us gets out–”
“I could say the same for you,” you interject passionately. “If anyone else finds out about my second job, I’ll know who to blame.”
His lips twitch with a smile. For a moment it seems ludicrous that anyone would believe he would be fucking around with a camgirl. “Fair enough,” he mutters. “Just remember, I’ve got a hell of a lot more to lose than you do.”
You glare at him and mutter “Asshole,” before turning on your heel and leaving.
You’re determined not to let Dave’s presence put a dent in your internship. You worked hard to get where you are, despite the randomness of starting this affair with Dave. There’s just no place in your life to mix business and pleasure. You’re aware of his eyes on you in the office, the frown etched onto his face when one of his colleagues talks with or flirts with you. It happens more often than you’d like, but you manage to brush it all off with professionalism. Unfortunately your cubicle isn’t far from Dave’s office and he has a pretty good view of your desk. Currently one of the junior analysts is laughing at something you didn’t intend to come off as humorous, and as he’s leaving his hand on your shoulder a second too long, you know Dave’s watching, and what really is humorous is that he can’t do a thing about it without risking exposure of your arrangement.
At the end of the day you give Dave a quick, friendly wave, briefcase in hand as you pass him in the parking garage. He looks up at you, no discernible emotion in his eyes. “See ya tomorrow,” he calls out, watching you get into your car.
Behind the wheel of his own vehicle, he watches in his rear view mirror as you start up the car and leave. On the road now, he starts for home. There will be a lovely dinner spread out on the table, probably a glass of bourbon freshly poured, waiting for him in his wife’s hand as he comes through the door, his kids happy to see him, jumping and clawing at him, showing him their artwork or their dolls or whatever is making them happy this week.
But he finds himself taking the road that leads to your apartment instead. In no time at all he’s outside your door.
“You shouldn’t be here,” you tell him decisively through the crack, only the chain lock between you.
“Yeah? Well, I’m here anyway.” He shifts uncomfortably on the doorstep, all pent up lust and frustration swirling in his veins. “Can I come in or what?”
Knowing he’s persistent, you let him in with a sigh. Dave glances around your apartment. Nothing new. Your heels are off, your blazer is draped over the coat rack, and you’ve poured yourself a glass of wine to kickstart the evening. Your hair is pulled down, framing your face. You’re the picture of post-work relaxation.
“You know, you always look good, but those work outfits don’t suit you at all,” he says casually.
“Oh? Think I look better in pasties and a thong?”
“Damn right you do,” he growls, invading your bubble, hands sliding around your waist as he pulls you flush against him.
“Don’t fuck up this job for me,” you warn him.
“I won’t..” his face is buried in your hair, collecting the last vestiges of your strawberry shampoo and the perfume you didn’t have time to re-spray this afternoon. “I know what I’m doing.”
“Dave. I’m serious.”
He pulls away. “So am I. But right now all I can think about is how bad I want to bend you over that couch and remind you what you’re best at.”
“How dare you!”
He smirks, his grip on you tightening as he backs you up until your legs hit the couch. “You know I’m right, pumpkin.” His cocky expression infuriates you and makes you hot at the same time.
“Dave, I mean it!-” but you’re cut off as he lunges forward, covering your mouth with his before pushing you down onto the sofa. “Fuck you,” you mutter, getting to work at unbuckling his belt, pushing his pants down to free him. His fingers tangle in your hair as he guides your head where he wants it. “Yeah,” he mutters gruffly, “you will.”
Glaring at him you get to work, taking him deep in your throat without any mercy. “Good girl,” he gasps, “you know what to do.” Using suction and a lot of saliva, you bob your head on him before letting him thrust in your mouth. “Fuck,” he mutters. Your mouth is like heaven, all warm and wet around him. “Gonna make a mess down that pretty throat of yours.”
You moan around him, grabbing his ass and pulling him forward until your nose is pressed to his pelvis, your throat bulging with his cock. Dave growls, hips jerking forward uncontrollably. The way your throat squeezes around him has stars bursting behind his eyelids. He’s not going to last much longer. “Shit,” he rasps out. “Get on your hands and knees for me.”
A change of heart, then. But you’re so cock-drunk that you obey without question, getting on all fours on your sofa, your work skirt bunched up around your thighs as Dave shuffles your pantyhose and underwear off in one go, shoving them down to your knees. His cock twitches at the sight of you like this, ass in the air, pussy drenching the insides of your thighs. He doesn’t waste another second before pressing against you, one hand anchored to your hip while he slams in to the hilt.
“Dave!” you scream out, fingers digging into the arm of the sofa.
“Yeah? You like that?” His free hand tangles in your locks, yanking your head up so you’re looking at him over your shoulder. “You feel so goddamn good.” His thrusts become relentless as you gasp and scream his name, asking for more, harder, please, and he slams into you with enough force to knock the very breath from your lungs. “That’s it.. take every inch,” he growls. Your walls spasm around him, your sopping pussy clenching like a vise as you come, screaming out his name, nerves firing in a brilliant storm of light as you barely register the swelling of his cock, the twitching that implies his own climax. He doesn’t last much longer after that, hips stuttering before burying himself deep inside, painting his release within you.
You slump over the sofa arm, wincing as he pulls out. But he’s not done yet.
He watches his spend dribble out of you, the way your cunt pulses, pushing it out. He scoops some with his fingers, using it to trace the rim of your asshole, smirking as you tighten around nothing before he gently shushes you, pressing his middle finger inside, pushing past the tight ring of muscle. You automatically clamp around him, curses spilling from your mouth as he fingers your ass, leaving your empty, greedy pussy to squeeze around nothing. “C’mon,” he grunts out, “you’ve taken something bigger than my fingers before. I know you can give me one this way.”
It’s true, and even now you hate to admit it, but he’s already wrenching the pleasure from you, one hand mercilessly working your clit as you continue to tighten around his fingers. “Come for me,” he grunts, playing your body like he has something to prove. Your every cell is already finely attuned to his actions, and despite how much you try to fight it, your vision whites out as you come again, drenching him, leaving you spent.
“You all right?” he asks gruffly, a hint of concern in his tone despite himself.
“Yeah,” you answer him, pulling your panties back on. “This can never happen at work..”
“Don’t worry,” he says, getting dressed as well. “I know how to keep a secret.”
“No, I mean.. we can’t continue seeing each other like this. It’s going to be harder now. We’re working together.. it’s riskier for us.” You dare a glance at him, finding disappointment clearly etched on his face. “I’m sorry, Dave.”
“You’re sorry?” he repeats, chest heaving. There’s a wild desperation in his tone that he can’t quite squash down. “All this time, everything we’ve been through, and you’re gonna throw it all away like this?”
“It was just sex,” you shoot back.
“Don’t give me that bullshit. We both know it was more than that. No one else can make you come like I can.”
You shiver. “Dave, don’t use that against me.”
“You’re the best piece of ass I’ve ever had. Ever. You can’t tell me it wasn’t the same for you.”
You’re quiet, unwilling to give him the truth at first. “It was the best I’ve ever had,” you admit. “But you don’t even respect me as a serious person with a future. You want me to be onscreen, flashing my tits and letting you fuck me in an alley. You only like me dirty.”
“That’s not true.” Dave’s jaw clenches at your words, a muscle twitching in his cheek, his teeth grinding. “That’s not true,” he grits out. “I respect you..”
But you don’t care to hear anymore. “We both got what we wanted tonight. We’re done. Good night.”
You don’t watch as he leaves, but as soon as you hear the door slam shut an emptiness takes over you. You tell yourself there was no other way. Dave York is a roadblock to your future and had to be dealt with.
You manage to ignore him at work, but not forever. It’s not as if you can transfer. You’ll just have to hope that he finds some other pretty thing to distract him until he forgets about you. It’s hard to imagine it now when you’re still reviewing cases and evidence side-by-side with him.
Only four weeks pass by before you find yourselves alone together again.
Pressing the button for the down elevator, you patiently wait until the ding, and the door slides open to reveal Dave inside, alone. Hesitant, you step in. Dave is stiff next to you, eyes fixed forward. The silence between you is suffocating but neither of you dares to speak first.
The moment stretches on until finally he can’t take it anymore.
“How long are you going to pretend I don’t exist?” he mutters.
“We have no reason to talk beyond work,” you reply, staring straight ahead, mentally willing the elevator to hurry to the ground floor.
“Like hell we don’t,” he grumbles. “You don’t get to just cut me out like that.”
“I can. Because you don’t think I’m good enough to do what you do for a living. You want me to be a camgirl and nothing else.”
“I never looked down on you. Not once,” he fires back.
“Bullshit.”
Dave slams his hand for the stop button, trapping you between him and the elevator door. “Bullshit? Why the hell would I be with you if I thought you were beneath me?”
“Because all I’m good for is fucking, right?”
He shakes his head, frustrated. “If that was all I wanted, I wouldn’t have stayed those nights I did.”
“Quit trying to prove yourself as a great guy. You’re not!”
He goes on as if you hadn’t spoken. “Do you know why I stayed? Because no one – no one – has ever made me feel the way you do. And I don’t want to lose that.”
“You’re selfish. You like being with me because it’s wrong.”
His dark gaze flickers as you hit it right on the mark. He doesn’t deny it, he doesn’t even try.
“So what if I do?” he challenges. “So what if I like the thrill of something secret, something forbidden? It doesn’t change the fact that I have feelings for you.”
“You.. what?”
Dave exhales sharply, stepping away, giving you breathing room. “I said I have feelings for you. Happy now?”
“What good are your feelings to me? You’re married,” you point out. “It’s pointless, Dave. Just let me go.”
“No,” he growls. “I won’t let you go. Not when you’re all I think about every goddamn day and night.”
“Dave.. this is a bad idea.”
He doesn’t answer with words. Instead he crushes his lips to yours in a searing kiss that leaves no room for argument. His hands slide down from your wrists to hold your waist as he pulls you closer. “Then let me be bad,” he murmurs against your lips.
“We shouldn’t be doing this here,” you remind him, but you’re shamelessly rubbing against him like a cat in heat.
“You really think I care?” he grunts. “Tell me what you want, pumpkin.”
“I want you inside me..”
You kiss again, hungrily, clawing at each other as if trying to climb inside one another’s skin. Dave can’t get enough of you, the way your hands grab at him, the desperate little noises you make as he kisses down your neck. “You want me inside?” he whispers. “Don’t say it like a good girl. We both know you’re not one. Say it like a dirty girl.”
“Stuff me with your cock,” you murmur.
He doesn’t waste another second before spinning you around, pressing you to the wall. He rips the pantyhose apart just to get to you, not bothering to slide them down. Panties pushed to the side he extricates himself from the confines of his own pants and pushes into you with one sharp thrust.
You brace yourself against the wall, crying out as he thrusts hard into you, his grip like iron on your hips, pulling you back onto his cock over and over. “Don’t stop,” you beg him.
“Not gonna stop,” he growls out.
You give a strangled cry, coming apart at last, your pussy milking his cock. His lips curl into a sly smile as he leans forward, whispering in your ear, “That’s my good girl. Now get on those damn knees.”
As soon as he pulls out you’re bare-kneed on the cold floor, his cock in your face. He taps your cheeks with his dick, teasing you as you try to put your mouth on him, smearing your own arousal on your face, covering you in your own cum.
He’s saying, I call the shots here.
He’s reminding you that you’re in his world now.
And as soon as he shoves himself inside your wet and willing mouth, he pushes you all the way down, forcing you past your gag reflex, making you take the whole of him without difficulty. Just when you think he’s going to spurt down your throat, he pulls out suddenly, stroking himself until he comes in hot splashes across your face. A few plops fall into your open mouth as you gasp for air. You’re wiping it from your eyes when you finally look up and see what you should've seen all this time: Dave, standing over you, phone in hand, filming you.
“I thought you might need more content,” he murmurs, zooming in on your cum-covered face. “This is what you’re good at, after all.”
tagging those interested in my wip as well as some moots/Dave girlies I hope will enjoy: @604to647 @dreamedaboutitinthedark @moonyyymoon @milla-frenchy @time-for-my-weekly-spanking @sawymredfox @inept-the-magnificent @emeliepastelskiesxox @jensensational71 @ace-turned-confused @badnadsxxx @yorksgirl @tateypots @petalsinblood @joelalorian (if you've been tagged and don't want to be, please lmk)
Someone needs to explain to me with science how you can make a man being so hideous so damn hot! Like he’s such a dick but I would nail him in a heartbeat! You always write Dave so well.
He’s pigeonholed her into sex object and can’t imagine that she has any other facets to her personality. I can only imagine how shocked he was to see her at his workplace. The fact that he immediately slipped into fantasy mode shows exactly what he thinks of her. Question is, does his stunt in the elevator tie her closer to him or push her further away? Enquiring minds want to know!
I absolutely loved this, you did an amazing job as always! 😘🥰
Absolutely, he just wanted the fantasy to stay just that— a fantasy. And how he kept putting her down when she’s obviously efficient at the agency. I like to think she wises up after the elevator surprise. (Even as a creep with misogynistic tendencies.. he can get it. Only because he’s fictional 🤭)
Summary: Worried, Din goes after you amidst a rainstorm.
Warnings: 18+ Content (MDNI pls). Newish/secret established relationship, Mando'a nicknames, first time (theirs, but I know how important it is to some of you that Din's a virgin so read it however you want 😘), f!oral, fingering, unprotected PiV (they… make love?),✨ONE BED✨ (I've always wanted to write this! 🤭)
A/N: I actually started this WIP for jolapeno's April Showers 2.0 and never finished (I'm sorry Jo!) - but it's here now! Let's take a much needed break from the angst of the last instalment! In the timeline of series events, we're actually going back in time/this is the first (though it's posted as the 4th story), so can be read standalone 😊 Reminder: this is a post season 3 compliant series where Din has been dispatched to a New Republic stronghold planet (Solana) to train their armies as a General; Medieval vibes are intentional. (Typos and errors are unintentional and I'll try to correct them over the weekend 😅)
Dividers by @saradika-graphics / Series Masterlist / Title by Elley Duhe; inspo lyrics at the end.
Din leans forward, bending low, to prevent the onslaught of rain whipping against his visor from obscuring his vision completely; Beskar helmet nearly fully buried in his horse’s flying mane, he urges his trusty steed faster.
Only moments earlier, Din had come upon a scene that nearly stopped his heart: your Royal carriage careened off the main road, one wheel broken clean off its axel, the coach body stuck lopsided, wedged in the thick mud. Horses, unhooked, gone. You, the carriage’s only occupant, gone. Two of his top Lieutenants, whom you had convinced to take you out in this weather despite his explicit orders not to, also gone.
The General’s mind races with worry after worry: Are you hurt? Where did you go? Was the accident due to dangerous road conditions or have you become the victim of something more sinister? Sabotage? Where were you now? Are you safe? Have you been separated from your escort? Taken?
Dank Farrik! He had told you to stay put!
Trampling down his rising panic, Din pushes his stallion harder through the downpour covering Solana’s country side; the rainfall is so heavy, his helmet visor can barely make sense of its readings, not that it matters - any clues or data that could be used to track your movements having long since washed away.
Racing his faithful mount over endless rolling hills and across the expanse of pastoral plains, Din rides for what feels like forever until he finally sees the valley and signs of a village in the far-off distance. From his current position, the building roofs are mere pinpricks, smoke from their chimneys but whisps, but Din is sure he’s found your intended destination: the epicentre of one of Solana’s most vital farming communities. Did you make it? Were you forced to seek shelter elsewhere? Din slows his pace to a trot, scanning his surroundings carefully while repeated wiping off his visor so that the continued downpour won’t compromised his internal display readings.
What had you been thinking? Actually, he huffs, he knows exactly what his Princess had been thinking.
Yesterday, after receiving an alarming report regarding large scale damage sustained by this region’s farm drainage system, you had spent the remainder of the afternoon reviewing and consulting agricultural plans, weather impact studies, and concluded that capital assistance was indeed much needed for repairs ahead of rainy season. The only way to secure and expedite the emergency capital funding required was onsite royal approval, and since you had just spent the past day acquainting yourself with the plight of these farmers, you insisted on going yourself as soon as possible. The storm that Din now trudges through was already rolling in when he heard of your intentions to set out - citing the dangerous weather, he had immediately advised against it. You argued staunchly that with heavy rain expected, it was even more imperative that you went immediately; if the current system were to fail and the land to flood, your decree and very presence on location, would assure that capital assistance would be dispatched as swiftly as possible and hopefully minimize the harm done to people’s livelihoods. Your reasoning was sound, and privately to himself, Din felt a swell of pride and admiration not only for your strategic mind, but for the compassion and love you hold for your fellow Solanians – the only problem was it put you right in the middle of that same risk.
Din sighed. The Princess he could not command, nor would he wish to – but your father’s soldiers? They were under his purview; he gave the order that under no circumstances were they to leave their posts during the storm without his explicit instructions, hoping that this would delay your excursion until after the storm had passed.
Never mind you, what had his Lieutenants been thinking? Din’s agitation only grows as he continues his search; the sky above him remains an open slate of dark grey with rain coming down in sheets and winds picking up in speed and intensity. With no end to the tempest in sight, even Din’s stallion’s steps begins to slow as the muddy path becomes thicker, stickier.
The General’s eagle eyes spot the crest of your house before his helmet HUD registers it properly. The soaked through equestrian regalia on which your royal coat of arms is emblazoned is hanging over the half door of a small stable house just under a klick away; adjusting his sensors to zoom in, Din makes out the outlines of two horses grazing on some hay just beyond the opening. Two out of five accounted for. Surveying the area, he takes notice of a quaint looking cottage no more than 50 meters from the barn – even from this distance, he can tell by the brightly lit windows and smoking chimney that a fire is roaring within. Ni codayn gar (I found you).
Assuring his exhausted steed that respite would soon be his, Din redirects the weary animal, once again picking up speed. In record time, he’s settled his companion into a stall, hung up his own tack to dry, and is charging towards the humble cottage, unsure of what he’ll find upon arrival; at this point, he cannot promise that even the relief of finding you safe will be enough to improve his mood.
As he steps onto the front stoop, he hears your melodic laugh ring out from behind the door and for some reason, sour mood from his orders being directly disobeyed, his current physical state resembling more drowned rat than man, or perhaps nerves frayed and strung out from hours of worry, the normally pleasing harmony grates on the very last shred of his patience; he bangs on the door. His aggressive pounding silences the voices on the other side immediately; unapologetic, Din practically bellows,
“It’s me. I’m coming in.”
With no further ceremony, the General pushes open the door and stomps in. It’s unclear which party is more shocked by the sight that greets them.
You and his two Lieutenants are casually lounging around a well-lit hearth, the warmth and glow of which feels so welcoming and homey, the juxtaposition to the chaotic gale that’s still beating at his back hits Din like a punch to the gut. All three of you are donned in dry clothes Din doesn’t recognize, modest garments that are positively plain when compared to the ornate and luxurious dress of the capital; speaking of which, he spots the various splendid layers of your royal gown and the official uniforms of your guard strewn around the room, drying.
There’s a few grazed upon plates of food sitting between you, still being shared amongst your little party; Din does not miss the flagon of wine that looks to be nearly empty. Far from being in mortal peril, it seems that all three of you have settled in comfortably, enjoying yourselves even.
By contrast, Din is the very picture of misery; a waterlogged mess looming in the entrance way like some ghoulish killjoy here to interrupt your reverie, to ruin the serenity of this humble abode by dripping a river’s worth of rainwater onto the floor. His drenched and aching figure remains silent and unmoving as he stares back at your group.
Drip, drip, drip.
Even more than annoyed, Din is starting to feel very stupid.
“General!” His men spring to their feet, snapping to attention at the sudden appearance of their commanding officer.
Doing his best to ignore your adorable wide-eyed expression of surprise, Din slams the door behind him so forcefully the walls shake; feeling a smidge of satisfaction when the soldiers jolt a little. You on the other hand, merely tilt your head quizzically at his moodiness.
“I expressly forbade anyone from leaving their posts during the storm,” the General growls, “and not only were my orders flagrantly disobeyed, I find you here in the middle of nowhere with a complete disregard for any and all security considerations. Have I taught you nothing?”
“Sorry, General, sir!”
“Entrance way to the premises, unlocked. Door unguarded. No transmissions regarding your location. No discretion with the Royal crest on full display outside the stable. Do you wish to signal to every being nearby, or, Maker forbid, any villain wishing harm upon the Princess, exactly where she can be found?!”
“No, General, sir!”
“Now that I’m inside, it’s clear that in addition to a failure to post guard, you haven’t established a surveillance position either? How could you possibly assess or even be aware of any potential incoming threats? You’re sitting ducks here!”
“Sorry, General, sir!”
“Din…” you try to interrupt, getting up and crossing the room with the intention to calm your Mandalorian.
He doesn’t hear you, deaf to everything but the spiral of his incredulity and anger, “You cannot tell me that you had any idea of my approach! What if it hadn’t been me who came upon you? Anything could have happened! I trained you better than this!”
“Yes sir, General!”
“How could you show such complete disregard for the Princess’ safety!?” spits the General, his disappointment venomous.
“Din!!” you exclaim, unable to listen to his raised voice any longer. The behemoth of a man finally swivels to acknowledge you - even with his helmet on, you can tell he’s snarling, the ferocity of his countenance vibrating the very Beskar that conceals it. “Do not blame them, please, General! When the intensity of the storm overcame us, both Lieutenants thought of nothing but finding safety and shelter - no one could have been more concerned for my health and well being. When we found this cottage, the Lieutenants cleared it thoroughly and determined it to belong to the farm a mere 10 minutes gallop from here.” You put your hand on Din’s arm to reassure him, heart dropping at how soaked through and freezing cold his sleeve feels, “The Lieutenants made immediate contact with the perfectly wonderful family who own and work this land, arranging for them to supply us with dry clothing, food and drink. They offered these lodgings for the night and have assured us of their discretion and the security of their property.”
Victorious when you sense a slight relaxing in Din’s frame, you throw a sympathetic smile to his soldiers, “General, I assure you, I’ve been very well taken care of - there is no need to admonish your men so severely.”
Though no longer in the throws of his earlier rampage, Din’s tone nevertheless remains deadly, cold, “They should have never accompanied you on this journey, period. It was ill conceived and thoughtless.”
You’re starting to lose your patience now, “You would prefer I came out here on my own, General?”
The shiny Beskar dome tilts, fully staring you down, “I would have preferred you didn’t come out here at all during this storm. To do so was also ill conceived and thoughtless. Which if you recall, I made abundantly clear to you, Princess.”
Hands on your hips, you narrow your eyes, “And if you recall, I noted your objections and explained that the storm itself was hardly a deterrent but the very thing that precipitated my coming here. As the storm surely wasn’t going anywhere, you with your infinite wisdom, General, must have reasonably predicted that I would be. Since you’re so concerned with my safety, I would have thought you’d be relieved I asked some of the guard to accompany me.”
Din full out grins beneath his helmet, his feisty cyar’ika - but outwardly, he remains stubborn, “They were expressly ordered not to leave their posts during the storm, never mind leave the capital itself.”
“Are you saying the royal guard can refuse a direct request from their Sovereign? Should we ask these Lieutenants to whom they owe their allegiance, their General or their Princess?” you wave generally in the direction of the two men; without looking over, you can imagine them standing awkwardly, unsure of how to comport themselves, not unlike children witnessing their parents bicker for the first time – the blaze of your eyes, however, never leave the black abyss of the Din’s T-visor.
After what feels like an eternity, Din grits, “May I speak to you in private, Princess?”
You sweep your arm dramatically towards a small door on the offside of the room, “After you, General,” continuing to huff, agitated, as you follow his wet footprints into the cottage’s one bedroom.
Once inside, you close the door behind you and spin around, retort on the tip of your tongue, ready to be unleashed - a perfectly reasonable argument that your father’s men would have been in even more trouble if they had refused to accompany you - when the breath upon which your remarks lay in wait is knocked clear out of you.
Oof!
The force with which Din’s helmet barrels into your midsection is rivalled only by the gripping strength of his arms wrapping around your legs – your Mandalorian is on his knees, holding you like he’s never going to let go,
“You scared me, Mesh’la.”
Oh. Oh.
You fold your body over the great man, enveloping the broadness of his back within your embrace, all the fight in you gone upon seeing the strongest man you’ve ever met surrender so completely. If anything, you regret the stress your actions caused him, now that his ill temper has been revealed to be a poor mask for his fear.
Cupping the back of his helmet, you stroke down its back seam with your thumb, whispering, “I’m sorry, Din, I didn’t mean to.”
“I know, cyare,” Din murmurs, still buried in your soft body, hold on you unyielding. You stay unmoving for as long as he needs, letting him breathe in enough of you to convince himself that you’re truly unharmed, safe.
Slowly the great General rises to his feet, dragging his hands up the length of your body, still afraid to be parted from you for even one second; you melt beneath his loving touch and reach for him with your own – you and Din are hardly ever afforded the luxury of just holding one another like this, fully and unrestrained, with no care for the passage of time. Your love has grown steady and strong in the shadow of its own secrecy, surviving on stolen glances and barely there touches in the openness of court, secret kisses in dark stairwells and heartfelt declarations whispered hushed and hurried. Every rendezvous a wonder, every moment spent together precious, but always taking place on borrowed time – you’ve only ever touched while on a countdown, loved under the threat of being caught; never allowed to just be with one another.
“Kriff, mesh’la, I’m so sorry - I’m getting you all wet,” Din drops his hands from your body, and though the imprint his soaked-through gloves have left on the simple borrowed frock is wet, you miss his warmth immediately.
“Don’t let go, Din”, you plead, fisting the rough fabric of his cape and pulling yourself closer; Din complies, as he always will, gathering you in his arms once more, but not before unlocking his helmet.
Eagerly, you close your eyes and nudge up the brim of Din’s helmet with your nose, the motion well practiced, your lips finding his swiftly. Tongues meeting in sweet reunion, your bodies melt in shared relief, your sighs synchronized, breathy and needy. Din kisses you fervent and deep, pouring all of today’s anxieties - not getting to you in time, failing in protecting you, losing you - into your willing vessel; you meet each and every one of his fears head on, dissolving them with just one touch of your magic.
I’m here with you.
You’re here with me.
Only breaking for air, you drag your kiss swollen lips along the chisel of Din’s jaw and down the column of his throat, loving on every inch of the skin he bares for you and only you. The General tips his helmet back down and pulls you flush against his chest plate, letting you bury your face into the soft folds of his neck cowl; he chuckles to himself at your deep inhale and the contented sigh that follows as you take in your fill of his familiar scent.
“I really am sorry, Din. I know you worry.”
“I don’t know what I would do if something were to happen to you, cyar’ika,” Din husks, even saying the words out loud constricts his airway.
Your fingers find the gaps between his armour and wiggle in, tickling your Mandalorian’s soft spots in an effort to soothe him; your own mood having already been placated, you tease, “Then next time you should come with me.”
“Princess.” The gravel of Din’s warning causes your pulse to quicken.
Tilting your chin up, you rest its point on the smooth Beskar plate, the very picture of innocence peering up through your lashes as your General cocks his head in faux exasperation, “If you promise not to blame the Lieutenants for merely obeying their Princess, then I promise there won’t be a next time without proper consultation with you.”
There’s a beat of silence before the metal helmet dips to assent, the movement near imperceptible to someone with less intimate knowledge of Din’s tells. Beaming, you close your eyes and nudge the rim of the impressive silver dome upwards once more, needing no guide to find the lips already waiting for yours.
---
The remainder of the evening passes uneventfully despite the maelstrom that continues to pound the Solana countryside, shaking the earth and slicing its skies. Your little cottage, however, proves to be an impenetrable haven, somehow immune to the outside destruction; its warmth and simplicity, and the generosity of your hosts, underestimated defenses. One of the older sons from the main farmhouse braves the storm to bring a hot meal from his mother, along with some additional blankets, various sundries, and a fresh supply of dry firewood; your party wants for nothing.
Food and drink is shared over relaxed conversation that gets progressively more lively as the day’s anxieties wear off and the familiarity of the present company, coupled with overall fatigue, remove any remaining vestiges of formality due to rank. The Lieutenants chortle over how their Princess teases the General, and marvel at the appearance of a gentler and frankly more personable side of their fearless leader previously thought non-existent.
Din regales your group with outlandish and thrilling tales of old bounties, exotic Outer Rim planets, and narrow escapes that have all three Solanians in the room on the edge of your seats. You counter with your own stories from various diplomatic missions to the Inner and Mid Rim, imparting fascinating and colourful tidbits on the traditions and cultures of nations that even Din has never heard of. Though the Lieutenants’ favourite anecdotes are the ones you share about the stuffy old court officials that you’ve known since birth - the wheezing laughter of two of the General’s most formidable fighters at times overtaking the howl of the outside winds.
Unable to stop his smiling, Din watches as you cast the spell of your charm over his men, forever in awe of your unique ability to make those around you feel comfortable, valued, seen – it’s no wonder that the people of Solana love their Princess. He thinks back to how the two of you met in the national library those many moons ago, how easily he had mistaken you for a mere noble lady – having met all types of leaders, politicians, heads of state over the years, he never would have imagined that such humility, empathy, sincerity could reside in one of royal blood. You had long since apologized for having inadvertently misled him regarding your identity, but there had been no real need – the truth only made him admire you more. And you’ve only continued to amaze and captivate him since then; way past denying to himself just how utterly in love he is, Din is sure he could not conceal his feelings were it not for the cover of his Beskar. His Lieutenants have likely already seen through his armour tonight.
It’s only when you can no longer swallow your yawns and your eyelids start to droop that Din insists everyone retire for the night. Though he had agreed to refrain from reprimanding his men any further for their role in your adventure today, your security and safety is still his utmost priority. He ushers you to the small bedroom to ready yourself for bed, then lays out the rotating security protocol for the night with his men. When everyone is comfortable with their assignments, Din bids his Lieutenants goodnight before knocking on your door.
“Come in.”
He enters to find you rearranging the bedding of the one bed to your liking, adorably fluffing the pillows and tucking back the covers, “Well, General? Have you satisfied yourself with the security arrangements?”
Din checks the room’s one window, drawing the curtains after deeming its construction to be adequate, then takes a closer look around; the room itself is quaint, nowhere near grand enough for someone of your station, but perfectly suitable for a night’s shelter from the still raging storm. Far from complaining, you seem to have no problem making yourself at home – Din wonders if there’s any place in the galaxy that you couldn’t make your own, anywhere you wouldn’t look like you belonged perfectly. Coruscant? Mandalore? Nevarro? He shakes his head to relieve himself of thoughts he has no right to, drawing a chair next to the room’s small but well lit fireplace and sits before answering, “The Lieutenants will sleep out in the main room, one at a time, switching off 4-hour guard shifts…”
“But Din…”
The Mandalorian shakes his head, “No buts, cyare. I cannot compromise on this. Regardless of the assurance and hospitality of our hosts, I will not leave the premises unguarded overnight.”
You relent, knowing he will be immovable on this matter, “And you?”
“The Lieutenants will guard the cottage, and I will guard you.”
“From that chair?”
The General nods as he settles in, unsure what to make of the cute little noise you chirp at his assertion, pretending not to noticed the look of amusement gracing your pretty face as you go about your nightly routine. There’s something magnetic about the way you complete even the most mundane of tasks: washing your face, brushing your hair – the domesticity of it all tugs at something primal in Din’s heart. Though he’s never been in your castle bedchambers, Din will admit he has thought about what it might be like in there, the place where you lower your guard, where you can be your most restful self, vulnerable – he would want to protect you even there, he thinks. Unaware of your own allure and the effect you’re having on the stoic, steady man watching, you go around the room extinguishing the lamps so that the only remaining light source is the still gently lapping fire next to him. As the golden dance of its flames illuminate your graceful steps towards the bed, the tranquility of the scene before Din whispers an image of him slipping under those covers with you but for a moment - his impeachable sense of duty snaps him back to reality before the fantasy can take hold.
You’re still wearing a bemused grin as you climb into bed, as if you can read his mind the way you can the rigidity of his posture; after laying your head on the pillow and rolling away from him, you sing back over the roar of the storm, “Goodnight, General.”
“Goodnight, Princess.”
---
Din can tell that you aren’t asleep, but he’s still surprised nearly an hour later when you suddenly sit upright, “Din, do you really mean not to get any rest?”
When he offers nothing but silence, you violently throw back the covers and hop out of bed. Walking towards him, bathed in the warm glow of the fire’s dying embers, you’re an angel unaware of her own sin, “Please, come to bed, General. It’s big enough for the both of us.”
You don’t know that for the last hour it’s taken every ounce of Din’s honour, every last fibre of his strength to keep from doing just that. That the mere idea of it being his place to touch you in a shared bed, fall asleep and wake up next to your elegance is worth more to Din than all the credits in the galaxy. That his imagination cannot conceive of anything more comforting than the curved feel of your lovely spine pressed up against his chest and his breath syncing to yours as you both succumb to peaceful, uninterrupted sleep. Yes, that bed is big of enough for the two of you, but is it big enough to contain the spill of Din’s overflowing feelings? His desires and forbidden fantasies? Is the bed strong enough to cradle the sanctity of your connection, the magnitude of what you’ve come to mean to one another, the promises of a tomorrow? Never mind tomorrow, can the bed hold everything Din wishes to say to your heart and do to your heavenly body tonight?
“You cannot say that to me, Princess. Especially not when dressed the way you are.”
Your eyes crinkle adorably, your chest warming from the huskiness in Din’s voice, “I didn’t realize this simple frock made me such a temptress.”
“More forbidden than any temptation, cyare,” breathes Din. How can he possibly explain that seeing you out of your usual silks, in plainclothes that would not look out of place on any maiden of the kingdom, is a danger to his mind? In these clothes, you would not look so out of place on Nevarro, in his small home near the lava flats - he can almost imagine you welcoming him and Grogu home wearing something similar. He can’t tell you that the very look of you as you are now fuels the impossible dream that he might have a life with you; that without your regalia, your satin armour, he can almost picture himself your equal, a man worthy of carving a place by your side.
Din doesn’t have the words to articulate any of this; all he can do is to unlock his helmet before simply stating, “You look like home.”
You move as if in flight, arms locked around your General’s neck before you’re even seated in his lap. Eagerly pushing up his helmet, you crash your lips to Din’s at his romantic declaration, the significance of his words not lost on you. You kiss his fears and uncertainty into submission, every press of your mouths deeper and more passionate than the last.
After Din tips his helmet back down, he confesses, wistful, “Cyare, right now in this room, dressed as you are, looking as beautiful as you do - you look like someone that could actually be mine.”
“I am yours, Din,” you declare, heart bursting, “I’ve been yours from the moment we met, and every day since. I’ll never be anyone’s but yours.” You stand and extend your hand towards the only man to whom your heart, your body, your soul, will ever belong, “Come to bed, Din.”
There’s not enough fight in him to refuse again - the armour around his heart already cracked and crumbling from your sweet and heartfelt confession, his own abundance of emotions, and the mesmerizing vision of you in that damn dress.
The two of you move as one towards the bed, Din’s large gloved hands cover yours, guiding you over the breadth of his body. You remain unsure of his intentions until he helps your fingers find the magnetic latch beneath one of his pauldrons – at the click of its release, you gasp, shocked; pulling your hand back so fast it’s as if you’ve been burnt, sure you’ve just committed an unforgivable sin.
Din chuckles and holds fast onto your hand, bringing it back to his shoulder and closing your fingers over the precious metal. He tugs so that the Beskar detaches from its clip, letting you separate the armour from the man. You look between the component in your hand and the visor of Din’s helmet in awe – disbelieving of this honour he’s bestowing on you. That a Mandalorian remove any of his sacred armour in front of another is extraordinary enough, to let her be the one to relieve him of it is practically sacrilegious. Your eyes well with tears at this remarkable display of trust, of this invitation Din is extending, and you vow here and now that you will do everything in your power to be deserving of such privilege.
Thank you.
Din nods in understanding as he helps you set down his pauldron, then resumes showing you how to disarm him. The ceremony of his armour removal is sacrosanct, a carefully coordinated dance steeped in tradition: pauldron, bandolier, chest plate, cape, frame, vambraces, thigh plates, boots – all handled with the greatest of care and reverence. You memorize every wordless instruction and commit this sacred ritual to heart, the most attentive student to her adoring teacher.
It’s only when Din stands before you in just his flight suit that he hesitates, shy, exposed. You reach to offer him reassurance but he stops you by holding up both gloved hands; the shakiness of his breath indicative of the gravity of what he’s about to do, reveal more of himself to you than he has another living soul for what may be his entire adult life.
“Din, you don’t-” you start, wanting him know he doesn’t have to do anything he’s not ready for and certainly not this; you don’t expect it and you don’t need such any such grand gestures to understand his feelings. In truth, you can’t stomach the idea of him having any regrets and being unable to take back or undo his actions.
He shakes his head, happy, “I want to, mesh’la. I’ve never wanted to more. For anyone, more.” Blinking away your tears, your eyes glue to Din’s gloves as he slowly removes and adds them to his neat pile of armour; shellshocked, you stare at enormous size of his hands, instruments of immeasurable power, tanned and rough looking with thick veins that crisscross over a myriad of healed-over scars. Din flexes his thick fingers, as if getting used to the freedom of being ungloved, before turning them over in invitation. You slide your palms over his, soaking in the sensation of this first touch – his skin is exquisite in its feel, warm and grounding, priceless.
You’re overwhelmed, emotional – these very hands have held you, comforted you, cared for you with infinite tenderness and patience, and yet you know them to also be skilled in destruction, unyielding in their might. Your heartbeat quickens; would it be so wrong if you wanted these hands to show you some of that brutal strength? To handle you with a little less care? To ruin you?
Registering your physical reaction to his hands, Din chest puffs a little in pride for his effect on you; he takes one of his hands and cups your face, reveling in how you close your eyes and lean into his palm. Slowly, he trails the fingers of that same hand along your jaw line, then down the side of your neck, feeling you shiver beneath his touch; brushing his fingertips across your collar, he pauses momentarily at the neckline of this temptress dress, before gently dragging the fabric aside until it starts to slip over your shoulder. “May I?” he asks quietly.
You nod, not trusting your own voice. With the same care you used to strip him of his armour, Din undresses you: slow, reverent. It’s tortuous how much time he takes unlacing every lace, unbuttoning every button, untying every tie; Din’s sense of wonder is palpable as each of your layers is shed, you can tell by the way his flight suit tightens across the expanse of his chest that he’s holding his breath until the very last panel of fabric lands at your feet and leaves you bare to his gaze.
Only then does he exhale.
For the first time in a while, you feel self-conscious around Din – usually so confident in your ability to read your Mandalorian, you’re finding his body language too impassive to interpret; his continued silence exaggerates how exposed you are, and so you turn your face away, hiding from his gaze – are you not what he expected? Does he not like what he sees?
As if having read your mind, two thick fingers gently pinch your chin and tilt your face upwards; the man beyond the dark abyss of the T-visor zeros in on the spiral of your thoughts, calming them with one simple word, “Beautiful.”
You cannot help but beam as the sincerity and lust underlying Din’s baritone wash over you, filling you to the brim with renewed confidence and want.
Din’s hands itch to explore your body, but he reminds himself that you deserve restraint, that you’re too precious for clumsy hands; he runs the back of his knuckles over your collar bones, then down your sternum, closely watching your reactions to his touch. Your skin prickles from the electricity of his caress, breasts aching for more and perking towards Din’s hands; when his fingertips catch over one of your hardened nipples, you whimper and your body bows. His laugh sends shivers down your spine, “And so sensitive.”
Biting down on your lower lip, you pout, too impatient for seduction, and throw your arms Din’s thick neck, whining as you press your naked body against his immovable frame. He touches his helmet to your forehead, and the cool feel of his Keldabe kiss against your warm skin forces you to still and calm; even through the modulator, Din’s tone is indulgent and placating, “Cyare, I have to blindfold you now, is that okay?”
“Of course, Din,” the significance of this next step not lost on you, you purr, “I trust you.”
Reaching behind you, Din picks up a sash tie that came loose from your dress when he disrobed you. You gaze affectionately into Din’s visor, straight into his soul, your love and trust the last thing he sees before he covers your eyes with the soft fabric and robs you of your sight.
“Can you see?” the General breathes right above your ear as he secures the blindfold’s knot, “Not too tight?”
“It’s perfect,” you whisper, barely heard over the loudness of the storm, but no matter, Din reads the way your body reacts to the hiss of his helmet being removed, the sound of his flight suit unzipping.
Something about Din removing this final layer of clothing, the last remaining barrier between his skin and yours, feels like a point of no return, like you’re about to step off the edge of a cliff, hand in hand with the only person in this galaxy with whom you want to share this intimacy.
“Din,” you call for him, you need him.
He lays you gently on the bed and climbs on top, powerful body covering yours, covetous and protective; he flutters soft kisses to your forehead, cheeks, the tip of your nose before coming home to your mouth. Your lips part in an invitation and Din licks in, his tongue eager to explore, deify, to claim – you match him stroke for stroke, brush for brush, letting yourself be conquered. This man is everything to you, his strength, his compassion, his heart, all without an equal in this galaxy - your passion for him claws at his back, trying to pull your bodies closer together, the heat between your legs making a mess of you.
“Cyar’ika,” Din rasps, the honey of his tenor, so clear without the modulator, music to your ears, “I will do anything you ask, give you anything you need, but please, Your Highness, if you allow, I would very much like to take my time with you tonight.”
Your rank sounds like delicious sin on his tongue, the polite manner of his address barely concealing the filthiness of his request. Of course you will acquiesce; Din has said on more than one occasion that whether you command him as his sovereign or his love, he will always obey without question – but the truth of the matter is that you could never deny him anything either.
“Okay, General,” your fingers trace the sharpness of his jaw and thumb at his plush bottom lip, “take all the time you need.”
He does.
Din worships every inch of your body with his hands, his mouth – mapping the valleys and hills of your figure with the skill and focus of a master navigator getting the lay of a new land. The tip of his strong nose carves new pathways over the soft plains of your body, and his tongue and fingers follow, traversing those routes over and over so that he’ll forever be able to find his way to heaven, even with his eyes closed. He reads the noises you make like a map: your little sighs and gasps have him running his tongue over the same pleasure points repeatedly, begging you to recreate that sweet melody for him again; when you writhe and whine, his fingers dig a little deeper, pinch a little harder, forcing your body to mold to his reverent touch; moans and pleas for more, more, more leave him proud and tortured, torn between drawing out this holiest of prayers and paying homage to the siren call from between your legs.
No sweet spot is left undiscovered as Din explores and marks you wholly and completely as his. He knows you now in a way that his wildest dreams hardly allowed, and yet it changes nothing of his feelings for you; naked and needy beneath him, you still command him - he remains at your mercy, forever devoted to your happiness, the fiercest protector of your heart.
Your cries for him under the cover of the winds howling against the window do not go unheard; he could never leave you so unsatisfied - kissing down your raised leg, laving at the ticklish spot behind your knee, Din surrenders, bringing his mouth to where you need him most.
The whinny and shudder of relief you exhale when he touches down on your clit rivals the shrieks and shakes of the still raging storm outside. Din grins against your cunt as you fist his hair, tugging, patience having run thin, your offer to let him take his time officially rescinded. Orders received, the General laps at your folds with renewed vigour, making out messily with your slit and drinking down the drip of your nectar like a man parched. Your moans of ecstasy spur him to add the efforts of his fingers, pushing in one, then two thick digits to your mindless chanting of his name. Curling and scissoring you open at the pace that has you yanking at the curls at the base of his neck the hardest, Din circles and sucks on your clit like a men possessed, obsessed, slowing only when he feels you seize and quake with your first orgasm of the night.
Proud of a job well done, Din makes the return journey up your body, smiling against your skin, kissing and caressing the all the curvature landmarks he discovered earlier. Resting his weight on top of you, the Mandalorian sighs, contented and hard, as you welcome him back into your arms. His mouth returns to yours, and when you taste your own honey the sound you make is so guttural and animalistic, Din cannot fathom what he ever did to deserve such heaven. The kissing remains tender, the scratches down his back gentle, your moans soft and melodious – for a man who’s spent his entire life fighting and steeped in violence, Din knows this is the peace that would allow him to die happy.
But it’s not enough for you.
“Din, please,” you murmur against his lips, voice awakening and dripping with lust, “I need you.”
Once again, the General has no choice but to obey. Kissing you deep, he notches his aching cock against your entrance, smiling at the expression of anticipation evident on the exposed half of your face; he enters you slow, careful.
Your body reacts to finally getting what its wanted for so long by arching, welcoming every inch of Din’s length, pussy fluttering and begging for more. You want all of him tonight. Forever.
When he finally bottoms out, Din buries his face into your neck, nearly overwhelmed by the sweet hug of your warm walls, and growls low, throaty, “So tight, mesh’la.”
“So full, General,” you sing back, floating on bliss. Though you cannot see his expression, you’re sure this moment is affecting you both the same; the feel of this great man, cradling you so dear while trusting you to touch him while bare, armourless, makes your heart explode – you want to give everything you have to him, repay him for the trust and belief he’s place in you, for making you feel alive, free, invincible, for just being him, “Din… I love you.”
You can feel him smile as he presses kisses up the column of your throat, his facial hair tickling as he drags his lips back to yours, “Ni kar'tayli gar darasuum, Princess.”
Unable to contain your joy, your mouth curves in delight, “Is that Mando’a?”
“Yes. For I love you.”
“Teach me?”
Din begins to move, slow thrusting into your tight cunt, every drag a release, an offering, “Nee kar-TIE-lee gar dah-RAH-soom. Nee kar-”
“Nee kar-” you try out the pronunciation hushed, heart pounding, as if it was a secret being revealed to you and only you.
“TIE-lee gar.”
The words of Din’s native tongue sound so beautiful spoken this way, sure and slow to the rhythm of Din rocking into you; you try your best to do it justice with your own repetition, “TIE-lee gar.”
“Very good, cyare,” Din’s praise hits you right in the throb of your clit, you clench so hard he chokes, “Dah-RAH-soom.”
Mandalore’s language might as well be a forbidden hymn when sung in your breathy register, “Dah-RAH-soon.”
“Perfect. Again.”
Again and again you practice, recitation of this one glorious phrase punctuated by the increasing tempo of Din’s thrusts. He praises your every successful completion of the phrase, even those that take longer when you become distracted by how deep he sinks into your cunt or the wet squelch of your bodies joining together over and over.
“Well done, Princess.”
“Doing so good for me.”
“Ni kar'tayli gar darasuum.”
The General’s patience and encouragement make you want to try even harder to please him; you roll your hips, meeting his powerful drive with your own bounce, voice growing louder and more confident, “Ni kar'tayl-”
Your cadence stumbles as Din picks up the pace something feral; he jolts you up the bed, punching the air from your lungs and with it, the simple phonetics of his people’s language. You wail your Mando’a like a war cry as Din’s cock reaches new depths, grateful that the rainstorm that continues to beat down over Solana drowns out your unrestrained vocals.
“Dank Farrik, you’re perfect, cyare.”
And still, you persist, sobbing out the lyrical combination of vowels and consonants between every gasping breath Din allows; he’s holding you close now, his lips growling words of devotion and reassurance as you continue to refine the pitch and intonation of the truest phrase you will ever utter. His hips never stutter, he chases after your high like his life depends on it; not in all his days has Din heard the words of the Mandalorian people sound so melodious, so regal, so damn ethereal than on the wings of your angelic voice. He’s so proud of you; he could listen to you speak Mando’a forever. He could love you forever.
“Again,” Din croaks, his animal now fully unleashed, he pounds into you unrestrained, single minded.
You’re so close. So, so close to perfecting your Mando’a, unwilling to settle for anything less than a proper declaration of how adamantly you adore and admire your Mandalorian. I love you, Din. I love you, Ni kar'tayli gar darasuum, I love you.
(Thrust) Ni kar'tayli (thrust, thrust) gar (thump, thump) darasuum!
“Again.”
(Slap) Ni kar'tayli (slap, slap, slap) gar (thrust, thrust) darasuum!
“Din!” You come, the chime of your General’s name ringing out and echoing off the walls of your room, thankfully swallowed by the roar of the outside gale.
The hug of your perfect cunt and the poetry of his native tongue on yours proves too much for Din’s cock; he spills into you as you continue to murmur in perfect Mando’a “Ni kar'tayli gar darasuum, Ni kar'tayli gar darasuum, Ni kar'tayli gar darasuum…”
“I love you, I love you, I love you,” he hums against your mouth, his descent lazy and sleepy. You smile against his lips, blissed out, body limp and wrung out, but heart full and blooming.
“I love you too, Din,” you coo, letting your Mandalorian curl around you, the two of you settle under the covers, soaking in the afterglow of your lovemaking. As Din’s strong arms wind protectively around your body and the heat from the press of his naked body against yours urges you towards sleep, you remember your concern from earlier, “Din, I know you won’t spend the night like this, but please promise me you’ll get some rest before getting up and resuming guard.”
The General squeezes you tighter in response, the velvet of his promise rumbles against your cheek, “I promise, Princess. I’m yours to command. I’m yours.”
And I’m yours. So tired, you’re unsure if you’re able to say the words aloud before your eyes close. It’s not necessary; the steady beating of your heart and the enormity of your feelings pulsing against the feel of Din’s bare skin next to yours, say it for you.
🎶In the Middle of the Night by Elley Duhé🎶:
I summoned you, please come to me
Don't bury thoughts that you really want
I fill you up, drink from my cup
Within me lies what you really want
Come, lay me down
'Cause you know this
'Cause you know this sound
In the middle of the night
In the middle of the night
Just call my name
I'm yours to tame
In the middle of the night
In the middle of the night
I'm wide awake
I crave your taste all night long
'Til morning comes
I'm getting what is mine
You gon' get yours, oh no, ooh
In the middle of the night
In the middle of the night, oh
These burning flames, these crashing waves
Wash over me like a hurricane
I captivate, you're hypnotized
Feel powerful, but it's me again
Come, lay me down
'Cause I know this
'Cause I know this sound
In the middle of the night
In the middle of the night
Just call my name
I'm yours to tame
In the middle of the night
In the middle of the night
I'm wide awake
I crave your taste all night long
'Til morning comes
I'm getting what is mine
You gon' get yours, oh no, ooh
In the middle of the night
In the middle of the night, oh
Summary: As you settle into your new house, Joel grows worried that you'll soon realize you're too good for him. You take offense and remind him whose bed he's sleeping in.
This was an anon request: "Please I’m begging you on my hands and knees for pt.3 of slimy Joel. I need to see them lovey dovey & f*ck nasty in the new house", but the original post wasn't showing in the tags, so we are reposting, so if you saw this a few minutes ago b/c you follow me, no you didn't.
Pairing: Pervy!Joel x Fem!Reader
Content warnings: alternative continuation to "Slimy" (see Pervy!Joel masterlist) mention of Viagra, unspecified age gap (whatever floats your boat), jealousy & insecurity, subby Joel, more dominant reader, dirty talk, angst, one mention of Joel's gut (duh), oral (F receiving), ruined orgasm, power play?, use of handcuffs, protected P-in-V, spanking, orgasm denial, heart-to-heart in the middle of sex, unexpected Daddy kink moment (if you don't want to be surprised, see end author's note)
Word count: 3,758
Read on ao3 here | Pervy!Joel Masterlist
Author's note: SHE'S FINALLY HEREEE!!! this anon has been in my inbox since late March, so whoever that was, I hope this was worth the wait! this is the (overdue) 400 follower celebration post!!! thanks for being here and reading and liking and commenting and reblogging!!!! it means the world to me!!!! also deviating from the one word title theme here because it worked too well and I didn't love the idea of titling it "Jealous" or something, so here we are, referencing Angelina Jolie in Mr. & Mrs. Smith. 500 follower celebration will hopefully be out sometime next week. I was too ambitious to say it could be posted the day after this. it's also the first taste of real angst for the Doctor Google universe, and I wanna get it right. anyways again, thanks first and foremost for 400 followers! I love you, please enjoy!!!
Panting, lying on the mattress with no bedframe in the middle of your new bedroom, Joel asks, “The hell is this?”
He just spent the last three hours, hopped up on Viagra, fucking you in all the rooms in your house, finishing here in your bedroom, and you’ve slipped something cool and metal into his sweaty palm.
Joel holds the item up in front of his face and bites back a smirk.
You’ve given him a goddamn spare key to your new house.
Oh, somebody likes him…
“Tell me, darlin’, would this happen to be the key to the shed you got in your backyard?” Joel asks, turning on his side to look at you, your breasts still heaving as you regain your composure.
You just roll your eyes and fix your gaze on the fast-moving ceiling fan above you.
Joel smiles and inches his face closer to yours.
“Or maybe it’s the spare key to your car? Hm? Am I gettin’ warmer?” he whispers in your ear.
You can feel his breath on your skin, but still you study the movement of the ceiling fan rather than entertain Joel.
“No? Hm, well… Maybe–and this is a wild guess–this key is the spare to this very house? Your new home?”
You roll your eyes and look down at the key in his hand. “I’ll take it back if you’re gonna be a—”
Joel immediately lies back and holds his hands up in mock surrender.
“Nope. I get it. This was a sweet thing for you to do. Even I know when to quit,” he says.
But does he?
A week later, you’re in the middle of unclogging your rain gutter. You looked it up; it was supposed to be easy, and it probably is, but it’s so fucking stuck, and you’re pulling so hard.
“Need some help?” asks a voice you don’t recognize.
You brush your hands off on your shorts and look up at a tall, slender man. Probably in his mid-thirties.
“Sorry?”
The man gestures toward the rain gutter. “Is it clogged?”
“Oh. Yeah, I’m struggling with it. I just moved in last week, and the forecast is calling for rain this weekend, so I’m trying to get it together, y’know?” you say, chuckling.
“Well, I’m Nick, three doors down on your right. House with the blue shutters. Anyway, I had the same problem when I moved in. If you’d like some help, I’d be happy to.”
You introduce yourself to Nick and accept his help, which takes the form of directing his leaf blower into the top of it, which does the trick.
You’re in the middle of thanking him when big hands wrap around your waist.
“Howdy, buddy.”
Nick looks up from demonstrating something related to the drain and makes eye contact with Joel.
“Uh, hi,” Nick says, clearly caught off guard, smiling nervously.
Joel extends his right hand out to Nick, but keeps the left one tight on your waist.
“I’m Joel. Gotta say, I find it mighty kind that you offered this sweetheart some big, manly help.”
“Nice to meet you, Joel. I’m Nick,” he says brightly, not quite catching Joel’s meaning as he shakes the man’s hand.
“Uh, I was just helping your lady with the drain pipe, just being neighborly.”
“Joel’s just my friend,” you correct, all too quickly for Joel’s liking.
Behind you, Joel shakes his head and smirks, as if to say to Nick, “Don’t believe this chick; I was balls deep in her just yesterday.”
“Uh, well, either way…” Nick says awkwardly, getting the feeling Joel would like some alone time with you, regardless of the true nature of your relationship. “We actually have a neighborhood get-together every other month. I’m hosting next Saturday at 4:00. You should come. Both of you.”
You smile kindly at Nick and step to the side, forcing Joel to let go of your waist. “I think that sounds great. But I think next weekend is when you have that work trip, isn’t it?” you say, looking from Nick to Joel, hoping to God that once again Joel will “know when to quit.”
Joel puts his hands on his hips and smiles, but you think it might be somewhat forced.
“Well, I’m not sure, but just for you, I’ll check my schedule,” he says. Then he looks at Nick. “Thanks for the invite.”
Nick nods and mumbles a soft goodbye, then picks up his leafblower and heads home.
Without another word, you walk straight into your house, locking the door behind you.
You hear the door rattle, then you hear the key turn in the lock.
Fuck. You’re really regretting that now.
“What?” Joel bellows from the entryway, the sound carrying over to the living room where you sit on the couch. “ You embarrassed by me? That it? Don’t want your new fancy, suburban neighbors to know who you’re in bed with? Hm? Or is it that you got big ole heart eyes for Nick now? You move outta the trailer park and trade me in for a newer model?”
You scoff. Is he really being serious? He’s insecure? Joel Miller? The guy who smokes in his boxers on his front porch?
“God, you’re unbelievable,” you groan, leaning forward until your head touches your thighs.
“Well, ya ain’t denyin’ it,” he grumbles. “All I ask is that you’re straight up with me.”
“Okay, straight up? You’re acting like an insecure jerk!” you bite back, your head shooting up to get a good look at him.
That, paired with your angry expression, shuts Joel up for a second. He’s not the most in tune with his emotions, but then he didn’t think you were either. Maybe he did feel a pit settle in his stomach when he pulled into your driveway and saw you laughing at another (much younger) man’s joke. This man, who lives in a nice neighborhood instead of a trailer park and wears polo shirts instead of t-shirts and plaid, is probably a more appropriate choice for you now that you’re moving up in the world.
Aside from that, why is the prince unclogging your rain gutter and not Joel? Joel, who is admittedly rough around the edges, foul-mouthed, but incredibly capable of doing all kinds of arduous labor. Why not just ask Joel to do the simple task of unclogging your rain gutter?
“You fucking–”
You raise your eyebrows in response. “What, Joel? You never have a problem talking. What cat’s got your tongue?”
Joel narrows his eyes and picks up the throw pillow at the end of the couch, and throws it at your lap.
“That one!”
Your brows crinkle in irritation as he throws a fucking pillow at your crotch. You grab it and throw it back at him, hitting him in his soft gut.
“Fuck you!” you whisper-shout, now standing at your full height.
“My fucking pleasure,” he growls, pulling you to him by looping a finger in the elastic of your cotton shorts.
Joel tugs your bottoms and panties down, then shoves your thighs backward, causing you to lie back on the couch again.
He doesn’t waste any time; he starts licking at your pussy, but harder than he ever has before. It almost feels scratchy, like an animal’s tongue, but you’re too angry to say anything. You just lie back, your head resting on the arm of your couch, and let Joel work his frustrations out on your cunt. If nothing else, you know you’re at least getting an orgasm out of this.
Usually, Joel blubbers on and on with his lips moving sloppily against your pussy while he eats you out, but you don’t hear a peep from him besides his heavy breathing.
Obviously, he’s genuinely upset about something, but he’s a grown man of 47 years of age. If he wants to have a mature conversation with you, he can, but you won’t force anything out of him.
Even angry, the man can eat the fuck out of your pussy, alternating the length of his licks, the shapes he draws on your clit with his tongue. He squeezes your thighs around his head and practically breathes you in.
“Fuck, I’m close,” you whine.
Joel sucks your clit in between his teeth, and just before that coil in your lower belly has the chance to snap, he pulls away, wiping at his chin with the back of his hand.
“Are you fucking kidding me?!” you shriek as Joel stands back up.
“No,” he says, a bit of a bite in his tone. “I ain’t fuckin’ kiddin’. You have fun at your neighborhood block party.”
Joel storms out of your house, leaving you with your shorts around your ankle, and you don’t hear from him for a week and a half.
//
You end up going to the get-together that Nick mentioned, hoping to make a good impression on your neighbors. They all seem to be nice people, if a bit boring. Just a bunch of polo and khaki-wearing PTA presidents. Not really your kind of people, but there isn’t anything wrong with socializing with them.
Nick asks you where Joel is, and you tell him that he did end up having a work trip, which puts too bright a glint in the man’s eye for your liking.
You’re one of the first to leave, and when you get home, you sit on your couch with a rom-com on the TV with a half-finished pint of ice cream in your hands.
What you need right now is to get fucked, what you want is Joel, but you don’t want to let him think he can get away with taking his insecurity out on your pussy and leave without speaking to you for over a week.
So you press the call button on his contact and wait for him to pick up.
“Does somebody miss me?” His voice is smug, and he’s obviously fucking pleased you were the first to break.
“Joel.” You feign worry as you speak. “Fuck, my bathroom sink won’t turn off. I don’t know what happened. It’s gonna flood the whole damn house, and I just spent a lot of money moving in here; I don’t really have the funds for a plumber or–”
“I’m on my way,” he says, the smugness in his voice immediately gone before he hangs up.
Perfect.
As you wait for Joel to arrive, you head to your bedroom after turning off the television and putting away the ice cream, where you light a candle to set the mood. You remove your clothes and freshen up in the bathroom before checking your drawer to make sure the item you need is there.
Shortly after, you hear the rumble of Joel’s truck approaching your driveway, the slam of the driver’s side door, and then the turn of the key in your front door.
“Baby?” he calls out.
He thought he’d hear running water, maybe a few frustrated shouts from you if your sink is on the brink of flooding your house.
When he turns the corner to your bedroom attached to your bathroom, he stops dead in his tracks.
You’re naked, posed on the bed like you’ve been lying in wait to seduce him.
“Oh… I take it someone got lonely?” he teases as he approaches your bed. “Somebody miss their daddy?”
You don’t say anything; you just smile softly and watch his hand wrap around your ankle and pull you toward him.
Joel smirks down at you and leans forward, balancing on his hands. He presses a chaste kiss to your lips, which you reciprocate, but otherwise you stay still.
He keeps kissing you and lets his hands roam your body like he’s trying to memorize it.
After a few moments, you bury your hand in his hair and tug gently so you can look him in the eye, then whisper in his ear, “I wanna ride you.”
A smile creeps up Joel’s lips, and he stands up straight, unbuttoning his cotton button-down.
You arrange the pillows in a comfortable setup for him while he shucks off his jeans and kicks off his shoes.
Once he’s comfortable, sitting up against the headboard, you throw a leg over his lap and start grinding your cunt over his erection.
“I think you missed me, Joel,” you whisper.
He huffs and raises an eyebrow, but for once in his goddamn life, he lets you do the talking.
“I think you felt real stupid leaving my house last time. I bet you thought about this pussy,” you continue, grinding against his shaft a little harder as you say “pussy.”
You take his hands and cover your breasts with them, and he instinctively squeezes.
“Bet you missed these, too,” you purr.
He only moans in response and rubs his thumbs over your nipples.
Then you take his hands by the wrists and hold them up.
“I want you to close your eyes for me,” you say.
“...Why?” he asks skeptically, raising an eyebrow.
“‘Cause it’ll be fun,” you sigh, trying not to get annoyed.
Joel rolls his eyes, then shuts them with a huff.
“For you, maybe,” he grumbles under his breath.
You take hold of both his wrists with one hand and, slowly and as quietly as possible, reach into your bedside table’s drawer. You pull the item out as quietly as possible and push Joel’s joined wrists to rest against the headboard.
Joel shivers when he feels the metal of your headboard’s spindles brush against his skin, and then he hears a clicking sound, and he blinks his eyes open.
He tries to pull his hands away, but he can't. He’s stuck.
You fucking bitch.
“Who the fuck do you think you are?” he demands.
You shrug and reach back into your drawer for a condom.
“I’m not the woman you ghost for a week because you got insecure,” you say as you rip the condom wrapper open. “That’s a start.”
Joel rolls his eyes and pulls on the cuffs again, but it’s no use.
Even in your anger, neither of you is a monster, so you ask, “Is this okay?”
He glares at you, but still nods, mumbling, “Yeah, do your thing.”
You chew on the inside of your cheek to keep from smiling, then roll the condom on Joel’s cock and pump your hand over the length of it a few times.
Once he’s whining and practically huffing like a bull out of the sheer effort it’s taking him to not run his fucking mouth, you line him up and sink down on him.
Joel swallows his groans and keeps his lips pursed into a tight line while you moan at the stretch of him, throwing your head back and exposing the column of your throat to him in a way that looks all too enticing.
“Listen,” you begin, placing your hands on his chest to balance while you slowly begin raising your hips before lowering them back down again. “The fact that you thought even for a second that I’m the kinda woman who falls for guys in polos is insulting in and of itself. Got it? The mere thought, Joel.”
He doesn’t say anything, so you reach out and pinch his nipple, which finally pulls a curse from his mouth.
“Oh, Jesus, fuck! Fuck, I got it! Goddammit!” he growls.
You beam down at him and lean forward to kiss the nipple you pinched, soothing his skin with your soft lips, then you look up again.
“Good. Know what else I gotta get through that thick skull of yours?”
It’s a rhetorical question, Joel knows it, so he just keeps glaring at you while you bounce up and down on his cock.
“I am not the kind of woman who receives ruined orgasms,” you state with all the poise of a politician. “Do you understand, Joel?”
He huffs through his nose, but this time, he nods. “I understand.”
You smile at his compliance and lean down again to kiss his collarbone and neck, growing more and more pleased with yourself with each breathy sound Joel lets out.
“Good boy,” you murmur against his skin.
You’re surprised to hear him fucking whimper in response, prompting you to look straight at him.
“You liked that,” you whisper teasingly.
Joel just pants in response. You’ve been slowly fucking yourself on his cock for about six minutes now, and he hasn’t had an orgasm in ten days, with the exception of masturbating to old nude photos you sent him yesterday because he got restless.
“Joel,” you croon, tilting your head to the side. “Admit it.”
His chest is rising and falling rapidly now, clearly struggling to keep it together.
“Fuck,” he pants. “Shit, I-I liked it,” he whispers.
“What was that? Didn’t quite catch that, baby boy,” you say, furrowing your brow like you really don’t know what he said.
He rolls his eyes and pulls on the cuffs again like a petulant child.
“Fuck me, I liked you callin’ me a good boy,” he whines.
You smile and clench your pussy around him, which pulls a throaty moan from him.
“Who’s your daddy now?” you murmur, holding back a laugh at how silly the words feel coming out of your mouth.
“Fuck, honey, please just fuck me, so I can come, please,” he begs pathetically.
“Not yet.”
“Please.”
“No!” you groan. “You come when I say you can.”
Joel whines and tugs on the cuffs again.
“At least let me touch you,” he begs. “Please, I gotta feel that sweet body, baby, I missed it!”
You can’t deny that you’ve always loved his hands on you–his calloused palms coming down on your ass, the rough pads of his thumb and index finger pinching your nipple, his fingers tugging on your hair, his arms around your body–it’s all amazing.
After too long a moment of deliberation, in Joel’s opinion, you unlock one of the cuffs, his left one.
“Just the one,” you say sternly.
Normally, Joel would argue, but he can tell you need whatever tonight is, so he keeps his mouth shut and immediately brings his left hand down on your ass.
You let out a clipped shout of pleasure, then immediately grind your teeth together.
“Little fucker,” you mutter under your breath.
Joel smirks for the first time since he walked in here and spanks you again, pulling a blissful moan from your lips. “Yeah, well, you’re the one who cuffed me to your bed and is lettin’ me spank you.”
“Mm!” You catch his wrist before he delivers a third spank. “You’re just pissed; you’re not even spanking me for either of our pleasure, asshole!”
That stops Joel, his wrist going limp in your hand.
“I wanna be good enough for you,” he says, like it’s some scary admission, and it honestly is.
Your gaze softens, and he continues.
“You were right. I was insecure when I saw you talkin’ to Mr. Polo Shirt. Ain’t proud of it. Just…couldn’t stop thinkin’ about the key…” Joel glances over at his jeans on the floor, the key in the back pocket. “I wanna be worthy of that key,” he whispers, his free hand dropping from your hand and reaching up to gently caress your cheek.
You huff out a sigh and lean your head back, looking up at the ceiling fan spinning clockwise.
“Wouldn’t have given the key to you if I thought you were unworthy, in any way. I’m not an idiot,” you murmur, looking back down at him again. “I don’t wanna fuck the guy who wears polos; I wanna fuck the guy who wears too much plaid and never knows when to shut his fucking mouth. I want old and comfortable and familiar, not new and shiny and boring. So, if you can get over yourself, I’ll reward you by uncuffing your other hand.”
Joel mulls everything you’ve said over for a moment. It’s reassuring to hear that no one else trips your trigger the way he does. It makes him feel a sense of hope for himself that he hasn’t felt in a while.
“I can get over myself, but I don’t want a reward,” he says, his voice low and gravely.
You smirk and put his left hand on your breast. “Yeah? This enough for you?”
He shrugs and rolls your nipple between his fingers. “Absolutely not, but I ain’t ever been the one cuffed before… It’s interestin’.”
That makes you giggle and pull your bottom lip in between your teeth before finally resuming your bouncing on his cock.
“I think I’ll have fully forgiven you by the time I come,” you say, the tension in the air finally seeming to dissipate.
Joel chuckles softly and continues working on your nipple, pulling more and more breathy whines from your throat. “That right, darlin’?”
You nod and grind on him just a little bit harder. “Uh-huh!”
He smiles and leans forward to kiss you, and you bury both hands in his hair, gently tugging, earning appreciative groans from Joel.
Joel’s cock twitches inside of you, but he holds himself back, which results in some strained breathing on his part.
“You can come, baby,” you coo against his lips. “Been such a good boy since I put you in your place. Go ahead, honey.”
To your surprise, he whines against you and bucks his hips up into you. “Yeah, Daddy?”
That shocks you to your absolute core. While you do manage to keep rolling your hips into his, your mind goes blank. One thing is for sure, though: you liked it.
“Yeah, baby, you come for me,” you whisper.
And he does, and the noises and the feel of him and his fingernail brushing against your nipple all send you over the edge with him.
Once you get your breathing steady, you uncuff his right hand and kiss his wrist, then rub it to make sure the blood keeps flowing.
“You okay?” you whisper.
He nods and cradles your face in his hands.
“I’m sorry I was an insecure ass,” he mumbles before kissing you.
You shrug. “Didn’t mind reminding you of your situation.”
Joel smirks and leans back against the pillows, his hands rubbing up and down the tops of your thighs.
“Didn’t mind either, darlin’. Not one little bit,” he says, voice content and with a smirk on your face that tells you he won’t be feeling insecure for at least six months. “You forgive me?”
p.s. if you would like to be added to/removed from the taglist for this series (Pervy!Trailer Park!Joel) ((different than Pervy!Trailer Park!DILF!Joel)), just leave a comment asking. you can also ask to be added to the general Joel Miller taglist, or the general Pervy!Joel taglist, or even my all works taglist
end author's note: Joel calls reader "Daddy" and it's funny to me because (TMI ALERT) I told a guy I hooked up with that I felt like "big daddy" after I jerked him off and accidentally aimed his cum to land on his face and the wall. I was having a bad night, and that was a funny pick me up.
Thanks @604to647 @shadowqueen2024 and @milla-frenchy for the tags 🖤
Yes this week has more Joel 😍 you’re driving alone in a little town famous for its prison.. and a few escaped convicts. And of course you pick up the hot guy who needs a ride..
(I wrote this in a frenzy last night and I might edit later)
"You can turn the engine off, darlin'. No sense in wastin' gas." He reaches over and turns off the ignition, taking a moment to caress your cherry keychain, the texture soft and knitted, a present from your best friend before you left home. The simple action draws your attention, puts a spike in your heartbeat. "Yeah, I got a brother. He lives in Wyoming." Letting go of the keychain his hand brushes against your bare knee, a touch so light it's almost nonexistent except for the fact that it sends a zing straight to your core. "Y'know, in my day, women wore skirts," he murmurs to himself before pulling away.
Your brows raise, unsure which comment thread to follow. "Wyoming? I thought he was close by.. you said you were going to call him for help." You can still feel the ghost of his touch on your skin.
"I did say that, didn't I?" He looks a little amused, leaning back in the passenger seat. "You always believe everythin' ya hear?"
NPT @mcthsman @time-for-my-weekly-spanking @tateypots @ess-evo and anyone who wants to play along 😊
