in which, the great fire lord zuko… happens to be an “inexperienced loser” and gets taught about intimacy by his trusty maid
tags: smut + porn w/ a semi-fluffy plot, reader teaches zuko, he’s very awkward…, unrequited love (or so it seems…), you get caught, arranged marriage. #unedited, insp by this + art by @/n_i_k_e_l on twt <3 author’s note at the end!
“The council has decided; we need an heir, sir.” The annoying chamberlain kept droning for the last hour or so, and Zuko was beginning to get irritated.
It’s been a few years since his coronation, and a few years of the council trying to set him up with any refined lady the Fire Nation had to offer.
“But I’m not married,” he replied.
It clearly hasn’t worked.
An advisor cleared their throat. “We know that and… actually there’s a new fine miss in our radar who happens to—“
Zuko could feel his patience running thin and abruptly stood up.
“Dismissed.” “B-But, sir!” Zuko turned to the chamberlain and advisors behind him, tone evidently laced with malice.
“I said this meeting is dismissed.”
The men scurried along like rats, leaving Zuko in his study… contemplating.
Aang and Katara are engaged to be married, Sokka is currently with Suki—even Toph has someone!
Zuko is a prideful man; he’s the Fire Lord for crying out loud… But even he can admit that he lacks in areas. Specifically…when it comes to being charismatic and a particular insecurity he has.
Zuko sucks at flirting and specifically being brazen.
He’s been on approximately 45 dates in the past year… and not one lady has been interested. Or rather they have been, until he opens his mouth.
But not even that; if there was one thing Zuko was absolutely embarrassed about, it was his lack of experience when it comes to sex. He was a virgin, a prude, and shuddered at the thought of having to have his first with some random woman he never met.
There was even one time the council suggested concubines… there was no way in hell he’d do that (since… as disgustingly sweet as it is… he wanted to be an intimate relationship with someone he considered close).
Maybe it was a blessing in disguise that he’s put off so many of those candidates, but a small part of him sulked at the fact that he’s going to have to have a wife sooner or later, and then have an heir.
“I can help you.”
Zuko’s lips pressed to a fine line, looking at your direction to see any reaction. Your face was completely neutral.
He’s always told you his dilemmas, and this was no different. You’d always come up with a solution or compromise, but for some reason, he felt especially… on edge.
You—L/N Y/N—have known Zuko since you two were children, as he attended the same school as you did for a few years before you and your father—were officially promoted to head staff, and you, Zuko’s handmaiden.
Zuko remembers how you always followed him back in his childhood—answering to every beck and call; he remembers how sweet you were, how compassionate too, and how you’d encourage him when it came to Fire Bending.
You never showed a sign of protest when it came to anything, always a neutral look on your face.
And he couldn’t lie, you were absolutely stunning (despite said neutral look), but he couldn’t help but be put off even more.
“R-Really?” His skin turned flushed.
“Mhm,” you hummed, sipping your tea calmly like you didn’t just make Zuko mentally haywire. You were currently sitting across from him, drinking tea with just him in the room while you listened to his problems like always. “I’m not some random woman, aren’t I? I can teach you.”
He nodded hesitantly. “No, you’re not.”
He’ll admit, he has to get with the times. Not many people are saving their chastity and he has to stop being scared. Especially when it comes to wanting to romance others.
“And how so? How would you teach me?”
You shot him a smile. “Trust in me, my Lord. Everything shall be situated.
Zuko cleared his throat, glancing once more at your neutral face and nodded gently. “When do you suggest we start?”
“Whenever you’d like, my Lord.”
—————
lesson one: foreplay
Zuko thought it over, coming to a conclusion two days later and then asking you to come to his chambers later at night where the rest of the staff wouldn’t see you.
He sat there, robe hastily put on and sat there awkwardly at the corner of his bed, waiting. And then he began thinking.
Zuko’s known you for a while—you’ve been at his service for a long time. Hell, there was even a moment in time where he had a crush on you.
It was back when he would stride alongside his mother around the palace, constantly meeting your eyes every time he glanced over where your father would be working. Then you’d smile at him and his heart would be pounding; his mother knew, maybe even Azula knew—she’d certainly mess with you sometimes, but overall respected you (more than him at least).
Sure, you were a “servant”, but it’s obvious that you were a great Firebender. He remembers how he’d have trouble sleeping as a kid and walk off to the courtyard where you’d be there in a small corner, practicing Fire Bending and moving so graceful, it appeared almost like you were dancing.
Even when he got banished, he’d think of you. When he’d look at the stars, he’d think of how your eyes would shine every time you made eye contact.
And now you’re in this situation? He feels sheepish for almost exposing this vulnerability to you…
Zuko jumped at the sound of a knock at his door being knocked, walking fast towards it and swinging it open rather quickly.
“Get in, get in.” He turned around all too fast, his back facing you in sheer embarrassment that he’d even have to ask this of you.
And of course you could tell; you always could. “My Lord, please don’t be embarrassed about this. It is simply educating you on your sexuality; nothing wrong with that.”
“Right…” He walked to the bed slowly and sat down, his eyes following your figure slowly approaching him.
He can’t deny it; you looked beautiful. Your nightly robes were a pretty white, its sheer fabric covering your body nicely and your nipples poking out in the fabric.
But as much as Zuko’s eyes were on your breasts, he quickly averted his eyes to you the moment you cleared your throat. You were holding a book…
“And that?” You smiled at his question.
“This is erotic literature. Clear source material in order to work as an example on what to do.”
He blinked awkwardly, whereas your smile was still glued onto your face. You opened the book to a specific page, being bookmarked by a folded piece of parchment.
Perhaps Zuko was out of his mind—or maybe he already was (because why the hell else would he even be in this situation in the first place?), but he couldn’t stop staring at you reading. God, he knew he was a prude but to get aroused by watching you lick your index finger every time you flipped a page? He felt his pants get tight and his mouth dry.
“Do I have permission to proceed?” He looked away, his face burning with embarrassment. “I guess.”
“So… first, you hold their face and look into their eyes.”
Before he knew it, you leaned closer, holding his face and looking deep into his eyes. Your eyes softened and the moonlight peeking through the curtains hit your irises—the color almost instantly becoming more vibrant.
“After that, lean closer…”
Then you just began kissing him. Zuko’s eyes felt like they were going to pop out; your lips were warm, plush and soft. You tasted sweet, like the pastries you’d make him on occasion.
Then your tongue slowly went in his mouth the sloppier the kiss went. Your hands cupping his face pulled him closer to you the more you kissed him.
But as Zuko was starting to get used to the pace of your lips, you stopped, pulling back.
He felt his heart race, blinking profusely like he was embarrassed.
The Fire Lord? Getting like this over a measly kiss? He can already imagine Aang and Sokka making fun of him should he ever accidentally tell this about this encounter.
“That was good, my Lord,” you smiled. “Maybe you don’t even need my teachings.”
“O-Oh…” He panicked, mouth going dry. “Um… I believe I still do…”
And damn, you smiled so kindly. “Okay then please position yourself and sit against the headboard, my Lo—“
“Zuko.”
He winced—God, did he really just say that? Your eyes widened a fragment and you blinked. “Sir, are you sure I can refer to you by your name?”
“We are practicing intimacy,” he looked away while saying this and was glad the moonlight wasn’t hitting him or else you’d see how absolutely flustered he was.
“Referring to each other by our given names is one of the most intimate things. I’d like to try it with you too.”
Only then he looked at you when he heard a light laugh slipping from you. “Okay, Zuko.”
Fuck, you said his name so pretty too… You said it like it was something precious; softly enunciating the consonants and not spewing it harshly like how he’s known for almost all his life.
He felt his heart race faster, observing how you slowly got on the bed and planted your knees on the sides of his thighs, straddling him. You then sat on his lap, your crotch against his, and from your small smile forming on your face, he can tell you’ve taken note of his evident hard-on.
“Now let’s try what we did again, but in this position!”
You sounded far too enthusiastic about this…
He blinked, awkwardly. He didn't know what to do. Hell, if he were to compare being in a room full of generals and his finest soldiers, he would consider that much easier than being stuck between your body and the wall.
Your eyes followed his hands, which were placed beside your thighs and you could sense how shaky they were. He let out a small gasp the moment you grabbed his forearms and led them to wrap around your waist.
“You can touch me, sir.” He nodded slowly and grabbed at your waist hesitantly.
Your lips met his again, except with more fervor. Like you were trying to get a taste of a candy you haven't tasted in years., with your head slightly rotated.
Zuko could feel his heart beat so. Damn. Fast. So much so that he felt overwhelmed and light-headed and aroused, but also nervous if he was doing this right.
Your hips began grinding against his, hands tangled in his hair while you let his hands travel across your skin. His callous fingertips lightly brushed on your warm skin under your shirt, on your hips.
But when he was kissing you, he couldn’t help but still feel so nervous—to be at such proximity to you and to be able totally touch you like this.
Then you pulled back and got off of him. As soon as he was in bliss, you quickly ended it. He couldn’t help but have a quite upset expression, noted by you.
“Don’t worry, sir. I must stop now since we are only at the beginning. According to this book, kissing intensely while grinding against one’s gene—“
“Okay… I get it. You’re dismissed.”
He laid on his bed, attempting to catch his breath before you spoke again. This time, without a blank look on your face and tone. You smiled so sweetly…
“It’s cute, but we have to work on your hesitation, sir. Please keep that in mind for our next lesson.”
He nodded, finally relaxing his body the minute you shut the door. You stole his first “make-out”. Sure, he’s kissed girls (and by girls, he means just Mai), but not like this.
Not like you wanted to practically taste them while caressing their face and pulling hair.
“Fuck…” he groaned. “What am I going to do with you..?”
And… he grimaced. He was still hard.
————
lesson two: fellatio + cunnilingus
For the next lesson, you had him sprawled out on the canopy bed of his chamber. Zuko swore he could fucking hear his heartbeat…
He glanced over at you, once again reading your "source material" pornographic novel, and felt his heart beat into his chest. Your previous lesson didn't inherently lead to any sex, rather it was foreplay that left him all hot and bothered the moment you left.
All you did was grind against him and kiss, and you had him practically burning for more. And now, here he was, at your mercy. You were kneeled on the bed beside him while you really examined what to do. He could tell how your expression shifted from one of amusement to one of slightly shock, and then you closed the book.
“Now we are trying oral sex!” Once again, he couldn’t help but be nervous at your demeanor.
“Okay…”
“Actually, oral sex is also considered foreplay for some before penetrative sex! But, I didn’t want to rush you and also considered how flustered you got after last session, I decided it was enough!”
Zuko stared at you blankly. “Right…”
You spoke so academically? Blankly? You’re kind and listen to his dilemmas, but he feels unsure. When the both of you were making out, he was the one that was all hot and bothered while you simply left. Was he that terrible at this? Granted, it was his first time making out with someone while touching their body like that, but really?
He wonders how you get during sex… if you’re just as blank or if you—
“Okay! I will strip myself, then you now.”
You then began to peel off your upper half, where Zuko made eye contact with your pretty breasts. He’s never seen a woman’s breasts before, but yours looked beautiful. Really beautiful.
His eyes widened at how quick you leaned over, sliding his pants fast and exposing his dick, all hard and resting on his abdomen.
“Now please let me show you how to indulge in fellatio.”
You took his tip in your mouth, tongue swirling on his leaking tip and pressing on his shaft.
“Hahh—fuck…” Zuko closed his eyes, almost in disbelief that you were actually doing this.
You then took him whole in your mouth while stroking him at the base of his cock. You looked so cute, just cheeked hollowed out while you sucked him off.
You stopped for a moment, still stroking his cock while looking up at him with those damn pretty eyes of yours. “Now, if you want, you can also push my head a bit in case you would like a more pleasurable experience according to the book!”
And just like that, you latched your lips on his length, bopping your head up and down while your tongue dragged on his sensitive veins. He was itching for a release, and clearly you could tell too.
“You can also ejaculate in my mouth if you so choose!”
And just at that moment, he did, with spurts of cum unloading in your mouth. Then you swallowed… Jesus…
Zuko took a moment to catch his breath, panting a bit before speaking again.
“Now let me do it to you.”
And for the first time, you looked hesitant. “Ca-Can you repeat your question again—?”
“Can’t I indulge in oral sex with you?”
Your eyes widened like they were going to pop out of your skull. “I-I mean yes…but it isn’t necessarily proper.”
Zuko pushed you on the bed by your shoulders, making you lie down, where he got off the bed and stood over you.
“If you are to educate me on my sexuality, not only would I like to learn how to receive but to give.”
He leaned towards you and grabbed the book beside you, flipping to the page you bookmarked talking about cunnilingus.
“Here we go…” He couldn’t lie that he felt nervous, but for some reason, just being in a situationship with where you were nervous as well, made him want to act more brazen. To take some type of authority.
“Do I have your permission to proceed?”
You blinked, your face feeling like it’s on fire, and nodded. “Only if you want, my Lo—Zuko.”
He kneeled on the floor, taking off your pants and underwear down and being face to face with your cunt.
Of course, Zuko’s taken anatomy during school and has gotten a diagram on how female and male anatomy look like: all technical.
But as he’s kneeled down, he can’t help but marvel at how pretty you look. Your sex was dripping with your arousal and as soon as you took note on how he was staring, you instinctively attempted to shut your thighs. His eyes traced your body, all stiff and hesitant like you were anxious.
“Please don’t do that; let me make you feel good…”
Zuko grabbed your thighs, dragging you closer to him, and slowly kissed at your inner thighs, leading to your cunt.
Your breathing was shallow, shaky—and you were so evidently shy.
He lapped at your cunt, tasting your essence and going insane off it. He took one hand and placed it above your abdomen, two fingers spreading your labia apart and went at it.
Zuko was almost technical with his movements, kneading your plush thighs like bread dough and cupping his mouth around the top of your slit. His tongue began to piston inside you, going side to side and in figure-8 motions, all the while your thighs were crushing his head and you were…crying?
“O-Ohh my God…! Zuko—!” You were whining, your voice so high pitched that he had to do a double take. Your voice usually was derived from emotion, but you were in absolutely bliss.
He began rubbing your clit with the bridge of his nose, feeling how you twitched every time he was grinding his nose against it.
And then you pulled on his hair, shoving his face in your cunt further. Your back arched from the bed, rotating your hips against his face and tangling your fingers within his hair further.
It was too much; you were practically crying out, tears streaming down your face while Zuko ate you out in such a sloppy manner, eliciting the most lascivious sounds to anyone who may walk in. He was practically making out with your pussy, savoring your taste. You were in a trance, practically almost reaching your climax.
Which is why, when the two of you were under your own euphoric state together, did you barely notice a councilman and his entourage barge in his chambers.
“My Lor—Oh my goodness!”
“Fuck!”
Zuko looked up, already seeing you covering your face with the covers while the councilmen were looking anywhere but the direction of you two.
“W-We shall leave you be…” one spoke, turning abruptly.
“Wait!”
Zuko abruptly put on his robe, following the councilman and his entourage.
“What is the meaning of this?! You dare infringe on my privacy?”
The councilman turned around, his expression going from embarrassed to slightly relieved.
The great Fire Lord was on his knees eating a woman out scandalously while he was supposed to be on the look-out for a wife.
The Fire Nation needs an heir now, and Zuko has a lover!
And the thing was, you were from a fine family. Your grandfather was an esteemed military officer to his grandfather and father; your mother taught at the military academy, your brother was a current general in the army.
This was perfect… An absolutely perfect candidate for a wife.
“That woman… That woman is to be your betrothed.”
————
final exam/the night of his wedding
Zuko sat beside you on his bed, looking away. He bit his lip all anxious and afraid to meet your gaze.
It happened too quick. It was uncharacteristic of the council, however apparently someone snitched and you soon became his betrothed, and were to get married in two weeks.
And now, you officially have gotten married, with you being the Fire Lady.
He could seriously scream (in rage because he couldn’t court you? In happiness because he actually likes you? In pure disbelief?).
His head turned to your direction, where you were blankly staring at the window. The moon was out and it was shining directly at your face, sporting a rather melancholic expression.
“I-Is everything alright?”
You were biting your lower lip and your eyes looked glossy, almost like you were stopping yourself from crying.
“Y-Ye—“ “Be honest with me.”
Your eyes met his and then, did the tears slip down your face and your lip quivering.
“I’m so—hic—so sorry… I can’t begin to express how sorry I am to you, Zuko.”
He furrowed his eyebrows in confusion, a pit settling in his stomach at the thought of being the reason for your tears. “What do you mean? Why are you apologizing?”
“I-I—Your wife! I s-stopped you from marrying your true love! A-And I’m so so sorry!” You were bawling at this point, lightly clutching Zuko’s robes and head crouched down in shame.
“Wait what?” He lifted your head up by your chin and saw how you were looking up at him with apologetic eyes.
Your breathing was shaky and you couldn’t look him in the eyes, making Zuko’s heart hurt.
He hesitated. He didn’t know how to make someone feel better if they were sad—let alone a woman and someone he feels strongly about. His everything hurts looking at you cry.
So he tried something he’s never done, but reminded him of his mother.
“Here,” he whispered, holding your shaky hands. His thumbs caressed small circles on your palms, and you slowly looked up at him with eyes that were still overflowing with tears.
“You didn’t do anything wrong. At all. Don’t ever think that…” He held eye contact that made you cry even more. “My wife.”
At that moment, it felt so natural. You slowly leaned in, caressing his scarred cheek and running your fingertips through his skin, and kissed him.
It felt all too natural, to be undressing you from your new formal nightly gown, and to lay you down on the bed beneath him.
“We don’t have to do this if you don’t want to… We don’t have to consummate this marriage.”
“I do. I want to.” You said it all too quickly, looking away like you were flustered and destroying whatever nonchalant neutral façade you had been building.
The truth of the matter was that you love him and have been for years. And to think that you almost stopped him from “getting his true love”, you felt terrible during the two weeks the council forbid you see your husband until your wedding ceremony.
“I want to see you, Y/N.” It was the first time he’d ever say your name so gently while being face to face with you, and he felt a pit in his stomach just looking at your soft smile.
He kept eye contact while he stroked himself, hesitant on touching you.
“Okay…” you whispered quietly.
He began rubbing your slit with his cock, spreading your arousal on his length and paying attention to your clit.
“I… I learned something from the book during these two weeks I haven’t seen you.”
You blinked and suddenly gasped.
Zuko placed a hand above your abdomen and began plunging his index and middle finger into your pussy and thrusting them in and out, eliciting a string of lewd shlick! sounds that echoed around your chambers.
Your eyes tightened, holding his muscular forearm as he continued. Your gummy walls clenched on his thick, quick fingers curling inside of you and hitting that spot.
“Hahh… keep going. So so…good.”
A sound somewhere between a gasp and a squeak slipped from your lips at the sight of Zuko sticking his middle and index fingers into his mouth, sucking on them.
“My Lord—!”
He smiled, a sense of pride overtaking him at your sudden shock. “Can’t I know how my wife tastes like? You taste simply divine, my wife.”
“Oh my—!” You squeaked, using your forearm to hide your flustered expression and beginning to roll your hips against nothing. Your clit still ached in anticipation for that friction he gave.
Zuko’s nimble fingers traced your goosebump-ridden skin and he cupped your left breast while his lips went further down to your other one. “You’re so damn beautiful, my wife. All mine...”
The pit in your stomach grew and you looked away, embarrassed and aroused.
“Please…touch me further.”
It was silent between the both of you for a moment; the wing in which the both of you were at was silent, and you could hear your heavy heartbeat in your ears the longer you kept eye contact with your husband’s golden eyes, pleading with you.
“Let me pleasure you…Y/N. Please.”
You nodded your head slowly and bit your lip, your gaze trailing down onto your husband’s cock again, practically on the verge of cumming.
“Darling—please,” his golden eyes gazed at you, your flushed face and hesitant expression, and he smiled softly.
He felt nervous. What if he didn’t like sex? What if you didn’t like it? As much as he can call you darling, he was a nervous wreck internally.
“L-Let me know if it hurts. Please. I will stop.”
You nodded and dug your nails on his gentle skin, creating crimson crescents in their wake.
And just like that, your husband penetrated you while holding you so gently. Your lips pursed and your eyes followed where his were: at your cunt. The skin of the base of his cock wrinkled the moment he bottomed out in you and gleamed with your arousal when he moved his hips. Zuko hissed, his breathing becoming jagged and heavy.
“M-Move…Faster, Zuko!.” He rocked his hips into you, holding your arms down against the sand. Your supple breasts bounced with every harsh thrust.
Oh, Zuko appeared as if he was going to lose it. You were just so beautiful and you were all his now.
Your eyebrows pinched together, lower lip bitten down, and tears welling up in your eyes.
“Oh my God!” Every move of his was fast, pistoning himself into you with ferocity that you slapped your hand on your mouth to stop squeaking. You felt bad for whatever maid or guard was outside hearing you cry out your husband’s name.
Zuko leaned towards you, latching his lips onto your jawline, where he left soft kisses in their wake. His cock dragged lazily against your velvety walls, clenching against him like a damn vice.
“Ahh—nghh…Z-Zuko—!” Your legs clung onto his hips lazily, body arching onto his while your arms covered your face. He’d slowly pull his hips away and slam into you so lasciviously.
Even if he did not replicate the same growing emotions you had for him, you still found yourself wanting more. Your hips bucked against his and you wrapped your arms around his neck, kissing him again.
“You feel so good, my Lord…” you whispered, against his lips as you tasted him.
Your legs clung onto his waist, feeling his hips buck and thrusts slowly become less consistent. “Let me make you feel good forever, my love…”
Oh…
He flipped you, to be on top of him. The moment he bottomed out inside you, you let out a cry, pressing down on his lower stomach and bounced yourself on his dick.
“Fuck! Oh my—!” God you looked fucking stunning, with the moon hitting your upper torso and your breasts bouncing with every harsh thrust of his hips upwards.
“Let me make you mine, Y/N. I beg of you…” He groaned, hissing at how your cunt tightened around him oh so good.
You were crying—like actually crying—rocking your hips and fucking yourself on him back and forth. Zuko felt like he was on cloud nine; you were just too damn perfect.
“Nghh-more! Please!” A wave of euphoria washed over you; it was amazing…something you’ve never experienced before.
“Are you alright, Y/N?” He paused, noting your labored breathing and maw slack.
Your body felt damn feverish and you could feel how Zuko’s cock twitched inside you, spilling his hot, warm load inside your hole, making you full.
“F-Fuck…” Zuko wrapped his arms around your waist and slowly tugged you down on him, his head on the crook of your neck as he burried his seed inside you deeper. All warm and filling.
Your weight was on him and you could hear his heartbeat, both of you breathing heavily.
“We should… We should do that again. That was nice.” God, you really are perverted.
Or maybe he’s the perverted one for having one hell of a time right now.
“Tomorrow?” “Tomorrow.” He sighed, running his fingers through your hair and feeling your legs’ cling against him become tighter.
But one thing’s for certain; he wouldn’t give this up for the world.
.
.
.
is this rushed? maybe so, but i just had to write this lmao. i’ve been really busy with school recently and haven’t gotten proper time to really write this entire thing out!! anywayssss!! wish me luck in my future exams heheheeh
this is probably the longest fic i’ve ever written in regards to smutty content holy shit 😭
there are very few things that can pry yuuji from between your thighs - you needing to pee is not one of them.
you never thought you'd regret bagging a boyfriend who loves to eat pussy. you were yuuji’s first taste, and you’ve been his late-night craving ever since. hardly ever will he let you go to bed without cumming on his tongue at least once, and you've never complained — it helps you sleep, after all.
but he's particularly hungry tonight. you would roll your eyes at his ambitions, but you think that would just spur him on further; you've cum twice already and the shake in your legs is only getting worse.
it doesn't help at all that he's a complete mess about it. no table manners, he's slurping and groaning and grinding his tender cock against your mattress, smearing the mess of cum he's made in his boxers all over his length. spit drips down your cunt, into it as he pushes slick-covered fingers in and out of you, and down onto your bedsheets in a gross mix of saliva and your own release.
"love you so much," he sweet-talks your pussy, presses light kisses to your clit over and over again as his fingers scissor inside of you. "can't... get enough..."
when he leans forward again and mushes his face against your heat, nuzzling against your clit like a fucking cat, you realise he's a little too pussy-drunk to operate. he inhales deeply, and you reach down with a shaky hand to push at the sweaty pink hair atop his head.
"'m tired, baby. too much anyway, can't cum again."
"uhuhh," he nods mindlessly, a beautiful pink blush on his face.
he's not listening to you. instead, yuuji tenses his tongue and knits his brows together in concentration as he tries to push it inside of you alongside his fingers.
"ngh," your thighs try to clamp down around his head at the new stretch, but his free arm keeps you locked in place. sometimes you hate how strong he is. you close your eyes and take each wave of pleasure as they come, but a twinge in your lower belly has them snapping open again. "wait, waitwait — yuu," you gasp, the huge soda cup your boyfriend had insisted on you drinking earlier catching up to you. "i gotta pee."
you look down just as yuuji's eyes flick up to meet yours, inquisitive from between your thighs. he pulls his tongue out, but instead of stopping his assault on your pussy, he redirects his attention back to your clit with a few kitten licks.
"didn't you hear me?" you groan. "i have to pee, get off."
"hm? just hold it."
you're going to kill him one of these days. "i can't just hold it," you tug at his hair harshly. "you don't get it, you're not a girl. pleaase, yuuji, i'm gonna pee my pants."
yuuji just smiles. he pulls his fingers out and licks a stripe up your messy cunt. "don't worry. you're not wearing any pants! hah."
you don't have the willpower to chide him. all you want to do is cry, and you're so close to doing so. you squeeze your eyes shut and take a deep breath in, nose crinkling up in concentration as you try your hardest not to wet the sheets and embarrass yourself.
it's only once yuuji realises you're on the verge of tears that he pulls himself up (though not without one last kiss to your clit) and climbs over you.
"hey, don't cry," he frowns, holding your face in one hand and stroking your hair back with the other. he presses a wet kiss to your cheek, his lips still glistening with spit and your fluids. "i'll make it all better, mkay? don't even worry. i'll fix it — 'm sorry."
you open your eyes, about to thank him and push yourself to get up and rush off to the toilet, but he doesn't let you. with one strong hand, he presses down on our tummy, and he uses the other to pull his stiff cock out of his boxers.
"w...what?" you look down as he lines himself up with you and slowly pushes in, increasing the pressure on your abdomen with each inch he sinks inside of you. "wait... what are you doing?"
it's when he's about halfway sheathed inside of you that yuuji looks back up to your face and meets your gaze with blown-out eyes. he looks pathetic, messy-haired and breathing through his mouth. "i- i was going to make a joke about plugging you up, but now i'm inside of you and i really want you to pee while i'm like this."
you're so shocked that the pain in your bladder is hardly noticeable. "what!?" you gawk. "are you crazy? do you have a fever?"
your boyfriend shakes his head, biting his bottom look and looking like he's about to pop a vein. he's flustered for once, and looking down at you with that glossy look in his eyes that he gets when. he's right on the edge. you want to slap him across the face for being so lewd, making such a joke, but your bladder is about to burst, and if he doesn't get off in the next few seconds you're going to—
oh, god.
yuuji presses down even firmer on your tummy as you fail to hold it in, like he's trying to encourage the most humiliating moment of your life. with a gasp from you and a strangled moan from him, you let it go — piss flows straight out of you and down onto yuuji's cock where he's sheathed inside of you. he feels it coat the length he hasn't yet pushed in, and then run down to his balls, and stick to his thighs as it rushes down to soak the sheets.
his jaw goes slack, and just as you think he's about to pull out and exclaim his disgust; that he was just joking and you weren't meant to actually pee on him, he folds the fuck over and starts rutting into you like a dog in heat. your stream of pee doesn't end, still flowing out of you in all sorts of directions as yuuji fucks you hard and fast, balls slapping against your ass, hand still pushing down hard on your belly.
"ohmygodohmygod," he's the one who seems like he's on the verge of tears now, face red as he pulls out suddenly and, as your stream settles down into a trickle, pumps his cock a few times before shooting his load all over your piss-soaked cunt. "fuck. fuck. that was..."
"i'm so sorry," you blurt, hiding your face in your hands. "oh my god, i peed all over you."
yuuji is silent for a moment. and then he laughs, his whole body shakes with the force of it, and when he pulls your hands from your face and presses a kiss to your lips, you forget all about feeling embarrassed.
until, of course, he lowers himself back down to eat you out again. all you can do is whine as his tongue laps up the mess of pee and his own cum that covers your now-sticky folds.
Cal Kestis- Your Scent Alone is Enough to Find Me (and Guide Me Back to You)
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Summary: Cal’s on Coruscant with Bode, trying to carry out their plan when Cal suddenly smells a familiar scent. He knows the scent of you anywhere, and he’s so excited to see you…but after going to Naboo he learns something he shouldn’t have, and he’s not sure he’ll ever get over it.
Genre: Fluff and angst if you squint super hard, lots of sexual tension
CW: Fem!Reader, Queen!Reader (Reader took over Padmé’s place), she/her pronouns, no use of y/n, Reader calls Cal ‘Red,’ ties into canon game events but I added extra ones (I have no idea if that makes sense, I’m so tired bruh), Reader is described as smelling like fruit, specifically peach, grapefruit, green apple, and strawberry (very self indulgent with this), Jealous!Cal, protective Cal and Reader, Reader left the Jedi Order, Reader usually wears very colorful clothes, small scene where Reader’s new outfit is described (if you hate the way it sounds, feel free to make up your own and ignore what I wrote!!!), so much miscommunication it’s lowkey annoying, I really hope that’s it!!
Word Count: 3.7k
A/N: Another Cal fic for the collection!! I’m posting a few all at once so if you’re interested in more, you can look for those!! 💕💖💕💖😛😛
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You stand on top of the building just across from him, perched like a bird. He’s on the rooftop of a building beside yours, talking with another man. His hands move around in that way you always loved, he was always so passionate. You can vaguely make out their voices as they go over their plan now that the’ve hit a bump.
“I could just use my jet pack to-“ Bode cuts himself off when he sees Cal’s face. He’s stopped looking at him, hands falling back at his sides as he stares off into the distance. “Hey.” Bode waves his hand in his face, getting his attention.
“Sorry.” He shakes his head.
“Is there something wrong?” Bode asks, hands resting on his hips.
“I just-“ Cal pauses, glancing around before looking back at Bode. “Do you smell that?” He asks in a low voice.
“Yeah, the smell of Imperial dictatorship.” Bode scoffs.
“No, Bode-“ Cal sighs in exasperation.
“Okay, seriously, what’s up?” Bode’s expression grows serious when he sees how much this is affecting Cal.
“It smells like fruit.” Cal sighs, looking around frantically. “Tell me you can smell it too.” Cal practically begs as he looks at Bode. He sighs and reluctantly takes a deep breath of the air around him, finding a hint of…fruit.
“Yeah…it does smell like fruit.” Cal’s eyes widen. “What is that?” Bode grows even more confused as Cal whips himself around, searching for something…for you.
“Grapefruit and peach.” Cal whispers to himself. “Strawberry and green apple.” Bode looks at him as if he’s gone crazy.
“Are you okay? What are you saying?” You quickly grab onto the zip line beside you with your thick tactical gloves. The moment Cal hears it he jerks his head over to look at you, eyes sparkling with hope. Bode pulls his blasters out the moment he notices you.
“Bode.” Cal looks at him with narrowed eyes.
“No need to get all trigger happy.” You call out, eyebrows raising. “We’re all friends here.” You slowly step closer after Cal forces Bode to put his blasters away. “Well, you and I are friends.” You say, looking at Cal. “But I’m sure we’ll get along too.” You glance back at Bode with a wink. Cal can’t ignore the strange twist in his gut at the sight. It isn’t the same twist he’s used to, the one he feels when you get too close, when you touch him, when he can smell you, when you call him ‘Red.’
“You two are friends?” Bode asks Cal for confirmation.
“Yeah.” Cal mumbles, still staring at you in awe. “Best friends.”
“Aw, how sweet of you!” You giggle, reaching up and pulling the gas mask off your face. You shake your head a bit after it’s removed, getting used to the feeling. Cal swears he feels his heart stop for a moment. “Careful, Red-“ You say with dark eyes, stepping closer. “Keep looking at me like that and I’ll start to get the wrong idea.” There’s that familar twist.
“What is the wrong idea?” He tilts his head and smirks.
“Watch yourself.” You poke his chest before taking a step back, making his smile falter. “I was eavesdropping for a while, heard about your plan with the mayor.”
“Wha-“ Bode’s eyebrows raise as his mouth falls open.
“I’d like to offer my services.” You say with a grin.
“And what services are those?” Bode asks, looking thoroughly unimpressed. You scoff and pull your large black cloak to the side, pulling at your dual-bladed lightsaber. You hold it up and turn each blade on individually, for dramatic effect. “Yeah. Okay.” Bode surrenders and shakes his head.
“Think you’ll be able to keep up with me?” Cal jokes, smirking down at you.
“I think I’ll manage, Red.” You bite back with a matching smirk. Bode practically chokes on all the sexual tension in the air.
***
I can smell her…am I imagining it again?
It smells so strong, like she’s actually here…or was.
Where could she be though?
Am I going crazy?
Bode smells it too…she has to be here. But where?
She is here.
She looks so cool. Her walk is so sexy…how can a walk even be sexy?
Friends…
Why can’t I be more?
Why is she winking at him? Wink at me! Look at me!
Woah…she’s gorgeous. Did she dye her hair?
She’s so close to me. Is that eye makeup? She looks so hot…
I shouldn’t think about her like this…but how can I not when she looks at me like that?!
She always has the best retorts on the tip of her tongue. Every time me she calls me ‘Red’ in that tone…I don’t think I can hold myself together anymore.
***
You follow Bode and Cal back into the Mantis, holding something you hadn’t meant to find…but were glad you did.
“But how do we fix it?” Bode asks.
“Do you know anyone who could?” Cal asks you, a brow raised.
“I do, actually.” You nod, handing the device to him. “Hold on, I’ll set the coordinates.” You fiddle with the holomap and select the planet Naboo.
“On Naboo? Really?” Bode huffs out a laugh. “Aren’t they all like…fancy people?”
“Not all.” You say defensively. “A lot of them are very kind, and very intelligent.” You take a step back into the lounge and set your gas mask down.
“You know a lot of people there?” Bode asks.
“I live there.” You reply, pulling off your cloak and setting it on the seats next. You turn back to Cal and Bode, both their eyes wide and jaws dropped. Though both of their reactions come from very different places.
Cal: When did she start dressing like that? She looks so beautiful…mysterious. That dress fits her so perfectly, and those boots…stars, when did she become so enchanting?
Bode: Okay…Naboo is not all fancy people then. Apparently they have goths there too.
“You two going to stare at me all day?” You smirk, hands on your hips.
“Sorry!” Cal quickly snaps out of it and shouts, cheeks dusted pink.
“Just start flying, Red.” You playfully roll your eyes and Cal does exactly as you ask, heading into the cockpit. Bode follows him while you fix your hair and head back to the workbench.
“How long have you known her?” He asks, taking the seat next to his.
“About five years.” Cal shrugs.
“Right…and how long have you liked her?” He asks next, making Cal stutter through arguments.
“I don’t-“
“So you don’t mind if I ask her out, then?” Bode taunts, smirking annoyingly as he watches Cal’s expression.
“You’re not her type.” Is what he replies with, starting the ship and pulling out of the hangar.
“And you know her type?” Bode scoffs.
“Yes.” He growls out.
“Best friends don’t get jealous when someone asks out the other.” Bode whispers. “Only someone who’s in love would get this jealous over the mere mention of it.”
“Five years.” Cal says under his breath. “But I’ve only known for two.”
“Took you that long, huh?” Bode teases.
“I’ve never been in love…I didn’t exactly know what signs to look for.” Cal scoffs, shaking his head as they enter hyperspace.
“When did you know? How?” Bode questions, like they’re two girls at a sleepover at three in the morning.
“Do I have to answer that?” Cal cringes as he glances back, making sure you’re still at the back of the ship.
“You don’t have to.” He shrugs. “But I’d really like it if you did.”
“I knew when I saw her two years ago.” Cal starts, rubbing a hand over his face…he’s never said any of this out loud. “The old crew had been split up for a while so I hadn’t seen her. I ran into her on Tattooine.” He sighs, remembering how beautiful you’d looked. “I didn’t expect it because she hates the hotter planets. She just looked so…pretty.” He waters it down so he doesn’t sound like a total sap. “I just…knew, I guess.” He shrugs. “There was no grand revelation, I just…knew.”
“That’s beautiful, man.” Bode grins. “When are you going to tell her?” Cal looks at him like he’s gone insane.
“Never.”
“What? Why?” Bode pouts like a child.
“She doesn’t feel that way toward me, Bode. Even if she did, she deserves much better than me.” Cal finally returns to the controls as they begin their landing on Naboo. You feel the ship start to lower and the engine slow down, so you finish up and quickly rush back toward the cockpit.
“Did I miss any hot goss?” You joke as you stand behind Cal’s seat.
“No.” Cal replies before Bode can do it first. He spins in his chair to face you, staring up at you with those mesmerizing blue eyes.
“You better not be lying to me, Red.” You warn, hands grabbing his armrests as you bend down to be at eye-level with him. “You two stay in the ship, I’ll be back when the device is repaired.” You quickly snatch it from him while he’s distracted by you, only noticing when you back up again.
“Hey!” He yells after you.
“Stay in the ship!” You yell back, already walking out and onto the grass. Cal huffs and plops down in his chair, arms crossed.
“So…we’re actually staying in the ship?” Bode asks.
“Yeah.” Cal sighs. “For now.” A little smirk pulls at his lips.
***
“Miss!? What are you doing back so soon?” Your best friend and handmaiden, Samé asks.
“Here for a bit of-“ You hold up the broken device. “Technical work.”
“Right, of course! Let’s get you to your chambers before someone spots you and drags you off somewhere.” She grabs your arm and leads you down the halls.
“Always looking out for me.” You grin. You finally reach your chambers and shut the door behind you, walking with Samé over to your workbench.
“What is this dreadful outfit?” She asks, pulling at the black dress and its flowing sleeves.
“A dress.”
“A horrible one.” She huffs. “And what on Naboo are these?!” She pulls at your boots and almost makes you fall.
“Samé, knock it off! I’m working.” She scowls at you and walks over to your wardrobe.
“You’re changing.”
“Fine.” You don’t argue, because you truly do miss your colorful clothes. You’d switched to black when you started running around and trying to avoid the Empire. Samé grabs a beautiful tangerine dress, the bust being a darker shade of orange. It has three layers to the skirt, each one longer than the first until it forms a sort of train. It’s made to look a bit scrappy, the pieces of fabric for the skirt not all connected to each other and flowing off in different directions.
She grabs a pair of white tights, adorned with little stars made of lace. She grabs you a pair of clementine colored kitty heels to match your dress before rushing back over to you. She pulls everything on your body while you work on the device, ignoring her entirely. You don’t even look down at the outfit until you’ve finished fixing everything.
You pull away from the bench and look down, smiling wide. “Stunning as always.” You compliment her and chuckle when she blushes.
“Oh, knock it off.” She pushes you towards the door and walks beside you back into the halls.
***
“It’s been a while.” Bode comments. “Should we go in?” Cal looks out the front window with furrowed brows.
“Did she go into the palace?” He mumbles. “Who in the palace would know how to fix something like that?”
“Do you think she ran off with it?” Bode stands up abruptly.
“No.” There isn’t a moment’s hesitation, because he knows you. “But something could be wrong…let’s go.” He grabs BD-1 and walks down the ramp, Bode on his tail.
“What do you think happened?” Bode asks as they walk up the steps.
“I’m not sure.” Cal replies, grunting when someone pushes against his chest. He stops and looks over at the guard holding him back.
“What is your business?” The guard asks him with narrowed eyes.
“I’m here to see a friend.” Cal says calmly. “She ran in there a while ago, we’re checking to make sure she’s alright.”
“Does this friend have a name?” The second guard who’s holding Bode back, asks. Cal says your name and the guards look at each other before bursting out into laughter.
“Why are they laughing?” Bode leans over to whisper to him.
“I have no idea.” Cal says, looking very annoyed. “Look, she could be hurt. I need to make sure she’s alright.”
“Buddy, we get someone like you every single day.” The guard in front of him says.
“Thinking they have a personal relationship with the Queen.” The other guard chimes in. “Ridiculous.”
“I’m sorry, did you just say ‘Queen’?!” Bode’s eyes widen, looking over at Cal who looks just as stunned. “You didn’t know this?!” He whisper-yells and Cal simply shakes his head, staring off into the distance. “If she’s the Queen why does she have a lightsaber?” Bode asks, mostly speaking to himself but a guard hears and answers.
“She used to be a Jedi.” He says coolly. “Tried to stay true to the Jedi Code after the Purge, had been working until she fell in love.” The guard looks so pleased as he says it, like someone swooning over a romance movie.
“In love?” Cal suddenly tunes back in to the conversation.
“Oh, yeah.” The second guard nods. “Left the Order behind and struggled a bit before she wound up back here, where she was elected as the new Queen.”
“Why are we explaining this to you? You two need to get out of here.” The guard slowly starts to push them back and Cal pushes back, insisting he knows you and needs to see you.
***
You’re walking down the hallway with Samé when you hear his voice just outside the front entrance.
“I need to see her, please! You need to believe me, so I can make sure she’s okay!”
“Oh, my stars.” You gasp.
“What is it?” You untangle your arm from hers and start running, causing her to yell and rush after you. You push the doors open and run out onto the steps, finding two guards restraining Cal and Bode.
“What are you doing?!” You shout, anger rising at the sight of Cal on the ground. He immediately looks up at the sound of your voice, so relieved to see you okay. He looks down at your outfit and smiles to himself, guess you hadn’t actually changed much.
“Miss!” One guard says, standing up as he drags Bode with him. “These two were trying-“
“Get him off the ground!” You scream at the other guard, ignoring the first one’s explanation entirely. He hesitates and you blow up, storming over as your heels click against the stone. “Get him up, now!” The guard quickly lifts him to his feet, still holding his hands behind his back. “Let him go, what-!” You grip his arm and rip it away from Cal, pulling him into you and away from the guard. You look up at him with wide and concerned eyes. “You’re alright?” You whisper sweetly, eyelashes fluttering. Cal thinks he may just faint.
“Yeah…good.” He mumbles, glancing down at your lips.
“Let him go too, stars!” You huff as you yell at the other guard. He lets Bode go and he pushes the guard in retaliation. “I understand that you were both simply doing your job, and I am eternally grateful for your service.” You start, eyes dark as you stare up at the two. “But if I see you treat him like that again, see you lay a single finger on him, you will no longer have fingers.” You spit, the guards eyes bulging wide. “Am I understood?”
“Yes, Miss!” They both yell.
“Come on, it’s dark.” You say, grabbing Cal’s arm. “We can stay here for the night.” You start leading him up the steps and he follows you mindlessly. You look back when Bode doesn’t move, brow raising. “That means you too, Bode.” He looks pleased as he runs to catch up with you.
You apologize to Samé and tell her you’ll find her later, she waves you off with a devilish smirk and a wink. You roll your eyes to yourself as you walk with Cal down to your chambers.
“Bode, there’s a room just beside mine that you can stay in.” You say, opening the doors to your chambers. “Very comfortable, you’ll like it.”
“Thank you, your majesty.” He bows and you groan. You walk inside with Cal and flick the lights back on, illuminating the room in a beautiful warm light.
“So…Queen.” Cal speaks first, making you sigh.
“Yes…Queen.” You nod along, setting the device down on your workbench.
“The guard said you…came here and were elected Queen after abandoning the Order.” He says, voice low. Your eyes go wide as you look back over at him, pushing away from where you’d been leaning against the bench.
“It’s not how it sounds, I promise.” You say. “I didn’t leave because of the dark side, or anything bad! I just couldn’t follow the rules I was meant to…And I know not every Jedi does, and since there really aren’t any left it shouldn’t matter, I just…it felt right. I never loved their ideals, so I just…” You trail off when you notice his expression and demeanor. His arms are wrapped around his torso, as if he’s hugging himself. His head is lowered and you watch him nod along to your words without really hearing them. “Cal?” You cautiously walk over to him, gently resting a hand over his arm when he pulls away.
“What’s wrong? I’m sorry…did I say something wrong?” You ask, voice breaking in a way that physically hurts him.
“No, of course not.” He shakes his head, slowly stepping away from you.
“Then what? What’s wrong? Please, Cal.” You take a few more steps to counteract his steps backwards.
“The guard said you left the Order because you fell in love.” Cal blurts out, voice raising without meaning to.
“Oh.” You take a step back now, eyes wide. “So then…you don’t want me to stay with you?” You ask, tears in your eyes as you step further away from him.
“What?” Cal looks entirely confused now, only making you confused in turn.
“You…” Your brows furrow. “I thought…do you not know who I fell in love with?”
“Obviously not! You hadn’t mentioned anything about anyone, which is a bit hurtful honestly. I was hoping you’d tell me now so-“ He stops when he hears you laughing. “What?” He looks angry.
“I’m sorry, I-“ You choke back a laugh when you notice his face. “You are angry…” Your brows furrow again. “I’m not laughing at you.”
“Then what are you laughing at?!”
“Well…okay, I was laughing at you.” He scoffs and you step towards him. “But only because you are so adorably oblivious.” You reach out for him and grab his forearm, smiling when he doesn’t pull away this time.
“Huh?” His head tilts and you grin.
“You didn’t hear me mention anyone because there wasn’t anyone.” You whisper.
“I’m even more confused.”
“I couldn’t exactly mention who I was in love with to the guy I was in love with.” You laugh, shaking your head.
“I-“ He looks baffled. “Are you saying that I-“
“Are who I fell in love with? Yes.” You nod. “I assumed you’d figured it out, and wouldn’t want me traveling with you.”
“Why wouldn’t I want you traveling with me?” He asks, like it truly is so absurd.
“Well…because-“ You pause. “I don’t know how much more confusion and miscommunication I can handle at this point.” You groan, eyes squeezed shut as you try to steady your breathing.
“Do you think I don’t love you?” Cal asks quietly, making your eyes fly open.
“Well…” You look up with watery eyes. “Yeah.”
“How could you ever think that?” He asks, pulling you in by your waist and making you squeak.
“I just-“
“I love you.” He whispers. “I’m in love with you, and I have been since I met you. I just didn’t have the guts to admit it until after I saw you on Tattooine.”
“You’ve known since Tattooine and you didn’t say anything!” You hit his chest and he huffs out a laugh.
“I was under the impression you thought of me as only your best friend. Of course I didn’t say anything!”
“You are so incredibly blind, then.” You huff. “I’ve been so obvious.”
“I’ve been so oblivious.”
“Yes, clearly.” You sigh and once again try to steady your breathing.
“Are you alright?” Cal asks, resting a hand over your chest, feeling your heart beat.
“Just…overwhelmed? In a good way but…just too many emotions all at once.” Cal nods and moves his hand to rest against your cheek, pulling your face up to meet his.
“Would a kiss help?”
“That will probably make it so much worse.” You sigh. “But I’ve been waiting five years to kiss you, and I refuse to wait a second longer.” You press your lips into his and feel him smiles against you before greedily kissing back. Your arms wrap around his neck as you pull your bodies closer. You pull away to pant against his lips, “I love you, Red.” You breathe.
“I love you.” He breathes back before connecting your lips again.
The next morning, you woke up with bags under your eyes that even your supposedly flawless skin couldn’t hide.
Operation confess to Hinata had officially failed. It was time to take a different approach.
You had spent the night strategizing like a seasoned military commander, staring at your ceiling and mapping out the best hiding places. If a human fortress of overly enthusiastic classmates was going to keep you away from your orange-haired cutie, you would simply have to infiltrate behind enemy lines before the lines were even drawn.
You skipped breakfast, arrived at Karasuno High a full forty-five minutes before the first bell, and wore a low-profile baseball cap pulled tightly over your eyes, you even wore a surgical mask, and hoped your classmates wouldn't recognize you.
You smiled in triumph seeing your fanclub walk past you.
The gravel crunched beneath your sneakers as you sprinted across the courtyard, slipping through the heavy back door of the gymnasium. You knew the volleyball team had early practice and for once, your stalking was going to pay off.
Inside, the sharp squeak of sneakers echoed through the high rafters, accompanied by the rhythm of volleyballs hitting the floor.
You quickly ducked behind a towering stack of gym mats, pressing your back against the canvas and peeking out. There he was, Hinata was soaring through the air for a split second before hitting a blindingly fast quick set from Kageyama.
He landed on his feet, throwing his fists in the air and yelling, with a grin so bright it completely bypassed your camouflage and hit you right in the chest.
God, you loved that smile. You clutched the pink envelope in your pocket, your heart doing a little flip of its own.
“Hey! Who’s behind the mats?!”
You jumped, your heart pounding against your chest. Standing right there was captain Sawamura, holding a volleyball and looking incredibly suspicious. Behind him, Sugawara and Nishinoya paused, turning their heads towards your terrible hiding spot.
“Oh, it’s just—” Daichi started, his eyes widening as you stepped out “(L/N)-san?!”
“THE GODDESS IS IN THE GYM?!” Nishinoya shrieked. He instantly dropped into a defensive crouch, as if he needed to protect your honor from stray volleyballs, across the court, Tanaka looked ready to rip his shirt off in pure celebration.
“Please, keep it down!” you hissed, stepping fully out of the shadows, bowing frantically. “I’m so sorry to interrupt practice! I just…I really need to talk to Hinata”
The gym went dead silent as the chaotic energy vanished, replaced by an atmosphere so tense you could hear a pin drop. Kageyama, who had been spinning a ball on his finger, completely lost his grip as the ball dropped to the floor, bouncing away slowly.
Hinata froze mid-air while practicing a block jump, landing completely flat-footed and stumbling backward. He stared at you, his eyes the size of dinner plates, and his orange hair practically standing on end.
“M-Me?!” he squeaked, his voice cracking.
Before the rest of the team could process what was happening, Sugawara appeared behind Tanaka and Nishinoya, grabbing them firmly by their collars.
“Alright, everyone! Outside for a three-minute lap, now!” Sugawara ordered. His voice carried an underlying tone of absolute steel that left zero room for argument.
“But Suga-san—!” Tanaka protested, choking slightly against his collar.
“Lap, now,” Daichi enforced, his voice cutting through the air as he helped usher the bewildered team toward the double doors. Kageyama cast one final, utterly confused, irritated look at Hinata before being dragged out into the morning air.
The heavy gym doors clicked shut.
Suddenly, it was just the two of you. The air smelled of floor wax and sweat—a far cry from the lavender-scented, rose-petal atmosphere your classmates usually tried to force upon you.
It was perfect.
“Hinata,” you breathed out, taking a step forward.
“ACK! (Y/N)-SAN! I-I-I DIDN’T KNOW YOU—WHY ARE YOU—?!” Hinata started panicking, his voice echoing off the walls.
“Shh! Lower your voice!” you hissed, playfully but desperately throwing your hands up in a quiet down motion “They’ll hear you!”
Hinata clamped both hands over his mouth so hard his cheeks puffed out, he nodded furiously, his eyes wide and terrified.
You finally pulled off the surgical mask and the cap, letting your hair fall back into place. Taking a deep breath, you took a step closer, determined not to let another single second waste after the nightmare that was yesterday “Hinata, I’ve been trying to talk to you all day yesterday. I—”
“I’m sorry!” Hinata suddenly blurted out through his hands, before dropping them and bowing so low and fast his forehead nearly smacked his own knees.
You froze, “Huh?”
“I know why you’re here!” Hinata yelled-whispered, his voice trembling with a mix of awe and tragic acceptance. “You’re here to politely tell me to stop staring at you, right? Because Kageyama saw me staring yesterday, and Sugawara-san said I was being too obvious, and Tanaka-san told me that if I approached a goddess like you, I’d get struck down by lightning!”
He said what now—
He snapped upright, his face a vibrant shade of tomato red, tears of sheer panic pricking the corners of his eyes.
“I know I’m just a short middle blocker who talks too much about volleyball! And you’re…you! So it’s okay! You don’t have to feel bad for rejecting me before I could even ask!”
You stared at him, completely dumbfounded. The sheer velocity of his panic was dizzying. Your brain tried to process the frantic monologue, but as his last words finally sank in, your own face started to heat up.
“Wait…” you stammered, your cool exterior completely fracturing “Before you could ask? Ask me what?”
Hinata froze, the realization of what he had just confessed hit him like a volleyball to the face. He looked like he wanted the gym floor to crack open and swallow him whole, his eyes darted wildly around the room, and his hands flew to his school bag resting against the bench, frantically trying to shield it with his body.
“N-Nothing! Just…volleyball stuff!”
“Hinata,” You stepped directly into his personal space, cutting off his escape route. Your heart was pounding so hard against your ribs you were certain he could hear it over his own heavy breathing. “Show me what’s in your bag”
“It’s a secret weapon!” he squeaked, backing up until his calves hit the bench.
“Show me.”
With trembling, sweaty hands, Hinata slowly reached into the side pocket of his bag. He pulled out a slightly crumpled white envelope. Your eyes darted from his bright red nervous face down to the messy, bold, marker handwriting on the front.
To: (Y/N)-san.
Your brain completely short-circuited. All the stress of yesterday vanished in a single instant, replaced by a bubbling wave of pure, ridiculous relief.
A tiny, breathless laugh escaped your lips.
“Hey,” Hinata panicked, completely misinterpreting your reaction, his shoulders slumping. “I know my handwriting is bad, and the envelope got kinda squished when I was practicing my receives, but—”
“Look,” you interrupted gently.
You reached into your blazer pocket and pulled out your own envelope. It was crisp, pristine, and a perfect pastel pink. You held it out, placing it right next to his crumpled white one.
To: Hinata Shoyo.
Hinata stared at the pink envelope. He blinked twice “Is that…a challenge to a volleyball duel?”
“It’s a love letter, you dummy!” you cried out, your face exploding into a bright, furious blush that completely shattered your ‘cool, radiant goddess’ persona.
“A…a what?” Hinata’s jaw dropped “But…everyone loves you. You’re like…a high-school celebrity! You eat luxury bentos and people tie your shoes!”
“I don’t want them to tie my shoes!” you burst out, the frustration of the past week finally bubbling over “I can tie my own shoes! I have a double knot right now, look!” You pointed aggressively at your sneakers, which were covered in dirt from all the running earlier.
Hinata looked from your shoes, to your blushing face, and to the letter. Slowly, a realization washed over him. The tragic, defeated look vanished, replaced by a spark that quickly ignited into a blaze, his eyes lighting up like stars.
“Then, (L/N)-san,” Hinata said, his voice surprisingly steady despite the bright red dusting his ears. He carefully traded his crumpled letter for your pink one “Please go out with me! I’ll become the strongest ace ever, so I can be someone who matches you!”
You let a genuine smile on your face “You already match me just fine, Shoyo.”
Before he could short-circuit again over you using his first name, the heavy gym doors creaked open by a mere millimeter.
“Did he do it?” Tanaka’s whisper echoed loudly through the gym.
“Shh! Tanaka, your bald head is reflecting the sunrise, move!” Nishinoya hissed.
“Kageyama, stop eating milk bread, you’re chewing too loud—”
You and Hinata turned toward the door at the same time, Shoyo’s face shifted from relief to panic.
“GUYS!!! OUTSIDE!!!” he roared.
As the team burst through the doors offering chaotic congratulations, Shoyo instinctively stepped in front of you, shielding you from Tanaka and Nishinoya’s dramatic tears. For the first time in two days, you didn’t mind the human fortress at all.
Ahh srry it took too long lowkey couldn't think of wht to put in this for a while, anyways what do you think I should write next?
Idol!AU Sakura Haruka x F!Reader
wc: 3.4k (how.....)
TAMON attends their first charity gala, a member of a fellow idol group returns, and you begin to realize you're not the only one experiencing something as taboo in the industry as feelings.
Idol!AU Masterlist
Not beta read; if there are mistakes, no there are not, etc etc i will just cringe about them later
While charity galas are notorious for straddling the line between true philanthropy and not-so-subtle industry posturing, there’s no denying receiving an invitation is a big deal. For TAMON, it’s a culmination of all their hard work so far; tangible proof every sleepless night and grueling practice was worth the sacrifice. The wider world is finally taking them seriously, no longer brushing them off as little kids with too big dreams.
Your boys deserve this. They deserve the world, in your entirely unbiased opinion, and you have no doubt in a handful of years, they’ll achieve global stardom.
But it’s a slow climb up the ladder of lasting fame, and for all TAMON’S enthusiasm, they’re not the type to skip each metaphorical rung. Every milestone is earned and celebrated with genuine gratitude—both for the fans’ dedicated support and the members themselves. You count yourself lucky to witness their attitude firsthand; to know with absolute certainty nothing about their passion is manufactured for cameras and gossip mills.
Not just witness, you amend silently, adjusting the camera strap around your neck. Only in your wildest dreams did you see yourself working as part of an idol group’s staff. You’re part of their journey, a thought that never ceases to send a thrill down your spine.
Even now, crammed into one of the hotel’s small conference spaces turned temporary green room, you can’t fully tamp down the joy flitting through your veins.
Or maybe it’s nerves.
Both, you settle on, if only to quell the impending spiral before the event has truly begun. Right thumb running along the plain, smooth ring adorning your pointer finger, you wend your way through racks of clothes and another idol group’s manager to your boys. They’re clustered near the far wall, observing, chatting both amongst themselves and with anyone who meanders their way.
Sakura—standing with his back to the wall, hands shoved casually into the pockets of his dress slacks, head tilted in Nirei’s direction—shifts, mismatched eyes landing on you. The nervous-joyful butterflies fluttering in your stomach swirl madly. He looks beautiful, as always, though there’s something sharper about it once the stylists and makeup artists have had their way. Tonight, the black half of his hair is slicked back, leaving the white half soft and lightly tousled around his face. There’s a faint shimmer around his eyes, highlighting them without making it obvious. He’s left his suit jacket undone, the white button up beneath tucked neatly into the slacks.
“It’s bad luck to take pictures of us before we’re on the red carpet,” Suo chides lightly, cutting in before you can stutter out a greeting. You blink, hands automatically cradling your camera. A frown wrinkles Sakura’s forehead, like he’s trying to determine if there’s truth in the statement or it’s just another load of nonsense.
Kiryu laughs, waving a jacket-covered hand. He’d shrugged the garment off at some point, letting it bunch around his elbows, stiff sleeves managing to hide his palms. Only he could pull off looking so casual while stuffed into a suit. “Please, Suo-chan. We’re supposed to take behind the scenes photos!”
“Already did,” Sakura says. His tolerance for posing in front of a lens is low; you can only imagine how many selfies Kiryu and Nirei subjected him to.
Helplessly endeared, you unclench your fingers from around the camera. “Don’t worry, I’m not here for that. Saving all my memory for your red carpet debut.” You could swear Sakura exhales softly in relief, a gesture you recognize only because it’s your job to analyze every minute twitch. “Just checking in.”
Kiryu’s too perceptive gaze flickers between you and Sakura. He’s far more observant than he ever lets on, you’ve learned, and not for the first time do you wonder just how much he’s pieced together. “We’re fiiiine,” he drawls, all nonchalance as he steps closer and rests an elbow on your shoulder. “Right, Sakura-chan?”
Sakura’s frown deepens. “Yeah? Why wouldn’t we be? Ain’t like we have to sing in front of everyone.”
You bite back a retort. Doesn’t mean you can’t be nervous. Sakura does indeed have a point—there’s slightly less pressure when all they have to do is pose for pictures and shake a few hands.
Tonight’s hosts are aiming for an understated event. A rising fashion brand named Updraft, they emerged onto the scene three years ago, quickly earning notoriety among the new generation of fashion fans for their bold designs incorporating both tradition and modern styles. It follows, naturally, with their brand now established, they’d set their sights higher.
Music and fashion have always gone hand in hand; one influences the other until they’re so intertwined it’s as if a dividing line never existed. And these days, few celebrities command a level of influence like idol groups.
Any official endorsement is still a ways off for TAMON. Brands—even audacious, cutting edge ones like Updraft—are hesitant to risk their image by associating with untested idols. No, this gala is simply about exposure. Gaining experience. For both your boys and the owners of Updraft; fostering a good relationship tonight means better, solid opportunities later.
In short, TAMON has proved themselves while bathed in the glow of stage lights. Now, it’s time they prove they’re just as charming and fascinating off stage.
“Aww, you do get nervous before shows!” Kiryu teases. His grin is wide, easy, as he flicks pink bangs off his face with a careful toss of his head. The soft ends of his short ponytail tickle your neck and you squirm, laughing as you slip from underneath his elbow.
Something flashes in Sakura’s eyes, there and gone before you can properly name it. His shoulders rise, mouth twisting. “The hell’s wrong with that!? Don’t we all?”
In your peripheral, you catch a handful of people turning their heads at the commotion. This isn’t quite what you had in mind when you wished your boys would make a lasting impression on their peers; at least no one can ever criticize them for acting like anything other than themselves.
Nirei sidles up to Sakura’s side, resting a placating hand on his arm. “Of course we do, Sakura-san! It’s normal. Just the thought of talking to everyone tonight makes me nervous….”
Suo shrugs. “Most people experience nerves, yes. You’ll be fine, Nirei-kun.”
Exasperated and amused all at once, you heave a sigh. If the boys are sniping at each other like this, you’ve got nothing to worry about. The normalcy eases the butterflies still floating around your stomach. So what if the other groups gossip about those rowdy TAMON boys? Better them being a little disruptive than considered rude and difficult to work with.
The tableau would make a great picture: Kiryu, eyes sparkling as he watches everything unfold. Suo, hands primly folded behind him, hair slicked back, ever-pleasant smile on his face. Sakura, teeth bared in a snarl, all bravado and irritation. Nirei, always the mediator, eyes wide and hands raised to ward off any further tension.
Silent, you fish your phone out of your pocket. Nothing wrong with taking a few memories of your own—easy fodder to tease the boys with next time they’re a handful during a shoot. You’re in the middle of adjusting the angle to fully capture everyone’s expressions when hushed whispers begin circulating the room.
Your thumb presses the shutter button automatically as you glance over your shoulder. No way everyone’s whispering about your noisy boys already, right? Ears straining, you pick out some of the hushed conversations.
“Is that—?”
“—heard he wasn’t coming back—”
“He was discharged a couple months ago—”
Lowering the phone, you look back at your boys. They’ve also caught on to the shift in atmosphere. Sakura no longer looks primed for a fight; the snarl has faded, replaced with a slight, thoughtful pout. Kiryu’s risen onto his tiptoes, head bobbing as he tries peering over the assembled crowd for a glimpse of whatever’s going on near the front of the room. Suo appears calm as ever, though you catch a faint hint of curiosity flashing in his eye.
“Nirei-kun? Do you know what they’re talking about?” You ask quietly, watching him fight the urge to reach for the notebook typically tucked away somewhere on his person. His enthusiasm and excessive knowledge are wonderful traits, but after an older idol caught a freshly-debuted Nirei frantically scribbling in his journal outside the Bofurin Entertainment building and mistook him for an obsessive fan, Umemiya-san cracked down on public displays of information gathering.
“If it’s who I think it is….didn’t think he’d turn up here,” the blond murmurs, lost in thought. “I’d heard he was active again, and planned on returning to public events by summer…” Nirei trails off at your puzzled expression and scratches the back of his neck.
“Ah, sorry! Most of what I know is based on second-hand knowledge. About a year ago, Shishitoren’s—” here, Nirei tilts his head in the direction of the other group, who are slowly making their way towards the crowded doors “—main vocalist, Wanijima Yugo-san, went on hiatus. The official statement cited health reasons, but plenty of rumors suggest he and the group leader were fighting over leadership style. Some of the chatter claims Wanijima-san spent time in a hospital. No one’s sure about what really happened, or what brought on his sudden reappearance.” Nirei gives a helpless shrug. Nothing irks him quite like not being able to sleuth out every detail of those he thinks are super cool.
You nod, slipping your phone back into your pants pocket. “Thanks, Nirei-kun.”
That name—*Wanijima Yugo—*strikes a familiar chord. While you kept up with popular bands and certainly had your favorites growing up, you never considered yourself a dedicated stan. Before landing in the industry yourself, you could count on one hand how many idols you could name. The music mattered more to you than the lifestyle.
However. Wanijima stuck out; known for his unique, baritone vocals, rebellious streak, and a reputation for being unfailing respectful, he quickly became one of the most famous working idols. Thinking back, now you recall the shockwaves radiating throughout the community after the announcement of his extended leave dropped. You’d just landed your contract with TAMON, but that kind of news is a big deal. Companies are loathe to admit there are cracks underneath their veneer of perfection.
Rustling fabric pulls you from your thoughts. Sakura tugs on the lapels of his jacket, brow still furrowed. “Sakura-san, you’re friendly with Togame-san. Has he mentioned anything to you?”
Their friendship, as unlikely as it first seemed, is sweet. After instantly—and loudly—disliking one another over some perceived slight, they’d cleared the air not long after. Sakura never offered up the details. All you know is one day he was stomping around backstage after performing at one of TAMON’s debut shows, muttering ‘Togame’s a bastard,’ and the next time you’d stopped by for a scheduled photoshoot, Kiryu had enthusiastically tattled about Sakura and Togame meeting up for lunch.
Sakura shakes his head. “Nothin.’ Not like we talk often.”
Kiryu’s lips part on an unspoken objection, pierced eyebrow raising in disbelief. Suo tilts his head, tassel earrings swaying like the harbingers of a biting remark. Both are prevented from restarting the earlier Sakura-antagonizing by the growing commotion; it seems louder, like it’s heading straight for you.
Your thumb again finds your ring, running along the cool silver for a few heartbeats before both hands seek out the familiar, grounding shape of your camera. You wouldn’t call the buzzing under your skin nerves. Apprehension, maybe. Like this unknown variable—no matter the constant praise for Wanijima’s supposed kindness—could potentially derail the entire evening. One ill-phrased comment, one scathing look…and all your excitement over being here, over meeting new people, over making new contacts, both for yourself and your boys, would disappear.
In the space of a blink, the members of Shishitoren are suddenly standing before you. They bow; you and TAMON return them on instinct. The murmurs die down, like the entire room is holding its breath for whatever comes next. A man steps forward—Wanijima Yugo in the flesh.
He’s tall, you note distantly, tilting your head back an inch or two to take in the rest of his appearance. Half of his silver hair is tied back in a small bun, leaving the rest to fall in soft, subtle waves against his neck. From this angle, you can just make out the beginnings of a braid running along his temples. A signature style of his, if you recall the scattered bits of information you’d once gathered from fansites correctly. You may never have been deeply invested, but you can admit to being curious.
Wanijima’s mouth curls. Not quite a smile, but there’s amusement tucked in the corners regardless. His lip ring shines in the overhead lights. Allegedly, he’d done the piercing himself, against company wishes. You wonder what kind of deal they struck to let him keep it in.
Like all the idols in attendance, he’s wearing a suit, the sleek black material highlighting his long limbs. Unlike everyone else, his jacket is draped carefully over one arm and the top two buttons of his white shirt are undone, revealing a hint of a silver chain around his neck. There’s an air of confidence about him, evident in the easy way he holds himself. You don’t detect any arrogance—he’s simply comfortable in his own skin.
“Good evening,” and oh, you knew his voice was smooth, but it’s another thing all together hearing it in person. “I’m Wanijima Yugo; it’s nice to meet you all.” Amber eyes cut briefly to Togame, who tugs uncomfortably at the collar of his suit. “Jo’s talked a lot about you.”
Sakura’s face twists, lips pursing into a pout. “The hell does that mean?” He grumbles, looking for all the world like a disgruntled child as he glares at Wanijima. “Sakura Haruka.”
Hiding the movement as merely adjusting your grip on the camera, you brush your arm against Sakura’s, hoping he understands the silent message: relax. It took months for him to feel comfortable around his own group members, let alone the dozens of managers and support staff floating around, including you. The fact he befriended Togame is a miracle in and of itself; hearing said friend has been gossiping must be setting off a dozen alarm bells.
What—or who—hurt you so deeply? The question burns just behind your rib cage, makes your heart ache every time it rises to the front of your mind.
His breathing hitches imperceptibly at your touch. Just a small, barely there pause on his inhale, there and gone with no else the wiser. You don’t imagine the way his bicep presses against you, the pressure faint but reassuring all the same.
Kiryu, standing on your other side, tilts his head. You feel the weight of his attention, know he’s caught the minimal contact. There’s multiple conversations brewing there; between you and Kiryu, between you and Sakura, between the three of you. Has Kiryu shared his suspicions with the others? Has anyone—under the guise of friendly teasing—asked Sakura?
The thought briefly sends something uneasy through you, before you firmly dismiss it. They’re silly, and chaotic, and prone to dramatics, but they’re not dumb. Even the hint of—well. If any remarks had been made, you would have heard about it by now.
Nirei’s exuberant tone brings you back to the present. He’s introducing himself; and, by the looks of it, gearing up to ask a dozen rapid fire questions. Suo smoothly steps in, offering up his name without his usual game of deflection. Kiryu follows suit, then expectant amber eyes fall on you.
Not quite amber, you think, noting how the light settles along his features. A shade lighter than Sakura’s honeyed tones; almost veering towards citrine in the harsh overhead fluorescents. They narrow a fraction under your scrutiny. Flushing with the realization you’ve been staring, you dip into another bow, firmly ignoring Kiryu’s muffled cough.
You straighten. Resist the urge to check everyone’s reactions, hoping they’ll brush off your odd behavior as a case of ill-timed nerves. You’d rather not see whatever Sakura’s face is doing right now—he’s perceptive, too, when he wants to be, especially when it comes to you. He has almost certainly picked up on both your reaction to Wanijima and Kiryu’s pointed glances.
Your voice doesn’t shake as you give your name. Wanijima nods, like he’s committing it to memory. “Congratulations on your recent comeback,” he says, gaze sweeping across TAMON, not a trace of derision in his tone. Warmth unfurls in your chest; all of that earlier apprehension over a newcomer seems silly now. Plenty of reports cited him as being one of the most genuine idols in the industry. It’s relieving to have those statements confirmed after a mere handful of minutes interacting with him.
Your boys must feel similarly; some of the tension melts out of them, replaced with obvious pride. Sakura immediately flushes an endearing shade of red. “A-anyways!” He splutters, instead of shouting a load of dismissive, self-deprecating nonsense. “What did Togame halfta say about me, huh?”
The man in question smiles, eyes turning into little crescents, entirely unaffected by the outburst. Another boy—who’s been bouncing on his toes since he arrived, mousy brown curls flopping across his forehead with every movement—can no longer remain silent. “Hiiiii, Sakura-chan! Wani-chan’s back!” He punctuates this last with an aggressive slap against Wanijima’s chest.
Biting back a laugh, you try and fail to completely hide your amusement. At least TAMON isn’t the only rowdy group in attendance. Wanijima takes the hits in stride, expression fond as he sets a brotherly hand atop the excited boy’s shoulder. “Choji, let’s not wrinkle our suits before we take our pictures, okay?”
Choji—you need to figure out if that’s his last name or his first before you address him directly—complies easily, linking his fingers behind his head. “Wani-chan’s the one we told you about, Sakura-chan! He—”
Whatever explanation Choji was about to offer is lost as a harried looking assistant, the mic of her headset flipped up, barges into the conversation. “TAMON and….,” she briefly consults her clipboard, “SSTN?” There’s a chorus of murmured assent. “Good, good. Time for you all to line up. The event begins in five.”
She looks at the assembled idols, then fixates on you and your camera. “All photographers need to be in position now. Didn’t you hear us give final warning?”
Mortification creeps up the back of your neck. No, you did not hear, too busy meeting Wanijima and discovering a hidden side to Sakura’s life as an idol. You swallow, instinctively fiddling with the cloth strap that suddenly feels a hundred pounds. “I—”
“She was just going over some last minute poses with us,” Sakura interjects at the same time. Your eyes fly to him; the blush is gone, along with any trace of good humor. He’s not aggressive, just firm in a way that could simply be a young, cocky idol letting his first taste of fame go straight to his head.
Kiryu dips into a shallow bow beside you. “We apologize for any inconvenience,” he adds effortlessly. “Wait for us out there!” Cheerful, he holds up a heart with his thumb and forefinger.
The assistant looks one second away from rolling her eyes. “Let’s go.” She flips down the mic, spins on her heel, and starts walking, speaking too low and fast for you to catch everything, though you do hear straggler and late.
You’ve worked hard to get here; you refuse to allow one honest mistake to ruin this experience. “It was nice to meet you.” Bowing first to Wanijima and SSTN, you then face your boys. Nirei offers and encouraging smile, as does Suo. Kiryu winks. Sakura remains focused on you, tracking each of your hesitant steps backward.
Leaving him without offering some kind of reassurance feels wrong. Like it will set off an explosion born from the care he has no practice in showing. “Thank you,” you whisper, for him and him alone, before turning your back and scurrying after the irritated assistant.
You don’t see the restraining hand Nirei fists in the back of Sakura’s shirt. You don’t hear Suo’s noncommittal hum and Kiryu’s heavy sigh. You miss the brief looks exchanged between Wanijima and Choji and Togame, a conversation held without words.
All you do see, when TAMON steps out onto the raised stage, black suits stark against the white backdrop bearing Updraft’s logo, is a group of boys who smile like they have nowhere else to go but up. And you also see, in the instant between their first pose and the flash of cameras, the relief warring with something like satisfaction rippling across Sakura's face when he promptly finds you among the crowd.
Summary: After the crew splits up you settle down on Bogano. Cal promises to visit at some point...he's about four years late. You're angry, but you bring him inside and learn things you never thought could be real.
Genre: Fluff, smut, angst if you squint real hard
CW: Fem!Reader, she/her pronouns, no use of y/n, use of pet names (baby and sweetheart by Cal, Red and baby by you), Healer!Reader (has force healing), Reader calls Cal 'Red' and he lowkey loses his mind, whimpering Cal Kestis because...hot, brief Sub!Cal, idiots in love, unprotected p in v (it's for the plot, don't follow this fics example!!), creamp!e (I will not apologize), aftercare ofc, Reader is a bit violent and Cal thinks it's hot (he's a freak), Cal has a happy trail because I said so, possible ooc Cal?? Idk I think its accurate enough, I think that's it???
Word Count: 4.8k
A/N: Have been stuck writing a lot of Cal fics after finishing the games. They have me in a chokehold, as does he. I've written a lot for him and I'm planning on posting them all at once so...look out for those if you're interested!! There aren't a lot of Cal fics so this is my contribution 💕💖💕😋😋
.𖥔 ݁ ˖🪐.𖥔 ݁ ˖
You stand around the holotable with the rest of the crew, eyes watery as you hold back tears. You glance at Cal more than anyone else, unsure how you’re going to leave without him. “You can have the Mantis, kid.” Greez says suddenly, eyes locked on Cal.
“What? Seriously?” He asks with wide eyes.
“Yeah…what I can’t be nice now?” He huffs and Merrin smirks.
“You can…it is just very unusual.” Everyone chuckles at that except for Greez. He suddenly walks back into the cockpit, coming back with something in his hands.
“Speaking of me being nice…” He trails off as he hands you the object wrapped in fabric. “I got this for ‘ya.”
“For me?” You ask with sparkling eyes, looking down at the heavy item.
“As a sort of ‘goodbye gift,’ you know, so you don’t forget me.” He smiles and you smile back.
“I could never forget you, Greezy Money.” You tease, but your words remain true.
“Yeah, yeah.” He waves you off. “Just open it, would ‘ya?” You can see how nervous he is so you quickly pull back the fabric, revealing a pink blaster. You gasp as you stare down at it, holding it in one hand as you feel the grip.
“Greez…” You breathe, still staring at the blaster.
“You mentioned wanting a pink blaster to match all your other pink stuff…I figured it may be a bit expensive to get on your own so I-“ He stops, hands wringing together. “Do you like it?”
“Greez.” You huff out a disbelieving laugh. “I love it…I can’t believe you remembered that.” You look back at him with tear-stained cheeks. “This is incredible, Greez, thank you.” You finally kneel down and pull him into a tight hug.
“Cere and Merrin helped me pick out the right shades to paint it.” He says, pointing at the two girls instead of taking all the credit.
“Thank you guys too then.” You smile at them and they nod, Merrin giving you a gentle ‘of course.’
You’re the last one to leave that night. Everyone else had said their goodbyes and left for their respective planets, while you stayed with Cal a bit longer in the Mantis. You’re leaning against him in the lounging area, feet up on the table since Greez isn’t here to yell at you for it.
“You can still stay with me if you want. You know that right?” Cal mutters, staring off into the distance.
“I know, Cal.” You sigh. “I want to but…we’re going different ways. You want to continue going on missions and working to stop the Empire. I just want to explore and settle down somewhere quiet. If I stayed with you I’d only be in your way.”
“You’re never in my way.” He quickly retorts with a frown. You stare back at him with an exasperated expression.
“We both know that’s a lie, Cal.” You shake your head as he frowns. “Look…even though I’m going off on my own, that doesn’t change anything. We’re still going to be best friends and you can visit me anytime you want…you know, when you have a break from saving the galaxy.” Cal chuckles and you grin at him.
“Promise?” He asks quietly, holding out his pinky to you.
“Promise.” You wrap your pinky around his and shake them together once to ‘seal the deal.’ “And you know I never break pinky promises.” Cal nods with a smile.
“Oh, I know.” He still remembers the one time a few months ago, when he finally realized how seriously you took pinky promises.
“I don’t want you getting hurt!” Cal yells, eyes wide and frantic as he looks at you.
“I won’t get hurt! I can handle myself just fine!”
“I know you can, that isn’t the problem!”
“Then what is?!” You huff out, hands flailing around.
“I don’t know how many Troopers there will be, or how many droids, or even beasts. I can’t risk you getting hurt while I’m distracted…I wouldn’t forgive myself.” You frown at him.
“Cal, I swear to you, I’ll be fine.” You whisper.
“Pinky promise me.” He says, holding his pinky out.
“What?” You ask, eyes widening.
“If you swear you won’t get hurt, then pinky promise me.” You take a step back and scowl at him.
“You did that on purpose.” You huff.
“Yes, I did, because I know you can’t guarantee that. You said you never break pinky promises so…” He trails off, waving his pinky finger before letting his hand fall back at his side.
“I never should have told you that, now you’re using it against me.”
“I’m not using it against you.” He says roughly, stepping forward to rest his hands on your upper arms. “I’m using it to keep you safe.”
“Okay.” You whisper, unable to argue when he’s being so sweet.
“I’ll be right back.” Cal blurts out, standing up abruptly and walking back to his room. You wait patiently on the couch, looking over at the holotable and getting lost in the colors. You look back up when you hear him walk over, finding him holding his old lightsaber.
You jerk your head back up to meet his gaze, eyes wide. “Cal?” You whisper.
“I didn’t want to give it to you earlier and steal Greez’s moment.” He laughs shyly.
“Cal, there’s no way I can take this.” You say, standing up in front of him.
“I want you to take it.”
“It was your master’s…it’s so important to you!”
“You’re important to me.” He says it so smoothly, with such finality. He says it like it’s undeniably true, like you’re more important than everything else.
“Cal…”
“Please.” He pushes it forward and into your hands. You pout down at it, fingers smoothing over the newly welded switch.
“You’re abusing your power. You know I can’t ever say no to you.”
“Yeah, I do know.” He smirks and you roll your eyes, wiping away a stray tear.
“I should get going.” You whisper, almost inaudible.
“Right.” He nods glumly. He pulls you into a bone-crushing hug and you eagerly reciprocate. You stand there for a while before you finally pull away, pressing a barely there kiss to his cheek.
“I’ll see you soon, Red.” You whisper, sending shivers down his entire body. He always loved it when you called him that, the way your voice dropped every time you did. You reserved that nickname for private moments, when you were both alone.
“Soon.” He parrots, watching you walk to your own ship and fly out of the hangar.
***
You settle down on Bogano after a few months of exploring. You visited Cere on Jedha and went digging for a while. You found several old blasters and lightsabers to add to your collection. After that you visited Greez on Koboh and had a few drinks at his cantina.
After visiting Merrin on the planet she’d be exploring at the time, you went back to Bogano. You built a small house that took almost a year to completely finish. You loved it on Bogano. It was quiet and peaceful, devoid of any piece of the Empire or other people who could turn on you.
You bonded easily with the animals there, always having a way with them. You even managed to tame some of the Oggdo’s down in the swamps. You were mostly close with all the Boglings, spending your days running barefoot with them.
You also gained the trust of the Binog, whom you built your house right next to. He was a sweet thing, very docile and mostly slept when he wasn’t accepting belly rubs from you.
You were happy, incredibly so. But no matter how good of a day you had, something always felt wrong. It felt as if something was missing. It wasn’t until you remembered the second lightsaber sitting beside your own on a shelf, that you realized the problem.
Everything felt pointless when you couldn’t share it with him. It all felt so empty and meaningless, because he wasn’t there with you. This realization sent you into a downward spiral upon remembering that he hadn’t visited you. He hasn’t even bothered to call you for the last four years.
You try to meditate after that, sitting crisscrossed in your backyard. It worked well, not perfectly, but well. You spent almost the entire day in your yard, mind beautifully blank as you shut your eyes.
Today is no different, sitting in the backyard as Boglings jump around you and chirp at each other. You’re so calm and relaxed you don’t notice his presence. You only feel him after he’s rounded the corner of your house and stepped into the yard.
Your eyes fly open and you hold a hand out without a second thought. Your lightsaber is inside so you adapt. You watch him fly several feet and land on a poorly placed rock. The familiar flash of red hair and his pained groan makes your heart drop.
“Blast!” You run over and kneel beside him, helping him sit up. “I’m so sorry! I didn’t know it was you!” You panic as you scan him for injuries.
“You’re getting really good at that.” Cal jokes with a chuckle, which makes him wince.
“Where are you hurt?” You ask quickly, tugging at his arm that’s laced around his side.
“Nowhere, I’m fine.” He says, quickly standing to his feet. You have to catch him when he starts to sway, almost falling over.
“Don’t lie to me right now.” You warn. “I’m already angry with you, don’t make it worse.”
“Why are you angry with me? I just got here.” He says with a pout. You scowl as you grab the sleeve of his jacket, leading him inside.
“Yeah, exactly.”
“What?” He only seems more confused by your response, groaning as he falls into one of your wooden chairs.
“My stars, men are always so blasted oblivious.” You huff in annoyance, pulling up another chair to sit in front of him.
“I’m not oblivious.”
“That’s exactly what an oblivious person would say.” You retort, eyes shut as you take a deep breath and focus. “I knew you were lying. You have a broken rib.” You frown and shake your head. “I swear I didn’t mean to throw you that hard.” You reach forward to pull up his shirt and he quickly grabs your wrist.
“What’re you doing?” He asks, making your brows furrow.
“Healing you? We’ve done this dozens of times.” Cal nods slowly and lets you go, apologizing quietly. “Why are you being so weird? I’ve seen you shirtless countless times.” You shake your head at him.
“It’s been a while.” Is all he replies with. You frown as you pull at his shirt again, having helped him discard his jacket.
“What does that even mean-“ You stop when you pull his shirt up.
“That’s what I mean.” He mumbles, looking to the side with pink cheeks. You stare for a lot longer than you intend to, hypnotized by the sight. His shoulders are broader, arms thicker and strong, still littered with those beautiful freckles. His stomach is hard and toned, looking almost like a statue. It’s what you find below that though, that really drives you crazy. A very obvious happy trail, running down and disappearing under his pants.
You swallow the lump in your throat and finally pull your eyes away, hand resting over his side. He jumps a little at the touch and you apologize.
“Sorry…for staring.” You manage to choke out.
“It’s fine.” Cal mutters, still avoiding your eyes with pink cheeks.
“I’m gonna have to…keep my hand here for a while.”
“Yeah, I know.” He’s still looking away from you.
“Okay, spill.” You say suddenly. “Are you acting all weird because you’re embarrassed or what?”
“Partially.”
“What’s the other part?”
“I’d rather not answer that.” He winces and you can’t tell if it’s from his rib or the situation.
“Well, you don’t have to be embarrassed.” You say gently. “It’s been years, obviously you’re going to look different. I definitely do.”
“That’s not the same.” He replies mindlessly.
“How?” You ask with knotted brows.
“It’s not just my face, my entire body changed.” He says quietly.
“And you think mine didn’t?” You ask, head tilting to the side as you watch him.
“Well…yeah. I mean…not that I was looking! I just- uh-“ He panics and trails off, cheeks tinting darker by the second.
“I guess it’s hard to tell with these baggy clothes.” You say, looking down at your attire. “Hold on.” You say, pulling your hand away as you stand up. You pull your sweater off and pull your oversized shirt over your head, tossing both onto the table. You hold your arms out a bit as you stand in front of him, left in your bra.
“See?” You sigh as you sit back in your chair, hand returning to his side. You look up at him and find his gaze locked on your chest. You give him a few moments but he still doesn’t look away. “Okay…I know I stared at you too but you’re starting to make me feel like they look weird or something.” You say, glancing down at your chest then back at him.
“What?” He seems to snap out of a trance as he meets your eyes again. “Oh-“ His eyes widen. “Oh, no! No, they don’t look weird! They look-“ He stops himself, glancing back down and making you roll your eyes.
“You’re supposed to add an adjective after that.” You tease. “You’re doing a real bad job at comforting me, Red.” The nickname falling past your lips makes something inside him snap.
“Perfect.” He whispers, meeting your gaze. His eyes are dark with something you’re too scared to name.
“Huh?” You ask, eyes wide as your head jerks back in shock.
“The adjective.” He says, voice dipping lower. “You’re perfect.”
“Oh.”
“You’ve always been perfect.” His eyes shine with an adoration you always longed to see from him.
“I’ve always thought you were perfect too.” You say softly. “Unfairly so.” Cal chuckles as he leans closer to you, face inches from yours.
“Is that so?” He smirks and something in your stomach flutters.
“Am I reading this whole thing wrong?” You ask anxiously.
“Depends…how are you reading it?”
“That you…like me and want to kiss me right now.”
“I do want to kiss you, but ‘like’ isn’t a strong enough word for how I feel about you.” Your heart jumps at that, thighs clenching together involuntarily.
“Well…you’ve kept me waiting long enough, Red. You gonna make me wait even longer?” You lean in just a bit closer and he laughs.
“I wouldn’t dare.” He grins and connects your lips, hand gripping the edge of the table. You can hear it creak under the force of his hold, and you know exactly what he’s doing, or more accurately, what he’s trying to stop himself from doing.
You know Cal Kestis better than he knows himself, even in a moment such as this. This is completely uncharted territory for you, yet you can still read him like a book. You reach over with your free hand, grabbing his and moving it over your left breast.
He groans into your mouth and squeezes, making you whimper into his mouth. You tilt your head to the side, deepening the kiss as his tongue slips past your lips. When you pull away to catch your breath and release another quiet whimper, Cal seems to lose all his restraint.
He quickly grabs you and pulls you onto his lap with an almost animalistic groan. You squeak in surprise and your hand falls away from his side.
“Cal, your rib.”
“Don’t care.” He drags you back in and captures your lips with his own. You sigh into his mouth and tangle your hands in his hair. You like it like this, longer and windswept.
Cal’s hands are gripping the fat of your waist, grinding you down against him. You whine into his mouth, pulling away when you can’t stifle your sounds anymore. You start to move your hips on your own, taking what you want, and what you want is him…this is a fact that drives him crazy.
“Cal?” You ask breathily.
“Hm?” He hums in response, waiting for you to ask. You used that tone you always use when you want to ask him something…he also knows you better than you know yourself.
“Are you planning on doing this again…with me? Or…?” You ask shyly.
“This and a lot more, if you let me…preferably forever.” He says with a rumbling voice.
“Forever sounds perfect.” You whisper, lips grazing his.
“I agree.” You kiss him roughly and desperately, saying all the things you can’t form with words. You pull away suddenly after raking your hands down his torso. They stop at his happy trail, tracing the hair with your fingertips until he whimpers.
“One more thing.”
“Uh-huh.” He gasps.
“You ever get rid of this and I will literally kill you.”
“Like it that much?” He teases with a smirk.
“Drives me crazy.” You mumble, still brushing your fingers along the trail of hair as you lean in to press kisses to his neck. “Gets me so wet for you, Red.” You whisper near his ear before biting his jaw. He groans and throws his head back, eyes rolling.
“You have to stop calling me that.” He grunts, hips bucking up instinctively as he seeks more of your touch.
“You don’t like it?”
“I like it too much.”
“Oh yeah?” You pull away to meet his eyes, pupils blown wide and eyelids hooded as he stares back at you.
“You keep calling me that and I won’t last very long here.” He grunts and bucks his hips up again when you hook your fingers in the waistband of his pants.
“Just because of a nickname?” You tease, reaching inside his pants and taking him in your hand. He gasps at the touch, head thrown back as he whines for you. He bucks into your hand as his grip on your waist tightens.
“That nickname’s been driving me crazy for four years, sweetheart.” He stutters out through moans and grunts.
“Stars.” You breathe, panting like you don’t know how to get air back into your lungs. “You call me that again and I’ll be the one who won’t last.”
“What?” He says with a smirk. “Sweetheart?” You moan and tighten your grip around his dick, making him whimper.
“Don’t get so cocky, Red.” You say back. Cal’s breathing falters as his hips buck up relentlessly into your hand.
“I-I can’t…” He chokes out. “You really need to stop.”
“Do you want me to stop?”
“N-No, but-“
“I think it’s incredibly hot that you’re this close already.” You whisper into his ear. “So I’m gonna keep going…and you’re going to cum for me. You got it, Red?” Your words make that knot in his stomach draw tighter.
Cal pants through more pathetic whimpers, jaw slack as he nods mindlessly to your orders.
“Such a good boy, aren’t you Red?” You whisper into his neck. These are the words that finally push him over the edge, making him spill into your hand with a strangled whine. “Do you like when I call you a ‘good boy?’” You ask with a smirk, pulling away from his neck to look at him.
“Don’t you dare make fun of me right now.” He warns as he desperately tries to catch his breath.
“I wasn’t making fun. I was asking for confirmation so I could make a mental note…make sure to call you it again.” Cal gasps when you finally release him from your grip.
“Then yes, I do.” He replies, watching you with hooded eyes. You lift your hand to your mouth without hesitation, licking his spend off your palm and fingers. He watches you with a slack jaw, eyes wide with lust. You finally finish licking it all away and look at him, brows furrowing.
“What?” You ask, head tilting to the side.
“Just come here.” He growls, pulling you in by the nape of your neck and connecting your lips. He tastes himself on your tongue and he groans.
“I need you.” You pant, pulling away from his lips.
“In what way, sweetheart?” You whine at the name and squeeze your eyes shut tightly.
“I need you inside of me…please.” You whisper.
“Yeah?” He asks with a smirk, head tilted as he stares back at you.
“Stars…when did you get this confident?” You say, cheeks flushed.
“I’m not quite sure…but I like that it makes you react like this.” He grins.
“Cal…” You sigh. “Please…don’t make me ask again.”
“You didn’t have to ask at all.” He mutters. “I was already planning on doing that.”
“Well hurry up, will you?”
“You want me that badly, huh?”
“No, I *need* you that badly. I’ve waited four blasted years for this, and I was entirely sure you had a thing for Merrin and not me. So if you don’t hurry up and fuck me I may just stab you.”
“Seriously?” Cal asks, looking shocked. “You thought I was in love with Merrin?”
“I didn’t say ‘love.’” You breathe. “Are you in love with me?” Your eyes widen.
“I said ‘like’ wasn’t a strong enough word…thought that said enough on its own.” You watch him with a gaping mouth. “Who’s the oblivious one now?”
“Don’t bring that up right now.” You scowl. “I don’t want to be angry, I want to have mind-numbing sex with you.”
“I can make that happen.”
“Then get to it already.” You sigh and kiss him. He picks you up and stands to his feet, making you gasp and pull away. “Cal, your rib is still broken!” You slap his chest.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He shakes his head and kisses you again, successfully distracting you. “Where’s your bedroom?” He asks between kisses.
“Mm, back and-to the right.” You say between kisses. Cal carries you back to your room and throws you onto your bed before crawling on top of you. He cages you in with his strong arms and you swoon.
“I still don’t know why you’re mad at me.” He mumbles, kissing down your neck.
“I said not now, Cal.” You warn with a rough voice.
“Tell me later?”
“If you’re lucky.” You reply.
“And how do I up my chances of being lucky?” He asks as he bites down to your collarbone.
“Hurry up and give me that mind-numbing sex you promised me.” You say.
“I can never say no to you.” Cal sighs, wrapping his lips around your nipple after pulling your bra down. You arch your back and keen, eyes shut blissfully. He makes quick work of your pants and underwear while you’re distracted by his mouth.
You don’t open your eyes until his fingers are suddenly running through your folds. You gasp and buck your hips, looking down at him. He lifts his head to meet your eyes, pressing gentle kisses to your cheek and forehead.
“Cal.” You gasp. He doesn’t hum this time, because he knows you don’t really have anything else to say…you just want to say his name, and he loves hearing you say it. His fingers slide into you with ease, your slick making it so easy. He hooks his fingers up when he thrusts them inside of you, making your eyes roll back.
“Stars!” You cry out as your hips buck up, back arching as you already start to lose your mind. “So good.” You whine.
“I know.” He whispers against your neck. “So warm, sweetheart. I can’t wait to be inside you.” He says, his own hips grinding down into the bed.
“Now, please.” You beg. “Want you inside now.”
“Are you sure?” He asks, pulling away to look at you, his free hand resting against your cheek.
“I appreciate you asking and being sweet about it, but I need you to cut it out and put your cock inside me before I burn this entire house down.” Cal smirks at you, head shaking.
“Always so violent.” He mumbles, pulling his pants down and off before lining himself up. He grabs your thighs and spreads them wider, wrapping them around his hips.
“I’m a very violent person.” You say.
“I know.” He whispers, slowly pushing his head past your entrance. “I’ve always thought it was incredibly sexy.”
“Will it still be sexy if you’re the victim?” You ask through pants, head thrown back as he pushes deeper inside of you.
“Definitely.” Cal whispers back.
“You’re such a f-freak.” You stutter out, jaw going slack.
“You’re one to talk, sweetheart.” You clench around him at the name and he groans, mouth hung open as he looks down to where you both connect.
“Faster, Red, please.” You beg mindlessly. Cal does exactly as you ask, because he always does. His hips snap up and force a high-pitched whine from low in your throat. Cal becomes determined to draw out every possible sound from you, and to make you scream for him.
His hips thrust up with a relentless pace, smacking against your ass and filling the room with lewd sounds. He pulls your thighs up and pushes them toward your chest, a position that forces his cock deeper and successfully makes you scream.
“Cal!” You cry out, tears trailing down your cheeks. Your head is thrown back, eyes screwed shut as you moan for him.
“Can feel how close you are.” Cal mumbles, face buried in the crook of your neck. “Cum for me, sweetheart, please.” He whines, hips bucking up frantically. His hand trails down to rub clumsy circles over your clit.
“Cal!” You scream. “Cal I-“
“I know, baby, I got you…come on.” He talks you through it with that gentle voice, it immediately sends you over the edge. Your vision goes white as your eyes screw shut, legs shaking and back arching. “So good, sweetheart, that’s it.” His moans quickly turn into pathetic little whimpers as he gets closer, his pace erratic as he chases his release.
“Cum inside me, Red.” You whisper, hand tangled in his hair. Your words push him over the edge, and he does exactly as you request with more strangled whimpers and gasps of your name. He rests on top of you as you both catch your breath, panting until your breathing evens out.
Cal moves to press a kiss to your temple, hand moving up to brush your hair out of your face.
“You okay?”
“Very.” You reply with a blissed out smile.
“Mind-numbing enough for you?” He asks with a smirk, kissing your cheeks and down your neck.
“Mhm. Don’t think I can form a single coherent thought right now.” You say, eyes fluttering closed.
“But you can still use words like ‘coherent,’ makes perfect sense.” You nod at him, humming but not really hearing him. “Come on.” He finally pulls out of you and comforts you when you whine. “We need to get cleaned up.”
“Tired.” You whine.
“We can sleep after we clean up.” Cal smiles and pulls you up, carrying you toward your bathroom.
“You didn’t visit.” You mumble, making his brows furrow as he sets you down on top of the sink counter.
“What?”
“That’s why I was mad at you…” You say, eyes still closed. “You didn’t visit me…didn’t even call me. Thought you-“ You pause to yawn, head swaying with exhaustion. “Found better friends, didn’t need me anymore.” Your words make his heart ache.
“I always need you.” He says softly. “I always will.” He runs a hand through your hair. “I never stopped thinking about you. I’ve been…very distracted, and I’m sorry for that. But I’m here now.”
“Yeah, you are.” You smile and rest your head against his chest. “I love you.” You whisper as your breathing slows. Cal finishes cleaning you both up and carries you back to bed, lying beside you and pulling the blankets up over the both of you.
He watches you sleep peacefully before falling asleep himself.
A/n: I love this so much, Cal is a very protective boy even though he is reckless himself.
Also I’m debating if I should write a smutty part two with the reader and Cal going at it on his work bench as he holds them in place with the force.
You tended to take things that didn’t belong to you, it was how you met Cal in the first place and ever since then you two have grown rather close up to a point where you two would often bicker about each others safety and of course you two were bickering now.
You had thought it would be about stealing one of his ponchos. It’s not like you could help it, they were so soft and it smelt so much like him. It was the one thing you latched one whenever he went out on his own.
But it wasn’t about that, it was about your safety and how reckless you’ve been getting.
‘Like he should talk’
“Me!! Seriously Cal!”
“You need to be more careful! What if you gotten hurt! Or worse! What if you died!” Cal snapped, he didn’t mean to sound so heated but seeing you fall off that cliff face scared him.
If Mirrian hadn’t caught you, we’ll he rather not think about finding your broken body.
Rolling your eyes you crossed your arms over your chest. “I’m always careful Cal! It’s not my fault a piece of the cliff face crumbled besides! You’re the one who’s constantly putting himself in danger. Do you have any idea how that might feel for us! For everyone that cares about you!” Shouting back, you didn’t even notice that he stepped closer to you.
And then he was kissing you, a bruising kiss. His arms wrapping around your hips, fingers moving up your back and soon you found yourself returning the kiss.
Your fingers in his hair, tugging at the red strands, the Jedi shuddering from your touch as you felt his tongue glide over yours. Your hand then moving down to his chest feeling the muscles.
It did not take long for Cal to have you lifted on his work bench, your legs wrapped tightly around his waist feeling his arousal pressing against your core. A small whimper escaping your lips. His hands sliding under the your shirt, under his poncho as his fingers face your breast a squeeze though pulling back he looked you over.
Pupils dilated, he looked you over licking his lips as it finally hit him what you were wearing. “Is that my poncho?”
With your own lips swollen you shrugged your shoulders. “Maybe! I like the way it makes me feel safe…what are you going to do about it Cal?”
Leaning in, Cal gave you a smirk as he let his thumb glide across your bottom lip. A light gasp escaping your lips feeling yourself being held in place by the force.
-[ AFTER ]: after having spent the night before together, the sender wakens next to the receiver, and, gazing at them, tells them that they love them.
A/n: just a little blurb with some implied smut! I’m on break and I’m just mentally drained so I can only write little prompts.
It was rather quiet on the ship, you had meant to slip away after Cal had fallen asleep but it felt too good to be in his arms.
You never expected to have sex with the red head, but the adrenaline was running high between you both and thankfully the crew was away in the cantina and the Mantis was empty.
You remember his hands over you body, tearing at your clothes. You remember how good it felt when he entered you, when he kissed you. You felt your cheeks warm at the thought but then he started to stir.
You waited for the always talk, for him to just kick you out. You were dreading what was going to happen now, now that you actually realized your feelings for the Jedi when you didn’t even know how he felt.
Turning your head you finally noticed that he was awake, that he was watching you. Throat dry you wanted to say something until you felt Cal run his fingers down your arm.
“Last night made me realize something.”
Swallowing the sudden lump in your throat you waited for the rejection, the walk of shame if you could even call it that.
“What?”
But it never came.
Instead you felt a soft brush of his lips against the nape of your neck, a squeeze of your hips as he pulled you close to his chest.
“That I love you.”
You were happy your back was turned to the man, you didn’t want him to see the sudden tears in your eyes as you turned your head. Your fingers weaving through his own giving them a squeeze.
“You don’t know how happy I am to hear that. I love you too Cal.”
Relaxing his body, Cal nestled in close to you. Not caring if the crew might come back at any moment to catch you both. He could handle the teasing but right now he was content.
Content because he finally felt like he had peace thanks to you and the love you both shared.
Warnings: nsfw, no outbreak au, age gap, older reader (early 30s), sw, rookie Leon cums too fast, tw!getting mugged, guinea pigs, unprotected sex
part 6
Summary: Leon feeds you strawberries. Luis feeds you dollar bills. This is getting really messy, holy shit. Not a love triangle
a/n: Thank you for all your support and everyone leaving comments! I always love to hear what you think. I appreciate you <3 This is again so very 90s. People are smoking indoors.
word count: 4.2k
Masterlist
If someone had asked you what an ideal Sunday looked like to you this time last year, you probably wouldn’t have come up with "a police officer ten years younger than you feeding you strawberries in bed after absolutely rocking your world with his mouth and cock". But here you were. Life was unpredictable sometimes.
You were sprawled out on Leon’s chest, taking a bite from the juiciest strawberry of all time, eyes fluttering shut with a content sigh.
Leon chuckled, his chest vibrating under your palm and cheek. He grabbed another strawberry and brought his arm down beside the bed.
Guinevere’s head shot up and she balanced on her hind legs to snatch the treat from Leon’s hands. You had placed a little mat beside your bed for her. She just liked to hang out there sometimes, be close to you. Especially if she was being spoiled like that by the man in your bed.
“You know how they say people and their pets mirror each other and become alike?” he said and you smiled.
“We were always alike, me and her.” You opened your mouth, looking at him from the corner of your eye, silently asking for another strawberry.
He chuckled again, doing as you asked. “That was the last one. I’m all out.”
You savoured the last taste of strawberry, humming softly before moving up on Leon’s chest, pressing a kiss to his full lips.
“Mh, strawberry,” he murmured.
You smiled, kissing him again, open mouthed and a little more heated this time. He sighed into the kiss, tongue brushing against yours. You propped yourself up beside his head, legs either side of his hips, grinding your bare pussy over his cock.
He let out a content groan, grabbing your ass and pressing you down on him. Your breath hitched and you deepened the kiss, feeling him get hard again between your folds, right where you wanted him to be.
Leon pressed his forehead against yours. “I think we’re all out of condoms, too.”
You chuckled. You and the rookie really tore through packets of them like there was no tomorrow.
“I’m on birth control,” you whispered, trailing kisses along his jawline and bringing yourself up into a seated position.
Leon moaned softly, holding on to your hips, watching your chest rise and fall with your breaths. “Are you sure?”
You bit your lip, rolling your hips against him, nodding. His mouth fell open ever so slightly and you lifted yourself up a little higher, lining him up with your entrance. You were still wet from the rounds before, spreading your slickness all over the thick head of his cock, before sinking down slowly.
Leon drew in a sharp breath. “Oh fuck, that feels so good.”
You mewled softly, feeling your walls stretch around him. You really fit him like a glove, it was perfect.
Palming your tits, you started rolling your hips, grinding your clit against him, the friction so delicious, it made you flutter around his cock.
“Oh shit, that’s almost too good,” Leon breathed, his brows knitting together in helpless pleasure. “Oh my god.”
You agreed. Taking the rookie without anything separating you was an almost transcendental experience.
He thrust up to meet you at the next roll of your hips and you gasped as the tip of him kissed your cervix.
“Oh fuck,” he panted, his fingers digging deep into the soft flesh of your hips.
You leaned back, propping yourself up on his thighs, gliding your pussy all over the entire length of him until he almost slipped out all the way, circling your hips slowly around the tip of his cock, throwing your head back in pure bliss.
Leon whined and his thumb found your clit, caressing it.
You let out a low moan, bringing your head forward to watch the way he slid in and out of you, his cock glistening with your juices. The sight of it was even more obscene than the feeling of it. He was so god damn big.
“Holy shit,” Leon groaned, breath coming ragged. “Wait, slow down, oh fuck.” He whimpered and wrapped an arm around you, halting your movements.
He sat up, burying his head in the crook of your neck, desperately trying to catch his breath.
“Are you okay?” you asked, running a hand through his hair.
He nodded. “Yeah,” he breathed, swallowing hard.
You rutted against him, desperate for more, holding on to his shoulders as you started bouncing on his cock, obscene squelching sounds filling the bedroom.
Little feet raced over the hardwood floor back into the living room and you chuckled.
Thank you, Guinevere, for giving us some privacy, you thought, as a lewd moan slipped past your lips.
“Oh fuck, yes, oh my god, yes,” Leon panted, his mouth finding your nipples, sucking on them, as he pressed his forehead against your chest. “Mh.” He let out a strangled whimper, gripping your waist tighter, biceps flexing.
"Leon," you moaned, knowing he fucking adored it when you said his name like that. He groaned into your chest and you felt yourself clench down on him as you took him deeper, harder, feeling him press into your cervix, rubbing along it.
“Ah, fuck, oh my god,” Leon whined, letting out a high pitched moan and twitching inside you. “Ah, no, wait, slow down, no, I don’t wanna, ah—” He shuddered beneath you, pushing up into you with sloppy thrusts accompanied by a deep guttural groan, his cheek pressed against your tits. “Oh fuck, oh no.”
He cried out, gripping you tightly, rutting into you like a man possessed, before he stilled, his cheeks becoming red hot.
“Leon?” you asked and he avoided your gaze.
“I’m so sorry,” he whispered, trying to regain composure. “I don’t know what— oh fuck, I’m so sorry. Without a condom, it’s just— you feel way too good.”
You chuckled softly, cupping his cheeks and forced him to look up at you, his blue puppy eyes full of shame.
“I— that was my first time, I didn’t know it was gonna be like that. I wasn’t prepared,” he whined, a pained expression on his face.
You captured his lips in a soft kiss, a warm fuzzy feeling spreading through you.
“So I did pop your cherry after all,” you murmured, nudging his nose with yours.
“Kinda,” he confessed. “I’ve never done it without a condom until now.”
You kissed him again and he hummed against your lips. “Why did nobody ever tell me how much better that feels? Oh my god. Your pussy is from heaven,” he murmured and you chuckled.
“I don’t think anyone has called my vagina celestial before,” you said, biting back a grin.
“I find that hard to believe,” Leon replied, looking up at you. “And you’re so fucking beautiful.”
You went rigid and shook your head. “Don’t.”
“What?” he asked, clearly puzzled.
“Every guy at the club calls me beautiful all day. It’s like that’s the only thing they can come up with. It makes me feel like I’m at work.”
Leon nodded, silence stretching between you both.
“You’re also really gentle, even though you pretend to be mean sometimes,” he whispered and you stared at him, his chin resting on your breasts, blue eyes wide and honest. “And you’re really funny.”
Your breath caught in your throat, lips parting.
“And you crinkle your nose when you’re thinking really hard about something. Guinea pigs most of the time.”
You blinked, an involuntary smile tugging at your lips.
“And you smack your lips when you eat strawberries. I don’t think you notice. But it’s like you can’t help it, you just like the taste of them so much.”
You caught yourself playing with his hair and pulled away, patting his head instead, suddenly painfully aware that you were leaking his cum onto both of your thighs. This was about as close as you could get to the rookie. There weren't that many boundaries left after this.
“I really need to go pee,” you murmured, climbing off him, adhering to Crystal’s advice.
"Can I make it up to you, when you get back?" he asked, sinking down into the pillows, watching you. You let out a shaky breath, desperately trying to keep the walls you had built to protect yourself from crumbling with your bare hands.
You clenched your legs together, his cum dripping out of you. Leon followed it with his eyes, mesmerised.
A dirty, dirty freak. And so, so hot.
You bit your lip and shrugged. "I guess."
His eyebrows shot up. "You guess?"
You rushed into the bathroom, burying your face in your hands, watching helplessly as the walls collapsed one by one.
Technically you wouldn’t come in on a Tuesday, but Crystal had called you, letting you know that the club was packed after Raccon City had lost in the varsity football game. Which meant that it might be a good day to make a shit ton of money.
Disappointed football fans were typically a little tipsy, desperate to turn the night around and on the hunt for a quick dopamine fix. In other words, a whole lot of good and easy to handle customers that wouldn’t stick around longer than they needed to.
So you, already in your pyjamas and with your skincare on, got yourself all dolled up and put on something naughty, ready to hit the club.
You were in a weird mood. After the strawberry day spent in your bed, you and Leon had barely spoken.
Barely spoken was an overstatement. Radio silence was more like it.
Not on his end.
On your end. Entirely.
But that was a good thing. This had gone way too far. You and him had gotten way too close, way too comfortable with one another. You had let him fuck you raw, for Christ’s sakes. Like you were a couple or something. This had to end now.
At the same time, you felt kind of empty. Like you were missing something. You didn’t know what it was, but your body was absolutely screaming for it. You felt a little … vulnerable without it. Like you wanted the ... thing to hold you close and gently stroke your hair, kiss you on the forehead, maybe.
This was probably because you were in luteal phase. You always were in a strange mood then. Also because strippers made the least amount of money during that point in their cycle and you really enjoyed raking in the dollar bills. It was the best part of your job after all.
“Ah shit,” you cursed, trying to find a place for your truck in the parking lot in front of the club. Because you were so late and the club was so packed, there just wasn’t any space.
Groaning in annoyance, you drove a couple streets down to park in a small alleyway. You took in your surroundings. It looked a little sketchy maybe. But you were only going to stay here for a couple of hours, tops. The night was nearly over. You wouldn't be long.
To your surprise, the club wasn’t only packed with regular football dads and uncles, but with college students too.
They didn't come here. There was the odd group every once in a while, but college students really weren’t your usual clientele.
To even more of your surprise, one of them immediately came up to you before you even had time to walk past the bar and into the actual client area.
“Sorry, are you Lola?”
You looked at him, trying to figure out if you had seen him before and maybe that was where he knew you from.
“Yes, I am,” you replied.
“Great,” he said. “Listen, uh, how much is a private dance?”
“A hundred.” You leaned against the bar. There was a reason college students didn’t come here often. The fact that they were only old enough to get in in their final year for one. The other reason was that they were perpetually skint.
“Oh, okay. Uhm, could me and my friend split the dance fifty-fifty? We only have a hundred between us.”
You smiled, pinching his cheek. “No.”
Bartering at the strip club like that was insanely disrespectful. Didn’t stop them from trying every once in a while regardless.
You rolled your eyes and stalked off, trying to find some actual paying customers.
Despite the stingy college students, it ended up being a successful shift for you and you were positively raking in the hundreds, despite the short amount of time until closing time.
But that was a good thing, too. You probably only had one last dance in you before your muscles got too sore. Maybe you could find a fun one. Someone really pretty. Treat yourself, why didn’t you?
It would take your mind off this awful empty feeling that you couldn’t place.
That feeling that definitely wasn’t related to anyone. Especially not someone blonde and broad shouldered. Why did that image even pop up in your head?
You brushed it off and got up on stage, flinging your body around the pole, raking in the tips. This one Spanish guy was especially generous.
“I get how someone would fall in love in here. Fuck me, I get it,” he purred as you let him slip a twenty into the waistband of your thong on either side of your hip bone.
“Oh really?” you crooned, leaning in a little closer. He was kind of cute. He would be a fun one to dance on.
You tilted your head, examining him. “I don’t think I’ve seen you here before.”
He chuckled. “You’re right. This is my first time.”
You smiled. “Well,” you said, “Do you want a welcome dance?”
He grinned. “I don’t know. Girl like you probably has some love sick boyfriend waiting for her at home. I don’t want to interfere.”
“Matter of fact, I don’t,” you whispered into his ear and he was putty in your hands. He bargained with himself for a second, then muttered a foreign curse under his breath and slipped you a hundred.
You had to wait a little while for a private room to become available, that’s how packed the club was. But when you did, the Spanish guy plopped right down on the couch, arms stretched out wide on the backrest.
You chuckled, setting the timer. “So, you have done this before, huh? Just not here.”
“Let’s just say I appreciate the finer things in life, señorita,” he said and you grinned. He was funny. You liked that.
“Can I smoke in here?”
“Sure,” you murmured, hearing the telltale sound of a lighter igniting a cigarette. He took in his surroundings, blowing out the smoke.
“It’s not really a private room if there’s CCTV in here,” he observed, gaze snagging on where the camera was carefully hidden in a dark corner above the door.
The whole place was riddled with them. Even though the owner, Tony, prided himself with his establishment being safe, it was still a stripclub. You could never be too careful.
Anything that was going on in the club, be it at the bar, by the poles or even in the private rooms, was recorded and stored in Tony’s office when the tape was full.
People typically didn’t notice because they had their eyes on other things.
“Smart cookie,” you praised, sauntering over to your client, tantalisingly running your hands all along your torso, unclasping the back of your stripper attire, letting it fall to the ground. “So, what’s your name sweetheart?”
“Dios mío,” the guy said, gulping, staring at your tits.
You clicked your tongue. “I don’t think that’s a name, honey.” You lowered yourself down onto his lap, playing with the collar of his shirt.
“Luis,” he said.
You hummed, rolling your hips. He drew in a sharp breath and took a drag from his cigarette to calm himself down.
“Luis is a lovely name,” you whispered, letting your tits bounce a little more than necessary with every movement. “What do you do, Luis? Do you want to tell me or should I guess?”
“I’m a researcher. A biologist.”
“You know, my father was a biologist,” you purred, biting your lip.
His eyebrows shot up. “Really?"
You nodded, biting back a grin. Cop, researcher, whatever. Your daddy had a lot of professions these days. All of them coming to a tragic end towards the grand finale of your dance for extra tips.
"You know, I wasn't quite sure how good this place was going to be. But my roommate loves it here, so I thought I'd see it for myself," he murmured, his hands twitching, itching to touch your bare skin.
"Who's your roommate?" you asked, turning around so he could get a good eyeful of your ass, as you dropped down low, hovering over his crotch oh so enticingly.
"He's a cop," Luis breathed, visibly distracted.
You chuckled, feeling the tip of his hard-on press into your backside. "That really narrows it down."
"He's a really nice guy. Too nice for his own good," he said, taking another drag from his cigarette. "He fell in love with one of the girls here but she treats him like shit."
You halted your movements, looking at him over your shoulder. "What?"
He blew out a waft of smoke. "Oh yeah, she's a real bitch. Proper toying with him. I get that she's probably super hot, but he deserves so much better if you ask me."
You continued gyrating your hips, lowering your chin so you could look up at him through your eyelashes. They all loved that.
"Is that what he says? That she's a bitch?"
Luis clicked his tongue. "He would never say it like that. But I know he thinks it sometimes."
You nodded, a sinking feeling spreading through your stomach.
Luis bit back a groan. Oh right. His dick. You were kinda grinding on it out of habit. You lifted yourself back up.
"Just out of curiosity, what's your roommate's name?" you asked, your heart nearly jumping out of your chest.
"Leon," Luis murmured and his eyes flew open, as if he just realised something. "Wait, what's your name?"
You paused. "Helena."
Luis let out a relieved sigh. "Oh, thank god. Leon would kill me if I got a dance with Lola. Because that's his girl, you see. I think he loves her."
You swallowed, turning around to face him again, holding on to his shoulders. They were too small. Not muscular enough. "I think so, too."
Luis wrinkled his forehead. "Wait, how do you know?"
You shrugged. "Just locker room talk amongst the girls between shifts. Lola is a real talker."
Luis let out a strangled breath, his head falling back onto the sofa. "So how does she feel about him? If she's such a talker, I'm sure she's told you."
You sighed. "She's scared of him, Luis."
"What?" His head came back up, a puzzled look on his face. "Scared of Leon? That's ridiculous."
"Why is that ridiculous?" You snapped, clearing your throat when you realised that wasn't very Helena of you. "He clearly has the upper hand."
Luis burst into laughter. "You're kidding."
You stared at him, softly shaking your head.
"He's on his fucking knees, Helena." He huffed. "I get why she's scared. The whole keeping up the façade kinda stuff, right? Don't let anyone penetrate your walls in fear of rejection? Or that they might hurt you? I get it. I'm a lot like that myself. Mi mamá always used to say that too. But you see—"
"You talk a lot, has anyone ever told you that?"
He cleared his throat. "Leon would never hurt her."
"Oh, that's really interesting, because the way I see it, he doesn't have the maturity it takes to actually be in love with someone like her. And the fantasy is always amazing, right? But that's far from an actual relationship with a woman in my field of work."
Luis watched you intently. "You talk a lot, yourself, has anyone ever told you that?"
You cleared your throat.
The timer went off, saving you.
You smiled, climbing off his lap. "Time's up. Please come again, Luis, baby."
He narrowed his eyes on you, but reached into his pocket and left you a generous tip. His mamá clearly had raised a boy with manners.
"I'll see you around, Helena."
You nodded, a smile plastered onto your face. "Bye."
Luis winked at you, as he slipped through the door, his cigarette lazily hanging from the corner of his mouth.
He was charming, you had to give him that. You were glad Leon lived with someone like him. Someone loyal, who watched out for him.
You slapped your forehead. "No, no, no, no, no. Lola, fucking stop it, get a grip. The rookie is none of your concern."
Then why did you miss him so badly? You wanted nothing more than to run to Leon right now, feeling all safe and protected in his arms and for him to tuck your head under his chin. Maybe feed you strawberries while he was at it.
Actually not only right now. You wanted to run to him all the time. After a tiring shift. After bad news at the vet. Whenever Francesca was losing weight despite you feeding her a special diet of pumpkin and sunflower seeds to bulk up.
But this was only safe in theory. In reality, all of this was so fucking unsafe. Giving him access to you like that? How would that even work?
He would get jealous eventually. They all did. He would give you an ultimatum: me or your job. Choose. You slut. Dancing half naked in front of strangers, grinding down on other men's cocks.
It had happened before. Multiple times.
If it even came to that. Most of the time, they rejected you, making it more than clear that they would never consider anything serious with someone like you. Even though they had pursued you like crazy at first.
Unlovable. The big bad word that sent you spiralling.
You let out a long breath, hugging yourself. Alright, time to call it a night and go home. Time to get back to Guinevere, Arwen, Caramelo and your sweet girl Francesca.
You picked up Luis' dollar bills and put them in your separate tip bag. In the locker room, you slipped out of your sweaty stripper attire and into your Juicy Couture tracksuit. Barely anyone knew of the brand yet, but you were convinced this would soon be desperately sought after.
You didn't bother to take off your jewellery, or fix your hair. You were only going home anyways. No more pit stops.
Your make up was a mess. Your eyeliner was smudged, your foundation caky because of the sweat separating it from your skin. You looked like you had had a rough night.
When you got to the parking lot, you groaned, remembering you had needed to park a couple streets down from the club. Your muscles ached with every step. But honestly, knowing there were close to two and a half grand of cold hard cash in your bag right now, you felt pretty accomplished.
Stopping in front of your car, you rummaged through your purse for your keys, when you felt a sudden surge of unease come over you. You stilled and checked your surroundings. There was nobody there.
You rubbed your forehead. Alright Lola, let's get you home. You're seeing things already.
“Give me your tip bag. Now.”
Something hard and cold pressed into the space right in between your shoulder blades. You didn't need to turn around to know what it was.
Your blood ran cold. There was no way this was happening. Absolutely not.
When you didn’t react straight away, the person standing behind you pushed the cold metal harder into your back, shoving you forward.
“Now, bitch.”
You winced, rummaging through your bag, trying to figure out if there was any way you could maybe toss him something else.
The person cocked the gun and you let go of that idea, frantically pulling out your tip bag full of cash.
They snatched it from your grasp.
“Don’t turn around. You better believe I'll shoot.”
Your whole body was shaking. All your earnings. Close to two and a half thousand dollars.
The gun was removed from your back and you heard the person that had mugged you speed off into the darkness.
"Leon?" you whimpered, because it was the only name you could remember in that moment.
You didn't dare move, unsure if they were gone or not. Eventually, you slowly turned around, a shiver racking through you.
Shit. Shit. Shit, shit, shit, shit. Fucking shit.
You fumbled for your car keys, nearly dropping them with how sweaty your palms were. You needed to get out of here as fast as you could. You weren’t too keen on finding out if there would be any back-up coming.
You unlocked your car and pulled out of the parking space, breathing heavily and speeding down the main road on auto pilot, coming to a halt in front of the RPD.
Why did you drive straight here? You didn't trust cops. They were all your clients and freely spilled all their secrets to you while they stared at your tits and called you by the pet names of their daughters.
You pressed your forehead against the steering wheel, trying to calm your breathing.
You hoped Lieutenant Marvin Branagh was on duty right now. He was gentle and reliable. He also had a daughter, but he didn't come to see you. Out of everyone in the RPD he was the only one who you would trust with filing a report.
You braced yourself, nearly forgetting to lock your car in your absentmindedness and walked straight into the Raccoon City police station.
ꫂ᭪݁ summary : four years of built up tension between you and leon kennedy finally snaps during a mission in an abandoned russian sanatorium and after a reckless argument you both had at the DSO HQ, his restraint finally snaps , leaving both of you with far more damage than either of you know how to name.
⚠︎ warnings : implied age gap (reader is in her mid 20s,leon is 49) , creampie, rough sex, hate sex/angry sex, semi-public sex, unsafe location, risky sex during active mission, dub con if you squint ,superior/subordinate dynamic, power imbalance, arguing, emotional tension, explicit content, manhandling, spanking, hair pulling, choking, knife intimidation, degradation, dirty talk,a tiny bit of praise, overstimulation, unprotected sex, creampie, emotional neglect after sex, angst, unresolved feelings, mean leon, not proofread
ꫂ᭪݁ a/n: please take note that this was originally a chapter from a very long fanfic i wrote for my oc and leon which is he's like this lmao, i promise i'll make him kinder in the part 2 if i will finish it.i had re9 leon in my mind for this but re4 could also work out
the first thing you noticed was the cold air around you.
it was not the dramatic, merciful kind of cold that announced itself all at once and then faded into numbness. it was quieter than that. meaner. it seeped beneath the cuffs of your jacket, slid under the tight leather of your gloves, and settled deep into your bones with a slow, deliberate cruelty.
the tires of his porsche churned viciously through the frozen mud, the engine emitting a low, rhythmic rattle that only served to deepen the crushing silence inside the foggy forest. outside the reinforced windows, the Russian twilight was bleeding into a dense, oppressive black, swallowing the pines and suffocating the isolated atmosphere. the fog rolled over the hood of the car in thick, ghostly waves, illuminated only by the sharp, cutting glare of the headlights.
you stared out the passenger window, your pale reflection ghosting over the frosted glass. your black jacket was zipped tight to your throat, the rigid collar pressing uncomfortably against the soft fabric of your black turtleneck. you kept your hands shoved deep into your pockets, your knuckles white, fingers curled into tight fists to hide the faint, betraying tremor of leftover adrenaline and the creeping cold.
beneath your skirt, the thick black tights offered little protection against the chill that seemed to seep directly through the floorboards and into your bones.
and to your left, Leon held the steering wheel with a loose, practiced grip that betrayed nothing of the violence coiled beneath his skin. his profile was carved from the stark shadows of the dashboard’s faint illumination, his jaw set in a hard, unyielding line, a muscle ticking faintly just beneath his ear. he was driving, his eyes fixed on the treacherous path ahead, utterly detached from the suffocating tension occupying the space between you.
the two of you hadn't really spoken since hunnigan gave you the details for this mission.
the argument at the DSO office hours prior had been loud enough to shake the dust from the rafters. it had been a complete mess of explicit words about protocols you ignored, a breached perimeter , and the undeniable fact that you had chosen to follow your own medical instincts over his orders.
and he had been furious ever since.
It wasn't the explosive anger of a lesser man, his voice had dropped into that terrifying, deadened register that usually meant someone was about to get court-martialed or maybe even worse.
you hadn't bothered to apologise at all. not then, and not now either. instead, you had met his cold gaze with a silent, defensive deflection, locking your jaw and refusing to give him an inch of the submission he demanded as your superior.
now, four agonizing hours later, the silence between you was no longer just an absence of sound. It was a physical weight, thick with four years of built-up tension, near-misses, and an unacknowledged, suffocating attraction that tasted more like iron and blood than the romance you initially imagined of and hoped for. every time the car hit a rut, jolting your shoulders mere inches from touching, the air in the cabin seemed to thin, making it harder to breathe.
Leon slowed the vehicle, the gears shifting with a harsh, mechanical grind. the headlights swept across a rusted, iron gate hanging precariously off its shattered stone hinges. beyond it sat the sanatorium.
the stone facade was grand but utterly ruined, a decaying, brutalist monument of the old Soviet concrete overgrown with dead, creeping ivy and stained with decades of black rot. its windows were shattered, empty black maws staring back at them like dead eyes. It looked entirely abandoned, swallowed whole by the merciless silence of the forest.
the engine cut out.
the sudden, absolute absence of noise made the interior of the car feel instantly smaller, the walls pressing in tight. the ticking of the cooling engine block sounded like a countdown.
"check your comms," Leon commanded.
his voice was clipped, completely devoid of any warmth or familiarity.
you didn't turn to look at him. instead, you stubbornly kept your eyes on the decaying building, your breath catching slightly in your throat before reaching up. you adjusted the earpiece hidden beneath the thick strands of your dark hair, the freezing fingers brushing the hard plastic.
"comms are green."
"we move quick, we stay on line, and you stay behind me," he said, his gaze fixed straight ahead on the dark, gaping entrance of the main building. he didn't turn his head. he didn't seek your acknowledgment. but in the silence, the thick leather of his tactical gloves creaked as his fingers tightened imperceptibly on the steering wheel. "if I tell you to halt, you don't step. am I clear?"
you let out a short breathy exhale, not quite a laugh, but mocking enough to fracture the quiet. the sound was sharp in the cold, contained space. you finally turned your head, dark eyes tracing the broa line of his shoulder, the tactical vest that bulked his frame, up to the sharp angle of his cheekbone.
"you're always clear, Leon," you murmured, your voice steady, refusing to rise to his bait. "it's the flexibility you lack."
leon's head turned around slowly. his blue eyes were icy, catching the dim, fading light of the dashboard and pinning you in place. there was no mirth in his expression, no soft exasperation. there was only a dark, fraying patience that looked entirely too close to snapping.
"this isn't Washington," he said, his voice dropping an octave, the vibration of it settling low in your stomach. "you break line out here, and I leave you in the dirt. don't test my patience tonight."
you held his stare. your chin tilted upward a fraction of an inch. nor did you didn't offer a verbal agreement. knowing exactly how to challenge him, how to drag that suffocating control of his into the light just enough to see the cracks.
you wanted that reaction of his.
you needed the silent proof that beneath the ice, you could still disrupt him.
then, you broke the eye contact first, pushing your heavy door open before he could approve the movement. the biting, subzero russian air rushed into the cabin, hitting your face like a physical blow. you stepped out, your heavy boots crunching violently into the frozen gravel.
a moment later, the heavy slam of the driver’s side door echoed through the courtyard. leon was there, his boots hitting the ground with a deliberate force. he didn't look at you as he slung his assault rifle over his shoulder, the metal clasps clinking in the quiet.
as he passed you to take the lead, he didn't offer a lot of space. his arm brushed hard against yours, a brief, unnecessarily rough contact. it wasn't accidental though .it was a physical assertion of space, and the friction sent a sharp jolt of unwanted, pooling heat straight through you, settling deep in your core. you swallowed hard, your jaw tight, and fell into step exactly three paces behind him.
both of you entered through a shattered side door, the flashlights cutting through the thick, stagnant air of the sanatorium.
the interior was a sprawling wasteland of rusted iron, shattered tile, and damp decay. the smell was atrocious, a mix of wet concrete, black mold, and the metallic tang of old, dried blood that never quite left these places. water dripped from the ceiling somewhere deep in the pitch-black corridors, a slow, maddening clock ticking away in the dark.
you followed him silently, your eyes naturally tracking the broad, unyielding span of his shoulders beneath his gear.
for four years. four years of patching him up in sterile medical bays. four years of stitching his torn skin, pulling shrapnel from his flesh, of watching him bleed out and then return to the field like a machine devoid of a nervous system. you knew the topography of his body better than anyone else at in the DSO, every scar on his torso, the exact, shallow rhythm of his breathing when he was trying to hide his pain. but you had never been allowed past the psychological ice. the uncertainty of what he actually felt, if he felt anything at all beyond a simmering, professional irritation toward your stubbornness, was an old, chronic ache. and tonight, in the freezing dark, that ache had turned volatile.
leon stopped at a four-way intersection, his boot coming down softly. his flashlight beam swept across a collapsed ceiling in the northern corridor, illuminating a mountain of jagged concrete and exposed rebar.
"come on,to the left." he muttered, his voice barely carrying over the sound of dripping water.
you stepped up, closing the distance between you until you were entirely out of his designated formation. you stood beside him, your own light sweeping down the eastern corridor toward a row of heavy, reinforced iron doors.
"the medical wing should be there though" you said, your tone clinical, refusing to acknowledge his command. "if there's any remaining sample from the old research, it’ll be in the sub-basement labs. left takes us to the patient housing."
"we secure the ground floor first" leon said.
his hand shot out, catching your jacket sleeve before you could take another step. he pulled you back half a step. the movement wasn't gentle. his grip was tight, his thick, leather-clad fingers digging sharply through the heavy material of your coat and into the muscle of your upper arm.
"I said stay behind me."
you tensed, your breath flaring white in the freezing air. you yanked your arm out of his grasp with a sharp, violent jerk, your dark eyes flashing in the peripheral backscatter of your flashlights.
you didn't raise your voice, but your words were laced with venom. "I'm not a child, leon. i know how to navigate a clear corridor. the structural integrity to the east looks stable enough to cross."
leon turned fully toward you. he didn't speak immediately. he took a slow, deliberate step into your personal space, towering over you until his chest was nearly brushing the zipper of your jacket. he angled his body, forcing you to look up at him. the ambient smell of the rotting building faded, entirely overpowered by the scent of him, the cold air, rich leather, gun oil, and that deep, familiar musk of his skin. it dizzying, heavy, and intoxicating, despite the crushing harshness of his posture.
"i don't give a damn what it looks like to you," he hissed, the words vibrating with a suppressed rage. "you don't command this unit. i do. you follow the protocol I set, or you sit in the vehicle and wait for extraction."
you held your ground, refusing to lean back.
"the protocol that puts us an hour behind schedule?" you challenged, your voice dropping into a low, cutting whisper. you could feel the heat radiating off his body, contrasting violently with the sub-zero air of the hallway. your chest rose and fell with ragged, uneven breaths. "you're letting your anger from earlier cloud your judgment. it's inefficient, and you know it."
leon’s eyes darkened at your comment, the blue shifting into something entirely black and volatile in the shadows. he stared down at you, his jaw clenching so hard you could hear the faint grind of his teeth. for a long, agonizing second, the silence between you was deafening. the air grew impossibly thick, weighed down by an unwanted, heavy heat that had nothing to do with the freezing temperature of the decaying hospital. his broad chest heaved against his tactical rig, his legendary restraint visibly fraying, snapping at the edges under your continued defiance.
he didn't argue,nor did he didn't defend his tactics. he simply leaned in a fraction closer, his gaze dropping to your mouth for a split second before snapping back to your eyes.
"i said left." he repeated. It was a guttural growl that vibrated deep in his chest. "move, now."
the two of you walked in silence down the eastern wing, the rotted wooden floorboards groaning in protest beneath your combined weight.
you deliberately, stubbornly kept your pace just slightly out of sync with his. dragging your boots a fraction of a second too late, stepping a little too heavy. it was a petty, silent defiance, but you knew he could hear it. every time your heel clicked against a stray piece of broken tile, you felt his presence shift ahead of you. you could feel his focus narrowing, his attention heavy and watching, tracking your every movement through the gloom even with his back turned.
Afterwards,both of you reached the end of the hall, pushing through a set of swinging doors that hung limply on rusted hinges.
the room beyond was massive, a circular, cavernous space that looked like an old, brutalist operating theater. in the center of the room sat a long, heavy metal surgical table, pitted with dark rust and stained with decades of stagnant water. high above, a shattered glass dome let in the faint, anemic light of the moon, casting long, twisted shadows across the cracked tiles.
the air here was significantly colder. It bit at any exposed skin, your breaths escaping in thick, white plumes that hung in the air before dissipating into the dark.
you stepped away from him, approaching a tall metal cabinet sagging in the corner. the flashlight beam reflected off a row of shattered glass apothecary jars and the dull gray of ruined gauze.
"nothing here," you murmured, your voice flat, devoid of the earlier heat. you ran a gloved finger over the rim of a broken jar. "just old surgical tools. It’s a dead end."
"step away from the center of the room," leon said.
he was standing near the doorway, his rifle lowered but ready, his flashlight scanning the high, vaulted ceiling above the surgical table. the beam illuminated deep fissures running through the concrete.
you heard him very clear. his tone was authoritative. but the urge to push him, to find out exactly where his breaking point lay after hours of silent torture, was a sudden, blinding fever in your blood. you turned away from the cabinet, deliberately ignoring the command, and stepped closer to the rusted metal table in the dead center of the room to inspect a tray of degraded instruments.
you didn't even look at him.
"the ceiling is fine, Leon. you're being paranoid. we need to check the structural base of this table to see if there's a sub-floor—"
a loud, sharp crack echoed like a gunshot from the impenetrable shadows above.
before you could process the sound, before you could even tilt your head up, a massive, heavy chunk of concrete and rotting plaster rained down from the dome. it plummeted through the darkness and shattered violently against the very edge of the metal table, just inches from where your hand rested. a cloud of toxic, choking dust and iron rust exploded into the air, blinding you instantly.
you gasped, stumbling backward, but before you could find your footing, a massive weight slammed into you from the side.
leon's body hit yours with the force of a freight train. his momentum threw you violently backward, your spine colliding hard against the solid, unforgiving edge of the rusted metal table. his heavy rifle clattered deafeningly against the concrete floor as his large, gloved hands shot out, pinning your shoulders down with brutal force. his entire frame crushed you against the freezing steel, knocking the breath from your lungs in a sharp, painful, wheezing gasp.
"are you out of your mind?" Leon rasped.
the sound of his voice tearing through the dust was terrifying. his face was mere inches from yours. one of the flashlights had fallen to the floor, rolling wildly until it came to a halt against a wall, casting long, chaotic, upward shadows that illuminated the raw, unchecked fury in his features.
the controlled agent was entirely gone. his ash-blonde hair was messy, falling across his forehead, and his breathing was heavy, ragged, and hot against your cold skin. his eyes were wide, feral, and utterly terrifying.
you struggled against his crushing weight instinctively. your hands flew up, your palms pressing against the rigid plates of his tactical vest to push him away, but he didn't budge a single inch. it was like pushing against a stone wall.
"let... go!" you choked out, fighting to pull air back into your lungs. your stubbornness still flared through the adrenaline and shock, your jaw setting in a hard line. "it was just plaster, I would have—"
"shut up!" he snarled, his voice cracking with a violent intensity.
his fingers tightened around your shoulders with bruising force, pinning you so hard against the edge of the table that the rusted metal groaned loudly beneath you. "just shut the hell up for fuck's sake."
the silence that immediately followed his outburst was suffocating. dust continued to rain down softly around you, settling on your shoulders, but neither of you moved.
his broad chest was heaving against your breasts, rising and falling in an erratic, angry rhythm. his thick thighs had slotted seamlessly against yours, locking your legs completely into place against the heavy base of the surgical table.
you were entirely trapped.
you looked up at him. your heart was hammering against your ribs so violently you thought it might shatter them. your own breathing matched his, shallow, fast, erratic. your stared into his face, watching the muscles in his jaw bunch and release.
you could see it happening in real-time. could see the exact, terrifying moment his restraint snapped.
the years of hushed arguments in medical tents, the lingering, hidden glances across briefing rooms, the volatile, unspoken tension of your dynamic, it was all collapsing right here, in the dark, narrowing into a singular, dangerous focus.
"do you think this shit is a fucking game?" Leon whispered.
his voice had dropped entirely, slipping into a low, raspy register that made a heavy, involuntary shiver run straight down your spine. his hands suddenly released your shoulders, sliding up your neck with a rough, calloused touch to grip your jaw. his thick, leather-gloved fingers squeezed the sides of your face, forcing your head up, making it impossible for you to look anywhere but directly into the dark, churning depths of his eyes.
"you think you can push me," he continued, his thumb pressing hard against your cheekbone, "ignore my direct orders, and just walk away because you're the doctor?"
swallowing hard, your pulse frantic against his palm. "Leon—"
"I told you to step back." leon interrupted, his thumb sliding down to press brutally hard into the corner of your bottom lip, cutting off your words, parting your mouth slightly. hus blue eyes were pitch black in the shadows, entirely consumed by blown-out pupils. "you wanted a reaction? wanted to see exactly how far you could stretch my patience?"
you didn't pull away. it's not like you couldn't, but you also didn't try. despite the punishing harshness of his grip, a familiar, heavy ache flared to life deep between your thighs, hot and immediate.
you met his furious gaze, chest rising against his. with no intention to want him to let go.
you didn't want the soft, safe boundaries of your professional, distant roles. you wanted the suffocating roughness of his anger. yoi wanted the undeniable truth of his heavy weight holding you down in the dark.
you kept your voice low, deliberately steady, despite the tremor in your hands.
"I know you won't do anything" you whispered against the leather of his glove. It was a blatant provocation, sharp and reckless. "you're too much of a professional."
leon's eyes flared wide at your words. the air in the room seemed to combust. with a terrifying, humorless smile tugged at the corner of his lips.
"you really are a fucking brat."
the speed at which he moved was blinding. before you could take a breath, his hand shifted from your jaw to the heavy metal zipper at the front of your jacket. he gripped it and yanked it down violently in one sharp, continuous motion. the sound of the zipper tearing open echoed loudly. he didn't pause to pull the jacket off your shoulders, his large, caloused hands reached directly under the thick, woolen hem of your black turtleneck.
his freezing, leather-clad fingers gripped the bare skin of your waist with a brutal strength that you knew would leave bruises by morning.
you let out a sharp, involuntary whine, your fingers immediately clutching blindly at the heavy fabric of his tactical vest as he manhandled you. with a raw, effortless display of physical dominance, he turned your body around, twisting you forcefully until your stomach and chest slammed flat against the cold surface of the metal surgical table.
the shock of the freezing steel through your clothes made you gasp loudly.
"Leon, wait—"
"you don't get to tell me to wait," he growled directly into your ear. his breath was scorching hot against the sensitive, freezing skin of your neck, raising goosebumps along your spine.
he leaned forward, pinning your lower back down with the crushing weight of his heavy forearm. his body weight flattened you completely against the steel, leaving you utterly immobile.
with his free hand, he reached down, gripping the thick fabric of your black skirt.
he shoved it up past your thighs, bunching it roughly around your waist. your breath hitched in a panicked, thrilled gasp as the absolute zero air of the dead theater hit the back of your legs, which were protected only by the thin mesh of your black tights. you instinctively tried to pull your leg forward, trying to find some leverage on the slick, rusted metal, but leon immediately drove his thigh directly between your knees. he forced your legs wide apart, locking you in a position of a humiliating vulnerability.
"you've been begging for this for months," leon muttered. his tone was rough, stripped of any pretense or decency. his large hand hooked aggressively into the tight waistband of your tights and underwear simultaneously. with a rough downward tug that made the synthetic fabric rip slightly at the seam, he pulled them down past your thighs, leaving the soft, pale skin of your ass entirely exposed to the biting cold.
"one argument after another," he ground out, his voice thick with a dark, bitter arousal. "every time you talked back in front of the unit. standing there, thinking you won't face the consequences because you wear a white coat."
"i wanted you to listen to me—" you gasped out. your face was pressed sideways against the icy metal of the table. your fingers were clawing desperately at the rusted, pitted edges, trying to find an anchor in the storm of his aggression.
"I'm listening now," he said.
slap.
the sound of his heavy, leather-clad palm striking your bare flesh echoed violently through the empty, cavernous operating theater. it sounded exactly like a gunshot in the dark.
you squealed, your spine arching upward off the metal involuntarily. eyes squeezed shut as a blinding heat bloomed violently across your right cheek. the pain was immediate, a stinging fire that spread fast in the freezing room. but beneath the agonizing sting, heavy pulse throbbed between your thighs. your pussy flooded with a violent, sudden, shameful wetness.
"that's for breaking the safety perimeter at the safehouse," leon stated. his voice wasn't yelling anymore. it was entirely controlled, flat, and utterly terrifying.
slap.
je struck you again, his palm landing in the exact same spot with brutal precision.
your hips jerked upward, bucking wildly against his hold. a choked, desperate cry escaped your throat, your nails scraping against the steel. "leon, damn you—"
"and that's for the ceiling," he interrupted coldly. his heavy hand came down a third time, significantly harder. the sheer impact of the strike rattled your entire frame against the heavy table.
slap.
"you don't get to talk back out here," he rasped, his breathing finally starting to heavily alter, growing thick and ragged.
"you don't get to decide which orders matter and which ones don't."
the spankings continued in a steady, punishing, rhythm. leon didn't rush it. he didn't lose himself. he delivered each deliberate slap with a heavy force that had you sobbing brokenly into the metal table.
your cheeks were flushed hot,your entire body shaking uncontrollably from the overwhelming combination of the freezing air and the red-hot, blistering pain radiating from your backside. your flesh was burning, the skin turning a deep, angry crimson beneath his unforgiving hands.
"are you going to look at me when I speak to you?" leon demanded.
his hand paused mid-air before coming down to rest,heavy , and rough, against your throbbing, sensitized flesh. the heat of his palm seeping into your stung skin was a torment of its own.
you dragged your face across the rusted metal, forcing yourself to turn your head. your dark hair was tangled wildly across your face. eyes slightly open, wet with hot tears of shock, pain, and overwhelming arousal. you tried to look at him through the gloom, your chest heaving.
"i'm looking," you panted. Your voice was broken, trembling violently, but your jaw was still set, that core of stubborn defiance refusing to die. "is this... is this all you've got, Mr.Kennedy?"
leon stared down at you, his eyes narrowed into dangerous slits. a faint chuckle slipped from the back of his throat.
"not even close."
he released you back for a fraction of a second, reaching down to the heavy tactical belt at his waist. you heard the distinct, chilling, metallic slide of his tactical combat knife being drawn smoothly from its Kydex sheath.
a cold spike of genuine, primal fear shot through your chest, instantly mixing with the heavy lust going through your veins.
he didn't touch your skin with the sharp edge of the blade, but you felt the flat, freezing steel of the heavy weapon slide slowly, deliberately along the black tights,right across where your exposed underwear was.
"you think you're safe because we work together?" leon whispered.
he leaned down, pressing his chest heavily over your back until his lips brushed against the cold shell of your ear. his hand pressed the flat of the freezing blade gently, warningly, against the delicate skin at the small of your back.
"i could leave you tied to this table," he breathed, your voice a dark, velvet threat.
"no one knows we're in this wing of the sanatorium."
"you wouldn't—" you talked back. heart hammering so hard you could literally feel the pulse beating in your throat. even though you were slightly terrified, you were dripping wet of slick.
"don't test my boundaries tonight when you already ruined yours," he said. his voice dropped into a cruel, mocking tone that offered absolutely no comfort.
he slid the heavy knife back into its sheath. the loud click of the lock engaging sounded like a final, damning judgment in the empty room.
he didn't give you a second to recover from the threat. his fingers hooked violently into the thick hair at the base of your skull, curling into a fist. pulling your head back roughly, then forcing your spine to arch so you were staring blindly up at the pitch-black shadows of the ruined ceiling. with his other hand, he reached roughly between your thighs from behind.
you gasped, your mouth falling open as his rough, gloved fingers found your swollen folds. you were slick, dripping with your own uncontrollable arousal. he didn't stroke you though. didn't soothe the ache. without a word of warning, he slid two thick fingers directly inside you with a sudden and rough, upward thrust.
you cried out loudly, a sharp, broken sound. the thick leather of his tactical glove stretched your tight, wet walls uncomfortably, the friction intense and borderline abrasive.
"look at how wet you are for me," Leon murmured sneeringly, his hot breath ghosting over the shell of your ear.
he began to fuck you with his fingers in a fast, degrading rhythm. his thumb pressed down hard, grinding relentlessly against your swollen clit without an ounce of mercy or tenderness.
"you think this makes you brave?" he mocked, pumping his fingers deeper into your tight core, scraping the sensitive walls.
"getting fucked on a rusted table in the middle of a dead zone because you couldn't follow basic protocol?"
"shut up... please, just..." you sobbed, your words breaking apart.
you couldn't finish the sentence. your highly educated, rational smartass was entirely dissolving into a chaotic haze of shame, pain and overwhelming pleasure.
the friction of the wet leather inside you was incredibly intense, riding the razor-thin line between pain and ecstasy, but it was exactly what you had starved for. you lost your fight. you pushed your hips back eagerly against his hand, chasing the rough thrusts, begging silently for the depth of his touch even as hot tears leaked continuously from the corners of your tightly shut eyes.
"you like being put like this, huh? like knowing how easily I can fuck you senseless?" leon rasped.
his own breathing had finally lost its iron control, becoming desperate, and loud in the quiet room. he pulled his dripping fingers out of you with a wet, obscene snap, leaving you instantly empty and shivering violently.
before you could form a word of protest, you heard the sound of his tactical gear shifting. the metal click of his belt buckled, the heavy slide of his heavy trousers being unzipped and shoved down.
a second later, the thick, length of his cock brushed deliberately against the aching flesh of your exposed cunt. he was huge, radiating a blistering heat in the freezing air, and completely unyielding.
"leon—" you whispered.
a sudden, terrifying wave of absolute vulnerability hit you. the reality of what was about to happen, here, like this, under these conditions, crashed over you.
"leon, look at me—"
he didn't look.
he grabbed your hips with both of his large hands, his fingers digging brutally into your delicate hip bones with a force that would absolutely leave blooming bruises the next day. he aligned himself, gripped you tight, and drove his cock deep inside you from behind in one violent, punishing thrust.
you screamed into the empty, cavernous room. The sound was immediately swallowed by the dark, dead stone walls.
the stretch was immense, a sharp, burning, suffocating fullness that felt like it was tearing through all of your remaining physical and mental defenses. he filled you completely, stretching you to your absolute limit.
stopping didn't even cross his mind in this moment,knowing exactly it was what you were desperate for. he didn't give you a moment to adjust to his massive size or the agonizing stretch. just instantly began to fuck you with a brutal, angry, relentless rhythm. his heavy hips slammed violently against your pussy with a wetsmacking sound that echoed obscenely, filling the silent theater.
the scene was entirely devoid of romance. this was no gentle lovemaking, no soft words of devotion. it was dark, it was freezing cold, and it was frantic. it was the violent release of four years of suffocating frustration and unwanted, denied desire and mutual feelings, finally snapping in the worst possible place, at the worst possible time.
leon's hands on your hips were relentless, with a grip so immovable.
his deep grunts of physical exertion sounded rough in your ear as he drove himself deeper and deeper into your wet core.
"you're fucked out here," he growled, his pace quickening into a blur. his cock hit your cervix with a blunt, bruising force that made you see starts and left you entirely dizzy. "say it. say you're my subordinate."
"god , leon— I'm.. yours," you sobbed openly now.
your fingers were slipping uselessly on the rusted metal as you tried to hold your upper body up. you were completely broken open, entirely at his mercy. "fuck... please..."
"that's my good girl," he muttered. the words weren't a comfort,instead they sounded bitter, almost cruel, laced with a twisted satisfaction on his tongue.
he reached around your back with his right hand. thick fingers wrapped securely around the front of your throat from behind, squeezing firmly. he didn't crush your windpipe, but he apply just enough steady pressure to restrict your frantic breath, forcing you into a state of choked, lightheaded compliance as he delivered the final, devastatingly thrusts.
your world entirely narrowed down to the gray concrete floor beneath you, the freezing steel biting into your chest, the painful grip on your throat, and the blinding, white-hot explosion of your orgasm. It ripped violently through your lower body, a devastating release that made you cry out into his hand as your vaginal walls clamped down agonizingly tight around his thick cock.
leon let out a low, guttural snarl.
his massive body tensed completely, every muscle pulling taut as steel. he drove his hips forward one last, brutal time, pinning you utterly flat against the rusted table as he spent himself deep, hot, and heavy within you. he held himself buried to the hilt, his chest heaving heavily against your back, his grip still tight around your throat.
for a long, heavy minute, the only sound in the massive, decaying room was your ragged, echoing breath, loud in the dark.
then reality crept back in. the adrenaline began to recede, and the freezing cold rushed back with a vengeance.
leon released your throat the next second. he pulled out of you without a single word of warning.
the sudden absence of his burning heat and filling weight made you shiver violently. you collapsed forward, staying face down on the freezing metal table. your entire body was trembling uncontrollably.your skin was sticky with a mixture of cold sweat and thick fluids that were already turning freezing against your bare thighs in the damp subzero air.
then you closed your eyes softly and waited.
you waited for a warm hand on your back. you waited for him to reach down and gently pull you up, to turn you around and finally look at you. waited for him to say something, anything, that would soften the bleeding edges of what had just occurred between you. a word of comfort. a acknowledgment that it meant something.it should?shouldn't it?
but instead, the only sound that cut through the silence was the sharp, metallic zip of his trousers. the rustle of his tactical gear being adjusted, the clinking of buckles and straps being pulled back into perfect, impenetrable order.
you slowly pushed yourself up, limbs feeling incredibly weak and shaking violently. you reached down, pulling your torn underwear and black tights back up over your thighs. freezing, numb hands fumbling awkwardly with the ruined fabric.
then your black skirt followed back into place, hiding the deep, angry red handprints that burned on your skin.
you turned around slowly, leaning against the rusted edge of the surgical table for support. looking up at him.
although, leon was already standing three feet away.
his blonde hair had been pushed back aggressively from his forehead. the impassive mask of the agent had returned, and the ice was thicker and more impenetrable than it had ever been before. at least that is what he wanted you to think.
he picked up his assault rifle from the dust covered floor, checking the chamber and the safety with efficiency.
he didn't look at your face in this agonizing. didn't meet your eyes. he just stared blankly at a spot somewhere near your collarbone, voice entirely flat and dead.
"fix your jacket. we have twenty minutes before the extraction window changes."
you froze at that. your heart didn't just break, it dropped into a cold, bottomless, void in your chest.
the silence between you was no longer volatile. it was no longer charged with heat or tension that built up until now. it was completely empty. beyond gut-wrenching. the brutal act hadn't cleared whether that he loved you or he hated your guts. it hadn't cleared the suffocating tension or broken the barrier between you. it had only violently snapped the one fragile line of connection you had left, leaving the emotional damage entirely, irreparably unresolved.you could only hope for any affection left deep down his hardened heart.
"leon—" you whispered, your voice cracking painfully in the quiet.
"i said move out," he cut you off, his voice void of any human emotion. "it's the last time I'll say it."
he didn't wait for a response. he turned his broad back to you, the flashlight beam on his shoulder cutting a harsh white path through the dust, and began walking toward the northern corridor.
you stood entirely alone in the center of the ruined operating theater. the freezing air bit viciously at your tear stained skin. you stared at his retreating back, realizing with a dull, suffocating, and incredibly heavy ache that you had wanted to break him, and in doing so, you had thought that everything was now infinitely, permanently worse.
or was it?
with shaking, numb fingers, you slowly pulled the zipper of your jacket back up to your throat, burying your chin in the collar, and stepped away from the table to follow him into the dark.
✧ Genre: fluff, a little angst from fighting, lots of action, & cute protective cal :)
✧ Word count: 2.4k
✧ Warnings: Normal star wars stuff, ex: killing stormtroopers
↬ fem! reader
✧ Summary: Taken and trapped in an Imperial base on the planet Kashyyyk, you’re hopes are low. They’re even lower the more you think about how long it’s been since you’ve seen any Jedi…
Post-Shinjuku Arc | POV Hana Kurusu | Unrequited Love | Angst with a Happy Ending (not for Hana) | Healing & Recovery | Established Relationship | Family Dynamics | Fluff and Angst | Character Study | Generational Legacy | Emotional Hurt/Comfort | Bittersweet | Married Life | Next Generation | Spoilers
Synopsis: The war is over, and Megumi Fushiguro is broken. While Hana Kurusu desperately hopes her devotion can save him from his trauma, she quickly realizes she is just a reminder of the battle. You are his only anchor.
Through Hana’s heartbroken perspective, this story follows Megumi’s healing journey—from his raw confession declaring you his safe haven, to your marriage, and finally to the laughter of your children. A bittersweet tale of unconditional love and survival, where Megumi finds his ultimate happy ending in your arms, leaving Hana alone in the shadows of an unrequited love.
Word Count: ~3k
The air in Tokyo still tasted like ash, even months after the dust of Shinjuku had finally settled. For Hana Kurusu, the silence was the hardest part to get used to. Angel’s voice in her head was quiet now, a fading echo of a war that had torn the world—and their souls—apart. But the physical scars weren’t the ones that kept Hana awake at night. It was the hollow look in Megumi Fushiguro’s eyes.
Ever since he had been pulled back from the brink of Sukuna’s possession, Megumi had been a ghost walking among the living. He carried the weight of the bodies dropped, the cities leveled, and the sister lost. He barely spoke. He barely ate. Hana had stayed by his side, nursing her own wounds, secretly hoping that her presence, her devotion, and the fact that she had helped save him would mean something. She wanted to be the light that guided him out of his underworld.
But Hana was just a reminder of the battle. She wasn’t his savior. You were.
Hana stood at the end of the hospital corridor, the harsh fluorescent lights buzzing overhead, casting long, stark shadows on the linoleum floor. She was holding a small bouquet of wildflowers she’d spent an hour picking near the campus ruins, a frail attempt to bring color into his bleak world. But she stopped dead in her tracks when she saw the door to Megumi’s room was already ajar.
Through the crack, she saw him. For the first time in what felt like centuries, Megumi wasn’t staring blankly at the wall. He was sitting up, his dark, unruly hair falling over his forehead, his bandaged hands gripping the edge of the white hospital sheet.
And he was looking at you.
You were sitting in the plastic chair beside his bed, your fingers gently tracing the knuckles of his uninjured hand. You looked exhausted, bags under your eyes and clothes wrinkled from days of refusing to leave the premises, but to Megumi, it was clear you were the only thing anchored to reality.
“You should be resting, Y/N.” Megumi’s voice was incredibly raw, a low, gravelly rasp that Hana had rarely heard him use with anyone else. “You’ve been here for three days straight. Go home.”
“I am home,” you replied softly, your voice a soothing balm that seemed to visibly ease the tension in his rigid shoulders. “Right here. I’m not leaving you, Megumi. Not again.”
Hana felt a sharp, cold prickle in her chest. She took a half-step back into the shadows of the hallway, clutching the stems of the wildflowers a little too tightly.
Megumi closed his eyes for a long moment, inhaling sharply as if fighting back a wave of suffocating memories. When he opened them, the usual emotional barricades he kept raised against the entire world were entirely gone. There was a desperate, terrifying vulnerability in his dark green irises.
“When I was down there... in the dark,” Megumi whispered, his voice trembling slightly, a rare crack in his stoic facade. “When I couldn't move, couldn't breathe, and everything felt like a sin I couldn't wash off... I didn't think about the Jujutsu world. I didn't think about the clan. I just thought of you.”
Hana’s breath hitched. She pressed her back against the cool hallway wall, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird.
“Megumi...” you started, but he cut you off, his grip on your hand tightening, refusing to let you pull away.
“Let me speak, please. If I don't say it now, I'll bury it forever,” he urged, his gaze locked onto yours with a fierce, burning intensity. “Hana... everyone... they look at me and they see a victim, or a weapon, or a leader they need to rebuild this broken society. They look at me and see Shinjuku. But you... you just see me. You’ve always been my safe haven, Y/N. Before the seals broke, before the culling game, and even more so now. I am broken. I know that. But if you'll have me... I want to spend the rest of my life trying to be whole for you. I love you.”
From her hiding place, Hana watched a tear finally escape Megumi’s eye, tracking down his scarred cheek. It was a confession born from the ashes of devastation—a raw, unyielding declaration of a love that had survived the worst curse in history.
And as she looked down at the bright, useless flowers in her hand, Hana realized with a crushing, agonizing certainty that there would never, ever be a space for her in Megumi Fushiguro’s heart. You held the key to his soul, and she was just a spectator to a healing process she could never be a part of.
Months bled into a year, and Tokyo slowly began to reconstruct itself from the skeletal remains left by the war. The sorcerer society was changing, but for Hana, time felt entirely stagnant. Her arm—the one ripped away by Sukuna—still suffered from phantom pains on rainy days, but it was nothing compared to the ache that swelled in her chest every time she visited the campus grounds.
Because everywhere she looked, she saw the two of you.
Megumi had finally been discharged from the hospital, and though the shadows under his eyes remained, they were no longer pitch-black pits of despair. He was healing. He was smiling again—rare, genuine smiles that curled the corners of his lips. But those smiles were a currency he only spent on you.
Hana sat on the vending machine bench, her fingers tightly wrapped around a cold can of coffee. From this distance, she had a perfect view of the courtyard. You were sitting on the grass, a textbook open in your lap, while Megumi sat beside you. He wasn't paying attention to the pages. His gaze was entirely fixed on your face, his hand gently reaching up to tuck a stray lock of hair behind your ear.
“You’re staring again, Fushiguro,” you murmured, not looking up from your notes, though a bright blush crept up your neck. “If you don't study, Gojo-sensei's old records won't organize themselves.”
“Let them stay messy,” Megumi replied, his voice softer, lighter than Hana had ever thought possible. “I’d rather look at you.”
You finally looked up, letting out a soft laugh that echoed through the quiet courtyard, hitting Hana’s ears like a physical blow. You leaned forward and pressed a quick, tender kiss to his cheek. Megumi didn't flinch. He didn't pull away. Instead, he pulled you closer by the waist, burying his face into the crook of your neck, inhaling your scent as if you were his oxygen.
Hana looked down at her coffee can, her knuckles turning white. It felt like a cruel joke. She was the one who had admired him from afar for years. She was the one who had crossed paths with destiny to save him. Yet, in the story of Megumi Fushiguro’s recovery, Hana was nothing but a footnote. A background character.
A few days later, Hana found herself walking behind the two of you through the bustling streets of Shibuya, which was finally coming back to life. It was your first official date in the city, and she had coincidentally run into you. You, being kind and completely oblivious to her suffering, had invited her to walk with you.
It was pure torture.
The city was loud, but all Hana could focus on was the way Megumi’s fingers were tightly intertwined with yours, his thumb tracing circles on the back of your hand. He was hyper-vigilant, keeping his body positioned between you and the crowd, protecting you from the slightest jostle.
“Are you cold, Y/N?” Megumi asked suddenly, stopping near a storefront. The autumn breeze was starting to pick up.
“A little,” you admitted, shivering slightly. “But I'm fine, really.”
Without a second thought, Megumi unbuttoned his heavy dark coat, wrapping it around your shoulders before you could even protest. He pulled the lapels together, his face only inches from yours as he secured it.
“I told you to wear layers,” he chided gently, though his eyes were warm, filled with an devotion that made Hana’s stomach turn. “Don't make me worry.”
“You worry too much anyway,” you teased, burying your face into the collar of his coat, which clearly smelled of his signature sandalwood and rain scent.
Megumi leaned down, his lips meeting yours right there on the sidewalk. It wasn't a hidden kiss in a hospital room anymore; it was public, confident, and completely unbothered by the world around him. He was proud to belong to you.
Hana stopped walking, letting the crowd surge past her, separating her from the two of you. She watched your retreating figures—you, drowned in his oversized coat, and him, with his arm draped securely over your shoulders.
She looked down at her own bare, trembling hands. Nobody was checking to see if she was cold. Nobody was holding her hand to keep her anchored. She was completely alone in the world they had all fought so hard to save. Their happy ending had begun, and it was built on the complete erasure of her own hopes.
Years didn't just heal the wounds of the past; they buried them under the mundane routines of peace. The Jujutsu world had stabilized, and Megumi Fushiguro had taken his place as a pillar of the new era. He was stronger, wiser, and completely grounded. Everyone praised his growth, but Hana knew the truth. He wasn't strong for the Jujutsu world; he was strong so he could build a safe life for you.
And today was the culmination of that strength.
The traditional shrine was surrounded by blooming cherry blossoms, their pink petals drifting through the spring air like soft confetti. Hana stood near the back of the courtyard, dressed in a formal kimono that felt far too tight around her chest, suffocating her. She watched the guests chat, laugh, and celebrate. Maki, Inumaki, Yuji, Nobara—everyone was there, beaming with a joy that had been earned through blood and tears.
Then, the doors opened.
Hana’s breath caught in her throat. You stepped out, wearing a flawless white shiromuku wedding kimono. You looked breathtaking, radiant, and completely at peace. But Hana didn’t look at you for long. Her eyes immediately drifted to Megumi.
He was standing at the altar, dressed in his formal black robes. The man who had once been defined by shadows, cynicism, and a death wish was looking at you as if you were the dawn after a lifetime of night. His breath visibly hitched, and for a split second, his stoic mask completely crumbled, replaced by a raw, overwhelming awe.
As you walked down the aisle toward him, Megumi didn't wait for you to reach the altar. He stepped forward, breaking tradition, and reached out to take your hand early.
“You look... incredible, Y/N,” Megumi whispered, his voice cracking slightly with emotion, completely ignoring the soft, teasing chuckles from Yuji and Nobara behind him.
“You don't look too bad yourself, Fushiguro,” you replied, your eyes shining with unshed tears of happiness as you squeezed his hand.
“I promised you a life where you wouldn't have to cry anymore,” Megumi said softly, his thumb gently wiping away a stray tear that had managed to escape your eyes. “I intend to keep that promise every single day.”
Hana watched them exchange their vows, the traditional sake cups raised and drained, sealing their souls together for eternity. Every word Megumi spoke was a dagger to her heart, but she couldn't look away. It was a beautiful, agonizing execution of her last remaining illusions.
Later, during the reception, the alcohol flowed and the atmosphere grew lively. Hana found herself sitting at a corner table, nursing a cup of sake she barely tasted. She watched you and Megumi dance—or rather, sway slowly to the music. Megumi had his arms wrapped tightly around your waist, pulling you flush against his chest, his chin resting gently on top of your head. You had your eyes closed, listening to his heartbeat.
“Hana, right?” A voice interrupted her thoughts. It was one of the younger sorcerers, offering her a polite smile. “Aren't you going to congratulate them? You were a big part of why Fushiguro-san is even here today, after all.”
Hana’s smile felt like cracked porcelain on her face.
“I think... they have everything they need right there,” Hana replied, her voice hollow, dropping to a whisper. “They don't need my congratulations.”
She stood up, leaving her drink behind, and quietly slipped out of the reception hall before anyone could notice her departure. She walked out into the cool spring night, the distant sounds of laughter and music fading behind her.
She looked up at the moon, the same moon that had witnessed the horrors of Shinjuku. Megumi had built a fortress of love and security around you, a sanctuary where no curses could ever touch you again. He was whole. He was happy. And Hana was finally forced to swallow the bitter truth: she had saved his life, but she had never been destined to live it with him. She was a ghost from a war he had gladly left behind to be with you.
More years collapsed into the past, turning the horrors of Shinjuku into distant chapters in history textbooks. The world had moved on, and so had the survivors. But moving on meant different things for different people. For Megumi and you, it meant building a legacy born from love, not curses.
For Hana, it meant becoming a permanent ghost in the background of your perfect life.
It was a warm summer afternoon when Hana found herself walking near the traditional estate Megumi had reclaimed for his family. She hadn't intended to visit—she rarely did anymore, the pain was too acute—but she had been delivering a report to the nearby Jujutsu branch. As she passed the tall wooden gates of your home, a sound stopped her dead in her tracks.
It was the high-pitched, melodic laughter of children.
Hana stepped closer, peering through the gap in the wooden fence. The sight that met her eyes felt like a beautiful, devastating painting.
The backyard was lush and green. There, sitting on the wooden engawa porch, were you and Megumi. You looked older, softer, a mature grace radiating from you as you leaned against his shoulder. Megumi had his arm wrapped securely around your waist, his dark hair now slightly shorter, but his eyes... his eyes had never been brighter.
In the middle of the grass, two small children were playing. A boy, about four years old, with your eyes and Megumi’s unruly dark hair, was clumsily trying to summon a shadow puppet. Beside him, a younger girl with a bright, wide smile was chasing a pair of harmless, glowing divine dogs—smaller, gentler manifestations Megumi had created just to make his children laugh.
“Look, Papa! I did it! I made a bird!” the little boy shouted proudly, holding up his tiny hands in the shape of a wing, casting a faint shadow on the grass.
Megumi’s face softened into an expression of pure, unadulterated adoration—a look he used to only give to you, but now shared with the family you had given him. He leaned down, pressing a tender kiss to the top of your head before calling out to his son.
“Good job, Hisashi,” Megumi said, his voice deep, warm, and brimming with pride. “But keep your wrists firmer. Like this. Your mother always tells me you inherit my stubbornness, so make sure you inherit my technique too.”
“Hey! I am not stubborn,” you laughed, gently nudging his ribs with your elbow.
“You stayed by my side in a hospital room for days when the whole world was burning, Y/N,” Megumi murmured, his tone dropping into that familiar, intensely private cadence that always made Hana’s heart bleed. He pulled you closer, pressing his forehead against yours. “You are the most stubborn person I know. And thank God for that. Because of you, they have a world where they can just be kids. Because of you, I am alive to see it.”
“I love you, Megumi,” you whispered against his lips.
“I love you more, Y/N. Always.”
Hana stepped back, her boot clicking against the stone pavement. The sound was entirely drowned out by the happy giggles of your children and the barks of the shadow wolves.
She walked away from the estate, her head bowed, her hands shoved deep into her pockets. Tears, cold and silent, finally began to track down her cheeks.
There was no malice in her heart for you, nor for Megumi. That was the most tragic part. You were a wonderful mother, a perfect wife, and the absolute savior of the man she had loved in silence for a lifetime. Megumi deserved this peace. He had suffered enough for three lifetimes, and you had given him the happy ending he earned.
But as Hana looked up at the vast, empty blue sky, she realized her own story had ended a long time ago. She had played her part in the war, saved the boy she adored, and in return, the world had given her nothing but a front-row seat to his happiness with someone else.
She was completely alone, a forgotten relic of a dark past, walking down a lonely path while Megumi and you thrived in the beautiful, sunlit sanctuary of the life you had built together.
This bittersweet story was a special request for @alebrasil0101! Seeing Megumi finally find his peace and safe haven in your arms warms my heart, even if Hana had to watch from the shadows. I really hope you all enjoyed this emotional journey into their future! Thank you so much for reading! ♡
Likes are really appreciated and reblogs are what keep this blog alive. If you enjoyed this please consider sharing! (っ˘ω˘ς )♡
Summary: After having travelled with the Mandalorian for weeks, you finally land on Sorgan, your new “sanctuary”. In order to protect the child, Din gets a job in some village in the middle of nowhere. Too shy to voice your feelings for the bounty hunter you are forced to see the growing connection between him and the beautiful widow.
Pairing: Din Djarin x fem!Reader
Wordcount: 6.5k | Rating: T
Warnings: fluff, angst with a happy ending,
A repost of this wonderful little story! I hope you enjoy it ❤️
masterlist | crossposted on ao3
“I like him. He’s making you soft.”
“I’m not soft.”
“You’re calling him a little womp rat, that’s a pet name. Pet names are soft.”
“Shut up and let me land the ship,” he did not sound annoyed, more amused, really, as he initiated the landing sequence on the Razor Crest, “How’s your head?”
With a sigh, you leant back in the co-pilot’s chair. You had only barely escaped the guild on Nevarro a few days before and even though you had not physically fought (you were not able to land a punch for your life) the battle and subsequent escape had taken its toll on you. A horrible migraine had manifested itself in your skull, a sign that you had been under too much stress which was ironic, considering that you had been living with a kriffing bounty hunter for weeks now.
Thankfully, you had been able to function these past few days – the pain sometimes being more endurable and sometimes being gut-wrenching – but today, oh today was definitely the peak in your suffering, or at least you hoped it was.
“Worse.”
The Mandalorian hummed and flicked a switch somewhere. “Lie down, princess,” he turned in his seat, the child on his lap, and looked at you, “I’ll check out the planet on my own, the womp rat can stay here with you.”
You did as he said without much protest. Talking would only make it worse now, best to get into silence and darkness and sleep it off. The Razor Crest was still in the air when you found your way to your bunk. With a breath of relief, you pulled your boots off and slipped under the blankets. From somewhere you found your sleep shirt and folded it above your eyes, hoping that the added darkness would help to ease the pain a little.
You had refused the bacta spray Din had wanted to waste on you when the pain had first started. By that point, it had been clear as day that the green toddler – the little womp rat according to Din – had put you on the map for some very unfriendly people. There would be enough instances in the future where the bacta spray would be needed for something more severe than your migraine.
Still, your head was pounding so much that even the low rumble of the spaceship around you hurt your ears and eyes. You started to doze away, only noticing that the Crest had landed in a daze. Din was walking around, preparing to leave the ship and you heard him give a speech to the little one up in the cockpit. You smiled to yourself. He would not admit it yet but he had grown soft on the child and you loved to see it.
When he had prepared everything, you felt his glove on your hair.
“I’m leaving, princess,” he whispered, “the child is up in the cockpit and I told him to stay there. If you need anything just use the commlink, alright?”
Your eyes remained closed as you hummed your understanding. The hand on your head left and you heard as the ramp was opened. The womp rat evidently did not agree with what the armoured man had decided. As soon as the ramp opened you heard the Mandalorian scold the child as it was standing next to him and even through your pain, you could not help the chuckle that left your lips before sleep took you again. If you were going to stay here for another few weeks, as Din had planned, that would still leave plenty of time for you to explore this new world.
For now, you just wanted to bury yourself under the blanket and see and hear nothing.
*
When you opened your eyes next, it was dark outside.
The ramp was open again and noises were coming from outside. Sleep had left you and it took you a moment to gather your thoughts. You had landed on some backwater planet called Sorgan, you remembered. But the migraine that had pained you for so long had only gotten worse so you slept for most of the day on the ship, leaving Din to check out the place. The child had also gone with him.
Sitting up you felt the additional blankets around you. On a create next to your bunk stood a bowl of what smelled like cold soup. Your heart warmed at the sight. This was Din’s doing, it had to be, and to see the way he cared about you made the butterflies in your stomach flutter around like a hurricane. He always took care of you whether you had asked him to or not, not really acknowledging his acts of kindness but never ceasing them either.
That’s why you loved him. You just needed to figure out if you ever wanted to tell him.
This was the moment your body decided to remember that you had not eaten anything today and nothing at this moment sounded better than cold soup. You slurped on the cold liquid, some sort of broth, and it was the most delicious thing you had ever tasted. When the broth was finished you allowed yourself to stand up, wandering around the ship in your blanket until you finally spotted the bounty hunter in the cargo hold.
“Din? What is going on?”
Telling you his name was an accident. He had been shot, badly, and a concussion was certainly in the realm of possibilities when he had started to mumble unintelligible things under his breath. It had been the first time you had ever administered a bacta shot and the thought of it still made your hands shake. But the Mandalorian had trusted you and in his haze, he had gripped your hand and asked you to call him by his name – Din Djarin. You had been pretty sure that it had been unintentional on his part, that he had not really meant to entrust this to you. But his name on your lips was like a drug and you stayed with him the whole night, whispering soothing words and his name – always his name – under your breath until you were sure that he would survive. When you had called him by his name the next morning, he had not corrected you and he had not asked you to stop since.
So now, as you had called for his attention, you wrapped the blanket around you and approached him. He seemed to be packing away most of your stuff and through the open ramp, you could see two young men you did not recognise loading up a vehicle with your belongings. They looked so very out of place next to the beskar-clad bounty hunter and you suspected they might be farmers of some sort. Behind them stood a woman who decidedly did not look like a farmer.
You did not recognize her but she looked like she belonged to Din more than to the soldiers. Her hair was short and her arms crossed in front of her chest, she did not look like someone to mess with. And was that … was that some kind of armour that she was wearing? For a planet that barely held any population, she seemed suspiciously like Din. However, he did not seem to mind her presence which only confused you more. What had you missed out on these past few hours?
“We have a job.”
“And who is she?”
“Cara Dune, she will help us.”
You could only nod, sleep still in your eyes as you watched them loading up the little vehicle. The two young men did not really talk but they seemed keen on getting you back to wherever they had come from. The child was standing on the floor, dwarfed by a bush that was growing next to it, and cooed up at Din as he passed him. With a smile, you watched as he audibly sighed and then lifted the child into the back of the vehicle. Once the child was loaded up into the bed of the vehicle, only its little ears peeking out, Cara hauled herself onto there as well.
Din turned around and by now you had learned how to decipher his facial expressions even when he was wearing his helmet. He tilted his head towards the speeder and you sighed as you made your way towards him.
Only when your feet made contact with the forest floor did you notice that your boots were still missing. You turned around, tired and a little frustrated that had to make your way back to your bunk and put them on. For maker’s sake, you just wanted to sleep.
Next to the speeder, Din lifted his hands, your boots magically already in his possession. When had he gotten them from the ship? Were you still so out of it that you had not noticed his disappearance? Not minding the feeling of your feet on the grass, you walked over to the speeder, the blanket still around your shoulders. With a hand on your back, the bounty hunter helped you up before turning around and locking the Razor Crest up.
The two men did not make any attempts to talk to you and you were grateful for it. They informed you that the journey would take the whole night and that you would arrive when the sun was already up so you might as well get some rest now. Your group did not have to be told twice.
Cara was the first one falling asleep, her head leaning back and her legs stretched out towards you. The child was next, curled up between you and Din, his eyes did not remain open for long and soon little snores filled the air next to the humming of the speeder. You looked up at Din next to you, unsure if he was still awake. Your body was yearning for sleep but at the same time you worried – you always did.
You wanted to talk to him, to have him calm your nerves as he always did. His no-nonsense attitude to life, his very objective way of seeing things, had helped you more than once in the past. He was a warrior, fearless not only in battle but also in his honesty. If there were any dangers on this mission he would have told you about them, right? But he was not moving, probably already resting, and you did not find it in yourself to risk waking him.
So, you did the best thing you could: worry over each and every possible outcome. What if this was a trap? What if Din’s trust in Cara was misplaced? What if something would happen to the child and you could not prevent it?
Din shifted next to you, the length of his leg now pressed against yours, “Worried, princess?”
You turned your head towards him, making sure to keep your voice low so the farmers would not hear you, “Do you really think this is a good idea?”
“They are as far away from civilization as possible and we’d be able to stretch our legs for a few weeks.”
“Don’t get me wrong,” you tried to assure him, “I’m not doubting your skills. I know you’re better than anyone out there. It’s just …”
“Yes?”
But what could you tell him? That the fear in your mind – your fear for him and the child – kept you up and doubting every single decision you had made thus far? It was not even possible for you to pinpoint what exactly was bothering you, the remnant of your migraine still fuzzing up your thought process. So, you just sighed and decided to leave it be, “It’s nothing, forget it. I guess I was just worrying over nothing.”
In the dark, you only heard how he shifted until you felt his gloved hand reach above the child to your shoulder. Even through the leather, you could feel the warmth of his skin (or your imagination was just really vivid).
“I don’t want you to worry,” he replied, “I promise I will keep you safe – both of you.”
“I know you will, Din,” you whispered back and squeezed the hand on your shoulder, “Now get some sleep, I heard the farmers are paying good money for your exquisite skills. Wouldn’t want to disappoint them, now would we?”
He chuckled at your teasing and with the pleasant sound still in your ears you fell asleep again.
*
You arrived at daylight, just as the two men had promised. The sky was incredibly blue as you blinked up at it with not one cloud to see. Caught in the space between sleep and awake, your head was resting on Din’s shoulder. Your position had shifted during the night, you discovered. The child was now solely resting on Din’s lap, eyes already taking in the new sights. Your bodies had shifted closer together and while your head rested on his shoulder pauldron his arm had moved to lay around your shoulders and press you into him. You could feel your cheeks becoming warm as you realized just how close you were. But he made no move to detangle himself from you. Maybe he was still asleep?
“Morning, princess,” he rumbled into your ear and he was definitely not still asleep. He was awake and he had remained like that. Willingly. With you.
You did not have the time to ponder over the fact as the vehicle came to an abrupt halt. A crowd was already forming around you. Cara was the first to stand up, “Seems like they are happy to see us.”
“Seems like it.”
There was a group of children excitedly talking to the child. Ears perked up as he realized that they were happy to see him. A fond smile formed on your lips as you watched how the child was adopted by the local children as one of their own. This could only be a good sign.
Cara helped you down from the vehicle and now you had the chance to look around and really take everything in. Your first impression of the village was that it was beautiful. The grass was green, the water blue, lush forests were surrounding the village and while the huts were simple they seemed welcoming. All the villagers were so happy to see you, talking over each other and greeting you with big smiles on their faces.
This was a very different experience from what you had encountered these last few days and you relished in the welcome change.
Din was clearly uncomfortable with so much attention so you stuck close to him. Maybe it was just wishful thinking but you liked to believe that your presence eased his mind a little. And apparently, it did. His shoulders dropped and his hand appeared on your back (ignore how warm this feels, ignore it, ignore it, kriffing ignore it!) as his visor lowered its gaze to your feet.
“Still without boots?” he asked you.
You grinned and looked at your bare feet in the grass, “I’m embracing my existence as a nymph of the woods now, thank you very much.”
He chuckled, “If you must, princess.”
One of the farmers that had also driven the speeder introduced himself as Stoke and led you to your lodgings. The other farmers went to work on unloading all the crates that Din had taken with you but you did not worry about leaving them alone with your belonging. They did not seem like the type to steal Din’s countless blasters. Hell, they probably did not even know how to handle them.
The village was rather small and it was easy to remember the layout. Wherever you went you could always spot the ponds where they harvested the krill. They made spotchka with it as Stoke explained, although you were not quite sure what spotchka was. Cara got her own hut, somewhere on the edge of the village. She seemed quite content with it and waved at you with a grin.
Stoke turned to you, a small furrow between his brows, “Now will you need separate lodging as well?”
Din’s hand on your back tensed. Before you could answer he had made the decision, “No, she will stay with us.”
The farmer just nodded and led you further through the village. Din’s hand on you burned and you were sure that it was apparent how affected you were by him. Secretly, his decisions had pleased you. You liked being close to him. On the Razor Crest, you had lived in close quarters and you had gotten so used to it that you did not know how to live on your own anymore. Apart from that, you also liked to be close to him. Not for security reasons – although you always did feel safe with him – but because you liked to just be with him. You liked his Maker, you were truly pathetic, weren’t you?
Stoke finally came to a stop in front of what looked like a … a barn? Confused you tilted your head to the side. There was no door but more of a curtain that covered the entrance to your future lodgings. Inside, there was a woman that seemed to be preparing the unconventional space for visitors. She had dark hair that was braided away from her face. She was quite beautiful and her smile shone as she welcomed the two of you.
“I am sorry that this is the only thing we have to offer,” she apologized, “But we are very grateful that you have accepted the job. My name is Omera. If there is anything you should need, please don’t hesitate to ask one of us.”
Din answered something but you were already too busy inspecting your future living quarters. It was simple, yes, but it still felt very homey. Through the weaving of the walls came rays of sunlight that shone a beautiful pattern on the floor. There were two cots on either side of the room and even a small table and a chair. The table stood by a window that overlooked the space between the huts. Children were playing outside, not a worry in the world.
Yes, this could be your home.
As you had finished your little tour, you saw that he was still talking to Omera. As she left with parting words and a smile he looked at her even after she had gone. An uncomfortable feeling spread in your chest. You had never seen him do that before.
Like the adult that you were, you decided to just ignore it. She was beautiful, everyone could see that, and he was entitled to look at beautiful women as much as he desired, was he not? He is not yours, you tried to remind yourself, no matter how much you want him to be.
“So, what do you think? Do they pass the test?”
You ignored the teasing undertone in his voice, trying to mask the hurt on your face. “It could be nice here,” you decided with a nod and looked around again.
From outside, you could hear the happy chatter of the children. As if sharing the same thought, both of you went over to the window and spotted the little one playing with a group of children. He seemed incredibly happy and it made your heart fly in your chest.
“He looks so happy,” Din marvelled next to you. If you had not been sure about his feelings for the child before now, this would be the moment where it was abundantly clear that he cared for the child – even though he had yet to acknowledge it.
“How is your head?”
“Better, I think,” you shrugged, “Don’t know what that was about.”
A finger tapped against your temple and you turned around to face him, “You worry too much in that little head of yours.”
“Is …”, your mouth gaped open, “Was that a joke?”
You only heard his chuckle as he left to explore the threat with Cara.
*
You did not really notice the discussion between the villagers and Din. You were not sure what you were supposed to be doing in all this and with your normal occupation – tending to the child and making sure he did not accidentally destroy anything important – gone, you were left to your own devices. Which meant that you could hardly take your eyes off Din, standing broad-shouldered in front of the villagers, saying words you did not hear and looking absolutely gorgeous.
You had never seen his face but you were sure he was beautiful.
The discussion grew more heated and you saw that Cara was getting involved in it as well. But it all came to a stop when Omera started to speak. You could see her eyes fixed on Din, both of them just staring at each other. You felt helpless, seeing how they could barely take their eyes off each other. Had he ever looked at you like that? Would he ever look at you like that or was it too late now?
With a grin Cara slapped her hand on your shoulder and pulled you out of your thoughts, “Ever shot a blaster before?”
*
Out of the corner of your eye, you spotted Din standing next to Omera. He was teaching her how to handle a blaster. Although from what you could see, she did not need a lot of teaching. All her targets were hit and the approving nods that he gifted her with were more than he had done with the other villagers.
You tried to ignore the little pang of hurt that went through you at seeing him like this. You were not entitled to him spending his every minute with you. He was not yours. Perhaps he was just happy to have a bit of a respite from being stuck with you on the ship for so long?
Still, you had thought that he would be the one to teach you. All these weeks together he had always teased you about it, how you were absolutely useless with a weapon – a true princess. You had always rolled your eyes at him, not wanting to admit that the thought oddly pleased you. No matter how rough he was around the edges you were sure that he was a good teacher. And he was. Just not for you.
Instead, it was Cara whose task it was now to show you the works of a blaster. You liked the woman. She was rough around the edges, much like the bounty hunter, but she was funny and soft – also very much like the bounty hunter. The difference was that you were not hopelessly in love with her and it enabled you to completely relax around her. She was like a friend and you found that you liked it – the camaraderie between women.
The weapon was heavy in your arms and you could already feel how your arms began to tire. You were training the blaster onto one of the targets, trying to remember the different steps Cara had shown you only moments before.
The dark-haired ex-soldier was standing next to you, arms crossed, as she scrutinized your posture, and adjusted your stance by tapping her foot against your ankle. “Why does he call you that?”
“Call me what?”
“Princess.”
A nervous laugh escaped your lips as you tried to focus your eyes on the pot that was hanging a few feet away from you. Ignoring the butterflies in your stomach, you pulled the trigger but the makeshift target did not move at all. You had missed by miles. You sighed defeatedly and lowered the weapon again, wondering if you would ever learn how to properly shoot a target. Preferably before the raiders came to your little village, guns blazing.
“Because she looked like a princess in her twirling skirts floating around the market as if there wasn’t a kriffing bounty on her head.”
Din suddenly appeared from behind you, hands on his belt, casually standing beside Cara. You could hear the fondness in his voice and turned around with a smile. It was one of your favourite memories, how the bounty hunter had suddenly appeared behind you, grasping you by the upper arm and decided that he would not turn you in. That he would take you in.
“I didn’t know there was a bounty on my head,” you tried to defend yourself.
“Doesn’t matter. Still looked like a princess.”
He sounded so serious all of a sudden and his words held that much more weight thanks to it. Your cheeks felt treacherously warm and you averted your gaze to the floor, the Mandalorian being too intense.
Cara did not say anything but she looked like she knew exactly what was going on with you which did not help one bit. Not when you had seen how proud he had looked at Omera, how pleased he had been with her skills while you were standing here missing shot after shot.
“I will take it from here, Cara. Caben and Stoke look like they need some more pointers.”
Cara only smirked and nodded her goodbye before walking to the two farmers who were desperately trying to figure out how to properly handle the blasters in their hands. You recognized them as the ones that had first brought you here and even though it did not help in the preparation of the village, you were glad to see that you were not the only one that struggled with the unfamiliar weapons.
That left you alone with Din. Why did that make you so nervous? Probably because you would not be able to take his harsh judgment once he figured out how miserable you were at all this. Because you did not want to disappoint him.
“I am not very good at it, I’m afraid,” you shrugged your shoulders, eyes on the weapon in your hands.
“Don’t need to be good,” he replied gruffly, crossing his arms in front of his chest, “You only need to survive. Show me how you shoot.”
You assumed the position that Cara had shown you.
“Stop right there.”
Immediately, you froze in your position, muscles locking up. You had not even pulled the trigger yet and already the Mandalorian had found something you did wrong. You took a steadying breath, trying to reign in your feelings of embarrassment, disappointment and just general anxiety. This was Din you were talking about. He would not think less of you for not knowing something you had never learned. That was not the type of man he was. So why did that thought not calm you?
He moved behind you and you were acutely aware of how his chest was pressing up against your back. The closeness made you dizzy and you tried to tighten your grip on the blaster, your arms screaming in protest. Maker, what was going on? Why couldn’t you just get a grip?
His hand adjusted your elbows from behind but once he was happy with your grip he did not move away. Instead, he took hold of your hips and stayed like this. It was like his body was moulded perfectly against yours, his touch igniting a flame in your stomach you were not yet ready to acknowledge. How did this not affect him?
“Shoot,” he instructed, “The kickback will be stronger this time but I got you, alright?”
Not trusting yourself to speak you only nodded and pulled the trigger. Din was right; the kickback was much stronger. Had it not been for him you would have stumbled back a few paces but now you were thrown only ever closer to him. His hands flexed on your hips as you tried to upright yourself again. Your face grew hot and you were pretty sure that you were close enough to smell him now. But your thoughts were washed away when you saw something incredible.
The pot was moving, swaying on the long rope it had been tied to.
You could hardly believe your eyes as you turned to him, enthusiasm washing over you. “I did it. Did you see that? I did it!”, you exclaimed giddily grinning up at him.
The Mandalorian simply nodded, “You did,” he used his hold on your hips to turn you around again, pulling you until you were, once again, touching his chest, “Now do it again. We are doing it until I am satisfied.”
It took forever.
You shot, again and again, sometimes hitting dead centre and sometimes not even close to the target. But you got better.
Din did not leave his place behind you. He would occasionally adjust your hold on the blaster or your stance but he was always right behind you, hands hovering above your hips. By the time you were consistently hitting the targets, you were the only one left to practice, but Din would not let go. Barricades were built around you, holes were dug deeper and the sun continued its journey through the sky and Din would not leave your side, not once.
You grew more and more comfortable with the weapon in your hands but also with him being so close. Now that you were distracted, your body allowed itself to relax against him almost, not constantly worrying about what his close proximity meant.
Sometime later he took a step back from you, now only watching as you shot. You would be lying if you said that you did not miss his touch but it also meant that you got better so you would focus on that.
When he finally moved, the pot was already blackened from the many hits. You doubted that it could be reused again. “That should be enough,” he went on, “We should get back to the others. The sun is already low.”
Silently you nodded, happy that you had not been an utter disappointment and feeling slightly more confident concerning the nearing fight.
*
Nightfall came quicker than you had anticipated. You had spent the remainder of the day digging the holes for the AT-ST and helping to usher the children into one of the huts furthest from the battlefield. Your arms were sore from the extensive blaster training and the digging had only worsened the dull ache in your muscles. At the same time, your body was vibrating with energy, readying itself for battle – physically and mentally.
Your thoughts were like one of those flying bullets from the Mandalorian. They bounced around your head a few times, too quick to be caught, before disappearing again, leaving you disoriented and insecure. What if you were not good enough? What if people were going to die? What if Din or Cara got hurt? What if one of the children got hurt?
You took a steadying breath. The blaster felt heavy in your hand as you were standing outside the barn, just watching and waiting for anything to happen. You were not ready yet to take your position by the barricades. If you did, it meant that all of this was real. That it was really happening and that you were going to fight.
A few huts over, you could see how Din talked to Omera. Probably just preparations, you tried to reassure yourself. But the way they stood by each other, how she intimately touched his hand, how worried she looked up at him, told a very different story. And Din did not seem to be too opposed to her advances and it hurt you more than the fear of battle ever could.
Annoyed at yourself for thinking this way you looked down at your blaster, making sure it was loaded like Cara had shown you just a few hours earlier.
(Omera was nice. She was a good woman. Din deserved happiness and if he found it with her instead of you that was none of your kriffing business. Just keep it together.)
Their conversation must have ended because you could see Din walking away from her. Cara was waiting by the gates of the barricades and you wondered if you should tell him goodbye. It felt wrong, just letting him leave like that when everything in you screamed to tell him.
But instead of making his way to Cara who was patiently waiting, he made a beeline towards you. Your heart stopped for a second before starting to race in your chest. You tried to straighten your posture, to not let your nervousness show but you were pretty sure that the Mandalorian saw through you like he always did.
He came to stand before you, rifle slung across his shoulders and hands resting on his belt. He looked more intimidating than ever and you were not sure if it was just the fact that he would leave for battle any moment or because you were so nervous to be so close to him now. “Are you ready, princess?”
You swallowed and nodded slightly, your hands shifting around the blaster in your hands, “I think so.”
He remained silent for a second, mustering you up behind that helmet of his, you were sure. “Do you know where Cara put you?”
You nodded again and gestured behind him to one of the wooden structures, “Yes, by the barricade over there.”
He followed your arms and nodded shortly. Then he turned back to you and if possible, his gaze became even more intense. “Good. Now make sure that it’s loaded when we leave. Don’t take any unnecessary risks, stick to what Cara and I taught you,” his hands hesitated before they touched your wrists, fingers enveloping them completely, “I – I want you safe, understood?”
With wide eyes, you looked at him. Was he worried for you? You looked around to make sure that one else was close enough to hear you. “Din,” his name felt familiar and safe on your tongue and you looked at where his hands still rested on yours. There were so many things you wanted to say. Was this now the right moment to tell him? How much you admired him? How much you wanted to be with him, how much you loved him? But Omera popped up in your mind, so you bit your tongue, “just … be safe, alright?”
His shoulders deflated a bit. You were too nervous to think about what that meant. Disappointment maybe? But in what? Or was he just relieved to finally get going? Was his blood pumping in his veins like yours? He nodded his head once and then joined Cara and disappeared into the woods. Seeing them leave led the farmers to assume their positions, weapons in hand. Following their example, you got to your spot behind the barricade, waiting for the moment when Din and Cara would come back bursting through the forest, raiders on their heels.
*
Din heaved himself out of the water, Cara next to him, a breathless laugh escaping her.
The plan was crazy enough that it had actually worked. They had brought down a kriffing AT-ST and all of that with only a handful of people, not a lot of skill but much more determination than he had ever encountered. The cheers of the farmers sounded like music to his ears – but the one he had his focus on was not a villager at all. He spotted you first, a wide grin on your face and unharmed. His heart felt lighter at the realization and he allowed himself to just rest a moment.
Dead raiders were lying around, some farmers already starting to dispose of the bodies. For a village that had not seen a lot of violence in its day, they were a lot less squeamish than he would have assumed.
One of the Klatooninians had not yet gone down, however, and instead of staying down or surrendering, he got up again.
The straggler made a run for it, battle cry bellowing from his mouth. The villagers cried in fear, caught off guard by the sudden threat. Din’s heart stood still when he realized that the straggler was making his way away from the village cutting down anyone that was standing in his way.
You were there, looking so unsuspecting, grinning at something a farmer had said at you and then there was only a blur.
Din heard a scream, a splash and you disappeared.
He was still lying on the ground, desperately trying to get up and get to you. The farmer you had spoken to did not hesitate to pull the trigger, the raider falling to the floor with a thump. Din ran up the last bit to the pond where you had just stood, eyes flicking back and forth in the darkness to see where you had fallen. Adrenalin was pumping through his veins, heart thumping loudly in his ears and only one question on his mind. Where were you?
“The pond!”, Cara called from somewhere, “She must have fallen into the pond.”
Before he knew what he was doing the water was up to his hips, his arm plunging into the liquid darkness. He felt something soft in his hand and moments later he hauled you up to land by your shirt. There was a gash on your forehead that was still bleeding into your hair. You were unconscious but your chest was still warm.
“Hey, princess,” he mumbled desperately, hands touching your cheeks, “Can you hear me?”
He got no answer and where his heart had felt light and airy before, it was now a stone in his stomach. Cara was standing behind him, he could hear her arguing with one of the farmers. But it did not sound real, more like he was hearing her through tons of cotton.
He cradled your upper body on his lap, pulling you closer and watching for any sign of life. Your body tried to take a deep breath, a wet cough wrecking your body. Gently he turned you to your side and water heaved out of you in violent bursts. It took a while but soon, you took a rasping breath and his heart felt like it was flying. You were alive, thank the maker you were alive.
Cautiously he picked you up, making sure to have you as close as possible. Cara ushered the farmers away from you that now wanted to congratulate the heroes of the hour, not yet realizing that something was wrong with you. “Let her breathe, let her breathe.”
The barn was already in his view when you started moving on your own.
“Did you see me?” you mumbled against his chest, triumphant smile on your lips, your eyes unseeing and half-closed, “I did it, Din. I did it.”
The pride in your voice broke his heart and he shifted you in his arms so you were closer to him.
“I saw you, princess,” he whispered back at you, “I always see you.”
Din Djarin takes a job from a Hutt-linked merchant on Nal Hutta, thinking it’s just another bounty. But the “payment” isn’t credits: it’s a human girl, held in a palace cruiser full of the kind of moral compromises he usually avoids.
When the girl proves she’s smarter, braver, and far more capable than she appears, Din realizes there's things far more valuable than credits at risk.
Or: the story of how Din Djarin lost his virginity.
Pairing: Din Djarin x Princess!Reader
Content warning: no use of y/n, she/her pronouns for reader, unprotected P in V sex, grogu isn't here this is like a prequel of sorts, idk what else to mention
Check out my masterlist - read this on AO3
Mando should’ve known better.
He’d been tracking bounties across the Outer Rim long enough to know which clients were trouble, and which were outright suicidal. And a Hutt-linked merchant on Nal Hutta? That was the latter.
But the credits were too tempting, and the Razor Crest was barely holding together (the hyperdrive couplings had been sparking like fireworks, and every core circuit threatened to go dark whenever he took off). So, reluctantly, Din Djarin agreed.
And now, standing in the merchant’s private meeting rooms aboard a hovering palace cruiser, he remembered why he didn’t accept anything from Hutt associates.
“This is only half the credits.” Mando said, his voice steady, trying his best to now show any kind of frustration.
“I know, I know, Mandalorian” the merchant, a Zeltron with deep cerulean skin, replied. “Money’s tight, but I am a creature of my word.”
And with that, he stood up, walking towards the end of the room, where he pushed aside a heavy curtain embroidered with stars. Immediately, a wave of strong perfume —spiced with the scent of Corellian hibiscus and Coruscant night markets— hit Mando even through his helmet.
Din didn’t move. He didn’t have to; he knew exactly what the “payment” would be, and it was not something he wanted.
But, then, he saw it: across the veil of smoke, a faint sparkle caught his eye, and a laugh drifted— light, almost musical, melting into the room like the last note of a flute.
He stepped forward before caution could stop him.
The merchant guided Din across the wide room, dimly lit by flickering fire candles, the smoke from exotic incense swirling in intricate patterns above Persian-style rugs. The cushions strewn across the floor were deep and embroidered with Naboo silks; they seemed to float above the darkness, inviting yet alien. The air smelled of sin, and the dim lights of the candles drew glowing pale orange shadows on the naked torsos of the ladies.
Zeltron, Kiffar, Theelin and other human-hybrid females, dressed in silk and linen, laid across the room, spread over the cushions like dehydrated flowers waiting for the dew. Their garments left nothing to the imagination, and yet they covered them enough to leave a man, regardless of his species, intrigued.
“This could easily cover the debt.” the merchant murmured, gesturing toward the figures lounging on the cushions. One of the girls stood up, and without breaking eye contact with Mando, moved to the merchant’s side, giving him a side hug. “More than enough, in fact.” the merchant continued, wrapping an arm across the girl’s slender waist. “My girls ain’t cheap. I am giving you more than what I had offered in the first place.”
Din’s hand hovered near his blaster. Despite being in a room full of women, a few men (some human, most of them Zeltrons and Kiffars) were there… receiving the pleasures they had paid for.
Everyone’s eyes, one way or another, landed in Din’s figure. He was used to it, at that point, and he knew the lingering eyes of the girls were curious and not threatening, yet Din’s instincts screamed caution. He checked every man in the room for their blasters and weapons, he took note of the guards standing in the darkest corners, and their rifles. He counted the windows (none) and the exits (just one).
Din cleared his throat, ready to demand the credits outright, when that soft, honeyed laugh sounded again. He must’ve reacted in some way, because the merchant raised an eyebrow, and scoffed a dry laugh.
“Oh, I see.” the merchant said, waving the figures back into the shadows. “You have… particular tastes, Mandalorian.”
The Zeltron, still holding the girl by her waist, guided Din toward a far corner, where the candlelight barely reached. Shadows twisted in shapes that hinted at hidden treasures —or hidden dangers. Din followed, every step measured, his hand outstretched and ready to blast off anyone if needed.
Together, the three of them walked towards another room, more secluded. The chamber smelled of spice, smoke, and something faintly metallic —the trace scent of a blaster discharge long past… or perhaps blood. They smelled the same to Din.
He didn’t know exactly what awaited him, but in his line of work, curiosity and caution walked hand in hand. One wrong step in a Hutt-controlled palace, and it wouldn’t just be credits lost —it would be his head, no helmet, mounted as a warning at the entrance of the brothel.
The merchant stopped before a narrow archway draped in sheer fabric the color of twilight. Unlike the main chamber, this room was quiet. No music. Just the soft crackle of a single oil lamp and that honeycomb laughter he had walked to, like a spell.
The merchant hesitated for a moment, unsure if to say anything or not, but instead he just opened the door and pushed the fabric aside. Inside, there were no cushions scattered across the floor. No perfumed haze thick enough to choke. Just a small table, a low bed against the wall, and a viewport showing the skies of Nal Hutta covered in greenish clouds.
And sitting cross-legged on the edge of the windowsill, was a human girl.
She couldn’t have been more than twenty standard years. Maybe twenty-four. Her long hair fell in uneven waves past her shoulders, clearly cut with a knife instead of proper shears. Her clothes were simple, compared to her co-workers —a loose linen tunic, trousers too big for her frame, sleeves rolled to reveal wrists ringed with faint bruises. Restraint marks.
She wasn’t painted in oils or draped in jewels. She wasn’t smiling seductively. She had something in her hand (the cause of her giggles) but she quickly put it away when they walked in. She looked ahead, and then turned to meet Mando’s gaze, hidden behind the helmet. Somehow, she managed to stare directly at him.
“This” the merchant said smoothly as he took a few steps towards the girl “is special stock. Rare. Fully human. No augmentations. No pheromone glands. No tricks.” He crouched beside her, fingers brushing her jaw as if inspecting merchandise. She didn’t flinch, but her jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. “Fresh acquisition from a man who owed me a lot of money. Claims she’s from some backwater agri-world. No papers. No family.”
The girl’s gaze never left Din’s visor.
“She’s not trained yet.” the merchant added. “Her species makes her expensive, but her condition alone makes her worth far more than the credits I owe you. One hour with her and we would be more than settled.”
Din’s hand slowly curled into a fist.
“How old?” he asked, his voice lower than before.
The merchant shrugged. “Youngest you’ll find of her kind in Nal Hutta.”
Din tilted his helmet slightly. “What’s your name?” he asked her.
The girl's eyes widened. It seemed like Din was the first person to ever speak to her directly, or let alone ask her something so personal, now that she wasn’t a person anymore. But, before she could even stutter, the merchant interrupted sharply, squeezing her arm. “Property designation L-17.”
Din’s visor turned slowly toward him. “She has a name.” he said, matter of fact.
The Zeltron forced a smile, shaking his head, as he put his hands together. “Names are sentimental. And you see, I manage many girls, it’s useless for the stock to remember names and surnames.”
And with that, the merchant took a step closer to Din, and spoke to the girl in the entrance of the chamber, the one who had followed them in. “Give notice at the front desk, L-17 is booked for an hour.”
Din took one deliberate step closer, shaking his hesd. The sound of beskar boots against the metal floor rang heavy in the small room.
“I didn’t agree to this.” he said. “I want the credits.”
“And I am offering you something far more valuable.” the merchant replied, slowly and calm, with a tone as sharp as the blade hidden in his garments.
Din’s hand hovered near his blaster again— but not out of discomfort this time. He was calculating.
He could demand the money once again, and leave most likely empty handed, best case scenario. He could shoot the merchant and fight his way out of a Hutt cruiser swarming with guards. He could walk away entirely without making a scene.
Or—
“An hour?” he asked, moving his fingers to relax his grip, forcing himself to not grab the blaster.
“More would be too much. An hour… I understand it is enough time for humans.” the merchant smiled, clearly satisfied. “Assuming, of course, you are human underneath that helmet. I heard most Mandalorians are.”
Din didn’t reply. The Zeltron bowed shortly, and walked to the door. “We’ll see you in an hour” he announced as his girl closed the door, leaving Din and the human completely alone in the chamber.
The door sealed with a heavy hiss. The silence that followed was loud, but it finally made Din relax his shoulders.
He didn’t move toward her. Instead, he crossed the small chamber, removed his gloves one at a time, and set them carefully on the table. Then, he sat on the edge of the low bed, taking his boots off. After a moment, he leaned back against the wall, helmet still on, arms resting at his sides, trying to get as comfortable as possible.
He did not look at her. But he knew she was staring, expecting an order. “I won’t touch you” he said at last.
The words sat between them, heavy. To Mando’s surprise, the girl didn’t relax. But she didn’t shrink, either. “You paid for the hour” she said.
“I didn’t pay. The merchant owed me.” Din replied, closing his eyes, though of course she couldn’t see it.
He could feel her gaze on him, studying him. “You’re Mandalorian,” she said carefully. “That means you have a code.”
He didn’t answer. Instead, he opened his eyes, and watched her more closely as she shifted slightly on the windowsill.
The way she held herself still, the way her breathing evened out on purpose. The lack of fear, or rather her temple-like control of her emotions, made Din raise an eyebrow. Something metallic flashed briefly in her hand before she curled her fingers around it again. Din noticed, of course.
“Where’d you get that?” he asked, sitting a bit more straight.
Her chin lifted a fraction. “Get what?” She played fool.
He tilted his helmet toward her closed fist. After a stretch of measured, skin tight silence, where she realised she couldn’t lie to him, the girl opened her hand.
It was nothing but a small magnetic restraint clip, bent at the edge and with rough edges— hacked.
“You’ve been working on that” he observed.
“For three weeks.”
Din nodded, impressed. He imagined most girls, if not all, were held against their will— he had assumed the merchant would’ve had smarter ways to avoid these kinds of situations. And yet, here there was a human girl, with a hijacked clip, waiting for an opportunity to run.
“That won’t open this door” he informed her, expecting to break her illusion, but her reply surprised him.
“I know.” She met his visor without flinching. “It opens the service corridor two decks down.”
Now he turned his head fully toward her, standing from the bed. “That corridor leads to—”
“Hangar access.” She finished the sentence. “Or so I’m told.”
Told.
The way she said that, and the slip of an accent —fine and clear like ceramic— made him realize she wasn’t a farm girl. He could hear it in her cadence now, and see it in the straighten of her spine, and the elegant arch of her naked feet. But it was more obvious when you spoke to her, and the way she chose words.
She was educated, and raised with a purpose much higher than most humans— and definitely not the one the merchant intended of her.
“You don’t sound like you’re from a backwater agri-world” Din murmured, not sure if he was doing the right thing or not.
She gave the smallest smile. “No, I’m not. And this isn’t my place either— but it’s also no place for a Mandalorian.”
Fair enough.
Din sat down on the edge of the bed, now closer to the windowsill. “You’re waiting for someone” he said.
“Yes.”
“Who?”
She hesitated, for the first time. But that was just a pause to decide her words. “My people.” She replied at last, something twinkling in her eyes.
Not family.
Not father.
Not husband.
People.
That was more than enough to know that she— oh, she was a princess. Or at least nobility. And whatever her heritage was, she was hiding it very well.
“You’re not scared” he said.
She looked at him for a long moment, until she sighed. “I am.” she replied. “I just refuse to perform it.”
Din felt something shift in his chest. It took him a minute to understand it was respect. He hadn’t felt that for someone in a while— truth is, he hadn’t bumped into many people who deserved it. She did, though. At least in plain sight. A noble girl, trapped in a brothel, refusing to break and planning an escape instead of just waiting like a damsel in distress? That deserved respect.
“Are you going to take me out of here?” she asked, but it wasn’t a plea to be rescued, it was a calculated question, to measure her own plan.
“No”. Mando replied, and that clearly surprised her. She raised her eyebrows, not a single wrinkle on her forehead as she did. “I’m not in the business of stealing what isn’t mine.” he found himself explaining— odd for him.
Her fingers tightened around the clip. “Well, I’m not his property, even if he thinks so.”
Mando swallowed saliva, and nodded. “I know.” He said. She had a point. “I agreed to this” he said finally, voice lower “so I wouldn’t have to kill everyone between here and my ship.” Again, more explanations he wasn’t entirely sure why he was giving— maybe because he hoped she didn’t hate him for not helping her out. “I’ll figure out the credits later. But it was this or bloodshed.”
She studied him, holding herself with her arms. “Then why are you still here?”
“Because if I walk out too soon, they’ll know something’s wrong.”
That earned him the faintest nod. Now she was the one gaining his respect. The Mandalorian was strategic, not hot headed, and didn’t murder for sport. She liked that.
Din shifted slightly on the bed, going back to his relaxed pose, resting his back against the bedframe. “You have how long before your people come?”
“It is unknown.”
That made him huff a small laugh. “Then you don’t have a plan.”
“I do” she said, straightening up, holding the chip tight on her fist. “It’s just… delayed.”
Din looked at the bruises, at her clothes, at the bones poking from the hemline of the neck. Three weeks she had lasted, untouched and unbroken, but it was clear her limit was getting closer. If he had been a lesser man, he would’ve been the one in charge to bend that willpower holding her together.
“You want to get to that service corridor?” Din found himself asking.
She went very still, her breathing caught on her chest before she spoke. “Yes.”
He sat up. “Then when the hour’s up, you follow me. Don’t run unless I tell you.”
Her eyes sharpened, an eyebrow raised once again. “You’re helping me.”
“I’m helping myself.” he corrected, or rather lied. “I don’t want the merchant to think of me as a partner for business.” A beat of silence followed, and then, once again, Din found himself over explaining. “And I don’t like what this place is.”
That was as close to an admission as she’d get out of him, but it was enough. She slid off the windowsill, stepping closer toward him, but still keeping distance.
“For what it’s worth” she said quietly, “I knew you wouldn’t hurt me— you’re Mandalorian, after all.”
He didn’t respond at that, but his shoulders loosened slightly, almost against his will. Across the hall, distant laughter echoed again. Din glanced toward the door. “We wait.”
The hour did not pass quickly. If anything, they did the opposite. And it got longer with every distant footstep in the corridor that felt closer than it was; with every burst of laughter beyond the walls; with every distant and echoey moan and whimper that reminded them what performance the merchant expected them to be engaging at.
Din checked the time twice in the corner of his visor display. Fifty-three minutes.
She was pacing around the small chamber, not nervously, but thinking. Her linen clothes made a carpet-like sound as they rubbed against each other. “They’ll expect…” She hesitated, then forced herself to continue. “They’ll expect signs.”
“I know.” Din replied, although he hadn’t really thought of it. Their gazes landed on the bed, where the sheets laid pristine. Din stood slowly. The mattress dipped as he pressed a gloved hand into it, then released. The fabric smoothed itself almost perfectly.
“Wrinkle them” he said.
She blinked.
“The sheets.” He clarified.
She moved without embarrassment now, pulling at the blanket, twisting the fabric, creasing it sharply near the pillows. She tugged one corner loose so it hung unevenly. While she worked on the bed, Din stepped toward the small oil lamp and dimmed it further. The room fell into deeper shadow, making the green clouds on the window glow like emeralds through the window.
“Your hair” he added, looking at the pale green glow bouncing off of her curls.
She hesitated only a second before dragging her fingers through it, loosening the waves until they fell more chaotically around her shoulders. But then, she paused, her face contouring into realisation. “I…” She swallowed, with her fingers still tangled on her locks.
“What?” Din asked, turning around to see her composure flickering for the first time.
“They think I’m untouched.”
He said nothing, but he knew her stomach turned just as much as his.
“If he checks” she continued quietly, more controlled and collected once again, but thinner at the edges, “there won’t be… evidence.”
Silence filled the room again. On his visor, the clock moved a number. Fifty-six.
Din looked at the sheets. Then at her. Then at his gauntlet. The idea came to mind before he could even process it.
He stepped past her toward the table, removing one glove. His hands were calloused, scarred with old cuts and burns, many from work, even more from childhood. It took her by surprise to see they were, as least in sight, pure human.
“I believe this will be enough” he said.
Before she could ask what he meant, he drew the small vibroblade from his boot. He didn’t hesitate, not even a second, when he rested the blade on his skin and made a quick slide across the pad of his finger, shallow enough to heal… shallow enough to bleed.
She inhaled sharply, despite herself, as she watched how Din pressed his hand briefly against the rumpled sheets, leaving a small, unmistakable stain. It wasn’t dramatic or excessive. It was… believable enough, hopefully.
He wiped the blade clean against his glove and sealed the minor wound with a small med-seal from his belt. “All right?” he asked.
She stared at the mark on the sheets for a long moment. “You didn’t have to do that.”
Once again, footsteps echoed in the corridor. But this time, they didn’t pass by.
Din put his glove on and resumed his place on the bed, leaning back against the wall exactly as before —except now the sheets bore their story.
She moved instinctively toward the windowsill again. “No.” Din commanded. When she turned, he nodded to the bed.
Quickly, she lowered herself onto the edge of the bed, back partially turned to him, hair falling forward over one shoulder. She sat close enough to suggest proximity, but still keeping distance. She clenched the edge of the mattress tightly. Din couldn’t tell if that was part of the acting or not. But before he could ask, the door lock disengaged with a metallic click, and the Zeltron merchant entered with the same perfumed air and calculated smile he had an hour before.
His gaze flicked immediately to the bed and a smile of satisfaction struck his face. The sheets, the light, her hair, and the stain, all seemed to be doing the trick.
“I trust the hour was… sufficient?”
Din didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he rose slowly from the bed. “It was.” he said.
The merchant’s smile widened. “Excellent. Then our debt—”
“I’m interested in purchasing her.”
Din’s words cut through the room like a blade. Through the corner of his visor, he saw the girl stiffening a bit, still on her spot.
The merchant blinked for a moment, and then laughed— a short, loud laughter that clearly was the only sound he managed to get out as he processed the request. “I’m afraid she’s not for permanent sale.” The merchant informed.
“I’m offering triple what you owe me.” Din lied.
The Zeltron’s expression didn’t change, but his eyes sharpened. “You misunderstand. She is an investment.”
Din stepped closer, voice calm, measured. “Everything has a price.”
Now that wasn’t a lie. And yet, the merchant’s pleasant demeanor cooled by a fraction. “Not this one.”
Din could feel guards shifting just outside the doorway now. The shift was subtle but he picked on it right away, and he hoped the girl was smart enough to pick on it too. The plan had just tilted.
“She’s—“ Din stuttered, not entirely sure of how to continue, but the merchant interrupted his words.
“She is leverage.” He informed the Mandalorian.
Not merchandise, or cargo. Not a gift, or a tool, or a working machine. She wasn’t kept in another room from the other girls because of her price, she was separated… because she wasn’t a girl from the brothel. Hence why the merchant offered her to pay his debt— her abuse didn’t have the goal of a profit for him, but clearly served a function for him.
Leverage.
Din’s helmet angled slightly. “Against who?”
The merchant’s smile returned to his face, but thin this time. “Now that would be telling.” He said as he gestured politely toward the door. “Our arrangement is complete, Mandalorian. I suggest you depart before additional fees are incurred.”
Din didn’t move. The corridor beyond the doorway felt narrower now as guards grew closer, blasters ready.
A part of him, a more cowardly side of him, knew he could just walk away with half of a payment and a lot of information.
Lucky for her, though, he wasn’t a coward.
Din moved before the guards did.
The merchant’s smile hadn’t fully faded when Din’s gauntlet shot forward and seized him by the collar, dragging him hard into the doorway. The Zeltron gasped as Din twisted him sideways. When the blasters erupted, the first bolt hit the merchant instead of beskar.
Female screams followed.
Din fired with clean, efficient shots. One guard dropped. Another stumbled back, clutching his shoulder, before falling as well. The corridor exploded into chaos. It was clear the guards hadn’t been expecting this, and their hesitation cost them their lives.
“Move!” Din said, hoping the girl wasn’t waiting for this moment to become foolish. She stepped past the fallen merchant without looking down, and ran to the left.
Din advanced, firing with measured precision, as he followed her. They reached the first junction before more boots thundered from the far hall. “Left.” she said. “Service access.”
They slipped into a narrower corridor that was dimmer, colder, and scentless. The decorative walls gave way to exposed piping and maintenance panels. The air smelled metallic— both from blasters and blood.
As they ran, a bolt scorched the wall inches from her head, making her scream. Din caught her arm and pulled her behind him in the same motion, returning fire without breaking stride.
“Stay behind me.” He shouted.
“I am!” She shouted back.
Finally, they reached the ladder shaft, where two clueless guards awaited. Din didn’t slow, and he blasted before the guards could even draw their weapons.
The girl took her chip, the hijacked one, and placed it on the door. Her fingers trembled, but it was the only part of her body doing so. And when the door opened, she gasped in relief. “Hangar is forward.” she said, breathing slightly faster now. “But they’ll lock it.”
“Not before we get there.” Mando shook his head.
They turned the final corner, and ran straight into resistance. Four guards this time. Unlike their previous workmates, these ones were prepared and ready to blast. In a quick move, Din shoved the girl sideways, behind a stack of supply crates, just in time the blasterfire erupted.
The corridor filled with light, his beskar armour making fireworks with each hit of a bolt. One guard went down to a clean headshot. Another to a blast that ricocheted off the wall and caught him in the throat. The third lunged forward, and Din drove him into the bulkhead with a brutal shoulder slam before firing point-blank.
The fourth fled the scene. Din would’ve killed him if it wasn’t for the girl.
He turned his head to locate her, but lucky for him, she was already moving past the bodies and into the hangar. That made the corners of his mouth lift up as he ran behind her.
They burst into the hangar as the massive bay doors were already beginning to close. And there, waiting, sat the Razor Crest. But blasterfire began to rain down from a catwalk above as they reached the ship. A bolt clipped the edge of the ramp controls as Din slammed his fist against them.
The boarding ramp began to lower, and she climbed up, but halfway up, a bolt grazed her shoulder.
Din turned and fired upward, forcing the catwalk guards back just long enough for the girl and him to climb up and close the ramp.
Inside, the Crest felt tighter than ever as he rushed to the cockpit. She followed behind, one hand pressed to her shoulder, though she refused to slow or cry.
Din dropped into the pilot’s seat and ignited the engines. The hyperdrive couplings screamed in protest, and he silently prayed they cooperated one last time.
“Hangar doors are sealing,” she exclaimed, peering through the viewport.
Din didn’t hesitate as The Crest lurched violently upward, scraping hard along the closing doors. Metal shrieked. Sparks exploded across the viewport in blinding flashes. For a moment —one suspended, endless second, longer than the hour they had endured— it felt like the ship wouldn’t make it.
And then, they were flying across Nal Hutta’s murky sky. Din steadied the controls, guiding them into thick green cloud cover, and as far away from the brothel as possible.
That’s when she collapsed.
By the time you awoke, the sounds of screams and blasters were long gone, and the smell of perfume and incense had faded away.
The ship was quiet. Not silent —ships were never silent— but quiet in the way the world sounds after a thunderstorm, before birds sing again. Quiet, just like when something stubborn settles after surviving. You noticed the faint clicking of cooling metal, and a low vibration under the floor.
You did not open your eyes immediately, as they were still heavy. That was the first thing you felt. The second was pain. Not sharp and blinding like the moment you were shot-- instead, it was a dull, tight pull on your shoulder. You reached your hand to your shoulder, and recognised the gauze to the touch. As your fingers traveled, you touched something else. A blanket, definitely not soft, or washed, but doing its job.
Your memory returned in fragments, then. The corridor. The catwalk. The bolt. The Mandalorian.
Your eyes opened slowly, at last. Around you, the cockpit lights were dimmed. That surprised you-- the fact that you were still in the cockpit, sitting on the passenger seat, instead of laying on a bed. Outside, the viewport stretched not across the green murk of Nal Hutta, but a velvet, deep darkness, speckled with distant stars.
You turned your head slightly, and there he was.
The Mandalorian.
Your saviour.
He was seated on the pilot chair beside you, helmet still on, of course, with an upright but not rigid posture . One gloved hand rested loosely against his thigh, while the other hung near the controls.
You sat upright, straightening on the chair. You shifted your weight, the gauze cold but comforting across your shoulder. Every movement reminded you of the fight, of the corridor, the catwalk, the feel of cold metal under your palms, and the smell of scorched walls. Yet, even with pain lingering, even with the adrenaline fading, there was a sliver of relief that wrapped around you like the coarse blanket still draped across your lap.
The Mandalorian didn’t turn, nor moved. He just spoke.
“You’re nobility.”
His voice was calm, and he didn’t say it like an accusation, just like a fact he had assumed back in the brothel and confirmed a moment ago.
You let out a slow breath, as a deep weight sunk onto your chest. “Yes” was all you said.
When he didn’t reply, nor ask more questions, you moved, folding the coarse blanket back and swinging your legs slowly off the cot, ignoring the slight pull in your shoulder. The cockpit smelled faintly of fuel, ozone, and oil.
“What gave it away?” you asked, resting your head fully against the chair as you watched the stars.
“Your accent, and certain words you use--” the Mandalorian explained, his voice deep and rich. Now that you were out of danger and enclosured into the cockpit of the ship, it projected more clearly. “No farmer girl has your vocabulary, and the leverage part… men like the merchant love money more than anything, it didn't make sense he wouldn’t sell you to me. So, I searched databases.”
Your stomach tightened, but not from fear. From inevitability.
“I found inconsistencies.” he continued. “No missing persons report matching your description from any agri-world in the sector. No ransom demand listed through known Hutt channels.” His head tilted slightly. “No public bounty.”
You held his gaze through the visor.
“Yet…” he continued calmly, “three encrypted bulletins were issued through private syndicate networks three weeks ago. Diplomatic bulletins.”
The silence that lingered was deep and rich, and it added more weight to the stone that was oppressing your chest.
“Your father...” the Mandalorian spoke, matter-of-fact. “is the King of Corfai”
“Former King.” you corrected softly, and cleared your throat as you looked away. “He abdicated three years ago, my brother sits on the throne now. But the Hutts don’t care about titles.”
The engines hummed steadily. “The merchant said they took you for leverage” the mandalorian repeated.
“For humiliation.” You corrected, again. Gathering strength, and ignoring the pull on your shoulder, you stood carefully, bracing one hand on the bulkhead. The ship swayed subtly with hyperspace corrections. “They wanted a smuggling corridor across Corfai’s southern hemisphere. A permanent passage with unchecked inspections and protected airspace.”
“For the merchant network.” he said.
“For the Hutt merchant network” you clarified, giving him a look that implied a lot. He is a bounty hunter, you thought to yourself, so he must be aware what kinds of merchandise flows in a Hutt merchant network. Spice, weapons, drugs, and more than just women to feed the brothels.
“Corfai’s economy is delicate, especially now with these turbulent political times.” you continued. “They believed my father would bend and convince my brother, but he didn’t.” A faint exhale left your chest, although it didn’t lessen the heavy sensation you felt.
“So they made you disappear” Mando said, but you shook your head. Unconsciously, you found yourself clasping your hands together, behind your pack— an old posture from state briefings.
“I wasn’t meant to be killed or disappeared. Quite the opposite, in fact. I was meant to be seen, and rumoured about my whereabouts. About my dignity.”
“And then returned damaged” he finished.
Your jaw tightened. “I don’t believe they would’ve returned me, but yes. Hand me back damaged, stained, violated. No longer a princess, but instead a living proof of the Hutt’s power, of what happens when you say no.”
He paused, and for a moment, you dared to let the heaviness settle without moving. The soft vibration of the hyperdrive hummed through the floor and into your bones. The dim cockpit lights cast long, angular shadows across the panels, glinting off the metallic edges of buttons and switches. Outside, the stars blurred into thin, pale streaks, streaks that seemed to echo the chaos you’d just escaped.
Then he broke the silence. “Are you hurt?”
“Just the shoulder.” You shruggle, holding the injured arm with your hand. “Thanks, for patching me up. And saving me.”
Your manners were not the best, you knew, but it made you feel flustered just to imagine the Mandalorian picking you up, ripping your shirt off, cleaning your wound and then carefully setting you beside him.
“You’re welcome” he scoffed. “But I meant…” His voice softened, almost low enough to be swallowed by the hum of the ship. “The merchant said you were unclaimed.”
His voice was low, and if he hadn't been wearing that helmet, you would’ve sworn he was blushing as he spoke. “You said you were unclaimed. Is… that true?”
The words lingered in the air, heavier than any blaster bolt had been. You knew what he meant, and for some reason --perhaps owing him your life, or perhaps his religion-- you decided to speak the truth.
“No.”
You looked out the window, into the stars, as you continued. “I was claimed long ago, by a knight who no longer works at the palace. I’ve had many lovers since then.” You didn’t meet his gaze, but through the corner of your eye you saw the helmet move. “The merchant thinks he can tell when a human is virgin or not, when he barely even knows our anatomy.”
There was a pause, filled only by the quiet clicks of the ship’s machinery. You hoped he didn’t ask more specific details.
“Did the lie help?”
“Yes…” you spoke with the truth again. “But it wasn’t going to last long. You came in time.”
You shifted, taking a steadying breath as the hyperdrive thrummed beneath you. The vibration traveled through your chest, soft but persistent, lessening a bit of that heaviness you felt in your chest.
And when you thought the conversation was over, the bounty hunter spoke once again. “Why did you choose the service corridor instead of the main hall to escape?”
“The main hall cameras record to external Hutt archives. The service corridors are internal.” You explained. The smooth, unyielding tilt of his helmet caught the low light, reflecting stars in tiny, fractured patterns.
“You weren’t planning to be rescued” he said quietly, as though verifying a truth he already suspected.
“No.” you admitted, looking back at him. “I tried to keep a low profile, and flee on my own before things could escalate.”
“And now?”
You looked out the viewport at the velvet expanse of hyperspace, letting the stars draw your focus. “Now I need a ship that can move without attracting attention.”
A slight tilt of the helmet, deliberate, made you turn once more. “You’re in one.” he said.
Your shoulders eased slightly. “You realize that if you return me to Corfai, you will not leave quietly, right?”
“I don’t plan to land publicly.”
“And if my father insists on thanking you?”
“I’ll leave before he can.”
For the first time, a small smile flickered across your face, fragile but real. “You could drop me at a neutral system, and erase yourself from this.”
“I don’t abandon assets mid-transport.”
You almost replied back with something silly, like ‘I'm not an asset’, but you knew it'd be pointless. And a lie. You were an asset, a piece of a game, an object for men’s politics. So you just sat down again.
The ship’s hyperspace hummed deeper, steadying the ship’s path, as if sensing the fragile truce forming between you.
“What happens when we reach Corfai?” the Mandalorian asked.
You inhaled, slow, measured, the faint scent of ozone and oil sharp in your nose. “Officially? I was never gone.”
“And unofficially?”
You bit your cheek. “We’ll determine how much of this becomes public. If the Hutts are exposed, it becomes galactic. If it stays quiet… then perhaps we might let it slide.”
For a long moment, the two of you sat in the cockpit, suspended in the silent hum of the Razor Crest. The dim lights glimmered on the smooth curves of metal, on the worn edges of control panels, on the gloved hands resting lightly at your side. Outside, hyperspace stretched, carrying you away from the brothel.
Time moved slowly as the bounty hunter and you traveled through space towards your planet, and the Hyperspace had gone quiet in the way only deep night can feel quiet.
The Razor Crest vibrated softly around you. The lights were dimmed to a low amber glow, shadows settling into corners, the cockpit illuminated only by the wash of blue streaming past the viewport.
You couldn’t sleep.
The Mandalorian had shown you a bed where you could rest more comfortably, the only one in the small ship— his bed.
You turned in the sheets, trying to pick up the smell left there. The scent, not of his armour, but of his skin. Every time you closed your eyes, echoes of the brothel invaded your thoughts. Long nights where all you could hear were moans and pleasure. Now, those memories mixed in with the scent of what hid beneath the beskar.
You couldn’t sleep.
You stepped from the bed slowly, your bare feet quiet against cold decking. You took a few steps —it wasn’t a large ship by any means— and found the Mandalorian right where you had expected him, still on his pilot seat, even though the ship was in autopilot.
“You don’t trust autopilot” you said softly, hoping to not startle him, but he wasn’t asleep.
“It’s old.” He replied, gloved hands resting on his thighs.
“So are you.” You joked, taking another step closer. And, to your surprise, he joked back.
“I’m older.”
You smiled, and stepped into the cockpit.
The air was unperfumed. Nothing like the brothel’s cloying air. And yet, the echoes of the moans continued to run on your ears. You lowered yourself into the co-pilot seat. “Couldn’t sleep” you explained.
“Nightmares?” The Mandalorian asked, making you chuckle.
“Eh, you could say so” you said with a shrug.
The silence stretched, deep like the black stretching across the galaxy. Not a ship in sight, not a planet nearby. They were so far away even the stars seemed to be out of reach.
But you couldn't let that distract you. You were on your way to Corfai, to your father and brother, to your duties and responsibilities. To your silk dresses and long hours of work. You had to shift your mind once again, dart it away from the echoes of the brothel, from the scent still trapped on your nostrils.
“Can I be honest now?” you found yourself saying. The Mandalorian nodded, shortly. “You asked if I was… still a maiden. And I said no. I’d rather we keep that between you and me.”
It took the bounty hunter a long moment to reply, long enough to make you hesitate if the request had been a right call. But he surprised you, at last, when he cleared his throat, and said: “Not my business to tell.”
“Right. But, for nobility, these kinds of things are important.” You replied, perhaps too quickly. You didn’t like the anxiety that was growing on you the closer the ship got to Corfai.
“Why?”
“Huh?”
When you turned your head, you found the beskar helmet staring right at you, your own face reflected on the visor. You didn’t look happy for a princess that was just rescued.
“Why is your maidenhood important for nobility?” The Mandalorian asked.
You had to look away, even if he didn’t. “Well, heritage, I suppose.” You found yourself doubting, even though you knew the reasons. You were taught from birth your body was more important than others, because it had the ability to birth heirs to the throne, to continue the bloodline. That, above all, was your duty and purpose.
“And… there’s this thing about being… pure. The whole reason I was kept in a brothel and not locked in a cell is because they wanted to take that away too.”
“But you aren’t pure.” The Mandalorian said, matter-of-fact.
“No, I’m not” you confirmed.
Your gazes met again. But now, instead of watching your reflection, you forced your eyes to look beyond, to try and spot the human eyes you knew laid beneath the armor.
You didn’t mean to do it, but your eyes dropped down to admire the rest of the fit-- a big armor, for a big man. Older, he had said. Determined, not hot headed. Respectful. And yet, incredibly dangerous. After all, this wasn’t one of the castle’s knights, this was a bounty hunter who just so happened to bump into you. A man who could’ve abused you if he had wanted to. A man still with the opportunity to do so.
His hand --the one he had taken the glove off to cut his finger for you-- was resting on the control board, but it drifted down slowly, like a snail, to lay on your knee. It was big, heavy, and warm, and his thumb ran soft circles on your exposed skin.
And when you looked up --to do what? You weren’t sure-- he moved it away, as if he’d gotten a whiplash.
“Sorry. I don’t want to get it wrong.” he apologized, looking ahead, and straightening his stance --closing his legs, tightening his shoulders, and clearing his throat, his voice more correct now, less warm. It didn’t sound arrogant, nor controlling.
He was nervous.
You turned fully in your seat to face him, your legs crossed daintily by your ankles.
“Get what wrong?” you asked quietly.
The Mandalorian didn’t look at you at first. His helmet remained fixed forward, staring out at the endless streak of hyperspace as if it were the most fascinating thing in the galaxy.
“You” he said after a moment. “I’m a bounty hunter.” he continued, voice careful now, measured in a way that felt more deliberate than before. “You’re a princess.”
The way he said it made the title feel heavier than it had when it came from courtiers and diplomats. From them, it was expectation. From him, it sounded like distance.
“You were taken by Hutt men” he went on. “You were kept somewhere you didn’t choose to be. I’m bringing you home.” His fingers curled once against his thigh. “Wouldn’t be right to...”
“To what?” you pressed, hoping, begging on your mind he’d ask what you wanted him to. That he also couldn't escape the moans echoing on his head, that he was also drunk on your scent --not the incense of the brothel, but your own scent, the smell of your skin.
The helmet turned toward you again. And, once again, your reflection stared back at you from the visor, eyes darker now in the dim amber light.
“Mistake your kindness” he said.
That surprised you. “Kindness?” you repeated, a bit disappointed.
“You’re grateful I got you out” he said simply. “That can feel like something else, to other bounty hunters.”
You bit your cheek, a bit frustrated, and leaned back slightly in the seat, folding your arms loosely across your middle. For a moment you watched the faint reflection of his helmet in the cockpit glass, the broad shape of him filling the small space.
“That’s a very cautious way to live.”
“It’s a necessary one.”
You tilted your head. You knew it was necessary-- it was the way you were raised to. But needs were needs.
“For bounty hunters?”
“For men who wear armor.” he simply said, and something about the way he said it made your stomach tighten. The odor of his human skin, the one trapped beneath the beskar, still hung on your nose.
You let the silence stretch again, long enough that the hum of the ship filled the space between breaths.
Then you spoke, almost in a whisper. “You’re assuming my kindness comes from being rescued, or because of my manners.” The cockpit felt smaller, if that was even possible, when he turned again. “I spent weeks in a brothel…” you continued, your voice steady but low, your gaze fixed on the visor. “...listening to men think they were irresistible because someone was paid to moan for them.” You leaned forward slightly, resting your elbow on the armrest of your chair. “Trust me, Mandalorian. I know what false interest sounds like. This isn’t it.”
You could almost feel the way he was listening now and how his body relaxed involuntarily-- shoulders loosening, legs opening up again.
“So, if I were grateful…” you said, standing up, “…it would look like this.”
The pilot seat didn’t move when you slowly lowered yourself to sit on his legs, straddling him.
You didn’t move until you got a sign, of any kind, that he wanted this. Lucky for you, it came rather quickly— his hands, gloves on, moved to hold your waist, and fixed your posture on his lap to a more comfortable angle, exactly where your hips and his met.
But when he spoke, his words shocked you.
“I’ve never…” He began stuttering. “I’ve never been with anyone.”
There was no embarrassment in his tone. He just said it, stating a fact. It made your chest tighten unexpectedly.
“You don’t owe me that confession” you said gently.
“I wanted you to know.”
“Why?”
“So you don’t expect something I don’t know how to give.”
That made your smile soften, and relax your shoulders, even if you hadn’t been aware you were so tense. He was a virgin, probably by Mandalorian code, or perhaps due to his own personal experience. A man so correct, so right, so strict, of course had trouble enjoying himself. It didn’t turn your heat off— if anything, it made you feel calmer. And hornier.
“Sex isn’t about giving or taking— that’s prostitution. That’s what happened in the brothel. We aren’t there anymore.” You explained, running your fingers lazily up and down his arms, moving them up to trace a slow line along the edge of his collar. “You’re very brave in battle” you murmured.
“Battle makes sense.”
“And this?”
The Mandalorian took a pause, exhaling.
“This doesn’t.”
It made you smile again. “It will. If you want to” you whispered.
And, to surprise you again, the Mandalorian’s hands tightened around your waist at your words, almost as if he’d been afraid you would’ve stepped away from his lap.
“I do.”
You smirked.
The heat pouring off of your core was already too noticeable to ignore it anymore, so you rested your hands on his broad shoulders, holding on to his frame, as you began to rock your hips back and forth. The fabric of his pants made a sharp contrast between the rough linen of your brothel clothing, rubbing you harsh but determined. And the naked parts of your body —yours hands, your arms, and part of your thighs— felt hot against the cool beskar armour.
But before you could moan, he did.
His hands grasped your waist stronger, pushing you deeper into his crotch, making the friction more intense. A moan, mixed in with a small gasp of surprise, left your lips.
You would’ve devoured his mouth now, but he kept his helmet on, your own eyes reflected on them. “Does it break any Mandalorian code—?”
“Leave that to me” he interrupted before you could even finish. His voice sounded worked up, and breath taken. “You… you keep moving.”
That made you bite your lip to hold on a smile. You kept moving, slowly, in a circular pattern. You felt yourself get wet, dampening the linen of your clothes.
“You feel anything under your suit?”
“I do.” He growled. That made you speed up just a bit, and rub yourself a bit tighter. The Mandalorian didn’t moan again, but you could tell he was swallowing all the noises down his throat.
“And your gloves?” You continued, pushing the edge a bit. You were eager to be touched by real skin, and to get closer to the scent you’d smelled in his bed— his scent, not the scent of the beskar. “You can touch me”
You didn’t expect much, so you smiled when he actually moved his arms from your waist to remove both of his gloves. The cut finger was the first one to land on your waist again, and you felt the small bump of the healing wound against your skin.
His hands were big, soft, pale white. And they guided you deeper into his crotch. Your linen garments were ruined by your wetness by now, and through his pants, you felt his manhood grow and harden, rubbing you exactly where you wanted him the most.
“You’re not bad at this” you whispered.
“I’m armored” he replied, making you laugh softly, and the sound broke the last of the tension between you two.
Your hands slid from his helmet to rest lightly at his collar. “If we go further” you said, gently “we go slowly. And we stop if you want to.”
“Yes.”
He looked steadier now. Not overwhelmed. Just focused.
“I don’t want to rush you” he said.
“You’re not.” You replied, a bit surprised. You were clearly the one rushing him, not the other way around. But this man, this Mandalorian, you’ve come to learn, was too well mannered.
You brushed your thumb lightly along the edge of his helmet, and he pressed his fingers tighter against your skin, pressing on to your ribs.
“You’re choosing this?” he asked quietly.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
You chuckled a bit, although it was more of a moan than a giggle. “Do I have to explain why I want to sleep with you?”
“Yes.” He replied immediately. “I don’t want you to do it because you feel indebted.”
“I know i'm not”
“Or because you think you should.”
“I know I shouldn’t”
“Then why?”
You stopped your hips, feeling his cock hard and pressing against you. You felt like you were drowning in your clothes, and seeing him all dressed, helmet on, made the sensation worse.
“Because I need to get off.” You confessed, and looked down at the spot where your hips met his, where the fabrics had faint stains of wetness. “And so do you.”
That seemed to settle it.
He nodded once, sharp, firm, like the knights of the palace when you gave them orders. “Then I’m yours” he said quietly.
It made you bite your lip. You would’ve devoured his mouth right there, but there was one thing standing in between.
“The helmet—?”
“Stays on” he cut you off, immediately.
You sighed, a bit frustrated. “So I can’t kiss you?”
It took the Mandalorian a moment to reply, as if he was measuring his options. But in the end, he shook his head, sharp, but less firm, like this wasn’t an order he was happy to follow.
You swallowed saliva, the pool of heat on your thighs now unbearable. “Well, lucky for you I can do other things with my lips” you said, and moved.
He was about to protest when your hips moved away from his crotch when you kneeled in front of him, and worked your way around his belt.
The Mandalorian didn’t move— he seemed too shocked for it. But when you huffed in annoyance he flicked your fingers off of the belt, and swiftly removed it. You leaned back for a bit to admire it; watching a man take his belt off was a sight you loved to see.
When he was done loosening the belt, you continued your job. Gracefully, as to not startle him, you moved your hand, cupping his cock before sliding it in to pull it out.
It was pale, veiny, and you saw a lot of hair at the base. Pretty good length— not too much, not too little. The tip was a soft shade of pink, and you couldn’t help but imagine that was the same color of his lips, hidden beneath the beskar helmet.
The bizarreness of it all made you chuckle a bit. Here you were, holding a man’s length in all its glory, and yet you were not allowed to see his face as you lowered your lips, and gently sucked off.
Drowning the moans was too much for the bounty hunter at this point, and his hiss felt like a victory chant. After all, it was the only way to know he was enjoying it.
You took your time blowing him. He was a virgin, but you weren’t sure if he had ever been given pleasure like this before, so you made the experience worth remembering.
Your tongue wrapped on his tip all the way through, and sucked hard, making pressure on his nerves. You removed your lips quite often to spat on his shaft, so your hand could slide up and down smoothly. You felt every vein on his cock pump with each stroke of your hand, and by the time your mouth was reaching the base, the Mandalorian was holding your hair, helmet tilted back, and growling like a beast.
“I—“ he moaned, clearly out of his control. You moved your lips away, holding to his cock but not stroking it. It pulsed, like a bomb, on your grip. You knew exactly what was happening— he was about to come, all the cum gathered right on the tip, waiting for release.
“Bed?” You asked as you slowly rose. He nodded, and you almost swore you saw him tremble.
Smiling, licking his taste off of your lips, you took his hand and guided him to his bed, as if this wasn’t his ship and not yours.
You would’ve loved to ask about the helmet once again, but you knew you couldn’t push it. So, once you reached his bedsheets, you only slipped off of the linen garments, and rested on all fours, chest pressed on the mattress, ass up in the air.
You didn’t have to explain to him what to do, although it took him a moment to follow. You felt the tip right on your folds, trying to push in— and even though you were wet, the friction made you flinch a bit.
“Spit on it, and go slow” you told him. You couldn’t help but moan when, after a pause, a wet and cold spat landed right on your ass, sliding down to your core. “That’s it.”
The Mandalorian moved the tip up and down, parting your lips, before he put a knee up on the bed, and slowly pushed in. The sensation— the first time a cock slides into your womanhood— was as good as ever. But for him? Oh.
The Mandalorian let out a loud huff, something along the lines of incredible pleasure and frustration to not come right away. He stood still inside of you, before he gathered himself and began to rock his hips in and out. You weren’t sure if you needed to give him any more guidance than this, but he seemed like he didn’t need it.
For a moment, all the sounds on the ship were his and your moans, growing louder, covering the hum of the ship, the sounds of the windpipes on the walls, the drip of the oil or the purr of the engine. That’s why he took you by surprise when he spoke, voice a bit trembling, but holding together.
“You said let it slide”
“Huh?”
“Your kidnapping.” He huffed, hips in and out. “Why wouldn't you want to--?
“Take revenge?” You finished the sentence as he drowned in a moan.
He swallowed. “Claim justice”
You adjusted your hips, raising them up a little. Your chest rose off of the mattress, letting you breathe a bit more, and talk more smoothly. You swallowed another moan. “Some battles are not worth the fight. My planet isn't in the right position, politically and economically, to face the Hutt cartel” you explained as your hand reached down to rub yourself, immediately tightening around the bounty hunter’s cock. It made him hiss.
“Aren’t you mad?” He asked.
“I’m—“ you tried to reply, but the Mandalorian moved his own hand off of your hips to replace your own fingers in your cunt. You held them in place, teaching him exactly how to move them, and where. He was a quick learner. “I’m close”
The political conversation ended right the same way it had started— drowned in moans. You moved your hand away, and the Mandalorian kept his movements perfectly paced, synchronizing his thrusts with the circular movements around your clitoris.
You turned your head, your lips partially open, holding in the tune of the moans, and saw him naked— all except the helmet, of course.
His torso was lean, strong, covered in hair. Some spots didn’t have hair, though, and instead had scars. He was pale, very much so, but sweat covered every inch of his skin, and you knew underneath that helmet he was blushed and dripping.
You knew he was making eye contact through the beskar, because he thrusted harder when you turned to face him. “Would you let me do this back in the brothel if I had wanted to?” He asked.
“No, definitely" you said, although you didn’t sound that convincing as he pounded you in all fours.
“Then why you let me now?”
You rolled your eyes. You knew this was important to him— to know that this wasn’t a mistake, that he wasn’t breaking codes, nor your trust. You knew that he, bless his heart, had never done this, and wasn’t totally aware of the subtle, gentle, swift dance around sex. “Consent, reward“ you moaned, feeling your cunt get tighter.
“Shit” the Mandalorian cursed, loud, as he suddenly pulled his cock out. You hissed at the sudden loss of contact. “Stop that” he said.
You shook your head— asshole didn’t let you come. Of course, he had no clue what was happening, he only did so because he was probably about to finish as well, just with the grip of your core.
“Sorry, didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.” You apologized, but raised an eyebrow as you saw him kneel right on your core. “What you what are you--?”
“Close your eyes.” He commanded, and you smiled. He was about to eat you out. Biting your lip, you faced the wall again. Then, the sound of beskar hitting the floor, and a deep breath, told you all you needed to know— he’d removed his helmet.
“I’ve never done this before” he said, voice raggedy but more clear now that he didn’t cover his head anymore.
“Remove your helmet or go down on a girl?”
He huffed. “The latter”
You moved a little in place, and used both hands to spread your cheeks wide, but his own hands covered yours in a second. You removed them, and held tight to the sheets. “Give it a long lick, all across the folds first.” You explained.
It took a second but then you felt it— the soft, cold, slimy tongue right across your burning cunt. It felt refreshing, like sipping a glass of the coldest and sweetest juice you could find in the galaxy when you are thirsty. Your moans made you vibrate, and you felt him smirk on your sex.
“Now part them apart, and work your way in with your tongue.” You continued explaining, and he obeyed to perfection. His lips sucked on you, drinking in your fluids. “Once you reach the clit you suck— fuck!”
He’d found it, and he had sucked.
“You alright?” He asked, parting his lips from your cunt as your knees shook.
“Don’t stop.”
The Mandalorian obeyed, and went back to eating you out. His tongue explored every crevice, and moved in and out of your entrance just like his cock had done it before lowering to your clit. It moved up and down, sometimes close to reaching your ass. You would’ve loved to ask him to lick it too, but you didn’t want to push him too much— besides, your cunt was tilting by this point.
“I need a finger” you murmured, nose buried on his pillow as you inhaled his scent.
“Huh?”
“In me.” You clarified. “Do it slow, lick it first.”
You couldn’t help but giggle a bit when, suddenly, his hand was right next to your face. He wanted you to lick his fingers.
You moved your head a bit to do so, and through the corner of your eye, you saw a glance of him— small ears, and brunette short hair with curls stuck by his sweat onto his skull. But that was about it.
In your tongue, you felt the small dent of the cut on his finger, the small wound he had taken to himself to free you from the brothel, all because you’ve lied about your virginity. And now here you were, sucking on it, helping him claim his own.
The Mandalorian removed his hand, now sloppy with your saliva, and you smirked. “You’re naughty, Mandalorian”
“Din. call me Din.” He corrected, but he didn’t pause to let you process the information. “Now what?”
“Insert them, slow, and when you reach the top, hook them up and move them towards you, like you're calling me” you explained.
You felt the index and middle fingers slowly get in, sliding with no problem. They were thick, and they easily got all the way in, and hooked like you asked him. It made you shiver as he moved them, calling for another orgasm.
“Now?”
“Keep eating me too.” You sighed, and moaned louder when his fingers moved faster and his tongue went back to your clit. “Oh my—“
It didn’t take you that long to cum this time, now properly riding your orgasm through his fingers. You felt yourself tighten around them, and you knew he felt it too, and tasted the sweet liquid softly pouring out.
When he removed his lips, you thought he was just taking a break to breathe through, but he moved his fingers away, and held you by the hips. “Keep your eyes closed” he commanded as he flipped you to lay on your back.
He barely gave you a second to obey, but he was ahead of it— his hand reached your eyes before your back had hit the mattress. You opened your legs wider, setting them on his shoulders. This time, you didn’t have to give him any indications.
You moaned hard when he slipped in. You were over-stimulated by this point, and the angle on your hips made his cock thrust even deeper, rubbing against your cervix, making you hiss. His hand, big, rough and sweaty, pressed hard against your eyes.
“Don’t stop” you begged.
“Wasn’t gonna” he replied, and to your surprise, his voice was just centimeters away from your ear. His breath mixed in with yours when you moved your head a bit. And, still with your eyes covered, you leaned into his mouth.
His lips were chapped, but the moistness of your cunt had softened them. He tasted like you, but they also had a metallic touch to them, probably from the beskar. You were surprised to also feel hair from a trimmed beard and moustache as well.
Your hands moved to hold him, to run your fingers on the damp curls, to caress his jawline and feel his beard, to hold on to his thick, strong neck. You were lost, lost in his smell, his touch, his tongue, his cock— so lost, in fact, that you didn’t even realize he’d removed his hand from your eyes at one point to hold your waist, and cup your breasts, and run his fingers through your curls too.
But his hand returned to cover your vision at the same time he broke the kiss apart in raggedy breaths. “I need to—“
“Come? Pull out, then”
You felt it all, but didn’t see it— his cock moving out of your pulsing cunt, and the hot pool of cum dripping into the skin of your belly. It was hot against your skin, and it came out in small intervals, until it was finally over.
“Keep your eyes closed” he murmured as he softly stood up, removing his hand from your face, and walking away.
Of course, you didn’t obey.
You opened them up immediately to see the mess. His cum, white and thick, was creamy and shiny on your skin. You saw the bedsheets were damp as well. And in between your thighs, just before your leg ended and your genitals started, there was a love bite.
You couldn’t explore it much before you heard footsteps, and closed your eyes shut again.
“You can open them” you heard Din speak, his voice a bit drowned now— he’d put the helmet on. He was still naked, but now more freshened up, sweat no longer clinging to his skin. He carried a damp towel, which he immediately used to clean his seed off of your skin.
He did it slowly, and you knew he was admiring it under the helmet, taking in the scene in front of him.
“How you feeling?” You asked.
He sighed, and dropped the towel aside as he put his hands on his hips. “Tired” was all he said, and then moved to pull his pants up.
You smiled, and moved to the side, to leave him room. “Sleep with me.” You said, and chuckled when his helmet suddenly snapped up. “We already fucked, we might as well”
He didn’t move, not speak, but his shoulders relaxed. He crawled to your side, and laid on his back, stiff like a board.
Rolling your eyes and smiling, you moved to cuddle him. “This is part of the sex too, Din” you explained, and that made him loosen up, loosely draping an arm around your waist as you drifted off.
dividers by toastray - pics from Piterest - DO NOT copy, reupload, translate or steal pls
A/N : i had to change accounts so this is a re-upload of my ongoing fic bks!!
pairing : bodyguard!Din Djarin x afab!princess!reader
rating : 18+ mdni
word count : 6.7k
summary : you've been married off to a far away prince, turns out, he isn't your prince charming. however he did gift you a bodyguard as a wedding present.
warnings, etc. : arranged marriage, language
Absurd.
That is the only word that comes to mind as you stare at yourself in the mirror. “His favorite color is blue.” That’s what they had told you when they adorned you with the gaudy sapphire jewelry. “He’s going to love this.” That’s what they had told you as they pinned your hair into uncomfortable curls, braiding in unfamiliar flowers. They were horrendous, far too large and the smell of them nauseated you, or maybe that was just the nerves, who knows. If you were fortunate enough maybe you would discover a surprise allergy to the flowers and your throat would close and your face would turn blue. You wondered if the prince would like that.
Blue had once been a comforting color but not this blue. This blue was intense, harsh, hard to stare at for too long. Nothing like the blue that made you think of home. On the rare days where the snow stopped falling briefly and the sky was clear, Hoth was beautiful. The blue back home was quiet. The color of the sky seemed to swallow the snow and everything became one soft mix of periwinkle. This is not that. This is loud and garish.
The two girls who had been dressing you took a step back and smiled at you waiting for approval as you took in the sight of yourself in the floor length mirror. The dress itself was beautiful, if accompanied by tasteful accessories you might have actually found yourself almost nice to look at. A simple off the shoulder satin gown. On anyone else you were sure it would be absolutely stunning but it was so hot here, nobody had told you it would be this hot. The dress felt as though it was sticking to your skin, you hated the way it made you feel like you were trapped in some sort of fabric prison. But even with the thin sheen of sweat covering every inch of you it was the rest of the ensemble that made you look like you were supposed to be attending some sort of costume party, and not your own wedding. To say that the amount of accessories was excessive would be an understatement. Bracelets, bangles, arm bands, several tacky necklaces, even an anklet you couldn’t even see under the gown. All of the sapphires were so bright they seemed to glow, if you swayed your arms fast enough it almost mimicked the sight of hyperspace. The two ladies-in-waiting who had been assigned to you started to give each other nervous looks as you purse your lips silently taking in the ridiculous blue eyeshadow that adorned your otherwise unmade up face. The young Togruta girl speaks up first.
“Is everything to your liking ma’am?”
No. You look like you should be working in a pleasure house, not marrying a prince.
But the anxiety in her voice is enough to soften your gaze as you speak what might be the first words to leave your mouth since you landed on Naboo. It seemed like everyone was comfortable speaking for you and you knew none of them cared what you had to say so why bother.
“You two have done a wonderful job… thank you.” You turned around to face them, giving them the warmest smile you could muster considering the circumstances. The relief on their faces as you spoke gave you more comfort than you’d had in days. “I am truly grateful to have such wonderful staff, thank you for making me feel so at home. I’m sorry I didn’t catch your names earlier?”
“I am Elaine and this is Lysa.” The Togruta girl is the one who speaks up again, pointing to herself and then to the human girl. They both smiled as they turned you back towards the mirror and began to do last minute touch ups. You all stood in silence once more until Lysa spoke.
“You look so lovely, he is going to adore you.” She spoke softly, almost as if it was meant more for her own comfort than it was for yours as she straightened a flower in your hair.
He. That was how they referred to him. Nobody spoke of him other than to tell you how lucky you were, and how grateful you should be for this opportunity. No one described him to you in the slightest. No one even said his name, you were pretty sure it started with a “K.” Your betrothed was nothing more than a stranger. And as you stared at yourself in the mirror once more that was what you saw. A stranger. You didn’t recognize the woman in your reflection. She was not the young princess from Hoth, she was simply an item to entertain this “he.” Dolled up to be more appealing for a man she had never even met, adorned in his favorite color to make her more attractive to a man she had already decided she did not care for.
“What is he like?” You cocked your head slightly as you deliberately observed the girls facial expressions for a reaction, you immediately regretted that decision because of the glance they gave each other. It was enough to make you not want to know the answer so you quickly stammer out another question. “What does he look like?” The Togruta girl clears her throat, you make a mental note that out of the two girls she seems to be the voice.
“He is very handsome, my lady.” She straightens out your dress one last time and they both take a step back and observe you. “He dresses very well. Just like most of the royal family he has very defined features, striking blue eyes.”
“Oh yes my lady, he is very well known for his beautiful blue eyes.” The human girl smiles at you as she speaks nervously standing behind her partner now. A small part of you started to pray that his favorite color was not blue simply because that was the color of his eyes. They both seem to be struggling to come up with any other defining features of your intended which doesn’t exactly put you at ease.
“He is also blonde.” Elaine chimes in with a reassuring smile as you watch your reflection frown.
You had always had a preference for brunettes.
✩
He could be worse.
That was what you had to keep reminding yourself as you sat now in the large dining hall, it seemed like everyone was laughing and chatting it up except for you. The seat to your left reserved for your husband was empty, you could see him in the crowd toasting with a group of men you assumed were cousins or brothers purely based on the physical similarities. Honestly you wouldn’t be able to tell your husband apart from the rest of them if he wasn’t wearing that horrendous electric blue suit. Your table at the back of the room, facing the rest of the hall, was empty. Save for you and Leodall.
After your husband had so graciously run off after the ceremony to chat it up with his friends or whatever it was that was apparently much more important than you, you were walked to the reception by an orange Twi’lek who introduced himself as your personal servant, Leodall, Leo for short. No one seemed to even glance at you as they began to take to the dance floor. Of course your loving husband didn’t ask you to dance, why would he when he seemed to be taking the hand of a rather pretty red headed girl and wrapping his arms around her waist, laughing as they began to sway to the music. Prince Kodo Harand. That was his name, at least that is what the priest had said during the ceremony. He had given you a rather cocky “hello” once you had walked down the aisle, and he had kissed you with far more tongue than you would have liked, and now you sat alone. Princess Harand. Lucky you. And of course your family wasn’t here to keep you company, you don’t even think they were invited, why would they be? This wedding had nothing to do with you, it had everything to do with finding someone of royal descent to marry the prince of Naboo in exchange for trade deals. You wondered if there had ever been someone who felt as lonely as you did right now, at their own wedding.
“Leo?” You turned to where he was standing directly behind you. He was also staring at the prince with a rather annoyed look on his face.
“Yes my lady?” He turned his gaze to you. He was far too serious for someone who only seemed to be a few years older than you were.
“I am getting rather tired, I should like to retire to my chambers.”
You also should like to not watch my husband dance with some of the most gorgeous girls you’ve ever seen. Seems like he has found a rather attractive brunette now to keep him company on the dance floor. Leo looks to the prince and then back to you.
“It is rather early my lady… perhaps you could stay just a bit longer? It is after all your wedding.”
“Is it?” You couldn’t help but raise your eyebrows at him, gesturing to the empty chairs surrounding you. Before he could object you stood and began marching towards the exit.
“My lady! Perhaps you might enjoy some refreshments! And perhaps you might reconsider your early departure!” Even in the gown you were more agile than him as you weaved through the crowds, waving off muttered “congratulations.” Once through the large doors of the great hall you felt as though you could finally breathe. The halls out here were dark, a few guards seemed to be passing around a flask but they immediately straightened up as they saw you, you pretended not to see them, hoping they might resume they’re drinking. After all, someone should have fun at your wedding. You lifted your skirt slightly and tried to remember where your room was as Leo finally caught up to you.
“Was it right or left…?” You stare down the nearly identical hallways as you hear two sets of footsteps approaching you.
“Wife! Where are you off to? I have a wedding present for you!” How fortunate that you married someone with such a distinct, nasally voice so you can plaster on a faux smile before you face him. You turned to see a disgruntled Leo following behind Kodo. Great. Your clearly drunk husband has a present for you on your wedding night. You have to physically resist rolling your eyes as he takes your hand and begins dragging you towards your chambers, Leo stumbling to keep up with you.
“Are you sure this cannot wait until tomorrow dear husband?” It’s unlikely he’ll want to put this off but there’s no shame in trying.
“No no no… trust me you are going to love this…”
Well he certainly is confident in his abilities.
He stumbles through the many confusing halls of the castle until arriving at your door, stopping just outside. He opens the door just a crack and peers inside before shutting it again, putting his hands on your shoulders, a big dopey grin on his face as he drunkenly slurs.
“I must be getting back to the party my dear wife but your present is inside, I left you a little note on your vanity.” He leans forward and gives you a sloppy kiss, you do your best not to recoil.
“I’m sorry? I don’t quite understand?” You managed to pull him off you long enough to speak. But he’s already walking away.
“Do not fret, wife, you will love it. I will see you at dinner in a few days!” He yells over his shoulder before rushing back down to the party. You turn to stare at Leo who is just as shocked as you are as you can’t help but double over in laughter.
“Is he serious?” You’re laughing so hard you’re practically crying, Leo doesn’t seem to find the situation as funny as you do. You wipe a tear from your lash line as you straighten up. “If our marriage is anything like today has been I suppose it shall not be all that bad.” You manage to say through your laughter. He doesn’t speak, he simply opens the doors to your chambers for you, placing his hand on your back to usher you inside.
“I suppose I should not have expected any less of our prince.” Leo mutters as he closes the door behind the two of you he begins lighting the lamps around the dark room. “Shall I summon your ladies-in-waiting to help you undress my lady?” You open your mouth to answer but you’re stopped dead in your tracks as you stare at the suit of armor in the center of the room. The mannequin it appears to be resting on is rather tall. You can’t help but stare at the way the lamp light flickers against the Beskar. A Mandalorian statue? What an odd gift. You instinctively walk towards it as you mumble.
“That won’t be necessary… it is late, do not wake them, I can do it myself.” Leo looks as if he is about to protest but the note on the vanity catches his eye, he holds it between two fingers and begins to read it to himself as you stand directly in front of the armor now, your fingers raised to trace one of the gauntlets. “It certainly is a beautiful set of armor… I just don’t understand what exactly he wants me to do with it.” You run your hands across the chestplate, admiring the fine craftsmanship before you turn to face Leo, a concerned look on your face.
This better not be a weird sex thing.
“He doesn’t expect me to wear it, does he? Is this some sort of weird fetish of his?” You find yourself looking back to the armor nervously. “It’s far too large for me… I think I would look rather foolish, like a child wearing her mothers clothing...” You bring a hand up to the helmet, a small shiver running down your spine as you stare into the lifeless visor.
“Princess… perhaps you should wait a moment.” Leo stares at the note for a moment more before his mouth opens slightly to speak again as he gives you a warning look. But it is too late, you lift the helmet a fraction of an inch and let out a startled shriek as the armor shifts to grab both of your arms in one large hand, pulling your hand back down.
“Don’t.”
The voice that comes from the modulator is low, it is gentle with you but is by no means joking as he releases his grip on your arm you stumble backwards.
“Maker! You scared me half to death.” You bring your hand up to your chest as Leo rushes to your side to stabilize you, you stare at the Mandalorian in surprise for a moment before your gaze turns angry and you poke a finger into his chest. “What is your problem! Why didn’t you say something!?” He only shrugs in response.
“I was instructed not to speak to you until you read the note.”
Bastard.
Leo leans forward to whisper to you.
“It should appear that the prince has hired the Mandalorian to be your personal bodyguard, my lady.” Leo’s voice shakes as he stares up at the intimidating silhouette of the armored man but you are not so easily swayed, clearing your throat as you speak.
“You are dismissed Leo.” Your eyes never leave the steel visor.
“My lady, are you sure it is wise-”
“If my husband deems him fit to protect me then he is fit to protect me. Unless of course you are questioning the prince’s judgment?” You turn to glare at the Twi’lek who is now nervously tugging at the sleeves of his shirt. He does nothing but stare back at you for what feels like minutes until he finally sighs and makes a beeline for the door.
“As you wish, my lady. Ring for me if you require anything.” He closes the door and you turn back to the Mandalorian, who unsurprisingly hasn’t moved an inch, other than the way his helmet seems to shake ever so slightly but you ignore it as you walk over to your vanity, crumpling up the note and tossing it in the bin before starting to remove your jewelry, setting the ugly pieces onto the table.
“So what exactly is your job?” You don’t give him the courtesy of facing him, not after he scared you like that.
“It was all written in the note.”
It’s annoying how unbothered he sounds. You take off the last piece of jewelry, lifting your skirt and raising your leg to rest your foot on the ottoman to unclasp the anklet, you swear you see his helmet tilt in your direction in the mirror, but when you turn to face him he is in the same position, staring at the wall.
“I don’t care about the note. I want to hear it from you.” You fetch yourself a nightgown as you step behind the screen next to the vanity, carefully slipping out of the dress, out of sight of the Mandalorian.
“My job is to make sure you are not harmed.” He speaks so quietly you’re surprised the modulator even picks up his voice. Once dressed you step out from behind the screen and take a seat at the vanities mirror, wearing a gray silk nightgown. It’s fancier than what you’d usually wear but it doesn’t seem like they bothered to unpack any of your clothes you brought from home. You silently pray that they didn’t throw them away.
“So you just… follow me around?” You can feel the frown forming as you begin to carefully remove the now wilting flowers from your hair.
“Yes.”
Not much of a talker this guy.
“Actually I’m good.” Your voice is snippy and you know you’re being a bit blunt but you’ve had a rough day. Finally, he deliberately moves, his head turning to watch as you undo the pin curls, your hair falling down in waves as you do.
“Excuse me?” Finally, some sign of emotion. Even if it is a twinge of anger.
“Can you not hear through the helmet? I’m good. I’ve already got an ensemble of people trailing me. I don’t need another.” You rifle through the drawers until you find a rag to wipe the makeup from your eyes before turning around to stare at him. “You’re dismissed.”
“You don’t have the authority to dismiss me.” His voice is tense, if you could see his face you were sure he’d be scowling. It’s good to know he is capable of emotion. Even better to know it isn’t difficult to rile him up.
“I don’t know if you know this but I just married the eldest son of the king and queen. That makes me the future queen, I’m pretty sure I have the authority to do whatever I please.” You hadn’t said those words aloud until now, you hadn’t even thought them. It lifted a weight off your shoulders, somehow it made things a bit easier, to know that despite this entire situation you found yourself in that at the very least you found yourself in a position of power.
“I don’t know if you know this, but I have direct orders from the eldest son of the king and queen to not let you out of my site from the moment you leave this room until you return to it.” He mocks your tone exactly as he crosses his arms.
Shit. He’s got you there. Did Kodo have to pick this man to guard you?
“Well… I’m in this room now. So I don’t require your presence. You may go.” You wish you could come up with something more witty but you're tired, you just want to be alone, to have a single moment to try and process what a whirlwind these last few days have been. You swear you hear an annoyed huff come through his modulator.
“I’ll see you in the morning.” His voice is sharp and he speaks with a finality that makes you want to argue further.
But he doesn’t give you time to respond. He simply leaves. Once he is gone you rush to the door to lock it and begin to dim all the lamps in the room. In the pale light you stare at the comically large bed and your stomach drops. For the first time since arriving on Naboo you feel cold. The idea of spending your wedding night in such a big bed alone makes you feel sick. Were the ceilings of this room always so high? You find yourself opening the closet. It’s the size of your room back home, it’s perfect. All of the fabric of the unfamiliar clothes that were now yours made it quiet, and soft, and warm. You grabbed a lamp from one of the many small tables around the room, (who needs this many tables?) and bring it to the closet, closing the door behind you as you rummage through the many drawers until you find one full of blankets and pillows, making yourself a nest before settling down in it. It was just as comfortable as your bed back home and you wrapped yourself around one of the larger pillows.
You wanted to cry.
You should be crying but you're not. You’re just staring at the flickering lamp. There were a million things you could think about to make yourself cry but at this point it wasn’t even worth it. You’re tired, and there will be plenty of time for crying later, after all this was your life now. So instead you closed your eyes and pretended you weren’t here at all, that you were back home, and you weren’t completely alone, your many siblings were just down the hall in their respective rooms. But they aren’t, they’re back on Hoth. You’re on Naboo. They are all still together.
And you are alone.
✩
He won’t leave you alone.
It’s been ten days since the wedding but it feels like ten months. And the Mandalorian will not leave you alone. You have only seen your husband twice since the wedding, short dinners the night of every fifth cycle, last night he had told you that he saw no need to produce an heir until his father died.
How romantic.
But as much as you yearn for companionship you cannot help but be grateful that he has not ever joined you in bed. He doesn’t repulse you by any means but he just seems… indifferent. Like he couldn't care less for you, which is fine considering you aren’t exactly infatuated with him. But you’re lonely nonetheless. Conversations with your husband are one sided, once you realize he doesn’t care for anything that comes out of your mouth your dinners become much less awkward, he would ramble on about anything he found interesting for an hour and then leave. You heard a servant in passing whisper something about him going to a brothel after your second dinner. You wanted to be more upset about that but you just couldn’t find it in yourself to care. As long as it kept him out of your chambers.
Elaine and Lysa are sweet but they are clearly intimidated by you, or at the very least they are afraid of upsetting you. So you’ve found that it’s best to just not talk to them at all unless it is to praise them or thank them. They show up like clockwork every morning to dress you and in the evening to undress you. You’re starting to feel like a doll. But they do not comment on the makeshift bed in the closet so you decide they are your favorites. Leo on the other hand has made it quite clear he doesn’t approve of your sleeping situation, you don’t bother trying to explain yourself because you know he won’t care, so now you let him watch you get under the covers of your ornate bed every night before you retreat to the closet. He can be a bit uptight and he’s terrible at conversation but the best thing about Leo is that he doesn’t hover. You honestly don’t know where he runs off to but he’s always there when you need him and he doesn’t overstay his welcome.
Speaking of overstaying his welcome, you can see the Mandalorian over the top of the book you are currently pretending to read.
He has become your least favorite person in your new life. He is ranked even lower than Kodo. You were currently dedicating your life to exploring every inch of the castle and mapping it out, you had taken to carrying around a small journal and noting locations you liked and places to avoid. This might be an enjoyable challenge if it weren’t for the walking hunk of metal that seemed to always be standing just out of arm's reach from you. It’s infuriating the way he always stands in your peripherals, you are always aware of his presence even when you are doing everything in your power to ignore him.
Neither of you had spoken much since your first meeting. He had been rude, why would you speak to him? (Of course you had been rude as well but that's besides the point.) He waits outside your door every morning, and he is there when you return at night. Two days ago you had daydreamed about escaping out the window to avoid him, but considering your chambers were on the fourth floor you decided against it.
A few days ago was when you had reached your boiling point. He had to sleep eventually, that was what you had told yourself as you opened the door to your chambers at 3 a.m. Under all that metal he was still just a person. (Or at least you were pretty sure he was.) So you donned a robe and a glowrod as you slipped into the hall. For the first time he wasn’t standing there. You just had to find your way to the library, you wanted a few books and you didn’t want to feel his steel gaze judging your every choice, you wanted something cheesy and romantic, something you could read in the closet when you couldn’t sleep. (Which was most nights.) Everytime he followed you into the library you found yourself too nervous to read so now was your chance. Surprisingly it only took you a few minutes to find it. Creeping inside you managed to find five books, clutching them in your arms you stepped back out in the hall and as you closed the library doors as quietly and quickly as you could you turned around and slammed into metal, stumbling backwards and landing on your ass, your books going everywhere.
“Gods…” You groaned in pain as the back of your head knocked against the door, your eyes adjusted to the darkness as the glowrod illuminated a familiar pair of boots. “You are just- the nerve of you- I can’t even begin to-” Your mind stuttered through a million different insults but eventually you just gave up, huffing angrily as you picked up the light, he reached down to help you up and you shoved his gloved hands away. Leaving the books, you storm off, back towards what you hope is the direction of your room. He didn’t speak as he followed silently behind you, the only indication that he was still there was the reflection of the dim light against Beskar. You looked down two hallways trying fruitlessly to remember which way to go.
“Left.”
Maker, he didn’t even sound tired. If looks could kill the glare you gave him as you turned left would have him six feet under. As you finally see the doors to your chamber you sigh in relief, just wanting to forget about this silly attempt to have a moment of normalcy.
“I knew that.” Is all you can manage to mutter, still fuming to the point that you know you can’t form witty insults as you open your chamber doors.
“Sure you did.”
As you turn to give him a piece of your mind you find yourself in the dark corridor alone. Oh you hate him. This is why he is your least favorite.
You don’t know much about Mandalorians, your mother had always said they were dangerous but that was all that was ever said about the topic. He doesn’t seem all that threatening. Sure he’s tall, and his shoulders were ludicrously broad, and he wore impenetrable armor but you’ve been sitting here staring at him for two hours now and honestly you were pretty sure at this point that you could beat him in a fight.
Okay you might be starting to lose it.
You haven’t had a real conversation with anyone since your wedding night, it’s not your fault if you’re starting to feel a little scatterbrained. Maybe you could push him out a window. That armor certainly wouldn’t save him from a fall. That might be too risky, with your luck you’ll end up going out the window with him. As you begin to ponder if Beskar is fireproof a familiar modulated voice breaks the silence causing you to drop your book in shock.
“Don’t.”
In your fantasies of knocking a candle over onto his cape you hadn’t realized his helmet was facing you now.
“You really seem to love that word.” You cock an eyebrow at him. “You also seem to love scaring unsuspecting girls.” You mumble.
“I heard that.”
Stupid helmet with its stupid abilities. You really need to start keeping a list of what that thing is capable of. Maybe the helmet is what makes his stupid voice so deep.
“Of course you did.” You lean back in your chair as you look him up and down. “What exactly is it that you don’t want me doing?”
“Don’t act like you can outsmart me.”
Wiseass.
“I wasn’t doing that, I don’t know if you can see through that visor of yours but I was reading.” You scoff at him as you cross your arms.You hear him hum softly through the modulator as he walks in your direction, standing between you and the book on the floor.
“What were you reading?”
Dank Farrik.
You’re pretty sure you can see his shit-eating grin through the Beskar.
“I’m not even going to humor the accusation you’re getting at.” For a split second you swear you catch the start of a laugh before his modulator cuts it off. Soundproof, you can add that to the list. He leans up against a bookshelf as he stares down at you now.
“Maybe it was another romance novel?” Maker, he's the worst. You fight back the pink that threatens to tint your face as you play dumb.
“I’m sorry?”
“Don’t be.” You wondered if you could have him beheaded. Do they do public executions on Naboo?
“I don’t know what you’re talking about..” Is all you can manage to spit out as you reach to a nearby shelf and grab the first book your fingers touch, it looks to be some sort of architecture guide. Better than nothing. “Leave me be, I’m trying to read.” You open the book quickly and as your eyes glance across the pages, much to your dismay, you don’t recognize the language it’s in, he doesn’t need to know that though.
“You left some books out a few nights ago.”
You try to hide the way your breath hitches. There’s no way he went back for them. Unless he did. Why would he do that though there would be no reason. Why is your heart racing like you’re on trial? Why can’t you stop the pink that tinges the tips of your ears?
“I read a lot of books, you can’t possibly expect me to remember every one.” You turn a page and continue scanning your eyes across the unfamiliar text.
“The Smitten Paladin… My Barbarian Love… Interstellar Bride… The Tongues of-”
“SHUT UP.” You slam the book shut and you can’t fight the rose tint that fills your face now.
“As you wish, princess.”
Oh you were definitely gonna kill him now. How hard would it be to get your hands on a vibroblade…? You didn’t speak now, you couldn’t even look at him. There’s no way he had seen those that night when you dropped them, the bastard went back for them. If you could find out where is quarters were maybe you could smother him in his sleep. You assumed he would resume his mockery of you but he never did, he just stared for several minutes as you returned to your book, doing your best to pretend that you knew what it was about until he finally broke the silence.
“So how were you thinking of doing it?”
“Doing what?”
“Outsmarting me. Or escaping me, or killing me? Whichever one it was you were plotting.”
You wonder if he was sweating under all those layers as you allowed yourself the first indulgence of really taking him in. He wears heavy black fabric under all of his armor. You wore light and flowy dresses and you always felt like it was too hot. You also can’t stop yourself from wondering if he purposefully makes his voice lower, he must scream into a pillow or something to make it that raspy. You didn’t like how warm it suddenly got in here. This stupid planet and its stupid heat.
“Well I can’t just tell you my top secret plans, what will you give me in exchange?” You hated the way his helmet tilted to the side to mimic you.
“How about a walk through the gardens?”
“We have gardens?” Your eyebrows furrow in disbelief, just when you thought you were starting to map this place out… He nods and you ponder it for a moment before holding your hand out for a handshake. “Deal.” He takes your hand in his and gives you one firm shake but you hold him there and stare at his hand. “Your gloves are stupid, why are the fingers yellow?” He groans as he pulls away.
As he pulls his hand back you catch a glimpse of his bare wrist. You hadn’t really thought about what he might look like under the armor up until now. You’re sort of surprised by how tan his skin is. As you stare for what is definitely too long he clears his throat and you find yourself face to face with his visor.
Shit, shit shit.
“Sorry, I got distracted by how stupid your gloves are.”
“Keep talking like that and I won’t take you to the gardens at all.”
“That’s fine, now that I know they exist I’ll just find them on my own.” You stand up, making your way towards the library exit.
“You do realize I follow you everywhere right?”
“You’re very observative aren’t you?” You scoff.
“You won’t find them on your own. You’ve lived here two weeks and you still can’t find your room without help from Leo.”
“This is why you’re my least favorite.”
“What?” He doesn’t even pretend to sound hurt, his voice is filled with genuine curiosity and for a fleeting moment you want to give in because for the first time in weeks you aren’t thinking about how alone you are in a castle surrounded by people. Because for the first time since you arrived on this planet you were having a real conversation, and even though you hated him he was the first person who seemed like he actually cared about what you had to say, and not just because you were royalty and it was his job.
“Do you want to hear about my secret plans or not?” You decide to change the subject and watch as for the first time, he walks next to you, not behind you, as he nods.
“I’d love to know how you plan on getting away from a trained bounty hunter.”
Bounty hunter. You’ll have to ask him about that later if he allows you to keep talking to him. A small part of you hopes that he will.
“I thought I might start by pushing you off of something high up.” You grin at him. You can’t remember the last time you smiled and it wasn’t for the benefit of others.
“Wouldn’t work.”
“Oh come on, your armor isn’t gonna save you from a fall from one of the castle towers-” He pulls back his cape to reveal a jetpack and you shut up. “Okay new plan, I throw your pack off the roof first.” He nods.
“You would never be able to get it off me but sure. Next plan.” Maker, you hate how smug he is. You want to slap the stupid smile you have to assume he is currently donning off of his face.
“Well I really only had two plans, plan number two was to light your cape on fire.”
“Fire’s not gonna kill me, that's just gonna make me angry.”
“Well in that situation I wouldn't be trying to kill you, the fire would be a distraction as I make my escape.”
“There is not a single situation in this world in which you are capable of hiding from me.”
Why does he have to say it so huskily? Why does it suddenly feel so hot in this stupid castle? You decide he deliberately makes his voice sound deeper to make himself more intimidating.
You open your mouth to protest but you remember the bounty hunter thing and decide to save yourself from any more embarrassment. He stops walking and you stare at the familiar doors to your chambers.
“Hey! You promised me gardens!” He opens the door for you before taking a step back.
“It’s too late for gardens. We’ll go tomorrow.” You want to argue, you want to do anything to keep talking to him, even if you loathe him and his terrible attitude. But you don’t want to ruin this, and a part of you likes the prospect of more conversation tomorrow.
“Promise?” You hate how eager you sound.
“Promise.”
You begin to step inside your chambers but he puts a hand on your shoulder. It makes you let out a small gasp as you turn to face him.
“Before you go I have to tell you something, princess.” The voice that comes from the modulator is hushed, he leans in as if he is going to tell you a secret and your eyes get wide, you can see your reflection in his helmet, your face is going pink again.
“W-what…?” It’s embarrassing the way you stutter but he’s so close now that you can’t help it, if he got any closer your breath would fog up the Beskar. You had no idea what he was about to say but for some reason your heart was beating out of your chest. God what is wrong with you today? The heat must be messing with your head.
“It was in Galactic Basic.”
Well now he just wasn’t making any sense. Maybe the heat was messing with his head too.
“I don’t care for riddles.”
“Your book, earlier, the one about architecture. The one that you couldn’t understand.” He takes a step back and you furrow your brows, how the hell did he know you didn’t understand it, but more importantly, obviously you spoke Galactic Basic.
“I didn’t realize you were capable of telling jokes.”
“You were holding it upside down.” His hand drops from your shoulder and he takes a step back, waiting for a response but any snarky comeback dies on your tongue as your face burns up, realizing he’s right. Is he leaning forward in anticipation?
Scumbag.
“Good night, Mando.” As you start to close the door you can hear him chuckling.
“Good night, princess.”
Jackass. You hope that he’s ugly under the helmet.
You also hope he’s brunette.
I am no longer doing taglists so follow @lincolndjarinnotifs and turn on notifications to be notified when new chapters are posted !!
Post-Shinjuku Arc | POV Hana Kurusu | Unrequited Love | Angst with a Happy Ending (not for Hana) | Healing & Recovery | Established Relationship | Family Dynamics | Fluff and Angst | Character Study | Generational Legacy | Emotional Hurt/Comfort | Bittersweet | Married Life | Next Generation | Spoilers
Synopsis: The war is over, and Megumi Fushiguro is broken. While Hana Kurusu desperately hopes her devotion can save him from his trauma, she quickly realizes she is just a reminder of the battle. You are his only anchor.
Through Hana’s heartbroken perspective, this story follows Megumi’s healing journey—from his raw confession declaring you his safe haven, to your marriage, and finally to the laughter of your children. A bittersweet tale of unconditional love and survival, where Megumi finds his ultimate happy ending in your arms, leaving Hana alone in the shadows of an unrequited love.
Word Count: ~3k
The air in Tokyo still tasted like ash, even months after the dust of Shinjuku had finally settled. For Hana Kurusu, the silence was the hardest part to get used to. Angel’s voice in her head was quiet now, a fading echo of a war that had torn the world—and their souls—apart. But the physical scars weren’t the ones that kept Hana awake at night. It was the hollow look in Megumi Fushiguro’s eyes.
Ever since he had been pulled back from the brink of Sukuna’s possession, Megumi had been a ghost walking among the living. He carried the weight of the bodies dropped, the cities leveled, and the sister lost. He barely spoke. He barely ate. Hana had stayed by his side, nursing her own wounds, secretly hoping that her presence, her devotion, and the fact that she had helped save him would mean something. She wanted to be the light that guided him out of his underworld.
But Hana was just a reminder of the battle. She wasn’t his savior. You were.
Hana stood at the end of the hospital corridor, the harsh fluorescent lights buzzing overhead, casting long, stark shadows on the linoleum floor. She was holding a small bouquet of wildflowers she’d spent an hour picking near the campus ruins, a frail attempt to bring color into his bleak world. But she stopped dead in her tracks when she saw the door to Megumi’s room was already ajar.
Through the crack, she saw him. For the first time in what felt like centuries, Megumi wasn’t staring blankly at the wall. He was sitting up, his dark, unruly hair falling over his forehead, his bandaged hands gripping the edge of the white hospital sheet.
And he was looking at you.
You were sitting in the plastic chair beside his bed, your fingers gently tracing the knuckles of his uninjured hand. You looked exhausted, bags under your eyes and clothes wrinkled from days of refusing to leave the premises, but to Megumi, it was clear you were the only thing anchored to reality.
“You should be resting, Y/N.” Megumi’s voice was incredibly raw, a low, gravelly rasp that Hana had rarely heard him use with anyone else. “You’ve been here for three days straight. Go home.”
“I am home,” you replied softly, your voice a soothing balm that seemed to visibly ease the tension in his rigid shoulders. “Right here. I’m not leaving you, Megumi. Not again.”
Hana felt a sharp, cold prickle in her chest. She took a half-step back into the shadows of the hallway, clutching the stems of the wildflowers a little too tightly.
Megumi closed his eyes for a long moment, inhaling sharply as if fighting back a wave of suffocating memories. When he opened them, the usual emotional barricades he kept raised against the entire world were entirely gone. There was a desperate, terrifying vulnerability in his dark green irises.
“When I was down there... in the dark,” Megumi whispered, his voice trembling slightly, a rare crack in his stoic facade. “When I couldn't move, couldn't breathe, and everything felt like a sin I couldn't wash off... I didn't think about the Jujutsu world. I didn't think about the clan. I just thought of you.”
Hana’s breath hitched. She pressed her back against the cool hallway wall, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird.
“Megumi...” you started, but he cut you off, his grip on your hand tightening, refusing to let you pull away.
“Let me speak, please. If I don't say it now, I'll bury it forever,” he urged, his gaze locked onto yours with a fierce, burning intensity. “Hana... everyone... they look at me and they see a victim, or a weapon, or a leader they need to rebuild this broken society. They look at me and see Shinjuku. But you... you just see me. You’ve always been my safe haven, Y/N. Before the seals broke, before the culling game, and even more so now. I am broken. I know that. But if you'll have me... I want to spend the rest of my life trying to be whole for you. I love you.”
From her hiding place, Hana watched a tear finally escape Megumi’s eye, tracking down his scarred cheek. It was a confession born from the ashes of devastation—a raw, unyielding declaration of a love that had survived the worst curse in history.
And as she looked down at the bright, useless flowers in her hand, Hana realized with a crushing, agonizing certainty that there would never, ever be a space for her in Megumi Fushiguro’s heart. You held the key to his soul, and she was just a spectator to a healing process she could never be a part of.
Months bled into a year, and Tokyo slowly began to reconstruct itself from the skeletal remains left by the war. The sorcerer society was changing, but for Hana, time felt entirely stagnant. Her arm—the one ripped away by Sukuna—still suffered from phantom pains on rainy days, but it was nothing compared to the ache that swelled in her chest every time she visited the campus grounds.
Because everywhere she looked, she saw the two of you.
Megumi had finally been discharged from the hospital, and though the shadows under his eyes remained, they were no longer pitch-black pits of despair. He was healing. He was smiling again—rare, genuine smiles that curled the corners of his lips. But those smiles were a currency he only spent on you.
Hana sat on the vending machine bench, her fingers tightly wrapped around a cold can of coffee. From this distance, she had a perfect view of the courtyard. You were sitting on the grass, a textbook open in your lap, while Megumi sat beside you. He wasn't paying attention to the pages. His gaze was entirely fixed on your face, his hand gently reaching up to tuck a stray lock of hair behind your ear.
“You’re staring again, Fushiguro,” you murmured, not looking up from your notes, though a bright blush crept up your neck. “If you don't study, Gojo-sensei's old records won't organize themselves.”
“Let them stay messy,” Megumi replied, his voice softer, lighter than Hana had ever thought possible. “I’d rather look at you.”
You finally looked up, letting out a soft laugh that echoed through the quiet courtyard, hitting Hana’s ears like a physical blow. You leaned forward and pressed a quick, tender kiss to his cheek. Megumi didn't flinch. He didn't pull away. Instead, he pulled you closer by the waist, burying his face into the crook of your neck, inhaling your scent as if you were his oxygen.
Hana looked down at her coffee can, her knuckles turning white. It felt like a cruel joke. She was the one who had admired him from afar for years. She was the one who had crossed paths with destiny to save him. Yet, in the story of Megumi Fushiguro’s recovery, Hana was nothing but a footnote. A background character.
A few days later, Hana found herself walking behind the two of you through the bustling streets of Shibuya, which was finally coming back to life. It was your first official date in the city, and she had coincidentally run into you. You, being kind and completely oblivious to her suffering, had invited her to walk with you.
It was pure torture.
The city was loud, but all Hana could focus on was the way Megumi’s fingers were tightly intertwined with yours, his thumb tracing circles on the back of your hand. He was hyper-vigilant, keeping his body positioned between you and the crowd, protecting you from the slightest jostle.
“Are you cold, Y/N?” Megumi asked suddenly, stopping near a storefront. The autumn breeze was starting to pick up.
“A little,” you admitted, shivering slightly. “But I'm fine, really.”
Without a second thought, Megumi unbuttoned his heavy dark coat, wrapping it around your shoulders before you could even protest. He pulled the lapels together, his face only inches from yours as he secured it.
“I told you to wear layers,” he chided gently, though his eyes were warm, filled with an devotion that made Hana’s stomach turn. “Don't make me worry.”
“You worry too much anyway,” you teased, burying your face into the collar of his coat, which clearly smelled of his signature sandalwood and rain scent.
Megumi leaned down, his lips meeting yours right there on the sidewalk. It wasn't a hidden kiss in a hospital room anymore; it was public, confident, and completely unbothered by the world around him. He was proud to belong to you.
Hana stopped walking, letting the crowd surge past her, separating her from the two of you. She watched your retreating figures—you, drowned in his oversized coat, and him, with his arm draped securely over your shoulders.
She looked down at her own bare, trembling hands. Nobody was checking to see if she was cold. Nobody was holding her hand to keep her anchored. She was completely alone in the world they had all fought so hard to save. Their happy ending had begun, and it was built on the complete erasure of her own hopes.
Years didn't just heal the wounds of the past; they buried them under the mundane routines of peace. The Jujutsu world had stabilized, and Megumi Fushiguro had taken his place as a pillar of the new era. He was stronger, wiser, and completely grounded. Everyone praised his growth, but Hana knew the truth. He wasn't strong for the Jujutsu world; he was strong so he could build a safe life for you.
And today was the culmination of that strength.
The traditional shrine was surrounded by blooming cherry blossoms, their pink petals drifting through the spring air like soft confetti. Hana stood near the back of the courtyard, dressed in a formal kimono that felt far too tight around her chest, suffocating her. She watched the guests chat, laugh, and celebrate. Maki, Inumaki, Yuji, Nobara—everyone was there, beaming with a joy that had been earned through blood and tears.
Then, the doors opened.
Hana’s breath caught in her throat. You stepped out, wearing a flawless white shiromuku wedding kimono. You looked breathtaking, radiant, and completely at peace. But Hana didn’t look at you for long. Her eyes immediately drifted to Megumi.
He was standing at the altar, dressed in his formal black robes. The man who had once been defined by shadows, cynicism, and a death wish was looking at you as if you were the dawn after a lifetime of night. His breath visibly hitched, and for a split second, his stoic mask completely crumbled, replaced by a raw, overwhelming awe.
As you walked down the aisle toward him, Megumi didn't wait for you to reach the altar. He stepped forward, breaking tradition, and reached out to take your hand early.
“You look... incredible, Y/N,” Megumi whispered, his voice cracking slightly with emotion, completely ignoring the soft, teasing chuckles from Yuji and Nobara behind him.
“You don't look too bad yourself, Fushiguro,” you replied, your eyes shining with unshed tears of happiness as you squeezed his hand.
“I promised you a life where you wouldn't have to cry anymore,” Megumi said softly, his thumb gently wiping away a stray tear that had managed to escape your eyes. “I intend to keep that promise every single day.”
Hana watched them exchange their vows, the traditional sake cups raised and drained, sealing their souls together for eternity. Every word Megumi spoke was a dagger to her heart, but she couldn't look away. It was a beautiful, agonizing execution of her last remaining illusions.
Later, during the reception, the alcohol flowed and the atmosphere grew lively. Hana found herself sitting at a corner table, nursing a cup of sake she barely tasted. She watched you and Megumi dance—or rather, sway slowly to the music. Megumi had his arms wrapped tightly around your waist, pulling you flush against his chest, his chin resting gently on top of your head. You had your eyes closed, listening to his heartbeat.
“Hana, right?” A voice interrupted her thoughts. It was one of the younger sorcerers, offering her a polite smile. “Aren't you going to congratulate them? You were a big part of why Fushiguro-san is even here today, after all.”
Hana’s smile felt like cracked porcelain on her face.
“I think... they have everything they need right there,” Hana replied, her voice hollow, dropping to a whisper. “They don't need my congratulations.”
She stood up, leaving her drink behind, and quietly slipped out of the reception hall before anyone could notice her departure. She walked out into the cool spring night, the distant sounds of laughter and music fading behind her.
She looked up at the moon, the same moon that had witnessed the horrors of Shinjuku. Megumi had built a fortress of love and security around you, a sanctuary where no curses could ever touch you again. He was whole. He was happy. And Hana was finally forced to swallow the bitter truth: she had saved his life, but she had never been destined to live it with him. She was a ghost from a war he had gladly left behind to be with you.
More years collapsed into the past, turning the horrors of Shinjuku into distant chapters in history textbooks. The world had moved on, and so had the survivors. But moving on meant different things for different people. For Megumi and you, it meant building a legacy born from love, not curses.
For Hana, it meant becoming a permanent ghost in the background of your perfect life.
It was a warm summer afternoon when Hana found herself walking near the traditional estate Megumi had reclaimed for his family. She hadn't intended to visit—she rarely did anymore, the pain was too acute—but she had been delivering a report to the nearby Jujutsu branch. As she passed the tall wooden gates of your home, a sound stopped her dead in her tracks.
It was the high-pitched, melodic laughter of children.
Hana stepped closer, peering through the gap in the wooden fence. The sight that met her eyes felt like a beautiful, devastating painting.
The backyard was lush and green. There, sitting on the wooden engawa porch, were you and Megumi. You looked older, softer, a mature grace radiating from you as you leaned against his shoulder. Megumi had his arm wrapped securely around your waist, his dark hair now slightly shorter, but his eyes... his eyes had never been brighter.
In the middle of the grass, two small children were playing. A boy, about four years old, with your eyes and Megumi’s unruly dark hair, was clumsily trying to summon a shadow puppet. Beside him, a younger girl with a bright, wide smile was chasing a pair of harmless, glowing divine dogs—smaller, gentler manifestations Megumi had created just to make his children laugh.
“Look, Papa! I did it! I made a bird!” the little boy shouted proudly, holding up his tiny hands in the shape of a wing, casting a faint shadow on the grass.
Megumi’s face softened into an expression of pure, unadulterated adoration—a look he used to only give to you, but now shared with the family you had given him. He leaned down, pressing a tender kiss to the top of your head before calling out to his son.
“Good job, Hisashi,” Megumi said, his voice deep, warm, and brimming with pride. “But keep your wrists firmer. Like this. Your mother always tells me you inherit my stubbornness, so make sure you inherit my technique too.”
“Hey! I am not stubborn,” you laughed, gently nudging his ribs with your elbow.
“You stayed by my side in a hospital room for days when the whole world was burning, Y/N,” Megumi murmured, his tone dropping into that familiar, intensely private cadence that always made Hana’s heart bleed. He pulled you closer, pressing his forehead against yours. “You are the most stubborn person I know. And thank God for that. Because of you, they have a world where they can just be kids. Because of you, I am alive to see it.”
“I love you, Megumi,” you whispered against his lips.
“I love you more, Y/N. Always.”
Hana stepped back, her boot clicking against the stone pavement. The sound was entirely drowned out by the happy giggles of your children and the barks of the shadow wolves.
She walked away from the estate, her head bowed, her hands shoved deep into her pockets. Tears, cold and silent, finally began to track down her cheeks.
There was no malice in her heart for you, nor for Megumi. That was the most tragic part. You were a wonderful mother, a perfect wife, and the absolute savior of the man she had loved in silence for a lifetime. Megumi deserved this peace. He had suffered enough for three lifetimes, and you had given him the happy ending he earned.
But as Hana looked up at the vast, empty blue sky, she realized her own story had ended a long time ago. She had played her part in the war, saved the boy she adored, and in return, the world had given her nothing but a front-row seat to his happiness with someone else.
She was completely alone, a forgotten relic of a dark past, walking down a lonely path while Megumi and you thrived in the beautiful, sunlit sanctuary of the life you had built together.
This bittersweet story was a special request for @alebrasil0101! Seeing Megumi finally find his peace and safe haven in your arms warms my heart, even if Hana had to watch from the shadows. I really hope you all enjoyed this emotional journey into their future! Thank you so much for reading! ♡
Likes are really appreciated and reblogs are what keep this blog alive. If you enjoyed this please consider sharing! (っ˘ω˘ς )♡
“Why do you go to parties if you hate them so much?”
Nobody understood why Megumi Fushiguro kept showing up to frat parties. He clearly hated them. Every Friday night, he’d stand in the corner with his hands shoved into the pockets of his hoodie, looking like he’d rather be trapped in a curse-infested sewer than listen to another remix of a song he didn’t recognize.
And yet.
Every.
Friday.
Night.
He was there.
The reason was currently standing on a table trying to explain beer pong statistics with the seriousness of a university lecturer. “Statistically speaking,” you announced, pointing at a whiteboard someone had stolen from a classroom, “I’ve achieved a seventy-three percent success rate.”
“YOU MISSED THE LAST FOUR SHOTS.”
“Those were experimental trials!!”
The room erupted into laughter, Megumi rubbed his temples. “You know them?” Yuji asked, appearing beside him with a grin. Megumi stared…
“…Unfortunately. I more than know her.”
Unfortunately was a lie.
Because whenever you spotted him across the room, your face immediately lit up, “BABEEEEE!”
Oh hell no.
Before he could escape, you were already pushing through the crowd, everyone knew you. President of the fraternity, Honor-roll student…
…Campus menace.
You threw an arm around his shoulders. “There he is. My favorite grumpy boyfriend.”
“You say that every week.”
“Because it’s true every week.”
Yuji was trying—and failing—not to laugh…Megumi begrudgingly ignored him. “Why are you over here bothering me?” Megumi asked.
“I live here.”
“I mean- damnit. I mean next to me.”
You gasped dramatically. “You wound me…I…ANNOY you?!” Megumi sighed….You grinned.
Then your expression softened. “You ate today?” Megumi blinked. “…Jesus Christ. What?”
“You skipped lunch.”
“How do you know that?”
“I stalk you. Sexy.”
Megumi stared.
“You were…stalking… me?”
“I was.”
“You-...I’m irritated.” You pointed at him.
“Exactly. Hangry Evidence.” Megumi felt an annoying warmth creep into his face. The thing nobody understood was that beneath the loud parties, ridiculous pranks, and endless social energy, you noticed things. You remembered his exams, his schedules, his favorite snacks, the names of his pets. You somehow knew when Megumi was overworking himself before he did. And for reasons he couldn’t explain, he always seemed to save a seat beside you.
Always.
“Come on,” you said.
“Where?”
“Kitchen!!”
“I’m not drinking-“
“Shhhhhhhhh baby. I know.”
Megumi frowned.
“Then why—”
You handed him a container, homemade food, surprisingly still warm. Megumi paused.
“You cooked?”
“And not drunk this time. Just for you sexy.”
“Okay...”
“Tough crowd, ouch.”
But he was already opening the container. You grinned, there it was.
The tiny expression.
The one nobody else caught.
The slight relaxation in his shoulders, the aaaalmost invisible smile. You considered it one of your greatest achievements.
“You’re staring,” Megumi mumbled through bites.
“You smiledddehehe..”
“I didn’t.”
“You totally did.”
“I didn’t.”
“You like meeeeee.”
Megumi wondered, not for the first time, how someone so exhausting could make him want to stay. And as you sat beside him, stealing chips from your own party while talking absolutely shitfaced, he realized he’d shown up to every frat event this semester.
Not because he liked parties.
DEFINITELY not because Yuji dragged him.
Not because he had nowhere else to be.
Just because you would be there.
And unfortunately for him—You were starting to figure that out.
And on the drive home. You flashed him.
“Hey Megumi…”
“Please don’t talk to me until you’re sober.”
“How…to get sober.”
“Are you Wikihow-ing that.”
“Yes.”
“Just..take a cold shower and drink some water dumbass.”
“Drink THESE.”
“Y/N I AM DRIVING.”
“Your windows are tinted it’s okay baby boo.”
“I’m never coming to another one of these again.”
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