ππ+ ππππ πππ’π§ ππ₯π¨π | πππ¬πππ«π₯π’π¬π | πππ | "Squattin is my passion, not my purpose."
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a/n: i'm never not thinking of this man and so i decided to dig up an old unfinished wip buried deep in my drafts. there's so many fics i am planning to write for this man (including that unfinished series), but until i organize my brain enough to do that. enjoy this small drabble!
summary: a thirty minute lunch break filled with breathless moments with clark.
word count: 1.1k+
pairing: clark kent x f!reader
warnings: EXPLICIT SO MINORS DNI 18+ ONLY!!, fluff + romance, dirty talk, clark is a blushing mess, oral (f receiving), sub!clark sorta, p in v sex, basically a quickie.
The length of his tie wrapped snug around your fist when you tugged with a brazen smile. It wasn't difficult to get him to go where you wishes. Merely leading him on unsteady legs was enough as he traipsed along to the shitty leather couch the office dropped and forgot about. Wedged deep in the back of an office nobody used anymore. It became storage two years ago.
The layers of dust you felt lodge in the back of your throat made it obvious nobody had stepped foot over the threshold in a countless number of months.
Clark laughed when he nearly tripped over his feet as you shut the door with a soft kick and pushed him the rest of the way through. He was no stranger to finding a hide out with you during his lunch break to make out. Ducking into empty offices and hiding in the shadows with your hand curled into his tie and his arm wrapped snug around your waist. Breathless smiles traded between the soft smack of spit and kisses that bruised your mouth. Never his (even if he wished they had).
It became ritual this far into your relationship.
"You made a good point today Kent." Your words were a barely audible mutter against the corner of his mouth.
"Huh?"
However, this was new.
Blue glazed over the moment you plopped into his lap with a laugh that burned his insides. Coiling need tight and unsteady in his fluttering stomach. He didn't need to ask what you were doing. Your fingers undoing his belt and tugging at the zipper now pressed tight to his crotch was answer enough for him.
Clark figured he could have explained the ramifications of fucking at work. What would definitely happen if you got caught. But when your mouth latched onto his neck and your hips rolled forwardβthe heat of your cunt bare and displayed beneath your skirtβhe didn't much care for the consequences.
As long as nobody caught you of course.
"Explaining your next article in the meeting," you breathed, fingers moving in quickly timed circles against your clit, the wet sound of your slick turning his cheeks a ruddy maroon. "Very professional. So handsome taking charge-"
You gasped, lips catching on the corner of his mouth and Clark felt the whine erupt at the back of his throat. A needy high pitch that you silenced with your tongue. Any other dayβin any other placeβhe would be the one taking his time. Opting for a slow pace and the sounds he knew you could make growing louder by the minute.
But the lunch break was only thirty minutes and Clark could feel the ball of nerves begin to swell in his chest. You kissed him until he felt what he imagined was a shortness of breathβeven if it was technically impossible for him to experience. His glasses were knocked askew but he met you with just as much enthusiasm as you had. If not more.
There would never be the same day twice with you. Never a moment you didnβt manage to throw him off guardβknock him entirely off his feet. You were a storm. A beautiful mass of curling mist he couldnβt wait to get lost in. One he knew would exhilarate him in ways only flying had been able to do for so long.
His hands clutched your back, hips jolting up when you hovered over his leaking cock. The tip a dark blush that almost matched the rest of his body. He was no stranger to overheating during sex. But this felt like you'd turned on an incinerator and shoved him inside. Sucking in quick breaths, he tried to hold off coming too soon as you eased him into your cunt with a rasped groan.
"Oh fuck baby," you breathed. Sweat clung to your skin and he licked it off, teeth sinking gently against your throat. "You're so big."
"D-Don't say that. I'm gonna come-"
Your smile was a deviant little thing and he knew what it meant long before it crested into your eyes. "Don't say what? That all throughout the meeting I thought about begging you to bend me over that table?"
A harsh pathetic sound punched from his chest, his face landing into your shoulder as he bucked up into you. "I-I can't-"
Raising up on your knees you felt him shudderβmouth dropped openβas you dropped back down with a loud wet squelch. "Or that I wanted to suck your cock as you talked."
"B-Baby oh gosh."
"How about it Clark?" you gasped, setting a ruthless pace that had him flopping back into the couch with tears glazing his eyes and spit trailing down his chin. "Want me to get on my knees during the next presentation?"
"Uh-huh," he mumbled, eyes fixed on how he speared you open. The creamy ring growing thicker with each roll of your hips.
"Yeah? How about keeping me under your desk?" you muttered, hands clapping onto his chest when you fell forward.
"Yeah." His tongue had a mind of its own and before you could find his mouth with yours he'd yanked open your shirt, lips attaching to a peaked nipple through the lace of your bra.
Tugging at his curls, you dug your teeth into your lip to muffle the choked scream. Clark felt his common sense recede into the back of his mind when your walls fluttered around him. Instinct moving his hand to press the pad of his thumb onto your throbbing clit until your spine went taut and you yanked his head back to press a cry into his open mouth. His eyes rolled back with a ragged moan, legs shaking as you clamped down and came hard enough to make his vision cross.
Fifteen minutes. He found the clock still ticking away on the wall across from himβyour head tucked into his chest and pussy fluttering through the aftershocks. If he timed it right heβd be able to give the both of you five extra minutes to clean up and actually eat something.
Clark tugged you up and flipped you over onto the couch, your eyes going wide and hands scrambling for purchase. He crowded you in close, yanking your legs up and over his shoulders, his body half bent as was yours.
βWhat are you-β
βKeep sayinβ you wanna be on your knees,β he muttered, mouth running up the inside of your thighs. βBut I prefer to be on mine.β
The rapid thud of his heart grew when your lips tugged into a smile. βClark.β
βBesides-β He licked deep along your entrance, dragging his tongue to your clit as you slapped a hand over your mouth to keep from sobbing. ββS where I belong.β
a/n: me posting a mando fic on my birthday?? absolutely. i've had ch2 done for awhile now and i'm so excited to share more about their story. this one digs further into mandalorian culture and the lore (as much as i could research about it honestly). it's so fun getting write about the tin man again after so long and i can't wait to continue this series throughout the movie coming out. enjoy! this gif is from the incredible gifset here by @/themandaloriandaily.
summary: in the aftermath of colliding with the man you once knew, you find yourself unable to put back together the pieces of what could have been. instead you're forced to reckon with what is. a mandalorian who never let you go and the weight of a creed stripped from your shoulders.
word count: 7k+
pairing: din djarin x f!reader
warnings: not explicit, angst, deep conversation, battling past wounds, old friends, second chances, violence, blood, grief + trauma, ptsd, mention of torture, mandalorian lore i'm making up as i go, badly written mandoa, din djarin being burdened by his choices, scars.
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Silooth Saloon was tainted with the rancid burn of drinks that tasted like fuel siphoned from a star ship. No living creature should have gone near it, but people still arrived. Your nose wrinkled at the atmosphere of cheap spice smoked freely and what you assumed was vomit from a long night of way too much alcohol. The cantina was sparse, a few patrons scattered here and there and most were too high to notice a Mandalorian dragging a half limp person through the door. It certainly wasnβt the most strange thing one could find in Coruscantβs underworld.
Dinβs foot hooked into the base of a nearby chair and settled you into it with a grunt before plopping down beside you. His helmet tipped to stare at the gaping hole in your pants, no doubt checking to see if the bacta took to your wound. The act might have made you smile if the circumstances were anything other than they were.
The man so intent on helping even as he ran from what was always destined for him. To be a protector, a guardian of those who needed him most.
You never thought you might one day fit into that category.
βWhat are we drinkinβ?β A Twiβlek with flushed purple skin and her lekku tied together behind her back fixed a wary look at the silver armor that reflected the roomβs red neon glow. His stiff position no doubt offered quite the story for her to spill at a different time.
βA black caf and a bowl of Joppa stew,β he said before you could even open your mouth. βAnd no interruptions.β
The thud of credits hit the table and your lips twitched at the sight, chest warm and face hot. You blamed it on the open wound still pulsing with heat and not the way he remembered your order on hunts all those years ago. The food youβd eat in silence alone at the back of his shipβyour stomach filled with an ache to have his company over a simple meal like this.
You just wished it hadnβt occurred when separation became a chasm between the both of you. One Mandalorian still following the creed he took as a young boy. The other a forgotten apostate, forced to reckon with a dismantled reality carved by a past you couldnβt change.
βYou didnβt get anything.β Yanking a chair close, you forced your leg up and onto it with a harsh groanβpain flaring in bright spots behind your eyelids.
Dinβs hand shot out to steady you, pressing his knee to the edge of the seat in case you moved the wrong way again. βI have food on The Crest.β
βYou mean your not removing your helmet. Especially in front of me.β
His shoulder twitched, helmet tipped to the side as if going over each word with a fine toothed comb. βNo. Thatβs not what I meant-β
βIβm joking Din. I donβt expect you to join me as an apostate.β The joke was dry on the back of your tongue, but shame dug its claws into your throat after you closed your mouth hard enough to make your teeth clack. βI just meanβ¦I donβt mind either way.β
βA black caf.β A long arm set a steaming mug in front of you, the bowl right beside it. βAnd Joppa stew. Youβre in luck, thatβs the last we got for the night. Anything else?β
One shake from his helmet sent her scurrying off back behind the bar, the bartender wiping glasses clean had his gaze fixed on the back of Dinβs head. There was a time you used to feel a thrill from the reaction of others when they came across the both of you. Covered head to toe in scratched armor that had seen better days long before you arrived on whatever planet housed the bounty you were seeking.
One Mandalorian was enough to turn heads. Two set peopleβs teeth on edge.
You swallowed the stew down quickly despite the pungent smell burning the inside of your nose. Only to be met with your stomach twisting, wracking your already exhausted body in a freezing chill you felt down to your finger tips. Nausea climbed up and out of your throat, saliva pouring into a dry mouth as you fought back the urge to vomit. Days of nothing left you with an unrelenting hunger that even food couldnβt quench, so you downed the caf insteadβgesturing to the waitress before you even set it back on the table.
His eyes burned holes into the side of your head. The sight of you devouring your food without any qualms about how others could perceive you drew his chest tight beneath the armor.
What would it be like to join you in your obscurity? To feel the weight of beskar steel leave his head and feel the hot air of the cantina against his skin.
The temptation nearly devoured him wholeβdigging a piercing cavity in his chest.
βI still feel it,β you muttered into your refilled mug, unable to take the burning gaze he fixed you with anymore than you used to. βTook a year to feel like I wasnβt drowning in shame every time I ate in front of people. Some days- Well it feels like I still am.β
There wouldnβt a part of you that didnβt vividly recall the way your body used to be weighed down by armor. The heft of it, how it sat snug to every limb, the pressure at the back of your head from carrying something so monumental. The phantom ache of holding metal for hours at a time never quite went away. Like a permanent bruise at the base of your skull you could still feel if you pressed your fingers down hard enough. You missed it on days when things were quiet and you could settle to breathe for a few weeks at a time.
βYou could have put it back on.β
The grin that stretched across your cracked lips was wry, eyes flashing with a resentment he felt curdle at the base of his stomach. βThe Alor made it very clear where I stand after that night.β
βThe Alor-β
βBesides-β you leaned back with a wince, fingers curled tight around your mug. β-beskar steel attracts too much attention for a bounty on the run. Wouldnβt you agree?β
Even he couldnβt deny the way peopleβs eyes locked on at the first glimpse of the silver steel, each one calculating how much theyβd get if they were able to drop him right where he stood. He felt it now. From patrons across the cantina. Always a piss poor attempt to be discreet, but he knew how their fingers itched for the trigger of their blaster. The taste of their fear drenching the air stopped them from doing something stupidβthey knew that to take on a Mandalorian rarely promised anything other than death in the end.
Dinβs shoulders bunched as he sucked in a breath. βIt has its disadvantages. But not wearing it feelsβ¦β
βLike thereβs a part of you missing.β
He nodded, shifting in his seat as you pried him open with just once glance. A part of him preferred you with a helmet. Your visor and dark armor used to give him a chance to gauge your reactions, guess what you were thinking. Now you wore it openly on your face. As if you had been doing it all along.
And suddenly you realized this is exactly how he looked when his face was bared to the worldβexpressions scrawled bright and glaring across each feature.
βI donβt think Iβd be welcomed back so easily. A Mandalorian doesnβt run but here I am. Iβve been running for so long I canβt remember what it felt like to simply exist.β
Your head tipped to the side, hood falling against your shoulders and Din caught sight of it in the neon glow of the cantina. The flash of marred skin on the side of your neck forming faint lines that made a circle with spikes. A wound that healed wrong and carved ridges in your neck that you would bear for the rest of your life. There was no cutting out a burnβa markβthat claimed you without mercy as their property.
Dinβs mouth filled with the bitter tang of anger, his heart ramming an unsteady beat. The Black Sun burned you, they forced their mark on your skin for everyone to see, as a reminder of who you were running from. To make sure youβd never be able to get away. He wanted to sink every blade in his arsenal into their flesh. To feel the heat of their blood soak into his gloves until the life dimmed in their eyes.
Rage came naturally to a Mandalorian, but heβd never felt it like this.
All encompassing, brutal and without a hint of mercy. His tongue craved the taste of their death and how it would hang in the air long after the job was done and you were safe.
βWhat did they do to you?β he rasped, his anger held back by a thin strand of control that wavered the longer he stared at your neck.
As if on instinct your hand clasped over it, head ducking and fingers fumbling with your hood. βWhat they felt I deserved.β
He dragged in a breath, chest heaving beneath his armor yet his body remained still. The tremor of fury began in his hands, a visceral wave of emotions he prided himself on controlling. They became the backbone of every hit, every strike, until his enemy was forced to relent beneath his powerβthe numb curl of what he guessed to be satisfaction flaring to life in his chest like a forgotten note to a song he started to loathe.
But this echoed like the songs of eons past, loud and unrelenting and stained with the devout belief of a creed the both of you still tasted at the back of your throat. Long before he knew the feel of your smile beneath his fingertips and the way you clung to him as the light of hyperspace flooded the ship, he knew you as his equal.
That was enough for him to let the anger fester. To grow like a pustulate wound that would bubble to the surface and stay there, rotting with the tang of biting hatred for those who would lay their hands on someone from his clan.
It was more than that. Din wasnβt blind to how his heart restarted at the sight of your gaze unfiltered and raw for the first time in all his life. Heβd been dragging on since the kid left. Moving from planet to planet in order to forget, but unable to move past.
Sitting across from you dug out the young man who once carried hope in a heart not yet broken. He could see the memories coast along the fringes of his mind and reach for them. Warmth bled into a chest he figured would be cold for the rest of his days the longer he watched you struggle to gather what little of yourself remained.
βIβm coming with you,β he finally said, short and outright.
As expected, you shoved his words off with a wave of your handβalways so damn stubborn in the end. βI donβt need your help.β
βGood. I didnβt ask for permission.β Your jaw shut with an audible click, brows furrowed as you pinned him with a sneer. βI have a ship and you need a way off Coruscant.β
βYouβre walking into a war that isnβt written in your name.β
βIt isnβt written in yours either.β
The grief blinded you with a harsh tug of wool over your eyes. Clouds thick and dark formed in your mind as memories of a life once by his side were drowned in favor of the acrid tang that coated your tongue. The seething bite of reality wasnβt pointed towards him, but you still pictured his helmet regardless.
He left. Allowed the covert to collapse in favor of protecting a foundling and you couldnβt fault him for that. The foundlings were the futureβthey were perhaps more important than the lives of others. That wasnβt what infuriated you. It was the glaring fact that he never came back.
Only when it was far too late and the people of your tribe had vanished did he cross the atmosphere of Nevarro again with a child in tow behind him. By then you were already off on a different planet entirely, trapped in the tight grip of Black Sun and all their false promises.
βDonβt be so fucking naive Djarin,β you hissed through clenched teeth. βIβm not the same verd (warrior) you once knew and Iβ¦β Air pinched your lungs as you took a breath, swallowing hard around the words you struggled to get out. βI donβt think Iβll be able to get that part of me back.β
Out of sync beats blasted from the shitty jukebox in the corner of the cantina. A song meant for clubs on upper levels where spice flowed almost as free as the Spotchka. But it drowned out the unnerving quiet that hung between youβhis helmet tipped in your direction, eyes dragging down the side of your face. Maybe he could see where you split down the center, the fissure of your heart which grew with the promise of collapse.
Half expecting him to move on from this topic, he surprised you when he plundered forward past the wreckage of a life you could no longer hold onto. βExplain it to me.β
βWhat?β
βTell me everything. From the beginning.β
βWhy?β Your chest thundered as he leaned against the edge of the table and you swore you could hear the malice dripping like venom in his low rasped voice.
βBecause if Iβm gonna show them what they deserve Iβll need to know the whole story.β
Hesitation trapped your heart in a cage. You didnβt want to tell him, to recount the horrors that still clung to your skin no matter which planet you ran to. But the words spilled free faster than you could reign them in. Din knew you in ways no other wouldβhe recognized you with no helmet and no armor for the same reason you would be able to do the same for him.
You knew the beat of your heart in someone elseβs chest, could hear the cadence of its call from light years away. You simply had to come across it again to recognize what youβd been missing.
Perhaps it was the same for him.
βI met with them twice,β you said thumbing the handle of your mug. βThe first job turned out to be a spice trade with someone that went bad on their end, and the thief stole enough credits to buy a fucking city. So I picked up the bounty. It was easy enough to handle; I knew what came with the territory of something like that, after all the times we hunted together. No puck, no fob, only a name and the last known location. But they failed to mention the whole fucking story.β
Dinβs shoulders tensed, his fingers curling into fists atop the table. βYou should have walked away when they didnβt offer a fob.β
βI should have.β The shame gnawed at the inside of your stomach, turning the stew you ate to pure acid as you relived moments that kept you up at night. βBut I was starving. Iβd been on my own for a month and the thought of finally having enough to eat and a place to sleep sounded like a good deal to me.β
βBut the others-β
βFled the moment they were off world. You werenβt there Din. You didnβt see how revealing ourselvesβ¦β You choked on a breath, eyes burning as every emotion crashed to the surface in a wave you could no longer hold back. The tears fell rapidly and you blinked them away. βIt broke something in us to give up everything we knew.β
The song changed to an old forgotten beat you heard once in a shitty cantina back on Nevarroβwhen you were still forced to remain underground as shadows in the background. Just the sound of it brought a wry grin to your mouth, exhaustion withering your sore bones as the food settled in your stomach. What you wouldnβt give for a warm bed and the ease of sleep.
Din watched, terrified of looking away for fear that you might vanish before his eyes. You werenβt the same warrior from before. You were broken, driven to the edge of madness until you had no choice but to wrench yourself back. But the embers of a flame that would never die out flickered to life in the confines of your chest. When survival was your only option death would come to fear your name.
βThe second job is when things went to shit,β you sighed, scrubbing a hand down your face, exasperation thick on your tongue. βAnother thief stole a family heirloom and took off to Nar Shaddaa so they called me in for the job. Claiming I would be discreet about their business and return with the bounty quicker than others, and of course I thought nothing of it. Just off what they paid me I was able to afford a ship and enough food to keep me going for a month or two. But this jobβ¦this one was tainted.β
His heart leapt when you buried your face into your hands, a ragged noise pulling from your chest. βThe bounty wasnβt a thief. It was the son of Gyutiβthe heir to the Black Sun! And it wasnβt some heirloom. That bastard stole the code to his entire families fortune. Past deals, future deals, trade routes, stash houses, he took everything they had and offered to sell it to the highest bidder.β
βDid you turn him in?β
The scoff was brittle and he could see right through it, but you were past the point of hiding from him. βBy the time I found him he was dead. Another thief killed him for the reward. I tried to run and forget the damn job, but when I got off worldβ¦it was too late.β
The situation wasnβt uncommon.
A cruel trick against bounty hunters to keep the money off the table altogether. Heβd been unlucky to find one or two, but as his reputation grew so did the number of people who were threatened at the very sight of him. Without your armor, you held no rankβno status to wield at your whim. Black Sun used that in every way they could and left you to gather what piece might remain, ripping another shred of your life right out of your chest.
βThey claimed I killed him.β Din felt a tremor wrack his spine at the defeat in your voice, his teeth grinding loud beneath his helmet until it was all he could hear. βAnd there was nothing I could say to refute something like that. So I became theirs.β
βTheirs?β he ground out, steel in his voice and rage thundering in his chest.
βA life for a life,β you grinned though it never reached your eyes. βBecause they couldnβt punish the lamb, they chose the lion who hunted him.β
Their death would be too merciful. A kindness he buried in the bottom of his heart at the sight of you unraveling. The strong warrior that fought at his sideβthe Mandalorian he once swore heβd die forβnow a shell of what they made you. Fractured bits of a heart that refused to die quietly.
βI killed for them,β you uttered though your voice had gone hollow and he fought the urge to reach across the table for you. If only to offer a comfort he didnβt know how to give. βTook out their enemies and hunted countless others and still I would up in chains at the end of the day. But eventually they found themselves being hunted and I managed to stowaway in a pleasure ship as one of the guards.β
The door opened with a loud creak and Din forced himself to take a breath as two sets of feet scraped along the floor. Clearly drunk from one too many hours out in the nightlife of Coruscant.
Running a hand over the scar, you winced with the memoryβthe scent of burnt flesh rooted so deep in your mind youβd never be able to run from. βThey gave me this on my last night there before I made a run for it. Courtesy of Gyuti himself.β
You ached for his expressions to be painted across beskar as yours was streaked along your face. He walked through the open doors of your mind without difficulty and became a witness to the grueling agony of seeing yourself stripped of power. Until the warrior that left Nevarro no longer existed in the long run, and was replaced by a paranoid thief who had nowhere left to turn.
βThe crime syndicates. Theyβre no better than the Empire,β Din growled his hand moving close as if it held a mind of its own.
The barked laugh that tore from your lungs startled him into silence. His arm retreated, back going rigid. βCβmon Djarin donβt tell me youβre comparing the crime syndicates to the Empire that overtook an entire galaxy to this day.β
βThe Empire is fading,β Din said in a poor attempt to assure you of all the grievances still trapped tight around a withering heart. βWhat wasnβt destroyed might still exist, but itβs a dying breed now.β
βDonβt be ridiculous,β you scoffed into your now tepid mug of caf. βThe Empire may be gone or disappearing but its ideasβthe belief of oppression, power, the restless unwilling force to possess that which they have no right to control. That will never go away. You live in the outskirts of the galaxy long enough and youβll find it buried in each place you go. It may be cast in shadows and wear a different face, but its all the same fucking thing.β
His glove cracked as he white knuckled the arm rest. βKeeping it alive is one thing but Iβve met the ones who brought it to an end. The Empireβthe shadowsβwhatever it wants to call itself, it can't last.β
βI thought you didnβt care about any of that.β
βI didnβt.β
βAnd suddenly you changed your mind. What makes you so sure youβre right?β
βI saw it. As long as they exist there will be people to fight back.β
Discarding the caf to the side, you clasp your hands together and prop your chin atop themβyour scabbed knuckles scratching your skin. βAnd Black Sun? Theyβre what? Just another fight? Theyβre a criminal organization with my fucking head on the chopping block. Iβm not sure fighting is the way to go about this, but what do I know Iβve just been running from them-β
βYouβre Mandalorian,β Din stated bluntly, his words a brutal kick to your stomach. βWe fight together. Even if the enemy is greater than us.β
Warmth pooled in your stomach at his rigid toneβso much like his young selfβand for a brief flickering minute you could see him in scraps of red armor instead of the reflecting silver. You saw him as a warrior who dived head first, taking out the enemy before you could even pull your blaster. At first you came to the conclusion that he was stupid, or at least willing to get himself killed the moment he caught sight of his opponent. It would only be later when the realization occurred that he put himself in harms way to impress you.
After all the future Alor of the clan would need a warrior of strength by their sideβtheir equal in every way possible.
The years werenβt kind to either of you. Even if the both of you wished to prolong this fantasy of believing otherwise.
That nightβthe bounty he stoleβrang like a distant bell in your mind. A child. He fought to protect the helpless, to put himself in the middle of a firefight if only to save that which could not save itself. A true Mandalorian if youβd ever seen one; as if he was dropped from the very songs you listened to as a child.
The smile curled on your lips before you understood the flutter in your chest, heat flooding back into cold and lifeless veins. βOkay,β you replied softly, eyes fixed on his visor. βWe fight.β
Downing the last of the caf, you felt his gaze drag along your faceβa burn you missed when nights were quiet and the glow of hyperspace dragged in old ghosts you thought were long buried. Perhaps they were in shallow graves all along. Waiting in anticipation for the sun to shine once more and give them a reason to return to life.
βI need you to know,β he sighed, helmet tipped down to the table and shoulders dropped in shame. βYouβre not the only apostate sitting at this table.β
Your body stiffened, heart ramming harsh against your chest. βDin? Your helmetβ¦β
βYes,β he admitted with a rough grunt, anguish clear in his voice. βIβve removed it more times than I should have.β
He spoke like a sinner begging for penance, seeking the forgiveness you couldnβt give him. Not because you didnβt want to, but simply for the reason you couldnβt give it to yourself. A hand slid across the surface quicker than either of your anticipated, your fingers sliding over his wrist as you pressed close until the edge of the table was digging into your stomach. You grinned when his body jolted; the sight of his helmet rearing back did nothing but drag to the surface everything you hoped to forget at one time or another.
βYou are still Mandalorian to me,β you whispered as if each word bled the sacred vow taken and creed promised. βSee my face. Bear my shame for your shame is now mine.β
Old words taken from an ancient time.
They rang with the sanctity of partnership, of two warriors speaking of a future beyond what the creed could provide. He clutched your forearm with a shaky sigh and the waves of your tragedy settled into serene glistening waters that rippled through your body and into his.
Unending quiet filled the cavern of grief until you could float beside him and since your final night together all those years ago you finally reached out. Not with the countenance of a fellow Mandalorian, but with the smile of a friend. Something the both of you needed more than air at this very moment. Sitting in the crappy cantina, you found one another entangled in webs not of your own making, and pulled one another free.
You felt his thumb nestle into the curve of your wrist, pressing down on a pulse that skipped in his presence. Old habits die hard. The words sat on the tip of your tongue as he smoothed leather along your skin, his lips curling into a grin that warmed his stomach when he caught you squirming in your chair. A hand pressed over the side of your neck, eyes glued to the shift of his finger sweeping back and forth unconsciously.
He used to touch you like this in the silence of his ship. After youβd all but collapse with the exertion of fucking yourselves stupid until you were too tired to recall the hunt. Let alone speak about it. Times that Din could recall immediately and with a clarity that nearly startled him.
The curve of your wrist felt the same. The way you breathed, the uptick in energy when you spoke after a warm meal remained exactly as he remembered it.
Nothing about you changed. Yet somehow simultaneously everything about you changed.
βDin I wanted to say before I forget-β
The unmistakable piercing sound of a blaster round going off rang in the cantina and he threw himself into action before his mind could process that you were speaking. His head whipped to the right, foot ramming into your chair to shove you away from the table before launching himself over it and yanking it down to its side. Another round struck metal as Din pulled free his blasterβthrowing you a quick glance to see yours already clutched between two hands, your face set into a grim line.
Your heart didnβt race in the midst of battle. That was trained out of you at birthβyour parents intent on raising you to be comfortable with the sound of blaster fire and the clash of weapons.
But you couldnβt ignore the sharp thrill shooting down your spine at the knowledge that Din was fighting by your side again. No matter how much you tried to forget, shoving memory after memory down your throat until it came rushing back up like bile, you wouldnβt be able to wipe the image of him pulling the trigger in your defense from your mind.
βAt the back of the place,β he grunted between two more rounds punching holes through the table and narrowly missing his pauldron. βWe need to get to the door out the side. I can lead us back to The Crest from there.β
βHow many?β you sucked in a breath, shoving as many bolts your blaster would take into the chamber. He emptied out a pouch and dropped more in your palm before shifting to his knees.
βCaught sight of three when I turned, but there might have been more sitting in the dark.β
βAnd theyβre stupid enough to shoot at a Mandalorian.β
Dropping to your side, you peek out around the table and clocked a Zabrak man leaping over the bar with a weapon in both hands. You aimed, sucked in a breath, and fired the second your lungs began to burnβwatching as it hit him in the shoulder and sent him dropping like a swatted fly. The smile thrown over your shoulder at Din shouldnβt have made him feel like a fucking teenager trying to impress you again, but the sight punched every ounce of air out of his lungs until he was forced to drag in a ragged breath.
You were brighter than any star in this galaxy heβd come across. Twice as brilliant and it blinded him for the few seconds he allowed himself to look.
βTal!β you called, wrenching him out of his stupor enough to get him on his feet and fire off three more rounds.
A gritty voice rang out from across the cantina, his voice practically a whisper with how much spice he probably smoked on the daily. βHand over the bounty Mando! Weβll give her what she deserved before we hand that murderer back to Black Sun.β
Dread crept up your spine with a harsh frigid chill youβd only experienced once before. It ate at your stomach and turned your food into bile that stung the back of your throat. You should have pushed through it, got to your feet beside Din and fought your way out, but you were crippled by the burn on your neck. Eyes wide and lungs panicking for another breath that wouldnβt come.
You couldnβt go back to that nightmare. Maker youβd rather die than be dropped back on the threshold of hell.
βHey,β Din barked, falling to a knee and cupping your face to drag you close. βWake up. Cβmon snap out of it.β
A gurgle of words spilled from your throat, ugly gasping things wrenched directly from the fear churning in the pit of your stomach. Any other time youβd be ashamed. Disgustingly embarrassed that you were rendered to such a mess of emotions in front of someone who thought you strong, but you couldnβt rip yourself free.
The strength had withered away the moment you understood death was clamoring for your life long before youβd bear the title Mandalorian again.
Cold metal pressed hard against your forehead as he wrenched you up to your knees with a harsh bitten out grunt. βCaβtra,β he muttered but the shrill high pitched ring in your ears drowned him out. βI can get you out but I need you to listen to my voice. Alright? Focus on what Iβm saying.β
βDin-β
βYeah good. Thatβs real good sweetheart.β Another round hit metal and you distinctly heard the sound of it pinging off beskar. He was hunching over your form, using every part of his body to protect yours as you clawed along blood and bone and the ash of screams you could hear pound against your skull. βIβm not gonna let them take you, not today, not tomorrow. Never. But I need you to get up and fight.β
As if he pulled back the curtains of your mind and ripped open the windows, you returned with a gasp. Eyes sharp and fingers curling tight around your blaster, you felt him jolt upright and give you his shoulder to clamber your way back onto unsteady feet. Sweat dripped down your temple and around your eyes, but you could feel cold beskar pressed to your front as he scanned one side of the room leaving you to the other.
Nine men.
Two already dropped thanks to Dinβs endless supply of blaster bolts.
Seven left and they were rushing at you with malice wedged between the teeth and the rancid smell of alcohol on their tongue.
βYouβre okay?β he asked beside your head as he shoved a vibroblade into your hand.
You nodded, gaze narrowed to the man raising his blaster on the right, aiming for your head. βHow do you want to play this?β
βFlanked,β he bit out, catching the way one of them eyed you like fresh meat they were intent on ripping a chunk off with their teeth. βStay covered and head for the door once I tell you to.β
βIbβtuur jatne tuur ashβad kyrβamur.β
Today is a good day for someone else to die.
A laugh cracked through the modulator as the sound of a blaster went off and adrenaline sparked high in your chest. Din kicked the table with a harsh growl, launching it at two men storming your right as you shot one directly across from you who went down with a cry. This was familiar to you. The grueling heat of battle with him at your side. Both of you would die for one anotherβnearly had at timesβand tonight that once old vow rang with truth like youβd never heard before.
Rushing at a man encased in a shitty attempt at reused storm trooper armor, you dropped to a knee with a harsh wince, jamming the vibroblade into his thigh and swinging back up to point the barrel of your blaster at his temple. Fear burned in light green irises. An all too welcome sight as you pulled the trigger and stuffed his death in the back of your mind.
Locked and sealed and never to be witnessed again.
βThe door!β he shouted loud enough for you to hear over the harsh sounds of metal colliding with flesh and bodies hitting the floor. βGo! Now!β
The flash of purple caught your eye from behind the bar and your heart dropped to your stomach as a hunter crept towards the waitress left to her own defenses. Dinβs voice calling your name fell on deaf ears the moment you started towards her, rushing even with a limp in your step. You grabbed a chair and raised it high above your head before ramming it down on the manβs back, your foot slamming into the base of his spine until your heard a crack.
Bone shattered with ease, but your blaster going off finished him with a heavy breath. She grasped your arm, following you to where Din fought three men as the rest began to close in behind you. Pushing her at your back, you raised you blaster with a breath. Serenity washing over your shoulders and warmth fluttering at the base of your stomach.
If you were to die, at least it would be at his side.
As fate intended.
You pulled the trigger as many times as you could before the chamber sounded with an empty click and you were left right where you began. A roar bellowed from your chest, fingers wrapped tight around the knife still sticky with another manβs blood, but something dark pulled at the edge of your vision. The beginnings of a myth you heard time and time againβembedded so deep it would have taken an act of absolute horror to unearth it from the trenches in your mind.
Din moved with a speed that would have alarmed anyone who had yet to come across the full wrath of a Mandalorian, his blaster raised high and other hand curled around the hilt of a sword. Jettiiβkad. Your head reared back, heart hammering an unsteady beat as the air was sucked from your chest.
This was no sword, no lightsaber a Jedi would wield. In his right hand Din Djarin held the Darksaber and suddenly mythology came to life before your very eyes.
He brandished it with a strike, embedding it into the last manβs chest, his body hitting the ground with a heavy thud that echoed loud in the quiet of the cantina. The Twiβlek behind you cowered against the wall at the sight of bloodshed. But to you this was as close to home as you could get.
You nearly drop to your knees at the sight of it, injured leg trembling with the strain of battle. βMandβalor,β you breathed, unable to take your eyes off the way the saber glinted in the light, humming with its own energy.
He winced, sheathing it with a grimace beneath his helmet. βNayc.β
βBut the Darksaber-β
βCui ogirβolar. (Itβs irrelevant)β That should have been the end of it, but you couldnβt be deterredβfar too relentless for your own good at times.
βIrrelevant,β you scoffed. βWhoever holds the Darksaber rules Mandalore and youβre wielding it like itβs a fucking burden.β
βIt is.β
He pushed past you and yanked open the door, pushing a body out of the way as the waitress muttered a shaky thank you before she took off into the crowd of people. No doubt with the intention of never coming back. You could hardly blame her; the mess alone would be a hassle for anyone to clean up.
Metal scraped along your arm as you crouched, Tal beeping sporadically over your shoulder, scanning the area for anymore signs of life. Din reached for your arm and you went without hesitationβthe unmistakable flutter of want surging to life in your chest. He held the Darksaber and treated it like a curse someone bestowed upon him that would bring his worst nightmares to life. And youβd never been more happy to traipse after him in your life, limping with his hand wrapped around your wrist and helmet tipped slightly in your direction.
The city streets were dead once you reached The Razor Crest, Din opening it with a press of a button, and you smiled at the sound of the creaking door and ramp going down. As if no time had passed since you last saw one anotherβjust another hunt before it was back to Nevarro.
You wanted to pretend for just a bit longer, exist in the bubble of safety he helped you create in the cantina. But as you walked up the ramp and entered the hull of the ship, you caught the sight of a silver pram set in the corner beside some boxes. A blanket spilled out of the top, a silver ball set in the center of emptiness. And the illusion crumpled to the ground in shards you never knew could exist.
βThe kidβs not here,β Din said softly from behind you, his stomach twisting in knots at the glimmer of desolation on your face. This is what he must have looked like beneath the helmet the night he returned alone.
You turned, swallowing thick as your eyes burned. βWhat happened to him?β
βHeβs with his own kind now. A Jedi.β
Realization dawned sharp like a knife, burying itself to the hilt in your chest. βWhen you said youβd met the people who put an end to the Empireβ¦β
βYes,β he replied. βThe Jedi can train him in things I canβt. He can learn the ways of his people. My missionβ¦itβs done.β
βDid you want it to be?β
There you were digging right into his mind with a scrutinizing gaze he could feel burn along his spine. You saw him beneath the armor, understood the weight of a father without his child. Only Din could hardly call himself a father. He didnβt know the kid long enough to become one, to take on that role as someone once did for him. But you could see it with one glanceβone sharp tug at the locked door of his heart and it all came spilling out.
Heβd been searching for this. The companionship you offered. The promise of a life to be shared, a journey to take together.
The words didnβt need to be said aloud for him to hear it, but they rang in his head louder than a bell as you settled onto a box and he got the ship ready for hyperspace. He rejoined you quickly, the bacta tin back in his palm and your leg spread over his knees. Silence curving along each star and planet you passed and he welcomed it with a faint grin on his lips.
Youβd have made a wonderful father.
Your unsaid words became a comforting loop in his mind when he settled beside you, dragging a blanket up and over your body as you slept without pain for the first time in years. Hope burned right to the tips of his fingers, finally settling deep in his heart as the glow of hyperspace streamed down from the cockpit.
βNo,β he uttered in the silent vacuum of space. βI didnβt.β
Dating Bullseye didn't resemble how other people dated. There was no real first dateβinstead he met you in a diner that night and he subsequently disappeared for three weeks immediately afterwards. He stalked you for six days before he realized...he liked being around you. You didn't receive flowers (unless you counted the random leaves and mud he tracked into your home after missions spent apart). And affection was brief, more often than not forgotten, but memorable.
Instead dating Ben Poindexter resembled the relationship one might have with a stray cat who shows up every now and then to eat food you bought, just in case. You didn't mind it.
In fact, you liked knowing eventually he'd stagger up the front steps dripping in blood and wearing a smile. You began to look forward to the nights he stayed over. Fucking you into the bed (or the other way around) before settling into his routine. Breakfastβone egg over easy never two and coffee blackβa work out (running the neighborhood like a fucking perimeter), concluding with him pressing a quick chaste kiss to your lips before you had to get to work.
Mundane. Despite the fact that you spent three hours the night before patching up his side with gauze you kept stored in the kitchen cabinets instead of snacks.
Entirely normal. If one were to overlook the knives neatly set on every table, and the guns strapped beneath surfaces you no longer bothered to check. One swipe of your hand would eventually lead you to the handle of some weapon he left behind. A way to keep you alive.
A relationship you could depend on. Other than the odd body dropped on your living room carpet here and there.
It wasβby any other definitionβperfect.
a/n: idk what this is but i can't stop thinking about him. you can't tell me this man pretends he showed up courtesy of the cat distribution system. meanwhile you figured out he was following you days prior and thought he was cute so you let him stick around.
a/n: i've been sitting with this idea of dex with a sorta vigilante/assassin reader since season two dropped but my brain has been stuck in burnout. leave it to him being shirtless and bloody to kickstart me back into gear and churn out angsty smut. honestly this fic is a long time coming, but it's finally here! enjoy me rambling about this man for way too long.
summary: the fist of emotions swung with weight behind it each time you pulled the trigger. names you couldn't forget, faces etched into a mind halfway to madness. he was the opposite of all you were, yet somehow written in the same hand. maybe that's why you liked him so much.
word count: 6.6k+
pairing: benjamin poindexter x f!reader/bullseye x f!reader (nickname: eros)
warnings: EXPLICIT SO MINORS DNI 18+ ONLY!!, violence, blood and lots of it, angst, tears, slight dacryphilia, depression, mean!dex, pussy pronouns, p in v sex, rough sex, pain play, choking, dex might be kinda ooc, they're not lovers they're infinitely worse.
The taste of gunpowder lodged itself under your tongue. Thick and biting with the fanged teeth of a demon youβd met before. Mutual acquaintances in the light of day, mortal enemies in the glow of night. You could swish it around your mouth most nights and taste the sour tang of copper spill between molars grit so tight you swore one day theyβd crack.
Retribution for the damage you caused. The harm done and lives lost were merely one edge of a sword you balanced, wavering in your steps until you found somewhere new to run or death eventually caught up.
You were accustomed to the ache in your chest that never settled right. Pangs of miseryβimpractical emotions that plundered into you like rocks in a landslide.
He didnβt taste like gunpowder, or the names of people you couldnβt forget. He barely had a scent that clung to his skin, void of anything to discern him from the others. Humans who owned a favorite perfume, people who clung to a body wash or soap that reminded them of home or a lover they once lost. He smelled clean and practically sterile, pristine in every act and flick of his wrist.
At least you didnβt have to lie to yourself about why you liked him. Why his touch didnβt deter you or make you sick to your stomach. You were filled with too much. Over saturated by names and voices and how they screamed when you were told to make it hurt. They altered the inner workings of a mind gone mad years ago; he settled the nightmare with insignificant words and phrases he thought you wanted to hear.
βIβll make itβ¦better. Itβs difficultβ¦I know.β
The frigid air of New Yorkβs night bit at your face pressed snug into the metal of a sniper rifle set precariously on the edge of a building fifteen stories up. You could jump if you wanted. End the madness with a grin on your face and wings on your back. But the thought of letting death win the tango you began years prior twisted your gut in a way that left you shifting back on your haunchesβready to sprint at a moments notice.
βEros,β a voice crackled through the piece clipped to your ear, dry and unwelcome. βYou in position?β
βWhere else would I be?β you muttered, sinking teeth into flesh until the inside of your cheek sprouted fresh blood.
βPiss off with the humor yeah?β
βKeeps me awake through your talking.β You shifted your gaze to peer through the scope. βIn position and ready.β
A grunt of distaste filtered through the coms that you recognized as fondness. Even if heβd never admit it to your face. The mask you wore sat snug along the bottom half of your face, black and littered with a few rips on the edge from being yanked one too many times by hands that werenβt your own. You could taste the coffee you downed hours ago on your breath that caught in the fabric. Your nose wrinkled at the scent, noting that you should have picked up a pack of gum before heading out here.
The pinch in your leg from an injury years back sprouted with vengeance at the crouched position you took. A swift kick from a man far more powerful to get you off him and drag you down the stairs by your ankle. You set a knife in between his ribs with a harsh twist and left with the ache of him between your thighs. Back when you were younger and the idea of hurting a few more people was something you could brush off.
Soft muted yellow flicked on in the apartment a story down from you in the opposing building. Home at last after a long days work. Or at least thatβs what you assumed. The man looked tired in your scope behind red glasses and an undone tie, a blonde woman traipsing in behind him with files beneath her arm and a frown scrawled on her lips. To you they resembled a couple in the midst of an argument. To anyone else they may have seemed content. Following a daily routine you werenβt privy to.
βReady when I say,β the voice came through louder this time.
Your gut wrenched in a painful flip, the itch from past missions gone awry pricked beneath your cold fingertips wrapped in black tape. βThis isnβt right,β you responded quick, shifting on your boot until gravel scraped along the ground.
A withered sigh pierced your ear. βJust get it done and youβll get your payment.β
Easy enough. A job done a hundred times over until pulling the trigger felt like second nature. But you couldnβt ignore the stirring your chest, sprouting harsh in every limb of your body that screamed one word: run. The safety clicked back, your breath escaping in a push you felt at the base of your stomach. You counted down the seconds until the man entered the frame of the apartmentβs window.
And stared you right in the face.
Jolting back your neck cracked as you blinked away the lick of fear that ran along your spine. You were imagining things. Finding a way out of a job you already agreed upon. You set your cheek back in its spot, peered with one eye through the scope, and caught his lips curling into a wry grin with a tilt of his head. Entirely aware of you sitting one story up on a roof bathed in shadows.
βPiercer I thought you said this guy was blind.β Sweat clung to the back of your neck, your breath hot in your mask.
βHe is. Some big shot lawyer. Uses a cane.β
βYeah, I see a cane.β
βThatβs him alright.β The man took a step forward. Taunting you, the grin pronounced as he spoke to the woman behind him. βNameβs Matthew Murdock.β
βYou sure-β
Piercer sighedβyour cue to shut the fuck up. βI donβt ask questions about what comes through Eros. You shouldnβt either. Now. Pull the fucking trigger.β
The count began again in the back of your mind. Four. Three. Two.
One-
Your finger began to press down, pulling back to your face, but metal collided with your gun and the bullet fired to the left. It flashed across your face, centimeters from your nose and you fell back with a gruntβthe knife now embedded into the side of your pack stowed beside you. Black and gleaming with hints of silver was a blade youβd seen before. Scattered on tables and across the nightstand of the man you swore youβd never come back toβeven if far too much happened for you to let go.
βShit!β you yelled, rolling back to your feet as a figure emerged from the stairwell behind you, the door propped open when you arrived.
βWhatβs wrong?β Piercer shouted. βDid you get him?β
βIβve been made.β
A beat. Then two. Until the line went dead and the message became clear. You were on your own.
The team couldnβt be apart of you being compromisedβthat was the deal at the end of the day. It was only now as you dodged another knife and grabbed for your gun snug at your thigh did you realize what a shit deal it was.
He wore a dark navy suit and a mask carved with a mark at the top of his forehead signifying exactly who he was: Bullseye. The scrape of his boots on the roof should have terrified you. But the thrill of knowing his voice, how his tongue felt on yours tugged your lips into a grin that felt wrong. The enemy of your enemy was apparently now his ally, or at least thatβs what you assumed as you ducked another blade.
βYour off your game tonight,β you spit, landing on your back and pulling the trigger as he went left.
The toe of your boot pushed off the ground as you took off towards the other side of the building. The team would come and clean up your mess later when the time was right and you were long gone. When you had finally outrun Bullseye and landed somewhere safe. Dodging to the right you rolled into a crouch behind a set of boxes, your chest heaving with the brunt of adrenaline pulsing through your veins.
His knives wouldnβt be what killed you, it was the silence that came with it. How he stalked along the roof and waited you out like a feral animal who just needed a bit of food to calm down. Maybe thatβs what he thought you were. A stray he could pick off with the ease of simply flicking his wrist a certain way.
You held your breath, shut your eyes, and listened for the thud of his boots.
One.
Two.
Three-
You twisted on your heels and pulled the trigger as he came around to your side, watching the bullet scrape his arm and land somewhere in the brick. He growled low, eyes narrowed at your figure in the darkness. Any other night you would have been gone by now the second your gut signaled defeat. Tonight you felt the thickness in the air at the sight of him approaching, the spark pleading with you for the strike of a match. You primed your gun, aimed for his heart, and pulled the trigger.
Only for his knife to smack the gun out of your hands. Another useless shot buried somewhere less important. His hand engulfed your ankle when you kicked for his knee, slamming you to your back hard until you felt a crack in your spine and your vision spotted black.
You swung for his head, ramming your fist into his chin as he snarled out a curse, gripping your wrist and pinning it to his chest. His knee caved into your stomach, effectively punching whatever breath you had out of your body. And you wrenched in a gasp, fingers clasping onto the collar of his suit. The matchstick dragged and what little remained last time roared back to life, flooding your veins with that burn you likened to hellfire.
βCanβt let you hit your mark tonight, Cupid,β he grumbled beneath his mask, face inches from your own as you gathered what little strength remained.
βFuck-β You panted, knee ramming up into his groin. He staggered back with a spit of the only name he knew you by. βYou.β
Blood trickled down your nose and dripped into your teeth until the fangs you bared were stained a dark wash of red. He panted in breath after breath, suit ripped at his shoulder and blood staining dark blue, but he didnβt reach for a knife or object closest to him. Anticipation tore at your nerves, eyes tracking how he planted his feet, where his gaze was fixedβat the mask blocking your mouth, how your lips curved around each word.
βDonβt tell me your protecting strangers now,β you huffed, getting to your feet with a wince.
His fingers twitched, the cold hilt of his knife brushing along gloved hands. βItβs really none of your business.β
βYou fucking with my mark is my business.β
βYour mark,β he said with a smile you could hear. βChange of plans Cupid.β
βBullshit,β you sneered, reaching for the gun strapped to your lower back. The weight was familiar, slipping into your grip with ease as you listened to the bullet slide into the chamber, the barrel pointed at his face now creased around the eyes.
Smiling at your misery. Grinning while you drowned in self loathing, as if he didnβt partake in the same practice.
He shouldnβt be out hereβhe wasnβt supposed to find you so easily. Most nights you came to him, seeking the heat of a hard planed body that clung to yours until daybreak. He wouldnβt have peeled you out of the shadows unless absolutely necessary, the nature of the job worming its way into your psyche. Adamant to leave nothing behind but forgotten blood and bone.
Bullseye only hunted when given a reason. This you came to learn the hard way in your first collision with the man who would become an anchor ensnared in your ribs. The latch that kept you from tripping headfirst into a permanent decision.
βShit,β you exhaled. βWho called the order?β
The creases deepened. βYou catch on quick.β
A step closer until your gun brushed his chin, eyes blazing in a rage he felt stir his insides. βCut the fucking bullshit. Who?β
βSeems you pissed off the wrong woman, Cupid. Valentinaβs not happy.β
You expected this outcome eventually. To wind up on on the ugly side of Valentina De Fonatineβmost did in this city at one point in their lives. The control she wielded echoed with transactions that came with the benefit of survival, certainly not your area of preferred employment. Which is why you chose a different path. Mercenary work, assassinations when needed and torture if necessary; a clean exit with a payment at the end. Tied in a pretty little knot you could twirl between your fingers.
Valentina detached you from the shards of humanity that remained in the depths of the chasm where a soul was expunged years ago, and came away with one conclusion. You were expendable.
Everyone was a means to an end.
Bullseye included.
βAn errand boy,β you mused, catching how the knife slid out of his belt. βThought you were more than that.β
βDidnβt take it for her.β
You fell back and tumbled to the left, pulling the trigger and heard bullet tear through flesh. Taking a chunk of him with it as blood splattered onto brick and left a nice little souvenir to another excursion gone awry. A knife sunk into your thigh with a flick of his wrist and a shout that clawed up his chest, your own scream muffled by the way you bit down on your lip hard enough to rip flesh. Bullseye left a fucking mark. Every fucking time.
Another one ripped at the edge of your ear, and you scrambled to your feet before he could launch another. He was going easy on you. Each shift in his body was slower than usual, giving you time to react before what he launched at you ever had time to hit its mark.
He didnβt want to kill you. You didnβt want to kill him.
What a conundrum you found yourselves inβpartaking a lost game of cat and mouse. Neither of you players, only pieces meant to be moved to and fro.
You had a better chance of hand to hand combat with him than throwing distance, so you chose stupidity over death. Running at him you slammed a knee into his side, a fist ramming into his throat. He blocked and his fist connected to your side with a sickening crack that flared up your chest. A roar surged up your throat as your elbow found the curve of his nose and he staggered back choking on blood as it soaked into his mask.
Tearing it off, he stomped towards you with a snarl primed on his lips now dripping crimson. Ducking and swinging where you could kept you alive long enough to weaken his defenses. You pummeled at his face, foot slamming down into his leg, but where you thrived on adrenaline he found his footing in rage. A hand large and calloused wrapped tight around your throat and he drove you back into the edge of the roof, ramming you into hard stone and cutting off what air you had left.
βYouβre always so fucking difficult,β he ground out a mixture of spit and blood hitting your cheek. βYou think I want this? Iβm in between a rock and a hard place sweetheart but thatβs the game isnβt it.β
Clawing at his wrist, your fingernails punctured his skin but he barely flinched at the pain. βD-Dex,β you rasped.
βYeah I know.β
Using his leverage on your throat he raised your head and smashed you down, the back of your skull cracking open as you clawed your fingers into the scar along his cheek. Fighting the darkness with breaths that never reached your lungs and a fear that licked at the base of your spine. Deathβs grin was cruel, teeming with the mirth you could taste on the back of your tongue.
Funnyβ¦you never noticed how much it looked like Benjamin Poindexter until this moment.
Light glared behind your shut eyelids, flashing back and forth and with a huff you wrenched them open to see a lamp swinging above you. The shadows of the room illuminated in what parts the glow could reach. You coughed, flinching at what felt like shards of glass puncturing your lungs, your vision swimming in and out for a minute or two. You werenβt dead. That much you could tell by the thrumming of your heart in your throat, the stiffness in your fingers and crunch of your spine when you moved.
A door creaked loud enough to fill the space and slammed with the same rough push. Boots shuffled along the ground, a glass set on the small makeshift nightstand that was really two cinder blocks and a piece of wood. You recognized the shit hole of a safe house from one too many times meeting him here in the dead of night. Ironic of him to kill you here. Although a part of you supposed it was rather poetic in the nature of things.
βYouβre awake,β he said plainly, no emotion behind his words though youβd come to discern what flashed behind his otherwise vacant stare. βFigured I killed you out there.β
βWhy didnβt you?β Your voice was gone. Rendered to a whisper that grated along your throat with each word you dared to form.
He shrugged and leaned back in the chair he propped by the bedβa man in the shape of a guard dog, not a friend. βFuck Valentina De Fontaine.β
βSheβll have you killed for that.β
βClearly,β he replied with a wry smile. βJust look at you.β
Your glare went ignored in favor of him shoving the glass of water into your hands. βFeeling guilty Dex?β
βYou sound like shit.β
A kindness in his own words mimicked a stab from anyone else, but youβd grown to favor it. The water was cool against your throat, pooling in your empty stomach. You werenβt sure how many hours passed since he knocked you clean out, but your skin was coated in blood and bandages were matted down against your skull that remained in tact. The same couldnβt be said for your leg. Wrapped tight and bound with a clean knotβclearly done by a someone who knew what it took to keep the wound from growing infected.
βYou didnβt kill me.β Your fingers toyed with the knot on your thigh, voice stuck in a low rasp.
Bullseye was an enigma. He killed when he felt it was necessary, but that meant his terms more often than not differed from others. However, Benjamin Poindexter allowed you to read him like a fucking book. You wondered if that was a trait he grew up with or something that developed over time. Once the mask was stripped from his skull and the eyes that peered out at the world was accompanied with expressions.
You wondered if he reserved this only for you.
βValentina said alive or dead.β
βSo youβre still planning to bring me in.β
βThe option is tempting.β
Laughing felt wrong at a time like thisβsitting precariously on a shitty excuse of a bed and speaking to the man who held your life between his palms as if this were any other Monday. βI havenβt seen you in awhile. I was wondering how youβve been.β
Dex shifted, legs falling wide and arms crossing with a frown. βBeen busy. I didnβt have time to exactlyβ¦call.β
βSince when have you ever called me?β Another sip of water soothed your cotton mouth. βWe arenβt exactly lovers Dex. We fuck, I leave, we go on like nothing happened.β
The grimace along his lips rocketed through your stomach, pesky little emotions creeping into the frayed edges of your mind. He wasnβt a fan of themβthat much he made clear. Uncomfortable silences often filled the expanse between you whenever you allowed them to bubble to the surface, but tonight was a different shade of blue. You could see it play along his eyes, hues clashing into one another until nothing but navy smothered you alive.
βWeβ¦talk,β he hesitated, boots shifting loudly in the silence of this concrete room.
You set the glass on the wood and ignored the fire working its way up your leg. βWeβre usually too preoccupied to talk.β
βThe first night we werenβt.β
Oh.
That fateful night years ago where the uneven scar on your body echoed reminders youβd rather forget. Trapped in an abandoned building with him after you attempted to take him out of the game. Your first ever official target: Bullseye. What a fucking joke that was. Piercer handed you a death certificate carved in between the letters of the name Benjamin Poindexter and youβd been running ever since.
Conversation flowed easy between two killers when there was nothing left to do but bleed out on old wood and mud. He spoke as if he hadnβt been able to in a long time, mouth moving beneath a mask as words flooded the empty space that rapidly became sacred. You were the confessional booth and he was there to partake in the service. That night still rang like a bell in the back of your mind, his words playing in a loop that you wanted to let go of, but couldnβt help dissect the longer you heard them.
βSomeone recently granted me mercy,β heβd said attempting to stop the bleeding of you taking one of his knives and ramming it into his calf. βDonβt know if I should even fucking call it that.β
He did something good. Helped someone in need.
Ironic that he should meet you at the end of that pathβthe newbie assassin sent by a titan to end his battle permanently.
It was only after you dug your way out of the rubble and clawed back to freedom did you find yourself here days later. The only time he ever sought you out. Stalking you in the middle of the night as you attempted to get your life back on track.
βSo talk,β you said. The sincerity in your words, how you leaned back into the wall behind you, lips sewn tight gave him a chance to set his foot on otherwise shaky ground and begin.
βHow do you do it?β The tip of your head was all he needed. βFeelβ¦guiltβ¦for what youβve done. The people youβve killed.β
Grief you stuffed in the back of your chest sunk its teeth into your pattering heart. βI think I feel too much of it sometimes. Itβs a problem in this job. To feel remorse after whatβs been done to themβwhat I did to them.β
Could he see the blood on your hands? How another artery burst open with the pressure and spilled what little you had left. Was that why he asked? Because if anyone could tell him what guilt felt like it was the person who sobbed into his neck unintentionally. You didnβt want to at the timeβin fact you tasted the revulsion on your tongue for falling apart so easily the moment he got you through the first wave, ramming you right into the second.
βI tried that once. To be good and find a North Star to guide me.β
βYou donβt have one anymore?β
He shrugged, fingers digging into his wrist until the bone popped. βItβs easier without one. Feels better when I donβt have to pretend to fucking care or let people know itβs hard or Iβm sorry.β
The press of his mouth to your ear each time you crawled into this shitty forsaken room whispering that very same phrase pulled at your mind. You knew he never meant what he said. Merely words to spout as he came inside you with a harsh grunt and a grin that flashed white, teeming with depravity. But the relief dispelled what frustration tangled inside at finally knowing it.
The apologies felt dryβunforgivingβon his tongue. You never wanted him to acknowledge it, blocking out those words each time he stuffed a hand down your pants and latched a mouth to your chest. You sought reprieve from what Piercer liked to call βcasualties of battleβ and all Dex managed to do was remind you of emotions that eluded him from the beginning.
You were teeming with them. Fighting the urge to snap in half from the push and pull of waves that did everything to drown you.
βDonβt apologize,β you uttered inching off the bed with injuries and bruises you could feel warm your skin. βI fucking hate when you apologize.β
His lips curled and the smile painted itself across his face, distorting the scar on his cheek. The eyes you refused to catch ensnared you with ease, your body sliding into his lap as he shuffled to give you more space. The heavy thrum in your chest wouldnβt be mirrored in his. Attraction burning with the flicker of possibility in your mind became a need for release, a way to quench the stirring in his gut, in his.
βThen what do you want huh?β A hand clutched your bandaged thigh until pressure split into searing pain and a cry worked its way out of your throat. βWant me to be mean? You want me to tell you Iβd feel nothing if I killed you tonight?β
The curl of his mouth etched deep into his cheeks and you imagined what it would be like to see your flesh caught between the canines. You wanted to say yes. Beg for his ruthless nature until your throat went raw and your voice disappeared. Heβd enjoy it tooβwatching you writhe beneath his palms, blind with pain and pleasure as they clashed beneath the surface of your skin.
βI need-β You gasped when his fingers dug higher into your thigh, pinching the crease of your hip.
A hand gripped your chin, wrenching your face down to his level as the other tugged at the button of your pants. βI know,β he muttered, gaze flicking between your parted mouth and the wet shine in your eyes.
To forget.
An idea that felt ridiculous as it sounded, but you needed it all the same. You longed to forget the blood on your hands, the stain of how that rust looked between the lines of your palms, the nickname etched on the inside of every shot you fired and person you dropped. Eros could remain in between the world of life and death. Toeing the line with every order you fulfilled.
You wanted to exist here in this shitty room stretched on his lap as he worked his hand down your pants. A sigh of bliss rushed past your lips when his fingers delved between cotton and found the patch of hair already soaked through. He groaned, nose pressing hard against yours; the heat of your cunt dripping over his hand was always a welcome feeling and Dex couldnβt think of why he let it go on so long between each time you found one another.
βSheβs leakinβ,β he drawled, toying with your clit until your thigh trembled and pain laced up your muscles. Blood sprouted to the surface of the bandage but that only made the saliva in your mouth grow thick. βI can tell she missed me.β
βFuck you Poindexter.β
A laugh rumbled from his chest, raspy and dripping with contempt. βThatβs right.β His grip clamped down on your hips, ripping his touch from where youβd started to grind on his fingers, before he stood with a harsh grunt. βYou want me to be mean.β
You stumbled back and nearly felt your leg go out from beneath you, but he was already moving quicker than you anticipated. With a harsh shove he had you on your backβthe yank of your hip and grasp on your leg forced you onto your stomach. Until you had no choice but face the cement wall across from you. The breath was punched from your lungs, fingers scrambling along the sheets for something to drag you away from him, but heβd gotten hold of your pants and wrenched them down with a low whistle.
βThatβs all you needed huh?β
You dug your face into the mattress, shame burning a path through your gut until you were certain he could see it pouring out of you. Trickling with a sheen of greed that you relished for the time you had it. Blood smeared wherever he moved youβthe open wounds pulled taut along your skin with each swift move of your limbs. Youβd need to stitch them together again in the afterglow, but that didnβt seem to concern Dex this far.
Kicking your feet apart with his boots to keep you from moving he paused for a brief momentβgiving you an out. The choice to set him into a headlock or snap his arm clean down the middle if this wasnβt what you really wanted. It barely lasted a minute, sixty seconds of Dexβs hand on your bare ass and heavy breaths filling the space until there was nothing but you and him waiting each other out.
Both of you had enough blood on your hands to stretch into whatever end awaited for you.
But neither of you would take this. You refused to steal it, to puncture the small bubble of false warmth for quick pleasure. So you held your breath, curled your fingers into tight fists, and waited for his hand to slide down between your spread thighs.
You could feel the rush of slick practically staining the bedβany other night youβd squirm in uncomfortable positions, any other person and youβd be gone the second you opened your eyes. A large palm slipped down and he pushed two fingers into your fluttering hole with a breath you could only constitute as a laugh. It burned to be stretched out so quickly, but you were so fucking wet it didnβt matter to either of you how he did it. You just needed him to touch you.
βOh f-fuck-β Your words were a garble in the base of your throat, face buried in the fabric as he set a third finger into you until it pinched with each thrust.
βSheβs loud tonight,β he said, a grin set wide on his lips. You didnβt need to see him to know how much joy he got from the wet squelch of him pumping into you. βDonβt even need to strap you down tonight. Youβre finally being good.β
A jolt ran up your spine, ass pushing up into the air, and you whined long and low. βYou could.β Gasping when he curled his fingers rubbing at the patch along your walls that made your legs go numb you felt his mouth drop to the back of your thigh.
βYeah?β he goaded you, teeth latching onto your ass. βI got a belt.β
He was fucking with you. There was no patience in his veins for any type of play tonight, but the words still echoed with the false saccharine he used when dragging you through the biting pleasure that left you winded. A burn seared at your middle, ripping at your veins the higher he built you. His thumb dug into your clit, blunt nail scraping the sensitive bud and you cried out with tears down your cheeks.
The sting began to unravel your inside, pulling free the knot buried in the base of your chestβmemories of nights spent on rooftops dissipating to the far reaches of a hazy mind.
The bliss was right there. You could brush it with your fingers, nearly set your teeth into its dripping essence.
And then it was gone.
βNo!β you sobbed, head jerking up and thigh clamping tight when he yanked his hand free from your pulsing cunt.
Dex laughed. A low rasped chuckle you felt vibrate against your skin where he sucked at the skin of your waist. You wanted to wrap your fingers around his neck and pressβitched to set one of his knives into his thigh and see how he liked the pain. He wouldnβt have cared if you tackled him to get your revenge; heβd have eaten up your desperation with a spoon set between his teeth.
βThought you wanted me to be fucking mean,β he retorted, biting the skin of your hip until the indent would be found tomorrow where you ran your fingers along the skin.
βI didnβt want you to apologize.β
βGood. I wasnβt going to.β
βFuck you,β you sneered, spit trailing down your chin as rage bled into the warmth simmering in your stomach. βYouβre a fucking asshole.β
βAnd youβre a killer.β The anger died. Remorse winded up your throat and suddenly the words were nowhere to be found, no retort you could push that would carve into him the way he did you. βI guess so am I.β You glanced over your shoulder, his cheeky smile tangling his grip around your heart strings. βBesides, I like seeing you cry sweetheart.β
Tears streaked down your cheeks, a consequence of emotions you were never able to control as a child. βIβll shoot you again.β
He shoved your head down, the clink of his belt and whisper of a zipper clenched your insides as his mouth pressed to the shell of your earβhot and wet, his tongue licking a line along your jaw. βSomething to look forward to.β
Bunching up your top, he all but ripped it off your body, ignoring how you flinched. His blood coated your skin where his wound was still openβyou enjoyed the air tinged copper on your tongue as he covered your body with his. The words bubbled up your throat, a quick snap or curse to one up his attitude, but the tap of his cock against your clit had you sagging into the bed. A guttural moan killed what response you came up with in favor of canting your hips back into his lap.
There was no warning, no build up for Dex, because you asked him to be mean. Dig into the ruthless nature of two assassins finding their footing in a dance youβd been in before. Such familiar ground for two people who had nothing to cling to but dead bodies and fractured pasts.
He pushed in with one thrust and you bit down on your forearm to muffle the scream that erupted from your lungs. Your legs trembled, toes scraping the floor. Pain collapsed into pleasure and your mind went blank in a echoing hum of white noise as he pulled out only to thrust back in with a grunt you could barely hear above the rush of blood in your ears.
The itch buried deep beneath skin you couldnβt peel back finally abated and for the first time since you last saw him you could breathe.
βFuck,β he bit out. βStrangling me.β
βS-Sorry-β you babbled, eyes rolling back when he tipped your hips into a new angle.
The apology tasted wrong on your tongueβold habits you couldnβt kickβbut he took it in stride. Teeth set into your shoulder and he silenced you with a punishing thrust you felt set fire to your body. Spit trailed across your cheek, sounds you didnβt recognize clawing up your throat. He pounded into you with moans stuck behind grit teeth and a face pressed into your back.
Your eyes fluttered closed when he began to grind down into you, hand set on your shoulder to push you back along his cock. The wet echo of skin slapping against skin and how you coated him in slick made your cheeks burn, heat pooling deep in your stomach. What he robbed from you earlier began to grow rapidly until you were gasping for breath.
βDex-β
He groaned, fingers sliding up and around your clamped hand, lacing them together and curling them into a fist. βI can feel it baby.β
βFuckβIβm gonna-β
Pain splintered in your thigh where his hand dug between your thighs. You swallowed it down, losing yourself in how he circled your clit with rough calloused fingers. You pressed back into him and his stunted thrusts as he chased a release for his own pleasure. It etched into you now. The feelings you overlooked in favor of his cock fucking into youβthe hopeless nature of caring for a man who just might be the cause of your demise one day.
You let it unravel in your chest, felt how it wrapped tight around an already constricted heart. Tears spilled down your cheeks as you sobbed, his mouth hot on your neck and cock twitching in your cunt.
βNeed you to come,β he muttered. Less so in your direction and instead at your cunt that clamped down hard, dragging him in.
Squeezing his fingers your mouth dropped and you tumbled into it. He collapsed into your spine with a high pitched whine, his cock giving one last thrust before he followed you into the numbing bliss. Warmth spurted into you, dripping in between your thighs. Any other night you would have immediately pulled away. But the beat of his heart was pressed snug to your back and his breath felt soothing on your neck.
Eventually the cool air began to dry the stickiness along your skin and it grew to be too much. βI gotta fix the fucking bandage.β
He grunted, lips dragging along your shoulder as chills ran down your arms. βIβll do it.β
βOne orgasm and suddenly youβre nice,β you grinned.
Mouthing at your neck he pushed his hips up into you, pulling free a soft cry. βI wouldnβt put it that way.β
βI know you wouldnβt.β
Difficult. Trying. Iβm sorry.
They were blatant in the silence, written along the walls in handwriting youβd know as his. The soft words of a man who didnβt understand the meaning. Things heβd never say. He stabbed you, he caused the pain, so heβd fix it where he could. Even if that wasnβt his nature. Tending to things belonged to a version of himself that only existed in shards somehow still embedded in worn down muscle tissue.
βWhatβs next after this?β he asked, wiping between your legs so you could move.
You shrugged, twisting to splay your thigh on the bed, blood dripping from the bandage. βWhatever Piercer sends through.β
βAnd then?β Small talk felt odd when it came to him but you didnβt question it.
βAnd then I get the job done.β
He nodded, stripping your leg and packing it with the efficiency of a former soldier. Simply going through the motions, never quite feeling the twinge of guilt. You liked it. The ease of being in his presence. You swallowed the emotions and shut the door of vulnerability behind you, awaiting the day heβd come knocking, requesting it be opened again.
βWell-β He tied the bandage off, patting your thigh with that same grin you saw in your dreams. βI guess Iβll see you thenβ¦Eros.β
As it was always meant to be.
You wore the curl on your lips with false pride and reached for your pants. βSee you thenβ¦Bullseye.β
a/n: this has been my passion project and i am so fucking exited to finally post the first part. and on star wars day too! it's been awhile since i've done a lengthy story in canon for din djarin, but it's been fun getting to submerge myself back in the world. especially with these two. this is going to be a lengthy series and i will be ignoring much of s3 for the show as i go along. i've fallen in love with this story and i hope you guys do too. enjoy!
dedicated to: @saradika for letting me yap about this fic and reading the chapters first. and for such a beautiful divider. thank you babes, you're incredible.
summary: in the underground of coruscant it's easy to become someone else. to lose your past in the faces of strangers that don't ask questions. until an act of thievery drags you back into a life you left behind. intertwining your fate once again with an old friend and memories long forgotten.
word count: 5.1k+
pairing: din djarin x f!reader
warnings: not explicit, old friends, violence, thievery, ptsd, mando'a that's badly written, angst, old wounds opening, new beginnings.
NEXT CHAPTER | SERIES MASTERLIST
The taste of Coruscant lingered on the back of your tongue like an unwanted memory. The thick smog of thousands of ships, speeders, and forgotten drains that remained clogged with toxic fumes clung to your skin. Forming a permanent layer of grime along your clothes until you couldnβt forget the odor of the unground. You likened it to the pinched nerve on your spine from one too many sparring lessons, your only weapon at the time being what you could find and the sheer will to survive.
Perhaps it was the temerity pumping through your arteries that gave you the ability to walk these streets, hood drawn and thigh strapped so tight you could feel the pulse of your heart along the curve of your knee. The blaster you managed to salvage from the wreckage of your former life became a vein that pumped blood through an unrelenting heart.
Although even that was due to a past built on the bones of those who came before.
Your teeth had been bared ever since you could remember, your tongue bathed in blood and canines chipped down to the gums. But nothing managed to strip your presence in the galaxy yet. Though many had certainly tried.
Down below in the muck of Coruscant you allowed yourself to forget the sky. You melted into the shadows of buildings constructed one on top of the other, disregarded amidst those who begged for credits of any kind and those who dug for spiceβdesperation bleeding off their bodies as they battled a war youβd been privy too far too many times. You were familiar with this crowd, practically one of them as you traipsed through puddles and beneath neon signs that buzzed loud enough to ring in your ears.
The faint beep against your shoulder kept you grounded, feet rooted into cracked cement and the wash of otherβs dreams that spilled over from the very top. There you could see everything. Glimmering stars battling enough light pollution to burn the atmosphere and air that settled in the base of an already aching chest. But here in the depth of the planet that housed far too many you were nothing.
βWeβll be fine,β you muttered, finger tapping the head of rusted metal and a mechanical whine you felt vibrate against your back. βJust gotta find something valuable to sell.β
He beeped again, worry etched into every mechanism, and if you glanced over your shoulder where he clung to worn leather and ripped fabric youβd see the flickering glow of a little pale blue eye seeking yours. The other was crushed, practically dismembered alongside his left antenna that had gone missing years prior, but he was a survivor.
A perfect match to your stripped soul left barren and bleeding with gashes you could hardly remember obtaining.
βBe on the lookout yeah? I want to eat real food tonight. None of that Bantha piss from yesterday.β The two day old meat auctioned off as surplus became acid in your stomach the moment you swallowed it. Even now it twisted your insides.
A chirp and the grind of old gears set him into motion with a twitch of his still working antenna. The glow of his scanner along buildings glared in your peripheral as you tucked into the black fabric of your cloakβeyes cast into the puddle beneath you. One squint would clear your reflection, an image youβd grown used to seeing as time passed. But eventuallyβ¦you stopped looking.
That part of you faded into obscurity the moment you felt the heavy weight of metal crash against stone. An irretrievable memory you stashed in the back of an already broken mind.
βGot something?β you pressed, allowing your gaze to drift between the rush of people on the street.
Any other night youβd have allowed the presence of someone like him to pass. Not a target you were intent on troublingβthe willingness to put up a fight was forged in his gait. Leather clad hand hovering just above what you assumed to be a blaster strapped to his hip, but the glare of neon against pure beskar wound tight around your stiff bones.
Familiar and all too tempting.
Mandalorianβs werenβt inconspicuous on Coruscant, but rather a beacon of an old world left to die by the hands of a mangled Empire that fled to the outskirts of the galaxy. Along with the rest of those who served under its helm. Youβd come across one or two that bent the knee resentfullyβa way to keep food in their mouths and their backs safe from those that desired a trophy. But this man, this figurehead of austere beliefs passed down through generations, echoed with the resounding tune of a song you left forgotten.
You tracked his steps as he wound through the crowd, the low beep in your ear keeping you five paces back until he entered a path lit only by the glow of cantinas and saloons. It began in your chest. The string tied in knots around your ribs went tautβthe intimate hum of a life before yours raging loud and unrelenting. A legacy that would continue on long after you and him were gone. The vibration nearly struck you blind when he stopped, his helmet tilted to the side, senses fixed on the outpouring of laughter from inside a bar you could smell like burnt oil.
The blaster, the stance. Youβd seen this man before, witnessed as he pulled the very same weapon from his holster a thousand times over.
Last seen on a planet that narrowly avoided capturing your death in its hands. Your heart hammered a dull beat in your chest, ears deaf to the insistent beeping over your shoulder, as you got too close to escape. A group of threeβclearly drunk and blind with joyβcollided into him, forcing him a few steps back. You swept past, hand sliding against his belt rapidly until something unlatched with a subtle click you felt against the tip of your fingers.
The weaponβs weight dropped in your hand like a stone, and you glanced at it momentarily before stuffing it beneath your cloak and pushing through the crowd. Made of beskar. At least. Which would buy you a meal or three and some shitty version of alcohol to go with it; enough to let you forget you saw him. To swallow down the thick burden of what you once knew.
A local trader would bargain easily for something of this magnitude and for a brief moment you could taste the freedom on the tip of your tongue. The sweet melancholy of a life not on the run. You grinned, relief flooding veins as your heart raced with enough adrenaline to keep you stable and upright despite the fatigue of days traveling.
The crowds dispersed. Your boots splashed loud into the back of an alleyway leading nowhere and you should have heard the beeping over your shoulder. You should have paid attention.
Pain split down your leg, coursing down to the base of your spine as you stumbled forwardβa hoarse shout tearing free. Your knee hit the ground with a crack nearly shattering bone if it werenβt for how you threw yourself to the left to prevent any injuries. A shard of metalβbarely an inch longβembedded itself into the open flesh, chafing against the fabric of your pants. Clambering for your thigh your fingers came back wet and hot and stained in blood as the echo of his heavy steps clashed against the vibrating tempo of the nearby cantina.
βFuck,β you spit, rolling to your other knee and forcing yourself upright, the burn now splitting up your side.
βHand it over.β His voice was an unforgiving punch directly into the base of your chest, the modulated timbre of familiarity almost brought the sting of tears to your already wet eyes.
How easy it could have been to apologize and go about your day. Accomplished with the breeze of surface air youβd never get to feel.
Instead you smiled. βI found it. Honest.β Extending your arm you felt the grip of metal release and hit the ground with a whirring beep as you clambered to a stance that would hold your weight.
βI felt it leave my side.β
You shrugged, favoring your weight on the only leg you had left. βI tried. Apparently not well enough.β
His hand twitched at his side, helmet tilting to the right as if sizing you up. One shot with a bolt from his blaster would bring any other being down with ease, but youβd been shot beforeβthe resilience of a fighter still sewn into your blood and bone. You wouldnβt drop till you were dead, until he ripped the life right out from your chest with his gloved hand.
But that wasnβt his way.
It never had been.
You charged with a guttural shout, watching him dip to the side giving you space to swing your elbow into his neck. A modulated choke ripped from his throat, feet staggering back into the wall. A stray pipe lay discarded beneath a pile of trash and you swept it up with the toe of your boot before he could raise his blaster in the direction of your face. One swing had it colliding with beskarβthe sound ringing loud and deafening in the small alleyway.
βI can bring you in warm-β he grunted.
A laugh ruptured from your chest as you ducked beneath his arm, spinning on your heel. Still the same old saying that left a burn lingering warm in your body as memories flooded to the surface.
He yanked out the spear attached to his back, gun forgotten about, and brought it down in a quick arc towards your head. Only to be blocked by the pipe, now bent in the center.
βSolus!β you barked. The sight of his back going stiff and helmet rearing back nearly made you spill out with glee. You smacked the pipe upward, disarming him of his spear and twirling it to your sideβthe edge tipped at where you knew his jaw was set beneath the silver gleam of his helmet. βTβad!β
The rasp of his voice finally broke through the thick silence like a knife. βYouβreβ¦how-β
Tipping your chin down, you tossed the spear to the ground and listened as it hit with a ear shattering clatter. He didnβt move to pick it back up. βTugβyc (again).β
βYou are not Mandalorian,β he stated plainly, as if it were the simplest answer in the world. βWho taught you those words?β
Of course he couldnβt see it. Of course youβd go forgotten about even with the people who once knew you the most.
βI thought Mandalorianβs never forget,β you pushed, wincing at the pain erupting in your thigh. βOr are you still an orβdinii (fool)β¦Din Djarin?β
Though you couldnβt see them beneath the dark visor, you knew his eyes were trailing down your figure. In an attempt to put the pieces back together of how you could possibly know him. The stance of your feet and strap of your blaster gave you away faster than you would have liked.
Realization dawned as his shoulders dropped and relief washed over his body. A soft choked noise emanating from the harsh modulator.
βThey told me you were dead,β he whispered, hand twitching with the urge to reach out and touch your face, feel the curve of your nose and line of your jaw that heβd only imagined. He curled his fingers into a fist instead. The grim set of your eyes flecked with all that youβd gone through told him enough.
You werenβt dead.
But you wished for it all the same.
You wished that night on Nevarro, when you yanked off your helmet and felt the eyes of your clan fall on your bare skin for the first time, was how you died. Still encased in beskar, still fighting the remnants of a broken Empire until your very last breath pushed through a fucking modulator.
βDo you believe everything they tell you?β you joked, swallowing around the thick ball of dread at the base of your throat.
He shuffled closer, spear forgotten and he drank in the sight of you for the first time. The shine in your eyes as you fought against the grief he enclosed in his heart. The power that once set your shoulders into a rigid stance now bled out onto the street below youβthe pain of losing it all in one night would be far too much for anyone to handle.
But there you were. Forced to survive in a galaxy that would be glad to see you dead.
The night you escaped was littered with the deaths of those you loved. Aliit. Your clan, your tribe. Unlike him you were born to parents who bestowed their traditions onto shoulders far too young and a mind not yet broken. But that didnβt make you anymore of a warrior than the man standing mere feet away youβit simply meant you were split apart years before he would ever join the ranks of Mandalorian.
He followed your movements intently and reached for his belt at the sight of your pants sporting a new dark stain courtesy of him. βYou need to fix that before itβs infected.β
βSomeone shot me,β you mused, lips curling into a grin he felt burn along the tissue of his stomach. βCan you believe that?β
βYou stole something important to me.β
The weapon was stuffed in your vest and you wrenched it out with a groan, stumbling back into the cold wall behind you. It lay heavy in your palm. Silver and black and oddly familiar. You swore youβd seen something like this before in your childhood, years ahead of when you were set to don a helmet of your own.
Jetiiβkad.
Sword of the Jedi.
You tipped it in his direction, avoiding the switch as if it might burn you at the wrong slide of your thumb. βWhat are you doing with a Jediβs weapon?β
His form went rigid, fingers curling into fists and suddenly the Mandalorian before you became what you recognized the mostβstone in the form of a man. βIt doesnβt belong to a Jedi.β
βDid you steal it?β
βNo,β he disclosed much to his chagrin.
βFind some interesting friends then? Since the last time I saw you.β
Silence unfurled down the length of the alleyway, but you allowed him to sit with it. His answersβhis storyβit was his own. You didnβt need to be privy to it in order to understand he remained the same man you understood. Yet something lingered beneath his armor, jutting out between the cracks of beskar and begging to be picked apart.
A tender empathy that didnβt exist in the brash young hunter who melded into the gaping holes in your chest; the man of few words and a gruff exterior now someone with a different path.
A different tale altogether.
He stepped closer, dropping a canister of bacta gel in your palm, sliding his fingers around the lightsaber before you could tuck it back beneath your cloak. βLet me help you.β
Resentment simmered in the base of your twisting stomach, but even you knew it wasnβt directed at him. You refused to look up, eyes fixed on the etched markings in Aurebesh on the tin cover. He escaped that night with more than just a life chasing bounties and barely enough credits to afford fuel in his ship. He found his purpose. Whereas you were scrounging for scraps in the underground because there was nothing left, nowhere you could go that might guarantee your safety.
βIβve managed this long without Mandalorianβs in my life Djarin.β
βI would have come for you,β he said with ease. βI could have brought you back-β
Your gaze snapped to his, finding his eyes even through the visorβa trick that always startled him to his very coreβa sharp glint reflecting in the shade he was now seeing for the first time. βYou would have sent me back to those that witnessed my shame.β
Din reared back, pain splintering in the far reaches of his chest and for a moment he almost couldnβt give it a name until he knew exactly what dug into his bones and reset them anew. Regret. The same emotion that plagued him when he watched his kid leave in the arms of a Jedi. The part of him that lingered even now as your eyes bored into his with a fury that drove into his ribcage with the tip of a vibroblade and refused to let go.
βYour shame is theirs.β
βMy shame is different now. Youβve been gone a long time Din Djarin. You donβt know who I am anymore.β
He loathed how that was trueβtasted the bitterness of it on the back of his tongue like the acrid bite of spice that lingered in the air. There was a time when he knew every thought in your mind and the cadence of your heart, a time before he took on the duty of anotherβs life, where he knew what your skin felt like in the pitch black of space. How you sounded when he smiled against your throat.
βTell me what happened,β he offered bluntly. βBut let me help you.β
The laugh rumbled in your chest, spilling warmth into the very tips of your fingers as he clipped his weapon back in place. βI wonder how that happened,β you drawled.
βTheyβve got good aim.β
βMirβsheb (smartass),β you bit back.
You caught the chuckle that filtered through his helmet moments before he plucked the tin out of your palm and flicked it open. In one swift move he dropped to one knee, beskar clanging against stone as he became eye level with your pulsing wound. Yanking the knife off his belt, he cut a small hole into the fabric of your pants much to your distaste.
βI can do that.β You snatched the blade from his hand, clutching onto his shoulder for balance as you braced yourself with a breath so deep it stung down your lungs. βFuck.β
Digging it into the open flesh was easy. A routine jab of pain right before you felt the flood of adrenaline pulse beneath your skin. You felt the shard protruding right near the surface and began wrenching it out with a stifled cry. Din clutched at your thigh, watching in awe at the sheer resilience of how you managed with ease. Cutting into yourself as if it were nothing. How many times had you endured pain this intense? How many times had you been made to forgo asking for help?
The metal hit the ground with a soft clink and before you could push off him he was smoothing a thick layer of bacta along your skin. You sighed into it, eyes fluttering as the cooling gel seeped into your wound.
βItβll take a day to heal over completely,β he explained, rising swiftly and depositing the tin back in your palm. βI can reapply it in a few hours.β
βThatβs not necessary.β Bending the best you could and extending an arm with a click of your tongue. βKβolar (come here)!β
A hand gripped your waist on instinct, holding you steady as the figure clambered up your limb with ease, settling back on your back with a low beep that made you smile. Din regarded the droid with a grimace, watching as it pressed its head to yours in a move heβd recognize anywhere. A kiss. Even though you wore no armor you still moved with the etchings of your past carved into every part of your body.
He must have made a noise, a slight grunt that had your gaze back on him in an instant. It was involuntaryβa reaction of his past coming out to make itself known once more.
βYou still hate droids donβt you?β
His shoulders pushed up and dropped with a breath. βThings have changed.β
βFor both of us it seems. This is Tal,β you said, allowing the small BD droid to peek over your shoulder, a chirped greeting emanating from its speakers. His single antenna flicked, eyes adjusting with what youβd come to know as a sign of joy.
Another noise cracked through the modulator before he could catch it. βIts name isβ¦blood?β
You nodded, a quick jut of your chin and narrowed eyes. βHeβs family.β
βItβs a droid-β
βAliit oriβshya talβdin. (Family is more than blood.)β you snapped. βI found him on Nevarro the night you escaped. Mangled by a shockwave from those Imperial bastards and left for dead.β
Much like you were.
The words didnβt need to be said for him to feel their meaning glaring directly at him. Heβd be a fool to ignore what happened, to move past what youβd gone through since that night. It all changed when he made his choice. Without realizing it he dragged an entire clan into a mess they were still dealing withβthe aftermath of his chaos bleeding directly into your own path even as you fought against it.
βYou could have gone back,β he murmured, watching your spine go straight despite the pain in your leg. βYou were to be the next Alor.β
You scoffed, tugging your hood up and over your head. βThatβs ancient history now.β
βThey would make an exception-β
βLike they did for you?β you sneered. βYou didnβt reveal yourself, you still remain a follower of the creed. Iβve becomeβ¦β Your throat constricted, eyes burning and you blinked back the rush of tears. βIβve become a Mandalorianβs worst nightmare. I ran that night with the rest of them.β
Leather clad fingers reached for your arm and you thought about letting him touch you. Giving into what you once knew. It would be as easy as taking a breath, falling back into a past that came with the certainty that no matter whatβ¦heβd catch you. Through every battle, every sparring session, every hunt. He broke your fall with a gruff bout of laughter you could feel even now.
His voice melted against your chest, a soothing balm to an ache you held no cure for. βBut you ran from them. Why?β
You sucked in a breath that tasted like burnt fuel. βDarβmanda,β you uttered and felt the word that consumed your existence get wrenched from your chest. He watched with prying eyes you could feel dig beneath your skin. βI am a Mandalorian no more.β
βSo you go to Coruscantβs underworld to hide.β
If he were anyone elseβa different Mandalorian altogetherβyou would have pushed past him and limped out of the alleyway with what shreds of your pride that remained still in tact. You almost wished he was someone else. A person you could ignore, a stranger you might one day allow to fade in the back of your mind.
But he knew the taste of your laugh.
He knew what it felt like when you curled into him on nights off world and pretended to be more than either of you would allow.
Din Djarin clasped your history in his palm, tightening his grip until it became a vice you wouldnβt be able to run from. And for a brief moment you ached to flee from, you didnβt want to run. You could have left him there and he probably would have let you go with nothing to be said but the traditional words of goodbye and a quick clasp around your forearm.
Instead you were rooted to the spot as he regarded you with the eyes of a friend and the heart of a past lover.
Tal beeped over your shoulder, cutting the vines that held you in place and allowing you a chance to breathe. βThe underworld is safe compared to the rest of the galaxy.β Dinβs modulator cracked with what you knew to be a scoff. βNot everyone has the reliance of beskar and a way off world.β
The quiet became unnerving in his presenceβhis mind turning over words that echoed with something else. A story you werenβt willing to reveal just yet. But Din Djarin knew you better than most. He could see the itch beneath your skin, the need to run because youβd already been here too long. You entertained the act of reminiscing when instead you should have been taking off in a different direction altogether.
βWho are you running from?β he pushed, nearly ripping your skin clean off as your heart sank into the pit of your vacant stomach.
βDonβt make up tales in your head.β
βI know what it looks like.β A step closer had you pinned to the wall as Tal chirped with an air of discomfort on your behalf. βYou know what it looks like. You forget, all the bounties we hunted together shared something.β
βDjarin-β
βThey were never able to stop from looking over their shoulders.β
βGev, (stop)β you spit, malice bleeding off your tongue.
βWho?β he rumbled, fingers clasping around your wrist before it could reach for your blaster. βWhat happened to you to make you run?β
The close proximity of his helmet inches from your face suffocated you, the sharp echo of the underworldβs nightlife cracked through the silence like metal shattering glass. You wanted to cower away from the question. The innate urge to flee rising up the back of your throat, clawing at your insides as he waited patiently for your response. One that would come whether you wanted it to or notβhis ability at making you spill your guts as present as ever.
He pressed you close to the wall, barely a hairsbreadth away from touching your forehead, but he might as well have been atop you altogether. You sucked in a breath, eyes darting to the entrance of the alleyway in a last ditch attempt to form a shitty plan that would never work.
Fingers stroked up to your palm, pressing down slow on the rapid pulse point beneath your thumb until your hand fell open. The tranquility of having him so closeβthe memories of a past that once drowned youβsuddenly became all you longed for. That forgotten sensation of what it meant to love and be loved and live without fear.
The version of you that would rather die fighting than scurry behind shadows and dark corners.
βItβs not your fight,β you threw out the excuseβone final opportunity to get him to relinquish this hold he had over you. βThis is one battle you wonβt walk away from. So I suggest you leave before shit gets ugly.β
Empty threats. Nothing more.
A different person would leave and theyβd do it without question.
But that wasnβt his way. βYour fight used to be my fight. A long time ago. Back when we wereβ¦friends.β
βToo much has happened for you to say that and actually mean it,β you get out in a harsh breath that burns your chest.
βI mean it,β he shot back, pulling you off the wall. βThere will never be a time where I donβt believe that.β Your arm was set over his shoulders, a sturdy one going around your waist as he hoisted you against him and began the slow trek out of the alleyway.
Being stubborn was a trait of all Mandalorians, a prideful ego that became damaged easily. But this you could look past. The kind gesture of an old friend was enough. Until it became too much.
βI need a drink,β you sighed.
Another gruff bout of laughter spit out in cracks as he helped you towards the nearest cantina. βTell me whoβs after you and Iβll buy you a meal to go with that drink.β
βYou donβt give up.β
βMunit tomeβtayl, skotah iisa,β he threw back. βLong memory-β
βShort fuse. I know.β With a grunt, you felt his hand tighten around your waist, Tal beeping in curiosity as strangers took in the sight of a Mandalorian being helpful. βBlack Sun.β
Din stopped, body going rigid as the words registered in his mind, and you almost wished you could stand on your own. βDank ferrik!β he cursed loud enough to make people go around. βThe crime syndicate?β
You nodded, swallowing thickly at the anger radiating off his form. βI did a job for themβcaught a bountyβbut they werenβt too keen on letting me live afterwards. They figured I would talk. Spill Falleen family secrets and how they conduct their business.β
βSeek refuge with the Alor. She will hear what you have to say.β
βAnd drag more lives into this?β you snapped. βOne is enough Din. Me. Thatβs where it ends. I wonβt put our aliit in harms way to save my own skin.β
Like you did.
Words that youβd never dare to speak aloud. But he heard them nonetheless. Loud and clear and brutal enough to carve another piece of him off from what little still remained. Heβs part of the reason why the covert had to leave Nevarro. But the Empire was to blame for all of it, for the mess created and lives devoured. Din knew you understood that. He could read it in your eyesβso expressive now without a black visor to hide behind.
You spoke through the grief heβd been carrying since that night; it had to go somewhere, forced you to place it in a locked box before you lost yourself to it. Heβd done the same the day he left Moff Gideonβs shipβ¦alone.
βHaat, Ijaa, Haaβit, (truth. honor. vision.)β he replied, swallowing the pinch of grief that threatened to choke him. βWe swore that to each other once.β
βEons ago Din. I donβt expect you to hold yourself to a vow that was made by two people who didnβt know any better.β Your form was ragged, worn from the exhaustion of running. Din felt it in his bones. He knew what it meant to lose everything in one go, but youβd been forced to that same fate time and time again in such a short time.
If the galaxy wouldnβt protect you he would. That was his original purpose in this lifetime once and heβd honor it over and over without question. If only to keep you safe at his side.
βI meant it then and I mean it now.β
Your gaze dragged up to his helmet, lips parting as you finally felt the weight of separation lift. βWhy?β
Din figured the answer was obvious, his heart ramming loud and unsteady in his chest as you regarded him with the eyes of a friend. βThis is the way,β he said, pulling you along the busy street without waiting for a response.
A forgotten creed you absconded even as its words welcomed you home.
note: happy star wars day!! may the fourth be with you.
it's been a long time since i did this and i don't know if anyone has tagged me of late, but i'm finally writing again. and on a wednesday of all days! here is a small short peek at ch1 of my din djarin series.
dust of the moon ch1
Mandalorianβs werenβt inconspicuous on Coruscant, but rather a beacon of an old world left to die by the hands of a mangled Empire that fled to the outskirts of the galaxy. Along with the rest of those who served under its helm. Youβd come across one or two that bent the knee resentfullyβa way to keep food in their mouths and their backs safe from those that desired a trophy. But this man, this figurehead of austere beliefs passed down through generations, echoed with the resounding tune of a song you left forgotten.
You tracked his steps as he wound through the crowd, the low beep in your ear keeping you five paces back until he entered a path lit only by the glow of cantinas and saloons. It began in your chest. The string tied in knots around your ribs went tautβthe intimate hum of a life before yours raging loud and unrelenting. A legacy that would continue on long after you and him were gone. The vibration nearly struck you blind when he stopped, his helmet tilted to the side, senses fixed on the outpouring of laughter from inside a bar you could smell like burnt oil.
The blaster, the stance. Youβd seen this man before, witnessed as he pulled the very same weapon from his holster a thousand times over.
Last seen on a planet that narrowly avoided capturing your death in its hands. Your heart hammered a dull beat in your chest, ears deaf to the insistent beeping over your shoulder, as you got too close to escape. A group of threeβclearly drunk and blind with joyβcollided into him, forcing him a few steps back. You swept past, hand sliding against his belt rapidly until something unlatched with a subtle click you felt against the tip of your fingers.
The weaponβs weight dropped in your hand like a stone, and you glanced at it momentarily before stuffing it beneath your cloak and pushing through the crowd. Made of beskar. At least. Which would buy you a meal or three and some shitty version of alcohol to go with it; enough to let you forget you saw him. To swallow down the thick burden of what you once knew.
A local trader would bargain easily for something of this magnitude and for a brief moment you could taste the freedom on the tip of your tongue. The sweet melancholy of a life not on the run. You grinned, relief flooding veins as your heart raced with enough adrenaline to keep you stable and upright despite the fatigue of days traveling.
The crowds dispersed. Your boots splashed loud into the back of an alleyway leading nowhere and you should have heard the beeping over your shoulder. You should have paid attention.
Pain split down your leg, coursing down to the base of your spine as you stumbled forwardβa hoarse shout tearing free. Your knee hit the ground with a crack nearly shattering bone if it werenβt for how you threw yourself to the left to prevent any injuries. A shard of metalβbarely an inch longβembedded itself into the open flesh, chafing against the fabric of your pants. Clambering for your thigh your fingers came back wet and hot and stained in blood as the echo of his heavy steps clashed against the vibrating tempo of the nearby cantina.
βFuck,β you spit, rolling to your other knee and forcing yourself upright, the burn now splitting up your side.
βHand it over.β His voice was an unforgiving punch directly into the base of your chest, the modulated timbre of familiarity almost brought the sting of tears to your already wet eyes.
How easy it could have been to apologize and go about your day. Accomplished with the breeze of surface air youβd never get to feel.
Instead you smiled. βI found it. Honest.β Extending your arm you felt the grip of metal release and hit the ground with a whirring beep as you clambered to a stance that would hold your weight.
βI felt it leave my side.β
You shrugged, favoring your weight on the only leg you had left. βI tried. Apparently not well enough.β
His hand twitched at his side, helmet tilting to the right as if sizing you up. One shot with a bolt from his blaster would bring any other being down with ease, but youβd been shot beforeβthe resilience of a fighter still sewn into your blood and bone. You wouldnβt drop till you were dead, until he ripped the life right out from your chest with his gloved hand.
But that wasnβt his way.
It never had been.
tagging: @eupheme @lostinlovingrevery @loverwrites @ozarkthedog + whoever else wants to do it!
a/n: i like to think that me dreaming about this the other night is a sign of my writers block going away. or its a sign i'm ovulating. either way i'm gnawing on this man like a damn chew toy.
word count: 856
pairing: clark kent x f!reader
warnings: explicit so minors DNI 18+ only!!, rough sex, squirting, clark is lost in the damn sauce.
A normal human would have felt the crunch of bone as they're ribs severed from a blow to the side. They would have died from colliding into the side of a building and swallowing a mouthful of concrete and plaster. And some days he swore he felt it. The phantom ache of his body pleading for hours of rest, even as he set the alarm for six in the morning. Three hours after he managed to crawl between crumpled sheets and the heat of your slumbering body.
Tonight he felt it.
He curled tight around your back, face pressed into the side of your neck and felt that all too familiar illusory pain split down his side. Clark got out the words please can I feel you, said in thick pleading voice before he felt it set tight around his throat. And your resounding yes came so easily.
Legs parted and lace panties pushed to the side as he hooked your thigh over his and slid home. With only so much as a single breath used in effort. Because the pain wasn't real. Of course it wasn't - it couldn't exist so long as he existed on a planet with a yellow sun. But he felt it dig into the base of his spine when he pushed his hip forward and heard you choke out a garbled version of his name.
"I need to forget," he muttered into your shoulder, body molded around your back and hips grinding up into a spot that burst white behind your tightly shut eyes.
"Uh-huh." Your voice was a pathetic excuse for what it normally sounded like. Whimpered and breathy and hanging onto the end of a fraying thread.
"It hurts-" he gasped, teeth scraping your throat as his fingers dug into the plush of your stomach.
The bed creaked with the way he fucked into you with strong precise thrusts that had your legs trembling and head falling back. You clawed at his hip, ragged gasps wrenched out of your chest each time his cock slid to the base and dragged against that patch along your walls. You were wet. Practically soaking between your thighs with each shift of his body, certainly making a mess he'd later clean with ease.
Clark felt the pulse in your walls. The rapid beat of your heart rising to a crescendo he could taste on the tip of his tongue. Your scent, your slick, it stained the air and set a haze in his mind that eclipsed the pain.
"Oh fu-" His hand dropped to your entrance, fingers toying quickly with your throbbing clit, and you cried out at the sudden stimulation. "Oh gosh. Can I have it? C'mon baby give it to me. Let me feel it."
It burned through you, prying a sob from your chest as your body went taut and thighs began to shake. Something wet spilled along your skin but it was Clark's broken grunt that drowned out everything. He sucked at your skin, thighs clapping loud and obscene against your body, cock sliding in just a bit deeper until you couldn't come down.
"Clark-" you sucked in a ragged breath, eyes rolling back when he turned with a speed that blinded you. His cock twisted hard in your body, your fingers blindly grasped the sheets as he swept your legs up and over his shoulders.
The hot palm of his hand still sticky with your slick cupped your chin to drag his lips messily across your own. And for a brief moment you could breathe. The merciless wash of your high calmed as he kissed you with sounds that had your heart fluttering madly in a chest already wracked with palpitations.
"I'm gonna come," he pushed along your tongue, hips grinding down until you sobbed wet and undone into his open mouth.
Your eyes rolled back, body limp as he used your hips to push you down along his cock. You could feel the splatter of cum begin to trickle onto the sheets, soaking your thighs and his, but Clark was lost. He towered above you, knees pressed into the mattress and drove into you fast and sloppy and hot enough to send bliss rippling down to the tips of your fingers.
"I need-" A hand slamming down beside your head, his body arched over you and eyes narrowed in on the fucked out expression written across your face. "Need to c-come baby. I'm gonna-"
Whatever words he might have said broke off into something harsh at the back of his throat. His forehead dropped down against yours, hips working once, twice, until he spurted into you. The warmth of it leaked down along your ass, staining the sheets you'd no doubt have to replace. But you couldn't worry about that.
Clark slumped down with a grunt, rolling you to the side as your hand dug into his curls with a hum.
"Feel better?" you grinned, unable to even move let alone curl into him.
He smiled, his arm looping tight around your waist to haul you up and onto his chest. "I always feel better with you."
a/n: this has been sitting in my drafts for months because i wasn't sure if this would actually get read if i posted it. it's up there with the angst, but i like the thought of superman coming to rescue everyone. no matter how it happens. i'm gonna try not to go back and delete this but who knows.
summary: superman and hope go hand in hand. you'd realize it eventually.
pairing: clark kent x reader
warnings: TW attempted suicide, depression, small bit of gore, death mentions, horribly sad, just a shit ton of angst, hope.
You didnβt think about the wind when you fell. Or ratherβ¦when you leapt.
The glass pane window of your job slid open with ease as if beckoning you close with a smile. One that said I understand, I want to help. And like a fool you grasped onto its palm with blurry vision, eyes streaming tears you donβt remember falling.
Maybe youβd been crying this whole time. For years on end until your chest caved in. Until your scream cracked raw and ceased to exist.
The wind hit your face with a sting that burned. Slicing along cheeks and tightly shut eyes; if you closed them you wouldnβt see the ground. Youβd get to enjoy the drop, feel adrenaline pulse life back into your veins. Even as cement rose up to meet youβhalf expecting to hear the crack of your skull as it split on impact.
Other people might have screamed, realized their mistake halfway down and scrambled for safety. You smiled. Grinned stupidly at the rush until laughter bubbled to the surface. Joy bloomed in your stomach, stretching to the tips of fingers and frozen toes.
Itβs done. Itβs over. No more visceral anguish.
No more tears.
Your eyes fluttered open, catching sight of stars in the sky and windows still glaring lights. A glance would have told you where you were, how much time you had left to admire the view. Drink in a city youβd never see again. Short hellos and even shorter goodbyes. Forgotten in an instant, fleeting and helpless. A baby bird dropping from its nest, a human at the end of their rope.
So close to the final note. The plunge into darknessβpeace at the end of the tunnel. Soβ¦damnβ¦close.
Something snatched you from midair, yanking at your stomach until the burn of acid rushed to the back of your throat. You choked, spluttering for air as red and blue and black hair crowded your peripheral. Wind rammed into your chest, the building growing closer as whatever trapped you in its hold rose to meet the window still smudged with your fingerprints.
At least they would be able to I.D. you.
βYouβre safe now,β a voice rumbled, setting you onto unstable feet, the cape brushing your boots as you stumbled. βDid you trip? What happened?β
Oh how you wanted to laugh. The irony. The brutal travesty. You couldnβt even kill yourself properly without someone ceasing it all with instinct. The nature of a hero to rescue lost souls, even if they didnβt want to be saved.
βW-Why did you do that?β You could hear the devastation in your voice.
What little strength existed to commit the act trickled into fear when your eyes slid to the open window. Air seeping into an already frigid office space.
βI saved you,β he said as if it were obvious. The only thing he could think of.
βSaved me?β you exclaimed, voice thin and throat tight. βI wantedβoh godββ
The situation dawned on him as you trembled with nausea. Horror stricken across a tear stained face. Tragedy written along eyes that would cease to be dry again. You wanted to die. And he stopped you.
His heart dropped, hands guiding you forward until your chest knocked his and his arms looped around your shaking form. Hugging people wasnβt unusual to him. Part of the job. But you crumpled with a sob he felt wrench out of the base of your stomach. Falling to your knees as he went down with you, his eyes squeezed shut to the sting of tears.
βThereβs no one left,β you got out between sobs that wracked your frame. βNo one to mourn me. I waited till there was no one left.β
You waited.
For how long?
How many years? How many people? How much pain?
βWhatβs your name?β he finally spoke, voice thick with an emotion he could feel lodged in his throat. And you whispered it with closed eyes. Prayed it into his cape as if that alone would bring you back to life. βNow Iβm left.β
Your eyes snapped open, rearing back with hands pressed to his chest. βW-What?β
βIβll live,β he replied, thumb pushing tears away from your chin. βIβll live for a lot longer than you. And Iβll mourn you. After it all. After you live. Iβll do it.β
βYou donβt even know me.β The words were bitter, useless anger you had nowhere else to put.
But he smiled as if it were the easiest thing in the worldβa breath he had no trouble taking for the both of you.
βMy nameβs Clark.β You froze, stuck on your knees with a hero youβd seen fight aliens and other world beings and villains only pictured in films. And people who lost hope years ago, who gave up on stealing it back. βNice to meet you.β
a/n: i missed this man so much i can feel it in my chest. finally i watched gabriel luna's show devil in disguise and i fear that might have kickstarted my tommy obsessed back into gear. so this will be one of probably toooo many fics.
summary: what a way to go. on your couch, by your hands.
pairing: tommy miller x reader
word count: 790
warnings: explicit so minors dni 18+ only!!, handjob, hints of oral (m receiving).
He came to the conclusion that dying on your couch would ultimately be the easiest way to go. Death by any other means might seem inferior to a man like himself. Trapped with the taut muscles in his thighs and the ache in his stomach that screamed syllables he'd never bother to decipher. No. It simply had to be this way. With a hiss that clawed along the wet flesh of his esophagus and fell into the cavern of his open mouth.
He could feel it behind his teeth. Grating against enamel and settling into the grooves he'd later pick at with the tip of his tongueβin a last ditch effort to remember what it felt like to die on your couch.
Except...he wasn't dying.
Quite the opposite.
Tommy felt the back of his head slam against the edge of your couch, rough fingers that had seen one too many swings of a hammer at work now dug into the plush skin of your thigh. Indents would appear in small crescent moons later. When he unlatched his grip and found he could finally suck in a gasp of air.
"How's that?"
The calloused palm of his right hand might make a good muzzle, he tossed dryly into his racing mind. The wet slick of your own palm echoing in time the rapid beat of his heart. He wasn't sure if he wanted to hear you, or if the soft lilt of your voice pressed right up against his ear was just what he needed to taste the sweet edge of death.
"Shit baby," he got out between panting breaths. "T-That's good. That's real good."
The curve of your smile against his cheek snapped his eyes open to see you better than just a peripheral glance. So sweet. Sitting on your knees with the edge of your shorts riding up into the crease of your hip, your eyes fixed on the grip you had to his cock. He wanted to push you open. He wanted to watch the glaze of lust turn to a wash of tears as he fucked you nice and just a bit too slow.
But he couldn't remember how to fucking breathe. You twisted your wrist pulling up and then down and Tommy's felt the oxygen punch out of his chest as his back arched up into your touch. A pathetic grunt ripping from deep in his body.
Teeth dragged along the shell of his hear, trailing down the curve of his jaw until his skin sparked. His eyes rolled back with a moan, hips fucking up into your hand as another wave of precum leaked down along your fingers. It caught in between your knuckles. But he was staring at the way your tongue swept quick and wet along your bottom lip. As if you were begging for a taste of him.
His hand snapped forward, curling along the back of your neck to crush his mouth to yours. The wet slide of his tongue against the back of your teeth - a way to share the taste of deathβpunctuated with your soft little whine threading a noose around his heart.
"You're gonna fuckin' kill me darlin'," he pushed against your tongue. Spit stringing each time he pulled back to see the dark wash of need in your gaze.
"Do you want to come in my mouth?" you murmured.
And Tommy felt it in the base of his stomach.
He wasn't going to fucking last.
Clasping a tight grip on your wrist he thrust one, two, three more times into your fist before coming with a hoarse shout. Spilling hot over your hand and spurting along your bare thigh. He felt it hit the lower part of his stomach that jutted out slightly over his sweats most days. The indent of your teeth still marred his skin where his trail of dark hair began to grow a bit too thick beneath the waistband of his briefs.
"Fuck," he gasped, head back and chest heaving. "I wanted to fuck you first before I did that."
You smiled pressing your nose against his. "You can still do that."
"Gonna take me a minute to-"
"That's okay," you shrugged. "That gives me some time."
"Time for what? You got a to-do list or somethin'?" he chuckled.
The soft thud of your knees hitting wood forced his head back up, gaze locked on where exactly you were headed. He felt it stir beneath his skin, thrumming sharp in his blood at the sight. This would take no time at all.
When your mouth closed around the tip of his flaccid cock Tommy knew he would die. Sweet and slow and without a drop of pain. But death nonetheless.
i like to imagine clark as being in constant control of his body, but i also love to imagine him tongue out drool creating a splotch on the pillow as he fucks into you with mumbled words you can't hear over the sound of how wet you are. it's messy, his head is spaced and dizzy, and you feel the burn in your thighs from how they hook over his shoulders. sure he's still controlled. still only giving as much as you can take. but he's so fucking lost in it that come morning when you can barely move your legs he's apologizing with wet eyes and his face pressed into your stomach.
Okay but Clark Kent who forgets his own strength and rams the headboard into the wall so hard it dents the drywall. Flakes of dust are caught in his hair, surprise etched across his face. Meanwhile youβre trying your fucking hardest not to giggle because itβs the third time that year heβs broken furniture when he comes. Heβs considering drilling the bed into the foundation and makes up his mind with a yes when your leg curls over his hip. Lips and tongue sliding a path along his throat.
a/n: i'm late to the party, but i just had nothing good to write for him until now. honestly this is just a small blurb that's been itching in my head for days and i needed it out. he's been haunting me i swear. with that leather jacket. makes me yearn for an older fic of mine from years back. i hope y'all enjoy!
summary: falling in love with him was easy. dating him was risky.
word count: 1.1k+
pairing: clint flood x f!reader
warnings: EXPLICIT SO MINORS DNI 18+ ONLY!!, flirting, fluff, sex in a public setting (sorta), he's down bad - but so is reader, fingering, messy kisses.
Going on a date with Clint Flood is risky. Not in the sense that falling for him was out of the question. The intention to trip and land face first was already there. Blinding and horrifically set in a microscope he was already peering into with a grin so wide it it stretched his mouth and bared his teeth.
You didn't deny the pull of attraction you felt grow tight in the base of your chest. A hand the width of his own seemed to grip your heart, pressing fingers into soft muscle and popping capillaries until you could taste copper on the back of your tongue.
Bitter and entirely too welcome.
You said yes to the date with a breath that took little effort to push out. Lungs singed bright by the orange end of his nasty habit. One he just couldn't kickβnot that he wanted to. And you inhaled it just a bit deeper, some form of gruesome intent you caught flashes of in the mirror coming forward with the swing of his hand up to his lips. Another cloud of biting tobacco obscuring the view of dark brown eyes that seemed to shine your name.
Going on the date was easy. Laughter flowed better than the shitty beer you pickedβnever quite knowing the better alcohol to go withβand your stomach swooped each time he glanced at the gold chain around your neck. A sacred little heart pressed neatly between your breasts. Hidden from prying eyes but seemingly begging for his in particular.
He found it with the scrape of his teeth an hour after the food had settled and conversation bled into the tip of his boot finding the side of your heel. The maroon tablecloth hid the sight of how he spread you thighs, how your fingers dug into the side of your leg until crescent shapes decorated your skin the yellowed glow of the restaurant.
Attraction was obvious, but the fire fanned with an unexpected edge of certainty. You should have said goodnight. You stood primed and poised for the end of an evening well spentβdespite how he eased himself back into the chair with a lazed grin. The knowledge of your legs spread wide beneath the table, dripping into lace panties and an awful wooden chair, flickering bright in his mind. It would have been so easy to tell you to touch yourself, to indulge.
At least thatβs what you told yourself in between gasps and the sound of spit traded in between kisses that burned a hole in your chest. Your arms wrapped tight around his neck, lips smeared and sticky despite the lip-gloss you applied hours ago. Now traded in for the shine of his saliva as he pressed it against your tongue.
"I knew it," he muttered, the rough chafe of his facial hair scraping along the edge of your jaw. "Knew you'd want this."
Grappling for his jacket, you dug your nails into the leather with a gasp, thighs shaking with the effort of keeping you upright as two thick fingers slid deep. He sucked at the base of your throat, a moan bit out and choked at the feel of your walls clamping tight. Hot need pulsing harsh inside your shuddering body.
"So fuckin' good."
"Clint-"
They curled quick, rough pads searching for something as his eyes trapped you until you were couldnβt move. A deer in the headlights that never meant to cross this road. You should have run. You should have said goodnight. The brick wall was cold against your back but his stomach pressed tight to yours was hot. Every inch of his form emanated heat, until you could no longer tell where you began and he ended. Until you were certain he'd clawed open a spot on his flesh for you to reside inβto remain safe in.
Your hips jolted, mouth dropping in a harsh whine he smothered with his tongue, and Clint grinned like he found gold.
"There it is," he breathed, licking deep as his fingers worked you over faster than anyone had before. βThatβs it huh?β
You couldnβt give him a fucking answer even if you wanted to. Your mouth dropped open and you expected his name, affirmation that whatever he stroked felt like a fucking storm in your body, but the jagged edge of a moan fell out instead. Hoarse and needy. It burned with each pump of his fingers. The twitch of your thighs, the way you arched your hips into his hand, grinding on the edge of his palm until it caught deliciously against your throbbing clit.
He ruined you. Out in the open. With a grin on his lips.
βI feel-β you gasped, wrenching your head back only to feel his hand slide firm and prepared behind you, palm pressed to the wall. βOh God.β
βI know,β he murmured, lips sliding hot along the edge of your jaw. βGonna come for me baby? Gonna give me my dessert?β
The words twisted sharp in your stomach, muscles pulling taut as he licked a line up your throat with a harsh groan. A third finger stretching you wide with a pinch of a pain. The whine you let out was ragged, throat thick with his name as he caught your mouth in another kiss that made your toes curl. You bucked into his hold, spit trailing down to your chin as he ground his calloused thumb hard and unrelenting against your clit.
It split you down the center. Tore a wound through the center of your body you swore would be bleeding profusely later. And you came with a muffled shout, gushing into his palm and trembling in his tight hold as he pressed you even closer into the wall. The light from the street was blocked until all you could see was him. Surrounded by his scent, curled into his body, as shivers wracked your spent form.
You felt your walls pulse, fluttering in time with each pump of his fingers as he dragged you through it. Watching as tears spilled from the corner of your eyes, sparks trailing hot down to the tips of your fingers as he pulled his fingers out with a loud squelch and circled them fast against your clit with a rough pinch.
His fingers slid quick into his mouth, a rough moan rumbling from his chest, as he licked them clean. Eyes rolling back slightly with the tang of you spread across his tongue.
βBeautiful,β he grunted. βThe prettiest fuckinβ sight Iβve seen. You like it?β
You nodded slowly with a drunken smile, his nose brushing soft against yours. βDoes this mean you want a second date?β
Clint smiled wide, his eyes melting quickly into a flash of reverence youβd never seen him wear before. βSecond, third, fourth, fifth. I want βem all, baby. Every last one.β
i need y'all to picture cleaning blood off father jud's hands after he rams his fist into a man who mouthed off at you for not getting his drink fast enough. split knuckles and a beer you don't remember cracking open and brown eyes that hold enough tenderness to wrap you tight in the comfort of warmth you'd never known before. he's not here to save youβyou don't need saving.
you could have knocked that asshole flat if you desperately needed to, or at least called for a regular's assistance. but he saved you anyways. he let blood spurt to the surface of his hand and smear across a strangers face seconds after the word cunt flew from his mouth.
you knew who he was. walked by the church once or twice on your way to town, but never inside. that threshold was imbedded with far too much trauma for you to scrape the toe of your boot across. yet he still saved youβsitting hunched with a smile you knew would be trouble for that traitorous organ in your chest. your teeth indented a newfound cut in an already dry lip, something warm stirring with the first dregs of life in the base of your near empty stomach.
trouble, you would later mutter over your work of wiping down the bar. fucking trouble.
In my head whenever you accidentally brush Father Judβs hand with your own he stutters. His brain forgets language structure and how to use it, the flush of dark red stains his cheeks so fast you worry the heater being on is getting to him. But itβs just the act of touch. The simplicity of feeling a hand that doesnβt require his help, but rather aches for something more.
He catches himself tracing the beads of your rosary wrapped tight around your clasped fingersβwondering if your fingers would fit nice against his own. You twirl the bead in your finger and Jud tore his eyes back to the marble fooor, wanting desperately to somehow become the rosary you pressed to your lips.
