contents: Dunk x fem!Reader, Modern AU rom-com. Features Raymun, Rowan, Lyonel, Egg and very background Targaryens. Semi-reversed medium-burn (lmao, go figure). Friends to friends-with-benefits to lovers with a secret third thing. Which brings me to the biggest nsfw warning of this fic: unplanned pregnancy. It doesn't happen until Ch.3., but I know some people (including me, ironically) don't like reading about pregnancy, so you have been warned. If that's the case you can safely read up to chapter two and then call it a day. Dunk has my uterus confused, ok.
Besides that: mutual pinning, awkward crushes, they are in their 30s, it's set in Ireland (I know -.-) but most of nationalities are not defined, miscommunication but not in a way that will make you hate the characters, actually lots of humour, fluff, smidge of angst, attempt at magical realism. So far nsfw warnings include: drunk unprotected sex, pregnant sex. Tags will be updated for each chapter.
disclaimer: I've never been pregnant, but I hope my extensive research will prove sufficient. If you 🫵 have been and ever notice something wildly incorrect, please let me know! If you haven't noticed anything incorrect yet, but still would like to share your experience, also let me know! If you want. I'd love that.
synopsis: For two years, you and Duncan orbit each other inside the same circle of friends, each mistaking the other’s awkwardness for disinterest. Then, one reckless night changes the terms entirely. A story about bad timing, good longing, and leaving the hardest thing until last.
a/n: Hi *waves awkwardly*. Yeah so... this happened. Nobody look at me. I have no idea how many chapters this is going to have, but I'm planning weekly updates on Fridays. I promise to tag up to the wazoo. Anyway, banner as usual by me, and dividers by @strangergraphics. This fic is being proofread by @hextoken!
chapters:
chapter one: (sfw) In which they all get very drunk.
chapter two: (nsfw) In which they make the baby :')
chapter three: (sfw) In which she realises they made a baby.
chapter four: (sfw) In which she tells Duncan.
chapter five: (sfw) In which Duncan freaks out a little.
chapter six: (nsfw) In which she deals with life kicking her ass.
chapter seven: (sfw) In which they both get a little jealous.
chapter eight: (nsfw) In which they bang.
chapter nine: (nsfw) In which they survive the morning after.
chapter ten: (nsfw) In which they have their honeymoon.
chapter eleven: (nsfw) In which Reader meets Egg.
chapter twelve: (nsfw) In which Dunk is having a terrible day.
chapter thirteen: (nsfw) In which they reconcile.
chapter fourteen: (nsfw) In which it momentarily settles.
chapter fifteen: (nsfw) In which Rowan gives birth.
chapter sixteen: (31/07) In which Duncan is brave.
extras: general #heartburn tag (like, everything—asks, questions, art, blurts, hcs), heartburn!Dunk hcs, various blurts (yes, the #hcu stands for 'heartburn cinematic universe' lol), and art!
series desc; Frank Castle is starting to be more than a neighbor who does you favors without being asked. He knows it; and it terrifies him as much as it thrills you. It's a strange 'friendship'. sometimes he's making you laugh your ribs thin, and other times you could cut the air with a knife. The biggest challenge is keeping him from backing away, while not risking ruining the only relationship you have in your apartment complex.
notes; slow burn, just-neighbors to friends to lovers! Frank is horrible at feelings, very manly (yes plz fix everything in my house and don’t let me pay you back), curtis hoyle makes an appearance, teeeennnsssioooon, rom com esque, banter, eventual smut
STAY SAFE!! [ID: the Gilbert Baker pride flag with the words “Happy pride to all those who are unable to celebrate openly and safely. You are loved and seen!” in all-caps black text over it. /end ID]
summary: Clark Kent is helplessly in love, catastrophically awkward about it, and somehow even more charming because of it.
Clark “Superman” Kent
word count: 3k
a/n: this is a little something i made this week while i was waiting for my next class (cause why is there always a 2 hr gap??) I hope you enjoy! (*cough cough* jake seresin next?) side note: have u ever had a teacher who’s been edging u w the perfect grade? cause that’s me in english rn like pls i was so good in hs what is happening now
warnings: dangerously awkward flirting, excessive yearning, Clark Kent being down horrendous, coffee casualties, physical affection, kissing, secondhand embarrassment, umbrella sharing, weaponized eye contact, mild language
Clark Kent looked like the kind of man who should know how to flirt.
Tall. Broad shoulders. Gentle eyes hidden behind glasses that absolutely did not disguise the fact that he was unfairly handsome.
And yet—
“I panicked,” he admitted as coffee spread across the bullpen floor.
You stared at him from beside your desk, blinking slowly while reporters twisted in their chairs to watch the disaster unfold.
“You spilled an entire latte because I touched your arm?”
Clark adjusted his glasses with the expression of a man facing public execution. “In my defense,” he said weakly, “you’re very pretty.”
Somewhere across the newsroom, somebody choked on a laugh.
You looked down at the coffee dripping off the edge of Clark’s desk. Then back up at him. Then at the completely soaked stack of papers in his hands.
“Oh my God,” you whispered.
“I know.”
“No, I mean—” You pointed at the papers. “Weren’t those your interview notes?”
Clark glanced down.
The color drained from his face. “Oh no.”
The bullpen erupted.
Jimmy Olsen burst into laughter so hard he physically folded over his desk. Someone else wolf-whistled. Perry White shouted something from his office about professionalism that nobody listened to.
Clark stood frozen in the middle of it all looking deeply, deeply miserable.
And weirdly adorable.
You pressed your lips together, trying not to smile. “You’re kind of a disaster, Kent.”
He looked at you over the rim of his glasses, visibly horrified. “You think I’m a disaster?”
“I think,” you said carefully, “that you just sacrificed your notes to avoid having a conversation with me.”
“That’s not what happened.”
“Really?”
“Yes.” He paused. “Mostly.”
Jimmy made a loud fake coughing noise that sounded suspiciously like he likes you.
Clark shot him a betrayed look.
You laughed before you could stop yourself.
And that—that seemed to make Clark’s entire brain shut down.
Because he stared at you for half a second too long, looking startled by the sound, before smiling instinctively.
It hit you like a truck.
Not because he was handsome—you had unfortunately noticed that weeks ago when you’d first started at the Daily Planet—but because his smile changed his whole face.
Clark smiling felt warm. Soft. Like sunlight through open curtains.
Your stomach flipped embarrassingly hard.
Clark seemed to realize he was still staring at you at the exact same moment you realized you were staring back.
He immediately looked away so quickly he knocked another coffee cup over with his elbow.
“Oh my God,” Jimmy wheezed.
-
Working at the Daily Planet meant existing in a constant state of chaos.
Phones rang nonstop. Reporters argued across desks. Perry barked deadlines like military orders while interns sprinted through the bullpen carrying stacks of papers and half-dead laptops.
You’d only been there three months, but somehow it already felt normal.
Mostly because of Clark.
Which was ridiculous.
You barely knew him. Technically.
But Clark Kent had this strange gravitational pull to him. The kind that made people naturally drift toward him without realizing it.
He remembered everyone’s coffee orders. Held doors open. Asked about your day and actually listened to the answer.
He was impossibly kind in a way that should’ve felt fake considering he looked like that, but somehow didn’t.
Honestly, the man looked like he’d been engineered in a lab specifically to make people stare.
Broad chest. Strong hands. Dark curls that always fell messily over his forehead no matter how many times he pushed them back.
And his eyes.
Jesus Christ.
You’d made the mistake of maintaining eye contact with him once during a meeting and forgotten your own name halfway through a sentence.
Which apparently wasn’t a problem exclusive to you.
Because Clark got nervous around you too. Painfully nervous.
At first you thought you imagined it.
Then you noticed patterns.
Clark dropping things whenever you walked too close to him. Clark forgetting what he was saying mid-conversation because you smiled at him. Clark volunteering for stories on the opposite side of Metropolis whenever you wore something nice.
It was honestly kind of endearing.
Today, however, was especially bad.
You walked into the break room around noon and stopped short.
Clark was standing at the counter holding a mug that literally bent in his hand.
Not metaphorically.
Literally.
Ceramic cracked beneath his fingers.
Clark stared down at it in horror.
You stared at him.
“…Did you just Hulk-smash a coffee mug?”
Clark nearly jumped out of his skin. “What? No.”
You pointed.
The handle fell off the mug and hit the floor.
Clark looked genuinely distressed. “I can explain.”
“I would love to hear this explanation actually.”
He glanced around the empty break room like he was searching for divine intervention.
“It was slippery.”
“The mug exploded.”
“It’s a very slippery mug.”
You laughed again.
Clark visibly melted.
Not metaphorically either. The man genuinely seemed to lose all motor function when you laughed near him.
It was becoming a problem.
“You know,” you said, leaning against the counter, “for a Pulitzer-winning reporter, you’re a terrible liar.”
Clark ducked his head, smiling sheepishly. “That obvious?”
“Clark, you once told Perry your laptop stopped working because of solar flares.”
“They can interfere with technology.”
“Sure.”
“It’s science.”
“You sounded like a conspiracy podcast host.”
Clark huffed out a laugh.
God.
That was dangerous too.
Because Clark didn’t laugh quietly. He laughed fully. Warm and surprised and bright like he couldn’t help it.
You liked making him do it.
Probably more than you should.
“You’re staring,” Clark said softly.
You blinked.
Shit.
“I am not.”
One dark eyebrow lifted.
You folded your arms immediately. “Okay, maybe a little.”
Clark’s ears turned pink.
And for some reason, that made you bold.
“You get flustered really easily for someone who looks like he belongs on a magazine cover.”
Clark made a choking noise. “A magazine—”
“You know exactly what you look like, Kent.”
“I really don’t think I do.”
“That’s actually insane.”
Clark rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. “Well… I think you’re beautiful, so maybe we’re both insane.”
The room went completely silent.
Your heartbeat stuttered.
Clark seemed to realize what he’d said a full three seconds later.
“Oh my God,” he whispered to himself.
Then he physically walked into a cabinet.
You slapped a hand over your mouth.
Clark stood there with his eyes squeezed shut like he wanted the earth to swallow him whole.
“You okay?” you asked, voice shaking with suppressed laughter.
“Never better.”
“You hit that cabinet really hard.”
“I’m durable.”
You snorted.
Clark looked absolutely devastated by his own existence.
And somehow, impossibly, it made him even cuter.
-
Lois Lane cornered you two days later.
“You like him.”
You nearly inhaled your own coffee. “What?”
Lois sat casually on the edge of your desk like she wasn’t about to ruin your entire life.
“You and Smallville.”
“We are coworkers.”
“You look at him like he personally invented romance.”
You opened your mouth.
Closed it.
Lois smirked.
“Oh my God,” you muttered.
“Yeah, that’s usually the reaction.”
You dropped your head onto your desk dramatically. “Is it that obvious?”
“To me? Absolutely.”
“This is humiliating.”
“Nah.” Lois nudged your shoulder. “It’s cute.”
Cute.
Right.
Except your crush on Clark Kent felt less cute and more actively life-threatening.
Because the problem with Clark wasn’t just that he was attractive.
It was that he was good.
Everywhere you looked, Clark was helping someone.
Carrying absurdly heavy boxes for interns. Staying late to help fact-check stories. Walking little old ladies across busy streets outside the Planet building.
Once, you’d watched him stop in the middle of a conversation because he noticed a little kid crying outside through the bullpen windows.
Clark had excused himself immediately and come back twenty minutes later with melted ice cream on his sleeve and a shy explanation about helping the kid find his dad.
Who does that?
Who is actually like that?
“You’re smiling,” Lois said knowingly.
“I hate you.”
“No you don’t.”
Unfortunately, she was right.
Lois leaned closer. “So what’s the hold up?”
“What?”
“With Clark.”
You stared at her. “There is no ‘with Clark.’”
“Please. That man looks at you like you hung the moon.”
Your stomach flipped violently.
“That’s dramatic.”
“It’s accurate.”
Before you could respond, a familiar voice called your name from across the bullpen.
You looked up instinctively.
Big mistake.
Clark was walking toward you holding a file folder against his chest, glasses slipping down his nose slightly. His tie was crooked. His hair looked windswept like he’d just sprinted back from somewhere.
Which honestly was possible.
The man moved weirdly fast.
Clark smiled the second he saw you.
And there it was again.
That stupid, soft sunlight feeling.
Lois watched your entire expression change and looked unbearably smug about it.
“I’m going to kill you,” you muttered.
“Worth it.”
Clark reached your desk, slightly out of breath. “Hey.”
“Hey.”
For a second, both of you just stood there smiling at each other like idiots.
Lois made a fake gagging noise before hopping off the desk. “I’m leaving before this turns into a Hallmark movie.”
Clark looked alarmed. “What turns into a Hallmark movie?”
“Nothing,” you said quickly.
“Everything,” Lois corrected.
Then she disappeared into the crowd of desks before either of you could stop her.
Clark looked adorably confused.
You looked anywhere except directly at him.
“So,” Clark said after a moment. “I, uh… brought those files you asked for.”
He handed them over carefully.
Your fingers brushed his.
Clark froze.
You felt him freeze.
The entire atmosphere shifted instantly.
It was ridiculous.
A tiny touch shouldn’t feel electric.
And yet.
Clark swallowed hard. “You okay?”
“You’re asking me?”
A nervous laugh escaped him.
“You just—” He stopped himself abruptly.
“What?”
Clark stared at you for one long second like he was debating something internally. “Nothing.”
“Clark.”
“It’s not important.”
“Clark.”
His shoulders slumped in surrender. “You just make me nervous.”
The honesty in his voice hit you straight in the chest.
“You make me nervous too,” you admitted quietly.
Clark blinked.
“You’re kidding.”
“Nope.”
“But you seem so calm around me.”
You stared at him. “Clark, last week you smiled at me and I walked directly into the women’s restroom instead of the elevator.”
For a beat of silence, Clark just looked at you.
Then he laughed.
Not a polite chuckle.
Not a soft huff.
An actual laugh.
Head tipped back slightly. Eyes crinkling behind his glasses. Warm and bright and helpless.
Your heart basically dissolved on the spot.
“You think I’m funny?” you asked weakly.
Clark looked at you like that was the dumbest question he’d ever heard.
“I think you’re incredible.”
Oh.
Oh, you were in serious trouble.
-
It started raining halfway through your walk home.
Not normal rain either.
The kind of dramatic Metropolis downpour that felt personally targeted.
You groaned as cold water soaked through your jacket within seconds. “Seriously?”
“You forgot your umbrella too?”
You turned.
Clark stood a few feet away under a massive black umbrella, glasses speckled with rain.
Of course he had an umbrella.
Clark looked like the kind of man who reminded other people to bring umbrellas.
“You stalking me, Kent?”
A smile tugged at his mouth. “Coincidence. I was getting groceries.”
He lifted a paper bag slightly.
You frowned. “How are those not soaked already?”
Clark glanced at the perfectly dry bag in confusion before quickly holding the umbrella lower. “Good umbrella?”
You narrowed your eyes.
Clark smiled innocently.
Suspicious.
Still, he stepped closer, angling the umbrella over both of you.
Warmth immediately surrounded you.
Clark smelled ridiculously good. Like clean laundry and coffee and something faintly earthy after the rain.
You tried not to notice.
Failed horribly.
“You can’t walk me home every time it rains, you know.”
Clark looked down at you. “I can try.”
Oh.
Oh, that was dangerous.
The city blurred around you as you walked side by side through the rain.
Cars hissed past on wet streets. Neon signs reflected off puddles. Somewhere nearby, someone played music loud enough to echo between buildings.
Clark kept subtly adjusting the umbrella to make sure you stayed covered.
Meanwhile his own shoulder was getting soaked.
“You’re terrible at sharing umbrellas,” you informed him.
Clark blinked. “I am?”
“You’re getting rained on.”
“That’s okay.”
“No, move over.”
You grabbed his sleeve and tugged him closer underneath the umbrella.
Clark immediately went completely still beside you.
Your arm brushed his.
Heat radiated through the contact even through layers of clothing.
Clark looked down at you slowly.
And there it was again.
That look.
Like you were something precious.
Something worth handling carefully.
It made your chest ache.
“You know,” you said softly, “for someone who panics every time I touch him, you really like standing close to me.”
Clark’s mouth twitched. “Maybe I enjoy the panic.”
“Is that what this is?”
“No,” he admitted quietly. “Not really.”
Rain hammered softly overhead.
Clark’s gaze dropped briefly to your mouth before snapping back up.
Your breath caught.
He noticed.
You knew he noticed because his own breathing changed instantly.
And suddenly the space between you felt very small.
Very warm.
Very dangerous.
A car horn blared somewhere nearby.
Both of you jumped apart like guilty teenagers.
Clark cleared his throat violently. “Well.”
“Yep.”
“That was—”
“Definitely something.”
Clark laughed nervously.
You smiled despite yourself.
Then, before you could overthink it, you reached for his hand.
Clark went silent.
His fingers instinctively curled around yours.
Warm.
Careful.
Like he was afraid to hold on too tightly.
You looked up at him.
Clark looked completely undone.
“You’re doing that thing again,” you murmured.
“What thing?”
“Looking at me like I personally invented happiness.”
Clark stared at you for one long second.
Then he smiled softly.
“I might argue you did.”
Your heart was never recovering from this man.
Ever.
-
By the time you reached your apartment building, neither of you had let go of the other’s hand.
Clark looked mildly stunned by that fact.
You were trying not to look equally affected.
Rainwater dripped from the edge of the umbrella while the city buzzed around you in blurry lights and distant traffic.
Neither of you moved.
“This is usually the part,” you said carefully, “where people say goodbye.”
Clark nodded immediately. “Right. Yeah. Goodbye.”
Neither of you let go.
A smile tugged at your mouth.
Clark noticed instantly.
“What?”
“You’re still holding my hand.”
Clark looked down like he’d genuinely forgotten.
“Oh.”
But he still didn’t let go.
Instead, his thumb brushed lightly across your knuckles.
The movement was absentminded.
Gentle.
Your heartbeat nearly climbed into your throat.
Clark looked like he realized what he was doing at the exact same moment.
His eyes widened slightly behind his glasses.
“You should probably kiss me now,” you blurted before your brain could stop you.
Silence.
Absolute silence.
Clark stared at you.
You stared back in horror as your own words replayed in your head.
“Well,” you said weakly. “That was terrifying.”
Clark still looked frozen.
“Oh my God,” you whispered. “Forget I said that.”
“No.”
Your eyes snapped back to his.
Clark stepped closer slowly, like he was worried you’d disappear if he moved too fast.
“No,” he repeated softly. “I really don’t think I can.”
The rain suddenly felt very far away.
Clark lifted one hand carefully toward your face.
Even now—even with the way he looked at you, with your fingers tangled together, with every charged moment between you hanging in the air—he still hesitated like he wanted permission.
You leaned into his touch before he could ask.
Something in Clark’s expression melted instantly.
Then he kissed you.
And—
Oh.
That was not a first-kiss kind of kiss.
There was nothing uncertain about it.
Clark kissed you like he’d been thinking about it for weeks and was only now allowing himself to do it.
Warm lips. Careful hands. The soft sound he made when you kissed him back harder.
Your fingers curled into the front of his jacket automatically.
Clark’s free hand settled against your waist like he physically couldn’t stop himself.
And somehow, impossibly, he still kissed like Clark.
Sweet.
Tender.
Like he was trying to memorize you.
When you finally pulled apart, both of you were visibly breathless.
Clark looked completely wrecked.
His glasses were crooked.
His hair was damp from the rain.
And he was looking at you like you’d personally rewritten his entire universe.
“You kissed me,” he said softly, sounding genuinely awed by it.
You laughed quietly. “Pretty sure you kissed me too, Kent.”
“I know, I just—” He stopped to smile helplessly. “Wow.”
You smiled so hard your face hurt.
Clark looked at you for another long second before blurting suddenly, “I have wanted to do that since the first day you worked at the Planet.”
Your eyebrows shot up. “The first day?”
“You smiled at me in the elevator and I walked into a wall.”
You stared at him.
Then burst into laughter.
Clark groaned immediately. “Please don’t laugh.”
“You walked into a wall?”
“It was a glass wall,” he muttered.
“That is somehow worse.”
Clark covered his face with one hand while you laughed harder.
“I’m trying to be romantic.”
“You are romantic,” you promised, still grinning. “You’re just also deeply awkward.”
Clark peeked at you through his fingers. “You still like me though?”
The fact that he sounded genuinely unsure nearly killed you.
You reached up, adjusting his crooked glasses carefully. “Clark Kent, you spilled coffee on yourself because I touched your arm.”
His ears turned pink again.
“You carried one umbrella specifically big enough for two people.”
Clark looked away innocently.
“You looked at me like your entire life changed because I held your hand.”
A soft smile spread slowly across his face.
Then he leaned down and kissed you again.
Softer this time.
Slow enough that your chest physically ached from it.
When he pulled back, his forehead rested lightly against yours.
“So,” you murmured, “does this mean you’ll stop destroying office supplies every time I flirt with you?”
Clark considered that seriously.
“…Probably not.”
You laughed.
And Clark smiled like it was still the most beautiful sound he’d ever heard.
Like they tried to change Reblogs and people rightfully got up in arms, this is a LOT worse. In order to have access to any sort of thing dubbed mature, and We haveALL seen what they think is mature, Everything from a black and white photo of a black woman's arm, to posts about IUD recalls, to a nude painted by a 17th century artist, to anything involving the word Trans; you have to send your personal information to a third party site that WILL get hacked, and you will be doxxed. And they can say "Oh shit, well it wasn't us who sent your name address and gender identity to Moldovan teenagers, here's a couple extra minutes in the ball pit.
That's bad enough!!!!!!!! But the entire idea of needing permission from state authorities to access anything labeled mature by our friendly AI overlords is some fucking Boll shit. Die Gedenken Sind Frie baby. This is all a reaction to people getting uppity about their lowly lowly rights and is being propped up by the same bad actors tht have made life unlivable. Fuck that shit.
"Well it's only being rolled out in Brazil and UK" Yeah, to start. "Well they're being forced to do this by laws." YOu know it's always really funny when these tech giants (Or whatever you call owning tumblr dot com) get really antsy about laws considering they pick and choose which ones they abide by.
This is a breaking point and it's going to be very interesting to see how we proceed from here.
Warnings: 18+ Content (MDNI pls). Angssssssst. Secret established relationship, Mando'a nicknames, allusion to past smut. Kissing and Crying. Sorry.
A/N: Takes place a few months after Kiss it Better; can be read standalone but might hurt more/better if you read that drabble first? A reminder that this is a post Season 3 canon compliant universe where Din has been dispatched by the New Republic to an allied planet (Solana), training their armies as their General. Kindly excuse the errors/typos (I'll try to fix over the weekend!) - I had to rush to post on time 😅 (Emily is bad with schedules 🫣) Thank you for reading!
Dividers by @saradika-graphics / Series Masterlist / Title from Camilla Cabello; inspo lyrics at the end.
Something was… off.
Din sensed it throughout the morning, an unshakeable needling at the back of his mind - one that made his trigger finger itch. A warning.
To be fair, it hadn’t been all morning. Slipping from your bed just before dawn, the tranquility of the dawdling dark and quiet of the still sleeping castle felt as calming as it had every morning prior. Taking great care not to rouse you from your peaceful slumber, he moved slow and deliberate – contentment settling in Din’s chest when he stood from the bed to find his efforts had not been for naught.
While dressing and redonning his armour, Din’s gaze had been naturally drawn to the beauty of your naked form; he smiled to himself, lingering longer than allowed, recalling the passion of the night before – the hours spent between those legs, kissing those luscious lips. Going through wonderfully mundane motions to start his day, the only hitch Din could foresee was the injustice of having to tear himself from your perfection; he comforted himself with the knowledge that he would see you again in a few short hours, laid one soft kiss to your bare shoulder, then two more to the silk blindfold still miraculously tied over your eyes, before leaving via the balcony.
It was only after flying straight to the castle’s training grounds and meeting with his lieutenant and captains to the oversee the usual morning drills, did Din start to feel unsettled.
Training proceeded uneventfully, but Din had been satisfied with your father’s soldiers – there was nothing noted among the ranks or in the execution of their exercises that would be the General’s cause for concern. Just after dawn broke, Din spotted your lady’s maids, Serine and Olivia, strolling across the castle grounds with Grogu – unexpected, but still no reason for alarm. It wasn’t unusual for his son to be roused earlier than the rest of the castle by a hungry stomach, nor for Grogu’s favourite playmates to indulge his appetite in the kitchens before breakfast was officially served.
Still unable to put his finger on its source, the troublesome feeling that he was missing something critical continued to pester Din up until he and his troops broke for breakfast several hours later. Trying to shrug it off, he chalked up the feeling to his old bounty hunter instincts while walking towards the royal dining hall, unaware that his life was about to be turned upside down.
It’s only when he enters the room, expecting to find the usual company sitting down to all your favourite morning dishes, that he’s reminded his gut is never wrong. The room is being cleared, empty dishes indicating that the meal has long since been over, with only your father sitting in his usual place at the head of the table, studying some documents.
“Forgive me, your majesty. I did not realize how late training had run.”
“No apologies necessary, General. You are not late in the slightest – we simply had reason to celebrate and therefore set the spread earlier than usual,” the king smiles brightly at his trusted General, gesturing for the Mandalorian to take his usual seat.
As he sits, offering thanks for the customary plate that’s been prepared for him to take away and eat alone, Din inquires, anxiety not yet abated, “What do we have the pleasure of celebrating today, sire?”
The king clasps his hands together happily, “After many months of fielding offers from foreign dignitaries and endless talks with the fine families that make up our court, I am pleased, and somewhat relieved, I’m not afraid to tell you, General, that a suitable match has been agreed upon and my daughter is finally engaged to be married.”
To Din, an eternity passes before he answers your father, when in reality, it’s only a few seconds - short enough of a duration for his silence to pass for surprise. During that temporal void, Din’s heart crawls up his throat to choke off his air supply, before swan diving to the pits of his stomach; there it sits heavy, an anchor weighted with a dread that he’s been desperately trying to ignore. It eats at his soft, defenseless insides, a burden borne not just of this morning but one that’s been an inescapable foe for the past several months... maybe even prior. From the day he first laid eyes on you, possibly. Or perhaps since the cataclysm of your first, perfect kiss? The exact start of Din’s ruin hardly matters now – he’d been doomed countess times over, with every call of his name in your pretty voice, each press of his mouth to your sweet lips, every moment found in the heaven of your body.
In the recesses of his heart and mind, Din has always known that everything with you, each kiss, each smile, each touch, has been stolen - your love existing on borrowed time. And now the universe has come to collect.
“Congratulations, sire,” says Din, as evenly as he can manage, “this is indeed a reason for celebration. A blessing for your great house.”
“It is,” your father studies the armoured man, face softening with fondness, “and a tremendous weight off my mind, for which I owe you many thanks.”
Tilting his head, Din remains silent, not understanding.
The genuine humility of the great warrior before him never ceases to amaze the king, “It is a privilege to be able to arrange a betrothal within our own kingdom, to be confident there exists a mutual love for the realm and the people of this planet. You have raised the strength of our armies, defended our borders, and made Solana safe enough that I do not need to seek any political or security alliances through marriage. The Princess can remain in our royal house, rule after me as she’s always meant to; you yourself know of our people’s love for her, and now they have the good fortune of looking to her for leadership and guidance after I am gone – it’s all I ever truly hoped for.” Your father takes a breath, misty-eyed at this sentiment, “All the Solanian people require in a King consort is someone they can trust to have the Princess’ best interest at heart, and with one of our bannermen, that can be assured. This would not have been possible without your hard work and dedication, General. For what feels like the millionth time, the people of Solana thank you. The Princess thanks you. I thank you.”
“It has been my truest honour to serve you and the people of Solana, your majesty. No thanks are necessary,” Din bows his head, and while he knows the older man cannot see his face, he nonetheless wishes to avoid his gaze, “though perhaps I may call upon that goodwill and your overall splendid mood, in order to inform you that Grogu and I will concluding our time in your service today and returning to Adelphi Base in order to receive our next assignment from the New Republic.”
“Today?”
“Yes, sire, today,” that this has been Din’s plan ever since your father announced his intention for you to marry matters not, the words still sound unbelievable even to his own ears – he bolsters slightly to convince the king, himself, of his resolve, “In truth, our return has been long overdue, but neither Grogu nor I feel any shame in having enjoyed staying past our original assignment. We have grown attached to the beauty of your planet and the hospitality of your people, and will be forever grateful for the kindness and generosity you and the Princess have shown us. Solana has felt like home in a way I never intended, or frankly thought possible for someone like myself. However, there are other planets to defend, threats to eliminate, bounties to capture – every assignment Grogu and I complete for the New Republic makes the galaxy safer for everyone, including Solana.”
“I have long admired your dedication to duty and responsibility, General,” the King’s tone is warm, proud, “I would not attempt to convince you to stay, but I hope you know that it is with genuine sadness that I see you go. You and Grogu are sons of Solana now – you will always have a place here should you choose to return, for any reason or length of stay.”
Din rises to bend the knee in deference and gratitude to the man he’s grown to love and respect as much as he does you. Awkwardly accepting your father’s insistence that they are beyond such formalities and the resulting embrace of farewell, Din reiterates appreciation on both his and his son’s behalf before retreating quickly from the dining room. Once alone in the hall, he allows himself one, solitary moment of self pity before going on autopilot, setting forth to complete the necessary sequence of tasks with droid-like efficiency.
First, he retrieves his and Grogu’s belongings from their quarters – nearly everything has been packed and ready for departure for months. Din’s been prepared for this painful eventuality since the day you tearfully begged him to stay until you were officially betrothed; never able to deny you anything, he had promised he would, knowing that you both knew it was but a temporary remedy, a prolonging of a dream that was bound to end in heartbreak. As he looks down at his meager belongings, Din’s grateful for his own forethought – the longer he lingers, the more prone he might be to reminiscing, getting lost in thoughts and memories, regrets even, and Din cannot not afford any additional sentimentality today. His heart simply cannot bear it.
As he sorts his son’s much more robust collection of personal items, he pleas silently for Grogu’s forgiveness over their sudden departure, for denying him a more deserved sendoff from the friends and family they’ve both found here on Solana. With a heavy sigh, Din contends with thoughts of his son’s inevitable, and justifiable, anger, pledging to somehow make it up to him.
Once fully organized, Din brings all the luggage to the capital’s primary aircraft hangar to load into his N1, and asks the ground crew to have her ready for launch within the hour. Done with the logistical arrangements, the only thing remaining is something Din would happily surrender all the credits to his name in order to avoid: saying goodbye.
He finds his men, his troops, his friends, reconvened on the same lawn from earlier, awaiting his return – patiently and eagerly ready to follow their General’s command. Breaking to them the news of his leaving, Din cannot pretend that their range of emotions at his announcement – loss, dejection, shock, gratitude, pride to have served under him – do not touch him deeply; he would die for any one of these soldiers, whose trust he does not take for granted, whose unyielding loyalty he will never fully feel he deserves. Their General is beyond proud of them; Din could not imagine or ask for a better army to train and fight alongside - their dedication and honour rivaling those of his warrior Creed. He tells them so spiritedly and with genuine attachment as he addresses them for the final time as their commanding officer.
After leaving his lieutenant and captains with some parting guidance and to their final salutes, Din makes directly for the woodlands at the edge of the castle’s expansive property, knowing he will find one if not both of your lady’s maids lingering nearby. Just as predicted, he comes upon Olivia as he closes on the hidden opening to the forest’s path. She is equally unsurprised to see him.
“General,” she curtsies, and when rising, meets his eyes with sadness and worry that he knows are all for you, “do you…?”
Din nods at her unfinished question and tilts his head towards the woods, a gesture she immediately comprehends, “Olivia, could I please trouble you to find Grogu and take him to the capital hangar? His belongings have been stowed in the starfighter and after…,” he falters slightly before continuing, “Kindly tell my son that I will join him there in a short while, at which time we will leave directly.”
Your trusted confidant and friend gasps, eyes filling with tears as she takes in all the implications of the General’s instructions.
“I’m very sorry,” Din laments, shoulders slumping, “to offer so little time for Grogu to say his goodbyes. He has grown very fond of you, Serine, and all his friends on Solana. I must offer you my sincerest gratitude for the kind attention you’ve extended my son during our stay.”
“Oh!” Olivia perks up, eyes shiny, smile nostalgic, “General, it is I who must thank you! On behalf of myself and Serine, as well as the entire household, thank you for coming into our lives and for allowing us the honour of getting to know sweet Grogu. We love him so tremendously and will miss him more than you know!” She curtsies again, “And you as well! Solarians will never forget the great honour you have afforded us by being our General, nor how much safer and prosperous we are and will continue to be because of your efforts. And,” her voice lowers, but warms, “for Serine and I particularly, we must thank you for how well you have loved our beloved Princess.”
“Please take care of her after I am gone.”
“Of course, General,” Olivia straightens and sets off to find her favourite green companion without another glance back, trusting Din with your care as she has countless times before.
With her gone, Din is once again left alone to his overwhelming melancholy; taking a few deep breaths to steel himself for what’s to come, he enters the woods, resigned. He walks speedily towards your secret meeting place, grateful for the number times he’s walked this route - feet find their way from memory alone, his mind too addled to make much sense of the readings on his visor.
His sensors nonetheless track your erratic path: broken twigs, a skewed brush, fallen leaves left in the wake of your uneven footprints; Din’s heart clenches, your emotional state carving its own inelegant trail to a place that until today has been sacred, a refuge for your love. When he emerges from the thicket, he finds you standing on the opposite side of the clearing, your lone figure brightly lit by the morning sun, a sparkling diamond inlaid against a background of majestic old growth trees. Your back is to him and his steps have been silent, but Din knows you know he’s there.
Letting the moment sit, Din admires the soft curves of your frame for what he knows is the last time and takes solace in the small degree of calm this vision of you brings his wildly beating heart. How many times has he gazed upon you like this? From across a ballroom as you danced, while on guard in the throne room from which you ruled, from the army training grounds as you took a turn about the castle grounds? A million stolen glances, the depth of his admiration and want hidden from the world behind Beskar, tempered by the forbidden nature of your relationship; aware that the clock is nearly run out, Din finally speaks,
“You’ve been hiding from me, cyar’ika.”
When you turn, your tear-stained cheeks and the depth of sorrow in your watery eyes nearly send Din to his knees. The only way he could cross the clearing faster would be if he flew; he practically does.
Your spirits cannot help but lift as he stands before you, the Mandalorian’s very presence grounding, offering you a momentary respite from your inner turmoil; this man is and will always be your safe, your comfort, security personified. But you’ve never seen him like this before; so clearly, the very power and strength of his people is hammered into the shiny Beskar he dons so proud and well – it shatters you to see Din deflating beneath its weight, fallible for the first time.
Sad eyes crinkling, you jest with forced mirth, “And what chance does one actually have at hiding from the most feared bounty hunter in all the galaxy?”
You both chuckle, though it feels like nothing will ever be funny again.
“You found me.” You always knew he would.
“I will always find you, mesh’la.”
Voice betraying your shame, though you’re certain Din assigns you no fault, “So you know.”
“Yes, your father told me.” The helmet’s modulated tone is factual, apologetic even. You nod in acceptance, unwilling to speak more of the topic than necessary; it feels like poison on your tongue.
“Congratulations on your engagement, Princess.”
These words, perfunctory, cold in their formality, stab at your heart, “Do you really wish to congratulate me, Din?”
No, I wish to run a blade through your fiancé’s stomach, screams the jealous, tormented beast in Din’s chest, but his dutiful, more honourable head prevails – it would do you no good to witness his unravelling, “I understand your betrothed to be a good man of the kingdom, one with whom you’re familiar. His family has great respect for yours, and therefore I trust he will revere you as his wife and queen. I congratulate you on an arrangement designed for a happy and prosperous future.”
Your heart lurches to see this man - your General, your warrior, your most cherished love - trying to be strong enough for the both you, “And you, Din? What of your happiness?”
“As a Mandalorian, I seek only to live with honour, defend our way of life, and protect my kin and clan. As long as your safety is assured, I am in no position to ask for more.”
Though it’s not the first time the General has acknowledged he considers you kin, family, it always sets you a flame – today, however, that swell of emotion is smothered under the bitter admission that no matter how close he deems you, you can never be to him what you so dearly wish.
You can never be Din’s riduur. His partner. His wife.
Until this betrothal, the two of you had managed to put off this sobering reality, living in a blissful state of denial. And now the day of reckoning is upon you and you’re not ready to wake from the fantasy, to relinquish a future where you could be something, anything to Din. At arms length, will forever be how he holds you in his heart – after today, all you will ever be is a memory. Surrendering to this anguishing thought, you sob and fly into Din’s waiting arms.
He holds you as he has a million times before, cradled like the rarest of treasures - as precious to him as his son, as sacred to him as his Creed. In these arms you will always be protected, loved, known; in these arms, you aren’t just a princess, you’re his princess, his woman – the woman whose very thoughts and esteem he holds above all others, whose compassion and wise counsel he seeks, whose good opinion he cherishes, and whose heart, soul and body he worships. Din holds you like a wish, a promise.
Neither of you say a word, but there is no need - the consequences of today and the resulting wound on your souls is so fresh and deep, you understand the other’s pain perfectly; to acknowledge the truth, that this is the end, out loud, feels like an afront to the fragility of the moment.
It is his greatest shame that Din has no comfort to offer you – the woman to whom he’s pledged his everlasting devotion, who he’s sworn to protect, to venerate. He has nothing but shared grief, sorrow.
If only he could simply dry your tears and offer heartfelt words of affirmation, love, as he has many times before; you would return them ten-fold and the two of you would take solace in one another, dismissing the power of the proverbial axe that’s hung over your future. Despite the strength of your commitment, this one subject, this ghost, has loomed in the background of your relationship since its inception, creeping closer and closer, in spite of your joint efforts to refute its existence - hide from it, deny its inevitability. But for the Princess and her General, there is no escape from duty; the rope that tethers you together has finally run out of slack, it’s time to face reality.
Together, but ultimately, apart.
Under the weight of his breaking heart, Din presses his last gift to you into your palm – you pull away slightly to look down at where you feel the cool metal against your skin.
Through your tears, the smooth grooves of the small Mythosaur skull pendant reflect the day’s light as tiny stars – a symbol of Din’s homeland weighted with a history and tradition of kinship and faith as resplendent as the man who is gifting it to you. The token itself is priceless, a reminder that you belong to a clan you can never openly claim – the fullness of Din’s selfless gesture rips clean through you, a wound ontop of your other wounds. Burying yourself back into Din’s chest, you burrow in close, inhaling his scent like a lifeline, hoping to somehow find salvation in the safety of his embrace.
But even the relief of this intimacy is fleeting, every gentle stroke to your back, your arms, your head, every claw and dig of your fingers between the gaps of Din’s armour, into the soft gather of his neck cowl, carries with it an expiration date.
Din’s mind is a storm. He is a Mandalorian; the member of a Creed that values strength, bravery. He is the General of your armies, the commander of legions that fight in your name; he holds the line, is first out of the gate, a gunslinger, a bounty hunter, a warrior. If anyone should have the strength to lead the two of you through the final act of your story with some semblance of composure, it should be him.
But he’s never been more lost in his life.
“Mesh’la. Promise me you will take care of yourself.”
Startled by his choice of words, you pull back sharply to study the man before you. Though you cannot see his face, you know him well enough to read his mannerisms, his emotions - hidden from all the world… but not from you, “You speak as if you are leaving.”
“I am,” Din’s voice is quiet, as if too loud and it would betray his resolve, “We agreed that I would stay until your betrothal.”
“We did,” you say slowly, already afraid of his response, “but you speak as if you are leaving right now.”
“I am.”
If he did not already have such a firm hold on you, you may have collapsed from the impact of these two little words. It’s too much, it’s too much, your heart cries. Another shock to your spirit that you’ve had neither the time nor the strength to steel yourself for; in quick succession, all before finishing the first meal of the day, you’ve lost your freedom, right to choice, hope, love, potential, happiness. And now, to be met with another devastating loss so soon, to be forced to say goodbye to Din when you haven’t even reconciled how you’ll be able to live without the man himself? It’s too much!
Of course, if you were to be honest with yourself, you did not expect Din to stay much longer after the formalization of your engagement – he knows you would never expect him to linger in the background, swallow the niceties and endure the formalities of seeing you paraded alongside another man.
It’s why you had hidden from him after breakfast. Suddenly, another realization tears your soul open,
“But… Grogu…” you rasp, unable to articulate the gutting of another piece of your life with Din.
“I know, cyare, I am sorry, so, so sorry.”
“I don’t have… I- there’s nothing…” You mindlessly run your hands over the bodice of your dress, trying to distract, hold yourself together. Frantically patting through the volumes of your dress, you look for something, anything, to give the man you love and his son to take as a token of your affection; in the jumble of your mind, amidst the swirl of every incohesive thought, without one, once they depart, it will be as if the time you spent together - this life, you – never existed. Panic closes in on you, your breathing laboured as your chest feels like it might collapse in on itself, “I don’t have anything for the two of you to remember me by. I haven’t anything to give you.”
As if this was the true tragedy of the moment.
“That isn’t true, cyar’ika,” Din lovingly wipes your cheeks with his thumbs, the familiar scent of the worn leather enough to steady your breath, “You’ve given me more than you’ll ever know: a glimpse of something I never thought possible - a love so deep and pure, I thought it only existed in the lore passed down by the Elders. To have someone as true as you bestow love upon me, is an honour that rivals glory in battle. You’ve touched my heart and altered me forever and you’ve made a home for me and Grogu in yours. Princess, this is a gift my son and I will carry to our dying days.”
A warrior with a poet’s heart. His words hang in the air - so romantic, so soul piercingly beautiful they nearly border on despair; with nothing left to lose, you whisper, “Then how can you leave so easily?”
It’s not a real question, of course – you have no intention of guilting your General; rather, this your final and most desperate cry for help. If Din has some answers as to how to survive this separation intact, you’re begging for him to share them with you; your sadness has defeated you, and you’re exhausted from the fight.
Seeing you like this, so small, so lost, nearly breaks your Mandalorian. “Not easily at all, mesh’la,” Din’s voice cracks, his composure dangerously close to crumbling, “it’s the hardest thing I will ever do. To leave you and know that I will never look upon your beautiful face, never know the brush of your lips against mine again…” He doesn’t add, never feel you writhe in pleasure beneath me, never taste your honey on my tongue, never feel your warmth wrapped around my cock, never see the quaking allure of your face when you come, “To know that when I wake, it won’t ever be to your sweetness, nor will I ever hear the melody of your voice calling my name… even now, I don’t know where I will actually find the strength to leave all your perfection behind.”
The tears come fast and furious now, Din’s gloved fingers no longer able to contain your sadness; all he can do is helplessly watch as you cry, your grief spilling over the rough leather and cascading down your pretty face, your hurt whimpers killing him.
“But I must endure, Princess, for the torture that awaits me if I stay is not something I think I could survive,” even as Din admits this, he imagines you on your wedding day, a vision walking away from him towards a faceless rival, and nearly throws up, “I’m just not strong enough.”
“Din, you’re the strongest man I’ve ever known,” heart overflowing with equal parts fondness and melancholy, you bring your hands up to the Mandalorian’s helmet; he lets you softly trace its sleek grooves before resting your palms on the side panels, leaning in to your affectionate touch – you will never know what you’ve done in this lifetime to deserve such privilege, “Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum.” The darkness of the T-visor reflects the truth behind your words, pronounced to perfection, taught by your most patient teacher. I love you.
“Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum,” your General whispers back, pressing the brow of his helmet gently to your forehead. I love you.
The cool feel of metal against your warm skin triggers a fresh wave of sadness. This is the last Keldabe kiss you will ever have; the last time you will hear Mando’a uttered so intimately, like a secret language. Never again will you be in such close proximity to incomparable power and lethal skill, and know only its tenderness and warmth; you cannot imagine ever feeling so well loved, understood, limitless, safe, ever again.
I’ll never know what you look like, a part of your mind decries, but your heart reminds you that it matters not. In spite of this enduring mystery, you know your Mandalorian. You know his strength of character, the unimpeachability of his integrity, his capacity for compassion and kindness. You can mimic all his imperceptible tells, every little tick and nod that would be meaningless to others, but speak a thousand words to you. You know how expressive his eyes are even though you’ve never seen them; you’ll feel his smile in your bones until the day you die. You could find him amongst a sea of his brethren with your eyes closed. And even if that were not the case, you would not ask him for this - it is beneath your bond.
“I don’t know how to say good-bye, Din.”
“So, we won’t,” his tone is gentle, but unwavering, the strongest man you’ve ever known attempting to remain so for your sake, “close your eyes, cyar’ika.”
Trusting, you do ask he asks, tears flowing down your face into the curves of the soft smile you cannot help when you hear the hiss of a Beskar helmet unlocking, then removed.
For the very last time, Din Djarin kisses his Princess. For these last minutes, you are his and his only - he won’t share you with duty, kingdom, or any so-called fiancé. Your lips belong to him wholly, and he presses his to yours over and over in ownership, reverence, awe. Licking in, he commits everything to memory: your taste, the velvety plush of your mouth, the dance of your tongue. Every soft sigh, contented exhale is mentally recorded. Din remaps the feel of your heavenly body with his hard and worshipping hands, and logs every detailed sensation from your delicate fingers combing through his hair, to the way you tug lightly on the curls at the base of his neck. All this he will hold as sacred knowledge in the deepest vault of his heart for the remainder of his days.
Oh, how you could kiss like this forever. Far from tragic, this last kiss is like every one you’ve shared with Din since the first: passionate, tender, searing; it sets your heart soaring and your mind racing back to when you first met all those moons ago, before he was your General, before you were his Princess. How could you have ever known that that mysterious, striking stranger would become your whole world, open your heart and mind, own you body and soul? If only you could go back in time. If only you had more time now. If only duty and kingdom didn’t stand like an impenetrable forcefield between you. If, if, if…
“Count to thirty, Princess.”
Once more, you do as your Mandalorian says, “One… two…”
“You’re so beautiful.”
“Eleven… twelve,” you hiccup, forcing yourself not to chase after Din’s lips, to arch in the direction of his calming baritone.
He moves in silence, arms slipping from your body, stepping out of your orbit; the last trace of him, a delicate brush of his fingertips over the back of your head, one of your hair ribbons slipping through your strands, vanishes without warning. “Nineteen… twenty,” dismay fills your chest as the stillness of the surrounding woodland air settles, weighty, over you.
You can still smell Din’s manly musk, a mix of grit and determination (“Twenty-eight… twenty-nine...”), overlayed with the clean polish of flawless Beskar, “… thirty.”
Slowly opening your eyes to the hush of the clearing, a stuttered sob catches in your chest as you sink to your knees.
You’re completely alone.
🎶Loving You Had Consequences, by Camilla Cabello🎶:
Loving you was young, and wild, and free
Loving you was cool, and hot, and sweet
Loving you was sunshine, safe and sound
A steady place to let down my defenses
But loving you had consequences
Loving you was dumb, dark, and cheap
Loving you will still take shots at me
Found loving you was sunshine, but then it poured
And I lost so much more than my senses
'Cause loving you had consequences
taking off a mask to reveal what lies beneath as a romantic gesture is overdone, and besides i want to see the romantic or even platonic potential of protecting someone's identity beneath the mask, without any expectation of ever being allowed to see what's under it. picking it up and holding it gently to their face when it's knocked off and they're in danger of being exposed, without trying to catch a glimpse of what they "really" look like under there. throwing yourself in front of them to hide them from view while they put themselves back together without taking advantage or looking back to see what you're protecting. learning to read them by body language, tone of voice, and behaviour so well that you never need to see their face to feel like you know and understand them.
Summary: Worried, Din goes after you amidst a rainstorm.
Warnings: 18+ Content (MDNI pls). Newish/secret established relationship, Mando'a nicknames, first time (theirs, but I know how important it is to some of you that Din's a virgin so read it however you want 😘), f!oral, fingering, unprotected PiV (they… make love?),✨ONE BED✨ (I've always wanted to write this! 🤭)
A/N: I actually started this WIP for jolapeno's April Showers 2.0 and never finished (I'm sorry Jo!) - but it's here now! Let's take a much needed break from the angst of the last instalment! In the timeline of series events, we're actually going back in time/this is the first (though it's posted as the 4th story), so can be read standalone 😊 Reminder: this is a post season 3 compliant series where Din has been dispatched to a New Republic stronghold planet (Solana) to train their armies as a General; Medieval vibes are intentional. (Typos and errors are unintentional and I'll try to correct them over the weekend 😅)
Dividers by @saradika-graphics / Series Masterlist / Title by Elley Duhe; inspo lyrics at the end.
Din leans forward, bending low, to prevent the onslaught of rain whipping against his visor from obscuring his vision completely; Beskar helmet nearly fully buried in his horse’s flying mane, he urges his trusty steed faster.
Only moments earlier, Din had come upon a scene that nearly stopped his heart: your Royal carriage careened off the main road, one wheel broken clean off its axel, the coach body stuck lopsided, wedged in the thick mud. Horses, unhooked, gone. You, the carriage’s only occupant, gone. Two of his top Lieutenants, whom you had convinced to take you out in this weather despite his explicit orders not to, also gone.
The General’s mind races with worry after worry: Are you hurt? Where did you go? Was the accident due to dangerous road conditions or have you become the victim of something more sinister? Sabotage? Where were you now? Are you safe? Have you been separated from your escort? Taken?
Dank Farrik! He had told you to stay put!
Trampling down his rising panic, Din pushes his stallion harder through the downpour covering Solana’s country side; the rainfall is so heavy, his helmet visor can barely make sense of its readings, not that it matters - any clues or data that could be used to track your movements having long since washed away.
Racing his faithful mount over endless rolling hills and across the expanse of pastoral plains, Din rides for what feels like forever until he finally sees the valley and signs of a village in the far-off distance. From his current position, the building roofs are mere pinpricks, smoke from their chimneys but whisps, but Din is sure he’s found your intended destination: the epicentre of one of Solana’s most vital farming communities. Did you make it? Were you forced to seek shelter elsewhere? Din slows his pace to a trot, scanning his surroundings carefully while repeated wiping off his visor so that the continued downpour won’t compromised his internal display readings.
What had you been thinking? Actually, he huffs, he knows exactly what his Princess had been thinking.
Yesterday, after receiving an alarming report regarding large scale damage sustained by this region’s farm drainage system, you had spent the remainder of the afternoon reviewing and consulting agricultural plans, weather impact studies, and concluded that capital assistance was indeed much needed for repairs ahead of rainy season. The only way to secure and expedite the emergency capital funding required was onsite royal approval, and since you had just spent the past day acquainting yourself with the plight of these farmers, you insisted on going yourself as soon as possible. The storm that Din now trudges through was already rolling in when he heard of your intentions to set out - citing the dangerous weather, he had immediately advised against it. You argued staunchly that with heavy rain expected, it was even more imperative that you went immediately; if the current system were to fail and the land to flood, your decree and very presence on location, would assure that capital assistance would be dispatched as swiftly as possible and hopefully minimize the harm done to people’s livelihoods. Your reasoning was sound, and privately to himself, Din felt a swell of pride and admiration not only for your strategic mind, but for the compassion and love you hold for your fellow Solanians – the only problem was it put you right in the middle of that same risk.
Din sighed. The Princess he could not command, nor would he wish to – but your father’s soldiers? They were under his purview; he gave the order that under no circumstances were they to leave their posts during the storm without his explicit instructions, hoping that this would delay your excursion until after the storm had passed.
Never mind you, what had his Lieutenants been thinking? Din’s agitation only grows as he continues his search; the sky above him remains an open slate of dark grey with rain coming down in sheets and winds picking up in speed and intensity. With no end to the tempest in sight, even Din’s stallion’s steps begins to slow as the muddy path becomes thicker, stickier.
The General’s eagle eyes spot the crest of your house before his helmet HUD registers it properly. The soaked through equestrian regalia on which your royal coat of arms is emblazoned is hanging over the half door of a small stable house just under a klick away; adjusting his sensors to zoom in, Din makes out the outlines of two horses grazing on some hay just beyond the opening. Two out of five accounted for. Surveying the area, he takes notice of a quaint looking cottage no more than 50 meters from the barn – even from this distance, he can tell by the brightly lit windows and smoking chimney that a fire is roaring within. Ni codayn gar (I found you).
Assuring his exhausted steed that respite would soon be his, Din redirects the weary animal, once again picking up speed. In record time, he’s settled his companion into a stall, hung up his own tack to dry, and is charging towards the humble cottage, unsure of what he’ll find upon arrival; at this point, he cannot promise that even the relief of finding you safe will be enough to improve his mood.
As he steps onto the front stoop, he hears your melodic laugh ring out from behind the door and for some reason, sour mood from his orders being directly disobeyed, his current physical state resembling more drowned rat than man, or perhaps nerves frayed and strung out from hours of worry, the normally pleasing harmony grates on the very last shred of his patience; he bangs on the door. His aggressive pounding silences the voices on the other side immediately; unapologetic, Din practically bellows,
“It’s me. I’m coming in.”
With no further ceremony, the General pushes open the door and stomps in. It’s unclear which party is more shocked by the sight that greets them.
You and his two Lieutenants are casually lounging around a well-lit hearth, the warmth and glow of which feels so welcoming and homey, the juxtaposition to the chaotic gale that’s still beating at his back hits Din like a punch to the gut. All three of you are donned in dry clothes Din doesn’t recognize, modest garments that are positively plain when compared to the ornate and luxurious dress of the capital; speaking of which, he spots the various splendid layers of your royal gown and the official uniforms of your guard strewn around the room, drying.
There’s a few grazed upon plates of food sitting between you, still being shared amongst your little party; Din does not miss the flagon of wine that looks to be nearly empty. Far from being in mortal peril, it seems that all three of you have settled in comfortably, enjoying yourselves even.
By contrast, Din is the very picture of misery; a waterlogged mess looming in the entrance way like some ghoulish killjoy here to interrupt your reverie, to ruin the serenity of this humble abode by dripping a river’s worth of rainwater onto the floor. His drenched and aching figure remains silent and unmoving as he stares back at your group.
Drip, drip, drip.
Even more than annoyed, Din is starting to feel very stupid.
“General!” His men spring to their feet, snapping to attention at the sudden appearance of their commanding officer.
Doing his best to ignore your adorable wide-eyed expression of surprise, Din slams the door behind him so forcefully the walls shake; feeling a smidge of satisfaction when the soldiers jolt a little. You on the other hand, merely tilt your head quizzically at his moodiness.
“I expressly forbade anyone from leaving their posts during the storm,” the General growls, “and not only were my orders flagrantly disobeyed, I find you here in the middle of nowhere with a complete disregard for any and all security considerations. Have I taught you nothing?”
“Sorry, General, sir!”
“Entrance way to the premises, unlocked. Door unguarded. No transmissions regarding your location. No discretion with the Royal crest on full display outside the stable. Do you wish to signal to every being nearby, or, Maker forbid, any villain wishing harm upon the Princess, exactly where she can be found?!”
“No, General, sir!”
“Now that I’m inside, it’s clear that in addition to a failure to post guard, you haven’t established a surveillance position either? How could you possibly assess or even be aware of any potential incoming threats? You’re sitting ducks here!”
“Sorry, General, sir!”
“Din…” you try to interrupt, getting up and crossing the room with the intention to calm your Mandalorian.
He doesn’t hear you, deaf to everything but the spiral of his incredulity and anger, “You cannot tell me that you had any idea of my approach! What if it hadn’t been me who came upon you? Anything could have happened! I trained you better than this!”
“Yes sir, General!”
“How could you show such complete disregard for the Princess’ safety!?” spits the General, his disappointment venomous.
“Din!!” you exclaim, unable to listen to his raised voice any longer. The behemoth of a man finally swivels to acknowledge you - even with his helmet on, you can tell he’s snarling, the ferocity of his countenance vibrating the very Beskar that conceals it. “Do not blame them, please, General! When the intensity of the storm overcame us, both Lieutenants thought of nothing but finding safety and shelter - no one could have been more concerned for my health and well being. When we found this cottage, the Lieutenants cleared it thoroughly and determined it to belong to the farm a mere 10 minutes gallop from here.” You put your hand on Din’s arm to reassure him, heart dropping at how soaked through and freezing cold his sleeve feels, “The Lieutenants made immediate contact with the perfectly wonderful family who own and work this land, arranging for them to supply us with dry clothing, food and drink. They offered these lodgings for the night and have assured us of their discretion and the security of their property.”
Victorious when you sense a slight relaxing in Din’s frame, you throw a sympathetic smile to his soldiers, “General, I assure you, I’ve been very well taken care of - there is no need to admonish your men so severely.”
Though no longer in the throws of his earlier rampage, Din’s tone nevertheless remains deadly, cold, “They should have never accompanied you on this journey, period. It was ill conceived and thoughtless.”
You’re starting to lose your patience now, “You would prefer I came out here on my own, General?”
The shiny Beskar dome tilts, fully staring you down, “I would have preferred you didn’t come out here at all during this storm. To do so was also ill conceived and thoughtless. Which if you recall, I made abundantly clear to you, Princess.”
Hands on your hips, you narrow your eyes, “And if you recall, I noted your objections and explained that the storm itself was hardly a deterrent but the very thing that precipitated my coming here. As the storm surely wasn’t going anywhere, you with your infinite wisdom, General, must have reasonably predicted that I would be. Since you’re so concerned with my safety, I would have thought you’d be relieved I asked some of the guard to accompany me.”
Din full out grins beneath his helmet, his feisty cyar’ika - but outwardly, he remains stubborn, “They were expressly ordered not to leave their posts during the storm, never mind leave the capital itself.”
“Are you saying the royal guard can refuse a direct request from their Sovereign? Should we ask these Lieutenants to whom they owe their allegiance, their General or their Princess?” you wave generally in the direction of the two men; without looking over, you can imagine them standing awkwardly, unsure of how to comport themselves, not unlike children witnessing their parents bicker for the first time – the blaze of your eyes, however, never leave the black abyss of the Din’s T-visor.
After what feels like an eternity, Din grits, “May I speak to you in private, Princess?”
You sweep your arm dramatically towards a small door on the offside of the room, “After you, General,” continuing to huff, agitated, as you follow his wet footprints into the cottage’s one bedroom.
Once inside, you close the door behind you and spin around, retort on the tip of your tongue, ready to be unleashed - a perfectly reasonable argument that your father’s men would have been in even more trouble if they had refused to accompany you - when the breath upon which your remarks lay in wait is knocked clear out of you.
Oof!
The force with which Din’s helmet barrels into your midsection is rivalled only by the gripping strength of his arms wrapping around your legs – your Mandalorian is on his knees, holding you like he’s never going to let go,
“You scared me, Mesh’la.”
Oh. Oh.
You fold your body over the great man, enveloping the broadness of his back within your embrace, all the fight in you gone upon seeing the strongest man you’ve ever met surrender so completely. If anything, you regret the stress your actions caused him, now that his ill temper has been revealed to be a poor mask for his fear.
Cupping the back of his helmet, you stroke down its back seam with your thumb, whispering, “I’m sorry, Din, I didn’t mean to.”
“I know, cyare,” Din murmurs, still buried in your soft body, hold on you unyielding. You stay unmoving for as long as he needs, letting him breathe in enough of you to convince himself that you’re truly unharmed, safe.
Slowly the great General rises to his feet, dragging his hands up the length of your body, still afraid to be parted from you for even one second; you melt beneath his loving touch and reach for him with your own – you and Din are hardly ever afforded the luxury of just holding one another like this, fully and unrestrained, with no care for the passage of time. Your love has grown steady and strong in the shadow of its own secrecy, surviving on stolen glances and barely there touches in the openness of court, secret kisses in dark stairwells and heartfelt declarations whispered hushed and hurried. Every rendezvous a wonder, every moment spent together precious, but always taking place on borrowed time – you’ve only ever touched while on a countdown, loved under the threat of being caught; never allowed to just be with one another.
“Kriff, mesh’la, I’m so sorry - I’m getting you all wet,” Din drops his hands from your body, and though the imprint his soaked-through gloves have left on the simple borrowed frock is wet, you miss his warmth immediately.
“Don’t let go, Din”, you plead, fisting the rough fabric of his cape and pulling yourself closer; Din complies, as he always will, gathering you in his arms once more, but not before unlocking his helmet.
Eagerly, you close your eyes and nudge up the brim of Din’s helmet with your nose, the motion well practiced, your lips finding his swiftly. Tongues meeting in sweet reunion, your bodies melt in shared relief, your sighs synchronized, breathy and needy. Din kisses you fervent and deep, pouring all of today’s anxieties - not getting to you in time, failing in protecting you, losing you - into your willing vessel; you meet each and every one of his fears head on, dissolving them with just one touch of your magic.
I’m here with you.
You’re here with me.
Only breaking for air, you drag your kiss swollen lips along the chisel of Din’s jaw and down the column of his throat, loving on every inch of the skin he bares for you and only you. The General tips his helmet back down and pulls you flush against his chest plate, letting you bury your face into the soft folds of his neck cowl; he chuckles to himself at your deep inhale and the contented sigh that follows as you take in your fill of his familiar scent.
“I really am sorry, Din. I know you worry.”
“I don’t know what I would do if something were to happen to you, cyar’ika,” Din husks, even saying the words out loud constricts his airway.
Your fingers find the gaps between his armour and wiggle in, tickling your Mandalorian’s soft spots in an effort to soothe him; your own mood having already been placated, you tease, “Then next time you should come with me.”
“Princess.” The gravel of Din’s warning causes your pulse to quicken.
Tilting your chin up, you rest its point on the smooth Beskar plate, the very picture of innocence peering up through your lashes as your General cocks his head in faux exasperation, “If you promise not to blame the Lieutenants for merely obeying their Princess, then I promise there won’t be a next time without proper consultation with you.”
There’s a beat of silence before the metal helmet dips to assent, the movement near imperceptible to someone with less intimate knowledge of Din’s tells. Beaming, you close your eyes and nudge the rim of the impressive silver dome upwards once more, needing no guide to find the lips already waiting for yours.
---
The remainder of the evening passes uneventfully despite the maelstrom that continues to pound the Solana countryside, shaking the earth and slicing its skies. Your little cottage, however, proves to be an impenetrable haven, somehow immune to the outside destruction; its warmth and simplicity, and the generosity of your hosts, underestimated defenses. One of the older sons from the main farmhouse braves the storm to bring a hot meal from his mother, along with some additional blankets, various sundries, and a fresh supply of dry firewood; your party wants for nothing.
Food and drink is shared over relaxed conversation that gets progressively more lively as the day’s anxieties wear off and the familiarity of the present company, coupled with overall fatigue, remove any remaining vestiges of formality due to rank. The Lieutenants chortle over how their Princess teases the General, and marvel at the appearance of a gentler and frankly more personable side of their fearless leader previously thought non-existent.
Din regales your group with outlandish and thrilling tales of old bounties, exotic Outer Rim planets, and narrow escapes that have all three Solanians in the room on the edge of your seats. You counter with your own stories from various diplomatic missions to the Inner and Mid Rim, imparting fascinating and colourful tidbits on the traditions and cultures of nations that even Din has never heard of. Though the Lieutenants’ favourite anecdotes are the ones you share about the stuffy old court officials that you’ve known since birth - the wheezing laughter of two of the General’s most formidable fighters at times overtaking the howl of the outside winds.
Unable to stop his smiling, Din watches as you cast the spell of your charm over his men, forever in awe of your unique ability to make those around you feel comfortable, valued, seen – it’s no wonder that the people of Solana love their Princess. He thinks back to how the two of you met in the national library those many moons ago, how easily he had mistaken you for a mere noble lady – having met all types of leaders, politicians, heads of state over the years, he never would have imagined that such humility, empathy, sincerity could reside in one of royal blood. You had long since apologized for having inadvertently misled him regarding your identity, but there had been no real need – the truth only made him admire you more. And you’ve only continued to amaze and captivate him since then; way past denying to himself just how utterly in love he is, Din is sure he could not conceal his feelings were it not for the cover of his Beskar. His Lieutenants have likely already seen through his armour tonight.
It’s only when you can no longer swallow your yawns and your eyelids start to droop that Din insists everyone retire for the night. Though he had agreed to refrain from reprimanding his men any further for their role in your adventure today, your security and safety is still his utmost priority. He ushers you to the small bedroom to ready yourself for bed, then lays out the rotating security protocol for the night with his men. When everyone is comfortable with their assignments, Din bids his Lieutenants goodnight before knocking on your door.
“Come in.”
He enters to find you rearranging the bedding of the one bed to your liking, adorably fluffing the pillows and tucking back the covers, “Well, General? Have you satisfied yourself with the security arrangements?”
Din checks the room’s one window, drawing the curtains after deeming its construction to be adequate, then takes a closer look around; the room itself is quaint, nowhere near grand enough for someone of your station, but perfectly suitable for a night’s shelter from the still raging storm. Far from complaining, you seem to have no problem making yourself at home – Din wonders if there’s any place in the galaxy that you couldn’t make your own, anywhere you wouldn’t look like you belonged perfectly. Corusant? Mandalore? Nevarro? He shakes his head to relieve himself of thoughts he has no right to, drawing a chair next to the room’s small but well lit fireplace and sits before answering, “The Lieutenants will sleep out in the main room, one at a time, switching off 4-hour guard shifts…”
“But Din…”
The Mandalorian shakes his head, “No buts, cyare. I cannot compromise on this. Regardless of the assurance and hospitality of our hosts, I will not leave the premises unguarded overnight.”
You relent, knowing he will be immovable on this matter, “And you?”
“The Lieutenants will guard the cottage, and I will guard you.”
“From that chair?”
The General nods as he settles in, unsure what to make of the cute little noise you chirp at his assertion, pretending not to noticed the look of amusement gracing your pretty face as you go about your nightly routine. There’s something magnetic about the way you complete even the most mundane of tasks: washing your face, brushing your hair – the domesticity of it all tugs at something primal in Din’s heart. Though he’s never been in your castle bedchambers, Din will admit he has thought about what it might be like in there, the place where you lower your guard, where you can be your most restful self, vulnerable – he would want to protect you even there, he thinks. Unaware of your own allure and the effect you’re having on the stoic, steady man watching, you go around the room extinguishing the lamps so that the only remaining light source is the still gently lapping fire next to him. As the golden dance of its flames illuminate your graceful steps towards the bed, the tranquility of the scene before Din whispers an image of him slipping under those covers with you but for a moment - his impeachable sense of duty snaps him back to reality before the fantasy can take hold.
You’re still wearing a bemused grin as you climb into bed, as if you can read his mind the way you can the rigidity of his posture; after laying your head on the pillow and rolling away from him, you sing back over the roar of the storm, “Goodnight, General.”
“Goodnight, Princess.”
---
Din can tell that you aren’t asleep, but he’s still surprised nearly an hour later when you suddenly sit upright, “Din, do you really mean not to get any rest?”
When he offers nothing but silence, you violently throw back the covers and hop out of bed. Walking towards him, bathed in the warm glow of the fire’s dying embers, you’re an angel unaware of her own sin, “Please, come to bed, General. It’s big enough for the both of us.”
You don’t know that for the last hour it’s taken every ounce of Din’s honour, every last fibre of his strength to keep from doing just that. That the mere idea of it being his place to touch you in a shared bed, fall asleep and wake up next to your elegance is worth more to Din than all the credits in the galaxy. That his imagination cannot conceive of anything more comforting than the curved feel of your lovely spine pressed up against his chest and his breath syncing to yours as you both succumb to peaceful, uninterrupted sleep. Yes, that bed is big of enough for the two of you, but is it big enough to contain the spill of Din’s overflowing feelings? His desires and forbidden fantasies? Is the bed strong enough to cradle the sanctity of your connection, the magnitude of what you’ve come to mean to one another, the promises of a tomorrow? Never mind tomorrow, can the bed hold everything Din wishes to say to your heart and do to your heavenly body tonight?
“You cannot say that to me, Princess. Especially not when dressed the way you are.”
Your eyes crinkle adorably, your chest warming from the huskiness in Din’s voice, “I didn’t realize this simple frock made me such a temptress.”
“More forbidden than any temptation, cyare,” breathes Din. How can he possibly explain that seeing you out of your usual silks, in plainclothes that would not look out of place on any maiden of the kingdom, is a danger to his mind? In these clothes, you would not look so out of place on Nevarro, in his small home near the lava flats - he can almost imagine you welcoming him and Grogu home wearing something similar. He can’t tell you that the very look of you as you are now fuels the impossible dream that he might have a life with you; that without your regalia, your satin armour, he can almost picture himself your equal, a man worthy of carving a place by your side.
Din doesn’t have the words to articulate any of this; all he can do is to unlock his helmet before simply stating, “You look like home.”
You move as if in flight, arms locked around your General’s neck before you’re even seated in his lap. Eagerly pushing up his helmet, you crash your lips to Din’s at his romantic declaration, the significance of his words not lost on you. You kiss his fears and uncertainty into submission, every press of your mouths deeper and more passionate than the last.
After Din tips his helmet back down, he confesses, wistful, “Cyare, right now in this room, dressed as you are, looking as beautiful as you do - you look like someone that could actually be mine.”
“I am yours, Din,” you declare, heart bursting, “I’ve been yours from the moment we met, and every day since. I’ll never be anyone’s but yours.” You stand and extend your hand towards the only man to whom your heart, your body, your soul, will ever belong, “Come to bed, Din.”
There’s not enough fight in him to refuse again - the armour around his heart already cracked and crumbling from your sweet and heartfelt confession, his own abundance of emotions, and the mesmerizing vision of you in that damn dress.
The two of you move as one towards the bed, Din’s large gloved hands cover yours, guiding you over the breadth of his body. You remain unsure of his intentions until he helps your fingers find the magnetic latch beneath one of his pauldrons – at the click of its release, you gasp, shocked; pulling your hand back so fast it’s as if you’ve been burnt, sure you’ve just committed an unforgivable sin.
Din chuckles and holds fast onto your hand, bringing it back to his shoulder and closing your fingers over the precious metal. He tugs so that the Beskar detaches from its clip, letting you separate the armour from the man. You look between the component in your hand and the visor of Din’s helmet in awe – disbelieving of this honour he’s bestowing on you. That a Mandalorian remove any of his sacred armour in front of another is extraordinary enough, to let her be the one to relieve him of it is practically sacrilegious. Your eyes well with tears at this remarkable display of trust, of this invitation Din is extending, and you vow here and now that you will do everything in your power to be deserving of such privilege.
Thank you.
Din nods in understanding as he helps you set down his pauldron, then resumes showing you how to disarm him. The ceremony of his armour removal is sacrosanct, a carefully coordinated dance steeped in tradition: pauldron, bandolier, chest plate, cape, frame, vambraces, thigh plates, boots – all handled with the greatest of care and reverence. You memorize every wordless instruction and commit this sacred ritual to heart, the most attentive student to her adoring teacher.
It’s only when Din stands before you in just his flight suit that he hesitates, shy, exposed. You reach to offer him reassurance but he stops you by holding up both gloved hands; the shakiness of his breath indicative of the gravity of what he’s about to do, reveal more of himself to you than he has another living soul for what may be his entire adult life.
“Din, you don’t-” you start, wanting him know he doesn’t have to do anything he’s not ready for and certainly not this; you don’t expect it and you don’t need such any such grand gestures to understand his feelings. In truth, you can’t stomach the idea of him having any regrets and being unable to take back or undo his actions.
He shakes his head, happy, “I want to, mesh’la. I’ve never wanted to more. For anyone, more.” Blinking away your tears, your eyes glue to Din’s gloves as he slowly removes and adds them to his neat pile of armour; shellshocked, you stare at enormous size of his hands, instruments of immeasurable power, tanned and rough looking with thick veins that crisscross over a myriad of healed-over scars. Din flexes his thick fingers, as if getting used to the freedom of being ungloved, before turning them over in invitation. You slide your palms over his, soaking in the sensation of this first touch – his skin is exquisite in its feel, warm and grounding, priceless.
You’re overwhelmed, emotional – these very hands have held you, comforted you, cared for you with infinite tenderness and patience, and yet you know them to also be skilled in destruction, unyielding in their might. Your heartbeat quickens; would it be so wrong if you wanted these hands to show you some of that brutal strength? To handle you with a little less care? To ruin you?
Registering your physical reaction to his hands, Din chest puffs a little in pride for his effect on you; he takes one of his hands and cups your face, reveling in how you close your eyes and lean into his palm. Slowly, he trails the fingers of that same hand along your jaw line, then down the side of your neck, feeling you shiver beneath his touch; brushing his fingertips across your collar, he pauses momentarily at the neckline of this temptress dress, before gently dragging the fabric aside until it starts to slip over your shoulder. “May I?” he asks quietly.
You nod, not trusting your own voice. With the same care you used to strip him of his armour, Din undresses you: slow, reverent. It’s tortuous how much time he takes unlacing every lace, unbuttoning every button, untying every tie; Din’s sense of wonder is palpable as each of your layers is shed, you can tell by the way his flight suit tightens across the expanse of his chest that he’s holding his breath until the very last panel of fabric lands at your feet and leaves you bare to his gaze.
Only then does he exhale.
For the first time in a while, you feel self-conscious around Din – usually so confident in your ability to read your Mandalorian, you’re finding his body language too impassive to interpret; his continued silence exaggerates how exposed you are, and so you turn your face away, hiding from his gaze – are you not what he expected? Does he not like what he sees?
As if having read your mind, two thick fingers gently pinch your chin and tilt your face upwards; the man beyond the dark abyss of the T-visor zeros in on the spiral of your thoughts, calming them with one simple word, “Beautiful.”
You cannot help but beam as the sincerity and lust underlying Din’s baritone wash over you, filling you to the brim with renewed confidence and want.
Din’s hands itch to explore your body, but he reminds himself that you deserve restraint, that you’re too precious for clumsy hands; he runs the back of his knuckles over your collar bones, then down your sternum, closely watching your reactions to his touch. Your skin prickles from the electricity of his caress, breasts aching for more and perking towards Din’s hands; when his fingertips catch over one of your hardened nipples, you whimper and your body bows. His laugh sends shivers down your spine, “And so sensitive.”
Biting down on your lower lip, you pout, too impatient for seduction, and throw your arms Din’s thick neck, whining as you press your naked body against his immovable frame. He touches his helmet to your forehead, and the cool feel of his Keldabe kiss against your warm skin forces you to still and calm; even through the modulator, Din’s tone is indulgent and placating, “Cyare, I have to blindfold you now, is that okay?”
“Of course, Din,” the significance of this next step not lost on you, you purr, “I trust you.”
Reaching behind you, Din picks up a sash tie that came loose from your dress when he disrobed you. You gaze affectionately into Din’s visor, straight into his soul, your love and trust the last thing he sees before he covers your eyes with the soft fabric and robs you of your sight.
“Can you see?” the General breathes right above your ear as he secures the blindfold’s knot, “Not too tight?”
“It’s perfect,” you whisper, barely heard over the loudness of the storm, but no matter, Din reads the way your body reacts to the hiss of his helmet being removed, the sound of his flight suit unzipping.
Something about Din removing this final layer of clothing, the last remaining barrier between his skin and yours, feels like a point of no return, like you’re about to step off the edge of a cliff, hand in hand with the only person in this galaxy with whom you want to share this intimacy.
“Din,” you call for him, you need him.
He lays you gently on the bed and climbs on top, powerful body covering yours, covetous and protective; he flutters soft kisses to your forehead, cheeks, the tip of your nose before coming home to your mouth. Your lips part in an invitation and Din licks in, his tongue eager to explore, deify, to claim – you match him stroke for stroke, brush for brush, letting yourself be conquered. This man is everything to you, his strength, his compassion, his heart, all without an equal in this galaxy - your passion for him claws at his back, trying to pull your bodies closer together, the heat between your legs making a mess of you.
“Cyar’ika,” Din rasps, the honey of his tenor, so clear without the modulator, music to your ears, “I will do anything you ask, give you anything you need, but please, Your Highness, if you allow, I would very much like to take my time with you tonight.”
Your rank sounds like delicious sin on his tongue, the polite manner of his address barely concealing the filthiness of his request. Of course you will acquiesce; Din has said on more than one occasion that whether you command him as his sovereign or his love, he will always obey without question – but the truth of the matter is that you could never deny him anything either.
“Okay, General,” your fingers trace the sharpness of his jaw and thumb at his plush bottom lip, “take all the time you need.”
He does.
Din worships every inch of your body with his hands, his mouth – mapping the valleys and hills of your figure with the skill and focus of a master navigator getting the lay of a new land. The tip of his strong nose carves new pathways over the soft plains of your body, and his tongue and fingers follow, traversing those routes over and over so that he’ll forever be able to find his way to heaven, even with his eyes closed. He reads the noises you make like a map: your little sighs and gasps have him running his tongue over the same pleasure points repeatedly, begging you to recreate that sweet melody for him again; when you writhe and whine, his fingers dig a little deeper, pinch a little harder, forcing your body to mold to his reverent touch; moans and pleas for more, more, more leave him proud and tortured, torn between drawing out this holiest of prayers and paying homage to the siren call from between your legs.
No sweet spot is left undiscovered as Din explores and marks you wholly and completely as his. He knows you now in a way that his wildest dreams hardly allowed, and yet it changes nothing of his feelings for you; naked and needy beneath him, you still command him - he remains at your mercy, forever devoted to your happiness, the fiercest protector of your heart.
Your cries for him under the cover of the winds howling against the window do not go unheard; he could never leave you so unsatisfied - kissing down your raised leg, laving at the ticklish spot behind your knee, Din surrenders, bringing his mouth to where you need him most.
The whinny and shudder of relief you exhale when he touches down on your clit rivals the shrieks and shakes of the still raging storm outside. Din grins against your cunt as you fist his hair, tugging, patience having run thin, your offer to let him take his time officially rescinded. Orders received, the General laps at your folds with renewed vigour, making out messily with your slit and drinking down the drip of your nectar like a man parched. Your moans of ecstasy spur him to add the efforts of his fingers, pushing in one, then two thick digits to your mindless chanting of his name. Curling and scissoring you open at the pace that has you yanking at the curls at the base of his neck the hardest, Din circles and sucks on your clit like a men possessed, obsessed, slowing only when he feels you seize and quake with your first orgasm of the night.
Proud of a job well done, Din makes the return journey up your body, smiling against your skin, kissing and caressing the all the curvature landmarks he discovered earlier. Resting his weight on top of you, the Mandalorian sighs, contented and hard, as you welcome him back into your arms. His mouth returns to yours, and when you taste your own honey the sound you make is so guttural and animalistic, Din cannot fathom what he ever did to deserve such heaven. The kissing remains tender, the scratches down his back gentle, your moans soft and melodious – for a man who’s spent his entire life fighting and steeped in violence, Din knows this is the peace that would allow him to die happy.
But it’s not enough for you.
“Din, please,” you murmur against his lips, voice awakening and dripping with lust, “I need you.”
Once again, the General has no choice but to obey. Kissing you deep, he notches his aching cock against your entrance, smiling at the expression of anticipation evident on the exposed half of your face; he enters you slow, careful.
Your body reacts to finally getting what its wanted for so long by arching, welcoming every inch of Din’s length, pussy fluttering and begging for more. You want all of him tonight. Forever.
When he finally bottoms out, Din buries his face into your neck, nearly overwhelmed by the sweet hug of your warm walls, and growls low, throaty, “So tight, mesh’la.”
“So full, General,” you sing back, floating on bliss. Though you cannot see his expression, you’re sure this moment is affecting you both the same; the feel of this great man, cradling you so dear while trusting you to touch him while bare, armourless, makes your heart explode – you want to give everything you have to him, repay him for the trust and belief he’s place in you, for making you feel alive, free, invincible, for just being him, “Din… I love you.”
You can feel him smile as he presses kisses up the column of your throat, his facial hair tickling as he drags his lips back to yours, “Ni kar'tayli gar darasuum, Princess.”
Unable to contain your joy, your mouth curves in delight, “Is that Mando’a?”
“Yes. For I love you.”
“Teach me?”
Din begins to move, slow thrusting into your tight cunt, every drag a release, an offering, “Nee kar-TIE-lee gar dah-RAH-soom. Nee kar-”
“Nee kar-” you try out the pronunciation hushed, heart pounding, as if it was a secret being revealed to you and only you.
“TIE-lee gar.”
The words of Din’s native tongue sound so beautiful spoken this way, sure and slow to the rhythm of Din rocking into you; you try your best to do it justice with your own repetition, “TIE-lee gar.”
“Very good, cyare,” Din’s praise hits you right in the throb of your clit, you clench so hard he chokes, “Dah-RAH-soom.”
Mandalore’s language might as well be a forbidden hymn when sung in your breathy register, “Dah-RAH-soon.”
“Perfect. Again.”
Again and again you practice, recitation of this one glorious phrase punctuated by the increasing tempo of Din’s thrusts. He praises your every successful completion of the phrase, even those that take longer when you become distracted by how deep he sinks into your cunt or the wet squelch of your bodies joining together over and over.
“Well done, Princess.”
“Doing so good for me.”
“Ni kar'tayli gar darasuum.”
The General’s patience and encouragement make you want to try even harder to please him; you roll your hips, meeting his powerful drive with your own bounce, voice growing louder and more confident, “Ni kar'tayl-”
Your cadence stumbles as Din picks up the pace something feral; he jolts you up the bed, punching the air from your lungs and with it, the simple phonetics of his people’s language. You wail your Mando’a like a war cry as Din’s cock reaches new depths, grateful that the rainstorm that continues to beat down over Solana drowns out your unrestrained vocals.
“Dank Farrik, you’re perfect, cyare.”
And still, you persist, sobbing out the lyrical combination of vowels and consonants between every gasping breath Din allows; he’s holding you close now, his lips growling words of devotion and reassurance as you continue to refine the pitch and intonation of the truest phrase you will ever utter. His hips never stutter, he chases after your high like his life depends on it; not in all his days has Din heard the words of the Mandalorian people sound so melodious, so regal, so damn ethereal than on the wings of your angelic voice. He’s so proud of you; he could listen to you speak Mando’a forever. He could love you forever.
“Again,” Din croaks, his animal now fully unleashed, he pounds into you unrestrained, single minded.
You’re so close. So, so close to perfecting your Mando’a, unwilling to settle for anything less than a proper declaration of how adamantly you adore and admire your Mandalorian. I love you, Din. I love you, Ni kar'tayli gar darasuum, I love you.
(Thrust) Ni kar'tayli (thrust, thrust) gar (thump, thump) darasuum!
“Again.”
(Slap) Ni kar'tayli (slap, slap, slap) gar (thrust, thrust) darasuum!
“Din!” You come, the chime of your General’s name ringing out and echoing off the walls of your room, thankfully swallowed by the roar of the outside gale.
The hug of your perfect cunt and the poetry of his native tongue on yours proves too much for Din’s cock; he spills into you as you continue to murmur in perfect Mando’a “Ni kar'tayli gar darasuum, Ni kar'tayli gar darasuum, Ni kar'tayli gar darasuum…”
“I love you, I love you, I love you,” he hums against your mouth, his descent lazy and sleepy. You smile against his lips, blissed out, body limp and wrung out, but heart full and blooming.
“I love you too, Din,” you coo, letting your Mandalorian curl around you, the two of you settle under the covers, soaking in the afterglow of your lovemaking. As Din’s strong arms wind protectively around your body and the heat from the press of his naked body against yours urges you towards sleep, you remember your concern from earlier, “Din, I know you won’t spend the night like this, but please promise me you’ll get some rest before getting up and resuming guard.”
The General squeezes you tighter in response, the velvet of his promise rumbles against your cheek, “I promise, Princess. I’m yours to command. I’m yours.”
And I’m yours. So tired, you’re unsure if you’re able to say the words aloud before your eyes close. It’s not necessary; the steady beating of your heart and the enormity of your feelings pulsing against the feel of Din’s bare skin next to yours, say it for you.
🎶In the Middle of the Night by Elley Duhé🎶:
I summoned you, please come to me
Don't bury thoughts that you really want
I fill you up, drink from my cup
Within me lies what you really want
Come, lay me down
'Cause you know this
'Cause you know this sound
In the middle of the night
In the middle of the night
Just call my name
I'm yours to tame
In the middle of the night
In the middle of the night
I'm wide awake
I crave your taste all night long
'Til morning comes
I'm getting what is mine
You gon' get yours, oh no, ooh
In the middle of the night
In the middle of the night, oh
These burning flames, these crashing waves
Wash over me like a hurricane
I captivate, you're hypnotized
Feel powerful, but it's me again
Come, lay me down
'Cause I know this
'Cause I know this sound
In the middle of the night
In the middle of the night
Just call my name
I'm yours to tame
In the middle of the night
In the middle of the night
I'm wide awake
I crave your taste all night long
'Til morning comes
I'm getting what is mine
You gon' get yours, oh no, ooh
In the middle of the night
In the middle of the night, oh
Working on TWO new fics so heres a little teaser for a brand new man to my roster!
This one is almost completed while I am going to start on a new Poe Dameron fic featuring (a jedi reader).
Anyways! I hope you enjoy this snippet and I look forward to sharing this with you all once it is done!
You could barely take a breath before you crumbled, tears spilling from your eyes and onto your papers. A strangled gasp tearing from your throat as you struggled raising a shaky hand to your lips, hating the way you were breaking in front of him.
Clark stood beside you, not making an attempt to touch you or console you, simply letting you feel.
“You're right, I will never know what it is like to be you.” He says softly, and you can feel his gaze hot on your face as you wipe at the tears pouring from your eyes. “But, you can talk to me, if you want. I can come by and make dinner, and we could eat in silence if that's what you need. I can talk for both of us, or not talk at all, I could listen. I could take you wherever you want to go if you want to leave.”
Your eyes widen as you finally look up at him, his blue eyes shimmering with honesty. You could barely speak, just shaking your head in confusion. Clark simply watches, leaning on the table as he looks down to you, an easy going smile on his face.
Tags: Smut, PIV, No Protection, Characters in peril, Poe AND reader have anxiety now
A/N: Hello! Wow! It's been a while since we've talked! Lost inspiration for some time and combined with work, I had nothing to write. While I was fine with leaving "I'd just wanna hold you" as a standalone, I really wanted to give Poe and Reader that happy ending. So, I'm sorry if the vibes don't quite match, I mainly wanted to get this out to get the idea out and, voila! Here we are with an ending (I was very excited to explore Poe, post Rebellion). Or if you prefer the angst of Part 1, be my guest and enjoy that! I have another Poe fic running around in my head, and I'm hoping to have that done by the end of this weekend. Feels good to be back with my main man, so cheers! I hope you enjoy!
No beta reading, as usual
Likes, reblogs, and comments are all appreciated.
Divider by @/saradika
“Poe-” Your voice breaks through his trance, and he shakes his head, wiping at his eyes. “Sorry, sorry, this is probably annoying for you. I’m sorry, I’ll let you go-”
“Poe.”
He knew that tone of yours, demanding, yet warm, he knew when he heard that tone no matter what, it meant that you had him, despite it all.
“Poe, where are you?”
Poe sniffles, shuffling his feet shyly. “The Oga’s by your apartment.”
You sigh, glancing at the clock, knowing you could get there in under ten minutes. When you left D’Qar, you didn't bother keeping it a secret, the rebellion was near its end, and you had trained more medics than the rebellion knew what to do with. You could have sworn though, on your very last day, a familiar set of brown eyes staring at you as you left the planet for the time.
Once you moved into your new home, you received a package from the resistance, notes of thanks, and a single hologram congratulating you and thanking you for your service.
You watched the holo-Poe more times than you cared to admit.
“I promise I wasn't here to see you-the crew wanted to stop here after our mission.” Poe quickly adds knowing how thai would all seem. You sigh, moving around your living room and tugging on your thickest coat.
“I’ll see you soon.” Is all you say, hanging up the call before he could get another word in.
Your city was calm at night, the cold weather typically good at keeping people in their homes.
Except for the sad looking pilot currently slumped over before you. You tried not to let your breathing change, despite the rapid beating of your heart. He looked smaller, his hair longer than you remembered and when he looked up, you had to stifle a gasp at his glazed over eyes and dull looking skin.
“Poe.” Is all you say, bending down to kneel beside him. Your hand moves instinctually, running through his thick locks. He cant help how he leans into your touch, his body acting without care. You carefully loop a hand under his arm and help haul him to his feet, his body only swaying minimally.
His eyes still haven't left your face.
“You're so beautiful.” He murmurs, and you try to act as though you don't hear it. Getting into your home was a challenge, and almost caused you to topple down on top of the pilot.
“Okay,” you say, carefully setting up Poe on the couch in your living room. “You can spend the night, then we will talk tomorrow, okay?” You tell him softly, kneeling down beside his body. Poe simply nods, unsure of what else to say.
Thank you?
I missed you?
You grab a blanket, and carefully tuck him in on the cushions, leaning over his body to adjust his pillow. Poe squeezes his eyes closed and prays his body doesn't react. He tries to focus on other things, like the books laid out on your table, the photos of people he kind of recognizes, the way your hair was longer than it was on D'Qar.
“Okay, get some sleep.” You tell him softly, glancing down at him. Poe nods quickly, too scared to meet your gaze. You sigh, shaking your head, and heading back to your room.
Poe doesn't sleep. Hours later his drunken fog disappeared as he lay in silence with his emotions for the first time in, maker, he doesn't know. His heart was pounding as his eyes roamed the lines on your ceilings, the random items around your home that were so you. It made him proud, it ate at him, this future you made for yourself.
Without him.
He groaned as he sat up, his body shaking from nerves. Running a hand over his face he let out a silent sigh, realizing just how complicated he made all of this. He should have just stayed home, he shouldn't have called you. A thought races through his mind with an icy chill.
You could hate him for this.
His thoughts began to spiral so quickly he almost didn't hear the slight creak of the flooring, or the small hitch of your breath. He looks up quickly, seeing you standing there illuminated in the moonlight, a soft blanket wrapped around you.
“Poe?” You whisper out, softly walking closer to him. You could see now the harsh lines under his eyes, his lighter frame.
“I’m sorry, I shouldn't have called you like that.” He starts, clasping his hands together to try and stop the shaking of his body. “I’m just-shit, I’m so sorry for this.” He says softly, his voice wavering as his emotions begin to stir.
You wait, allowing him a few moments to collect himself. You can still feel that part of you, the one who wants to reach out and console him, to hold him close and tell him its okay you forgive him.
You let him take a few breaths alone.
“You didn't deserve how I treated you, but I thought I was doing the right thing.” He begins, his voice broken with tears. “I thought the more I protected the rebellion, the safer you would be. I didn't think of how that would hurt you, how it was doing the opposite of what I wanted.” A tear slips down his cheek as he takes a long inhale, his eyes finally moving upwards towards yours.
“What changed?” You ask softly, still standing rigidly across from him, your fists shaking as you keep your blanket wrapped tightly around you.
“A mission, like any other. Something went wrong, and the first order had the jump on us. I was trying to get everyone out, but my X-wing was hit, and I crashed.”
You try to keep your breath even, but the tremble in his tone alerted you it was more serious than you could have imagined.
“It took them days to find me. To pull me out of the rubble. But you know what? The only thing I could think of was how this would be how they told you they found me, crushed under some debris, that would've been your last picture of me. And then it clicked, for the first time, I was scared.” He admits, his eyes blinking in surprise as you had moved closer to him, easily within arms reach. “I was scared I had become your worst nightmare. So,” He lets out a low chuckle, raking a hand through his hair, “I cut back on the missions. It was time for someone else to lead the Black Squadron anyways, and there was always room for more trainers.” He smiles softly, wiping at his face. “I just, I couldn't let your last memory of me be a tragedy. Because-” His eyes meet yours once more, his hand slowly reaching out to gently hold the edge of your blanket, biting his lip as he stops the next few words from leaving his mouth. “I don't think I’ve ever cared for someone like I’ve cared for you.” He whispers as he gazes up at you, you know this look, this look that means more than the words leaving his lips. You reach down to his face, gently sweeping a caress over his cheek, the familiarity of his skin comforting. Poe leans into your touch with no hesitation, his eyes not leaving yours. “You know I’m not good at big speeches, I don't say the right thing most of the time. So this is all I can say, I love you.”
You sniffle, your body shaking at his confession. You pull your hands back from his face, trying to wipe at your eyes as your body resists, only wanting to be closer to him.
Poe just smiles softly, gently running his other hand along your thigh.
“I’m sorry I had a terrible way of showing it. My entire life, I’ve sacrificed my safety for others, for those I loved, it is all I know, but I want to learn how to love you right.” Poe says softly, carefully moving forward as if you would run away. “And, I don't want me saying that to push you, or pressure you in any way. You've made a life for yourself here, I don't want to ruin that for you.” He adds quickly, looking up into your watery eyes. “But if you're in the market for a reasonably handsome ex-pilot, who can cook breakfast how you like, I’m here. As your friend, as a lover, as whatever you need, I’m here.”
The tears streamed down your face harder, a low whimper leaving your lips as you dropped your hands to his shoulders. Poe smiles, that simple radiant smile, the one he gave you in the past that let you know everything was going to be okay.
“I couldn't watch you hurt yourself, Poe.” You whisper back shakily, voicing those feelings from what feels like a lifetime ago. But despite the time, the distance, he never left your heart.
“I wanted you to choose me, and, I know it was selfish to ask during a war, but you were all I wanted.” You admit, sniffling softly. “You're all I want. Despite it all.”
You don't say anything else back, he knows, and you know. You simply tug on his hands, leading him back to your room, the one you thought always felt a little too big for one person. You ease under the sheets, sighing with content as your body seeks out the heat of his as he climbs in after you. You fit against each other perfectly, as you always have, his arms holding you tightly to his chest, gently smoothing his hand down your back. There were so few who could say they had something as special as this, someone who understood them without so much as a whisper of a word.
This simple peace, wrapped in his arms once again.
You both sleep, harder than either of you had in years. The soft sunshine of the morning filters through your window and onto your face. You groan and your nose bumps against his chest, seeking out his warmth. You smile as Poe snakes his arms tighter around you, burying his face into you.
“Good morning.” You whisper softly, reaching your hands up to snake through his dark locks. Poe sighs happily, his body trembling at your touch. You shiver as his lips brush against the skin of your neck as he pulls back, looking down into your eyes. It was only seven months apart, yet somehow this Poe before you was so different from the one you used to know. His frame felt a little lighter, his eyes, despite the warm honey-like glow, were still tired.
You look around your room, noting how much brighter everything felt with this man now in the space. You groan as your alarm begins to sound, breaking up your peaceful moment. Poe smiles, shifting his body weight off of you as you sit up, turning off the small device.
“Work?” He asks, leaning back onto the pillows, one arm cocked casually behind his head as he looks up at you. You nod, rubbing your eyes despite the good night's rest.
“Yeah, I have a morning shift at the medical center nearby.” You explain, gently removing yourself from the bed. Poe nods, his eyes trailing after you, “I can bring you lunch, if you want?” He asks gently, sitting up in the bed. “Or if you don't want me to do stuff like that, I get it.” He quickly adds, making sure he wasn't overstepping your boundaries. You smile softly, turning the corner into your bathroom to change into your medic uniform.
“Lunch would be great.” You call back, and you swear, you can feel the warmth of his smile even from here. You gather your items, Poe standing nearby to help you slip your jacket on. “I can get you a key if you want to stay-” You begin, but stop as Poe’s lips gently meet your forehead.
“I actually found a property nearby. I’ll look into it and stay there.We don't need to rush.” He says softly, brushing his hand along your cheek. “I want you to live the life you love, I’ll be happy to be a part of it without disrupting it. We can take our time.”
He finds you later that day, both of your lunches clutched tightly in his hand, a nervous smile on his face.
It became routine.
The other medics in the hospital would all grin at the suave pilot, now flight instructor at the nearby training facility, making his way through the medical center with ease, knowing exactly where to go. You both would sit beside each other, laughing over Poe’s newest class of students, or supporting you during a difficult shift. Poe wound up buying that place near yours, enough space between you both to not destroy the delicate balance you created, but just close enough some nights after work you could stop by for a friendly dinner, or Poe could swing by for drinks and a movie.
Best friends.
Best friends was harder than you realized.
Maybe, you tried to tell yourself, it was only because you weren't with anyone since you split, of course anyone would begin to feel their heart pound at seeing their ex-boyfriend bring them lunch everyday, or meet their new friends, or watch him teach young pilots how to turn safely in their x-wings.
Anyone would.
Wouldn't they?
You let out a huff of air as you watch him out of your kitchen window, leaning over the engine of your landspeeder, brushing his hand through his hair as he assesses the mysterious noise emitting from it.
It was normal, right? For a best friend to drop everything to take a look at your broken vehicle? Surely?
You can't help the smile that stretches across your face as you spot one of your neighbors, waving familiarly at Poe. Poe returns the wave with a bright smile, even remembering their name.
You feel your skin flush as his head turns, meeting your gaze through the window. His face sinks into that typical crooked smile of his, his hand raising up to offer you a small wave. You begin to raise your own hand to wave before you spot that mischievous glimmer in his eye. “Enjoying the show?” He calls back, and you flush furiously, throwing your hand down as you quickly turn away from the window. His laugh flows through the window, warm and deep, and you find yourself smiling along as well. You shake your head, returning to the kitchen to continue making something for you two to eat.
Before long, the sky was already growing dark as night approaches, Poe still hard at work outside.
“Poe!” You call out, opening up the front door, “Come inside for dinner!” You cross your arms as you watch him remove himself from underneath the speeder, and you beg your eyes to stay trained on his face, and not the exposed skin of his stomach as he carefully pushes himself out from beneath the vehicle.
It was sad, honestly, how easy you smiled around him.
You carefully walked over to him, giving him enough space to get up and dust himself off. Your hand drifts forward, assisting in brushing off some small pieces of debris from his chest.
Your eyes slowly trail up to his, finding his eyes already boring down into yours, that warm brown creating a heat in your body. Poe reaches his hand up carefully, placing it over yours as he removes your hand, and you can feel the flood of disappointment beginning to stir, only for him to gently hold your hands between your bodies.
“Should we go inside?” He says, his voice low. You watch as his thumb begins to draw those rhythmic patterns on your skin, and you nod distractedly. Poe laughs softly, gently pulling on your hand to have you stumble closer to him.
“You seem distracted.” He muses, a smirk forming on his face. You roll your eyes, pulling your hand away gently, your skin brushing along his chest.
“I’m not, I was just wondering if you even fixed the car or simply played down there.” You shoot back, your smile lessening the blow. Poe barks out a laugh and holds his hands up in surrender.
“Oh I fixed it, hopefully, I’m a pilot after all not a mechanic.” He grins, motioning for you to enter the house first. You both laugh, this carefree energy caring through your dinner, following you both well into the night.
“Wanna watch a movie?” You ask happily, glancing back as you finish drying the last of the dishes. Poe stands behind you, placing his cleaned dinner plate back in your cabinet. You watch his muscles rippling underneath his shirt, his new job keeping him on his feet all day with the students but you were also happy to see the weight he’s put back on from your time apart. You return your gaze to the dish in your hands, so focused you barely feel the soft touch along your waist. You turn your head, finding Poe leaning his head against your shoulder blade, his hands gently holding onto your waist.
“Poe?” You ask softly, gently placing down the dish. You hear his intake of breath, but he doesn't speak, his hands simply tightening on you.
“Is this okay?” He mumbles, and you shiver as you feel his lips on the fabric of your shirt.
Was it okay?
You both walked a finely blurred line of, well, did either of you know?
You spent nearly every waking hour together, but neither of you pushed for what it all meant.
You both simply enjoyed the presence of the other.
“It's fine.” You whisper back, gently reaching your hand back to run through his hair. You hear a small whimper from behind you, and you can feel that heat burning brighter inside of you.
“Can I hold you, just for a minute?” Poe asks softly, and you find yourself nodding immediately. His hands move across your stomach to pull you in tighter, embracing you gently. His touch feels like fire on your skin, and you have to bite your lip as you feel the hard expanse of his body behind you.
“I promise I’ll get over it, I just, I need a minute-” He rambles, already beginning to pull away. Your hand flys down, settling on his arm to stop him.
“Stay.” You whisper, slowly turning yourself in his arms to face him. His face was art, painfully painted in desire for you. His hands drift along your spine, as if he isn't sure where he wants to touch you next.
“I want you to stay.” You smile softly, your hand drifting up to his face, cupping his jaw gently. “Poe, do you still want this? Do you still want us?”
Your question halts his movements, as if he were trying to hold back his next few thoughts.
“Is that even a question?” He grumbles, leaning his head down to settle in the crook of your neck. His breath hits your skin, and you gasp as you feel his lips touch your skin reverently. “I’ll always want you.”
So much for best friends.
Your hands roam across his back, your nails sinking into his skin possessively. Poe gasps, tightening his hold on you, practically crushing you to him.
“Keep going-” He gasps out, and you have to stifle a moan from yourself. You were dangling on the precipice, any further and you know you could never go back to how it was before. You faltered, and Poe immediately pulled back.
“What's wrong?” He asks quickly, moving his hands to his side, as if it was him that was the issue. You couldn't help the way your eyes welled up, a shake racking though your body.
“I’m not sure why I-” You say softly, your arms wrapping around your body protectively. “I just feel scared.”
Poe nods, not looking at you with any pity, or frustration. “Its okay, we can take it slow-”
“I don't want to go slow anymore Poe, I want you, I miss you.” You interrupt, reaching forward to grab onto his arm. “It’s not you, I am just scared, it's like, I feel everything for you so much more now, it's a lot. And I haven't done this in awhile-” You pause as you let that piece of information slip, and you watch the way his body stiffens.
Poe quickly recovers, running his hand along yours, “If it makes you feel better, I’m nervous too.” He says softly. “I havent-I didn't want to be with anyone else.” He says, gently stroking your skin.
Maybe it was the honesty in his voice, the way he told you slightly nervously, as if you would judge him. You move, pushing yourself up onto your toes to press your lips to his, finding that familiar movement with ease. Poe groans, leaning into you, running his hand up to your neck to hold you in place. Your hands tighten against his shirt, gripping it tightly as you pull him into you, pouring out every unspoken word between you both.
I want you.
I need you.
I missed you.
I love you.
You barely make it to the bedroom. Poe’s lips seem to latch onto every inch of your skin, biting and kissing with an unbearable amount of precision, knowing exactly where you need his lips next.
Your legs hit the back of your bed, threatening to topple you over except for Poe’s arm, wrapping itself around your waist to practically pull you up to him.
“I need you so badly, baby.” He moans against your lips, grinding himself against you. You tip your head back, letting yourself moan at his actions. The friction from the hardness of his body against yours sent delicious waves of pleasure through your body, and you grip onto him harder.
“Tell me I can please you, baby, tell me you’ll let me fuck you-” He pants out, his pupils widened with lust as he gazes down at you, another clothed thrust almost sending you to climax.
“Poe, please-” You gasp, your back hitting the soft comforter on your bed as he crawls over your body, still not touching you aside from his cock pressed to your stomach.
“I need you to say it, I’ve been waiting for so long to hear you say it to me again.” He whines, trailing his hand along your body.
“Poe, please, fuck me-”
Your words are squashed as his lips meet your excitedly, devouring any sounds escaping your throat. Your legs spread as he settles himself between them, the heat of his body searing into yours.
Your hands move to the play with the hem of his shirt, and Poe wastes no time in shucking it off, tossing it somewhere into the room. You laugh at his antics, and marvel as your hands trail along the planes of his torso. Poe places his hand over yours, pulling it along his body until it reaches his mouth, where he presses a hot kiss to your palm.
“I’m yours.” He says softly, looking into your eyes with adoration. Despite the heat from his earlier words, Poe moves slowly now,taking his time in torturing you. He gently eases your top off, placing kisses along your skin in worship. His hands deftly undid your pants, easing them down your thighs until he was able to tug them off. Poe grins as he moves down to the end of the bed, nestling himself between your legs as he carefully pulls your pants off from around your ankles. He grabs your leg gently, turning his head to place soft kisses along your leg, making his way up to your thighs.
Your hand threads through his hair, tugging with urgency. “Poe-” You whisper out, gasping as he bites down onto the soft skin of your inner thigh.
“Are you begging me?” He asks lowly, a rumble of a laugh in his chest. You nod, not even caring if you seemed too eager. Poe’s tongue moves slowly along the bite mark, soothing it as you moan out.
“You like when I beg.” You counter back breathily, your other hand slowly moving down your body to your underwear, determined to at least feel some sort of relief. Poe’s hand snatches yours away, a growl in his throat.
“I love when you beg, so let me do this.” His words are cut off as he places an open mouth kiss over your clothed mound, a startled gasp escaping your lips. His nose rubs along your clit, and you have to shakily grip his hair tighter to refrain from grinding yourself against him as he kisses you through your underwear. His fingers gently pull the material to the side, his tongue lapping up your wetness already leaking down onto the bed.
“Fuck-” You gasp, arching yourself off the bed as his tongue delves into you, his body knowing exactly how to make yours sing. You were already approaching an orgasm, your body sweating and shaking under his touch, when all of a sudden your pleasure has stopped, leaving you so close to relief. You whine as you look down at the man between your legs, grinning, his eyes sparkling at how he has you so undone beneath him.
“You look so beautiful like this, sweet girl.” He coos, his hands clamping down on your thighs and holding them apart. You could almost curse your body for being so pliant for him, but it remembered this. A string of slurred words leave your lips as your need grows, and Poe only watched with a warm smile before returning to your body, which in his own right, was seemingly mapped to his memory as he grazed every spot that made you whimper and moan. More clothes were removed, and before long he was sheathed inside you. His dark hair fell into his eyes, a shaky hiss leaving his lips and he held himself there on strained arms.
“You okay?” You ask breathily, your legs crossing behind his waist as if to slowly nudge him closer. Poe nods quickly, releasing a breath.
“Yep.Yep. Its just- Its just been a minute and fuck baby, you feel like home.”
Has anyone ever died from feeling so much love?
His hips begin to move slowly, deliciously, knowing exactly what angle would make you scream. Your nails scratch at his golden skin, leaving marks of existence for this moment here together.
The night sky bathed you both in darkness, the lights from the rest of your home the only source of light for the two of you. You could only catch a few glimpses of him, his face pink with lust and his eyes, oh his eyes, locked on to you. You lean up, a certain thrust pushing you the rest of the way to his lips as you kiss him deeply, your hands intertwining with his by your head.
I want you.
I need you.
I missed you.
I love you.
Poe gasps, and you can taste the tear as it falls from his eyes. His breaths come out in small whimpers as you feel his body begin to tense.
“Let go, Poe. I got you.” You whisper softly, moving your body to meet his thrusts perfectly. He curses, dropping his head to your shoulder as he speeds up to a relentless pace.
“I love you, I love you, I love you-” He cries out before slamming into you, the warm sensation of being filled coinciding with your own orgasm, muffled as his lips seek yours for one final kiss. Your bodies settle against one another, existing in this moment of serenity together. You feel Poe lift his head, and you find yourself staring at his sheepish smile once more.
“I’m sorry I couldn't last longer, you just felt so good-”
“Poe Dameron-” You snap, your eyes bright with anger, “ I know your first words to me are not going to be apologizing.”
Poe had to bite his lip so as to not cum prematurely again at your words. His hand comes up gently, running a knuckle along the soft skin of your cheek.
“Okay. I won't apologize, but I do promise with practice this’ll be fixed.”
You laugh, pushing his chest as his arms only snake around you to bring you closer, his chest rumbling with a laugh as you lay together.
You had many dreams like this, before Poe had returned. Sweet words whispered to one another under the cloak of night, wrapped in eachother's arms. By the time you could look up, to see Poe say those words you longed to hear again, your eyes were fluttering awake to the reality of his absence and the harsh morning light.
You gasp softly as you feel his lips on yours, drawing you from the ledge of slumber back to this now, with him.
Poe draws back with one final sigh, smiling down at you as he tucks you close to his heart.
“I missed you. I love you.”
You exhale softly, by this part of the dream you would have woken up.
A young, handsome bounty hunter on Tatooine makes it a daily intention to ask you to marry him.
ao3 // main masterlist // fluffuary 2024 masterlist
Mando’a Translations:
cyar’ika – darling / sweetheart
riduur – partner / spouse
“Mhi solus tome, mhi solus dar'tome, mhi me'dinui an, mhi ba'juri verde” – marriage vows
“Marry me, cyar’ika.”
You glance up from the worn open tome resting on the counter in front of you. “Again? Really, Boba?”
The Mandalorian helmet, dented with flaking green paint, tilts slightly to the right. “You called me ‘Boba’ this time,” teases the bounty hunter.
You roll your eyes and push off from the counter, cheeks heating even as you grumble in false irritation.
Boba Fett, Jabba the Hutt’s favorite mercenary for hire, has asked you to marry him every day for several weeks now. And each time, you have refused him. For the first few, you were overly polite. But as his attempts continued, your polite rejections transformed into snarky quips and blatant dismissals.
It’s not like you don’t find the man attractive. Underneath the armor is an incredibly handsome man, and his attention has always been sincere. But Boba Fett is a dangerous man, and you’re just a simple shopkeeper trying to make a living in Mos Espa. In that regard, the two of you are incompatible no matter how much he persists and chases after you.
“I like how you say my name,” continues Boba, his voice a soft purr. “Sounds beautiful on your tongue.”
“And you are too forward,” you snap, knowing that your sharpness is just a cover. Which is silly, because you do like him, and Boba seems to understand this. Boba burrows beneath your skin, and you cannot dig him out.
“Am I?” he asks with mock offense. You really want to throttle him, but you also really want to kiss him.
“Yes. I don’t know how many times I have to say this, Fett,” you emphasize, deliberately using his last name. “But a ‘no’ is a ‘no’ even if you don’t like it.”
Yep. Push him away. Keep pushing. Maybe he’ll take the hint this time.
Boba Fett stands tall, arms crossed over his chest, one hip slightly popped. With the helmet on, you have no idea what his expression might be or what he’s feeling. Not knowing is maddening, and it quickens your heartbeat, a growing tingle buzzing in the tips of your fingers.
“So, all those touches meant nothing to you?” he asks with just the faintest hint of roughness in his tone.
“Yes,” you lie.
Boba shifts on his feet, shoulders straightening. “What about all the kisses you’ve given me? Hm? Nothing?”
Kriffing hell, why is this man always so direct? It’s nice that Boba is good about telling you what he wants and what he’s thinking for the most part, but it always catches you off-guard. It makes you weak, melting you into goo that he can mold however he wishes.
“Those are not enough to build a marriage, Boba,” you shrug. “There has to be more.”
“But there is more.” He steps around the counter, stepping into your space. “Isn’t there?”
Boba is right. There is more. There has always been more. Whenever Boba is on Tatooine, he is visiting you, talking with you, bringing you gifts, fixing things around the shop without you having to ask. He has offered to take you out after you’ve closed shop. He routinely takes a personal interest in your safety and security. Because of that, no one bothers you or tries to harass additional credits out of you. They stay away and respect you because they see you as Boba’s woman.
And it isn’t only that. He only ever speaks softly to you. He only ever treats you with respect and shows general interest in your life. The most maddening thing is how many women have actively shown their interest in him to his face, and he has brushed them all aside. Even after all these refusals on your end, Boba still declines their advances, and shows up at your shop each day insisting that you marry him.
“Why do you keep denying this, cyar’ika? You know I’d make you happy.” Boba is standing too close, almost on top of you.
“The shop is closed,” you reply. “If you’re not going to make a purchase, you should leave.”
Boba nods his head and backs up, reaching for an item off the shelf without looking. He deposits some credits on the counter, much more than what the item is actually worth.
“I’ll return tomorrow,” he says over his shoulder, tapping the counter as he makes his exit.
The soft chime that alerts you to when the front door opens echoes throughout the room.
You’re in the backroom organizing. It’s the next day, and Boba hasn’t shown himself yet. This might be him, but it’s likely not. There are times when Boba does not come, and you are fully aware that those are times when Jabba sends him off for a job.
“Sorry. We’re closed.” You step out from the backroom and immediately freeze.
Three Nikto bikers loiter in the middle of the shop. It’s evident that they are not here to purchase anything. Their dark eyes roam over the shelves and tables, but once they notice you, they focus in, drawing closer.
“Apologies,” you say, attempting to project your voice, to sound tougher than you are.
“We’ve closed for the evening. If there is something you need right away, I can ring you up. Otherwise, you’ll need to leave.” You do your best to keep your voice steady and calm, but you hear the gentle shake.
“This street is our new territory,” hisses the leader of the group. “We were stopping by to offer our…services.”
Services, meaning protection, meaning “pay us or you’ll be a target.”
Tatooine might be overrun with crime lords and criminal activity, but the main powers at play are not known to harass the smaller folks just trying to make a living. These are outliers. These are individuals who answer to no one but themselves, and believe they can carve a piece out for their own gain.
Rarely are they ever successful, but that doesn’t mean they don’t try.
Just as you open your mouth to reply, the soft chime comes again. This time everyone turns and you sigh with relief when you see who it is.
“Boba Fett,” says the Nikto slowly. His shoulders stiffen and they all put their hands on their blasters.
The bounty hunter does no answer right away. His helmet moves, scanning the Nikto, and then you, assessing. Even from across the shop, you sense Boba’s anger. There are few things that rile him up, but you’re one of them.
“It’s not smart moving in on Jabba’s territory. Or to harass what’s mine.” When Boba says mine, he growls it. The possessiveness in his tone heats your flesh, sends a sharp spike of desire down to your belly.
The Nikto all glance at each other before the leader addresses Fett. “We didn’t know the female was yours, Boba.” He holds his hands out in a placating gesture, indicating that he didn’t mean any harm. Yet you know that isn’t true. Their intention from the start was to harass you for credits.
You scoff at female but decide to let it go.
“I think it’s best that you leave.” Boba steps to the side.
The duo glance at their leader for direction. The Nikto’s features are impassive, but he eventually inclines his head, exiting as Boba insist they do. When the last one leaves, Boba momentarily glances in your direction. The door stands open, and Boba exits with him.
When it whooshes shut, you sprint over to the wall panel, immediately engaging the lock and shuttering the windows. You stand in the silent shop for a few minutes trying to calm your heartrate. Once it’s manageable, and not beating so hard it might burst from your chest, you head upstairs to your small apartment above the shop.
By the time you’re curled up in bed, you’re no longer anxious, but there is the slightest bit of tension that lingers in your limbs. Sighing, you turn over in the bed, only to hear the brief pulse of a jetpack shutting off and boots on the small balcony outside your bedroom window.
Slowly, you push up to sitting, the bedsheets falling to your waist. You know it’s Boba. He does this some nights. Camps out and protect you in the only way he knows how because you’re too stubborn to take him up on his numerous marriage proposals.
Tonight, it’s obvious as to why he’s out there. Part of you is reluctant to leave him outside. You’d prefer it if he were with you, within arm’s reach, to see him without the helmet. Plus, nights on Tatooine can grow cold. You want him inside where it’s warm.
On quiet feet, you go to the door that leads outside. Opening it silently, you stick your head out into the chilly air, finding Boba as he leans against the exterior wall, arms crossed.
“You should be in bed, cyar’ika,” chides Boba playfully.
You swallow, suddenly nervous now that you’re confronting him. “Do you want to come inside?” you ask, a bit hesitantly.
Maybe it’s the uncertainty in your tone, or the way you shrink back a bit into the interior of the room, because Boba is suddenly alert, all of his attention attuned to you.
Boba immediately pushes off from the wall and approaches you, his hand on the door, pushing it wider. “Are you hurt? Did one of them touch you?”
You shake your head vehemently. “No. I’m fine. Promise.”
Boba’s chest heaves slightly but you’re not sure if it’s from his sudden movement or a releasing of relief. He glances over his shoulder at Mos Espa, the t-shaped visor of his helmet fixated on the city’s skyline. Turning back, Boba nods.
You step away from the door and Boba enters. Even with the door closed and the windows’ shutters slanted to dim the moonlight, some of it still spills over the room like tiny white rivers.
His helmet hisses as the pressure seal disengages. Slowly, Boba lifts the helmet off his head and sets it aside on a nearby table. He runs his fingers through his dark hair, the ends sticking up slightly after he does so. With the faintest movement, Boba turns, and that moonlight cuts sharp glowing lines over his face, highlighting tanned skin and dark eyes.
You don’t even realize you’re moving closer to him until Boba grabs you by the waist and pulls you against his armor-clad body. Instinctively, your hands reach out, locking onto the beskar. Boba’s head dips and yours rises to meet him automatically, and yet there is no connection. It is simply holding, a waiting between two hesitant people.
“You haven’t asked me to marry you today,” you murmur.
The corner of Boba’s lips turns upward in a soft smile. “Will you marry me, cyar’ika?”
“No,” you say automatically, before the two of you start laughing.
“Let’s try that again.” Boba reaches up and cradles your cheek. “Cyar’ika. Will you marry me? Will you allow me to speak the words of my people? And will you speak them back?”
The words of his people. The Mandalorian marriage vows. You are distinctly aware of what they are and what they mean. Which is why Boba’s earnestness isn’t fake to you. Mandalorians take their weddings vows seriously even though the process of exchange is simple. It is the intention behind the exchange that is most important to them.
That is how you know Boba speaks the truth, that him asking you to marry him is a genuine desire of his.
“Passion does not make a relationship,” you reply.
The answer is a shift away from actually having to answer. How many times have you and Boba ended up on the floor of the backroom after rejecting him? It’s more than you can count on your hands.
“That’s all this is to you?” he laughs. “You know I can give you more. I do more than that now.”
You curl forward a bit, rest your forehead against the beskar. “I’m scared,” you whisper.
“Of what?”
“Of what will change.”
Boba’s fingers brush under your chin and lightly guide your gaze back to his. “I wouldn’t ask you to give anything up.”
“Yes, but—”
Boba gives the slightest shake of his head and you instantly quiet. “Do you want me?” he asks. “Tell the truth.”
“Yes.”
“Yes, what?”
“I want you,” you breathe, allowing the words to drip off your tongue.
“May I have one of your kisses?” he asks softly, one gloved thumb lightly pressing down on your bottom lip.
“Yes,” you breathe.
Boba closes the distance, forms perfectly to you. It is slow and delicate and sweet. Your body hums with energy, and when you press for more, Boba growls and pulls back, hastily ripping off his gloves to reveal his bare hands.
Then he’s cupping the side of your face, drawing you back to him, tasting and tasting and tasting until your fingers are clawing at him in desperation. When he breaks the kiss, you still lean forward as if you can reach him.
“Then repeat the words with me, cyar’ika. Become my riduur.”
Boba presses his lips to yours, draws forth an air-stealing shiver from deep within your lungs.
“Mhi solus tome.”
“Mhi solus tome,” you repeat.
We are one together.
Boba slides an arm around your waist to drape softly over your curves. “Mhi solus dar’tome,” he says.
You say it back to him. “Mhi solus dar’tome.”
We are one when parted.
“Mhi me’dinui an.”
“Mhi me’dinui an.”
We share all.
This time, Boba slots his pelvis against yours, and you understand his heated intention.
“Mhi ba’juri verde.”
“Mhi ba’juri verde,” you say with shaky breath.
We will raise warriors.
Boba snuggles the side of your neck, breathes in your scent. “I’d like to lay with my riduur.” His fingers find the edge of your sleeping robes.
“As long as I can have my riduur the same way.”
Boba grins against your throat. Together, the two of you remove his armor, piece by piece by piece. The moment his flightsuit is unzipped and he steps out of it, Boba is on you, drawing your lips to his, desperately claiming what is now so rightfully his.
Your own clothes are gone before making it to the bed. Boba runs his hands over your back, sliding down to lift you into his arms. Your legs wrap around his middle, and Boba carries you off, placing you gently onto your back.
His mouth upon your skin is a brand. Hot. Searing. It goes lower, lower still until you’re crying out for him, begging for him to be with you as your riduur should. Boba is happy to do so, sliding between your thighs so perfectly, you both lose yourselves momentarily before becoming nothing but a raging storm, waves crashing into each other repeatedly until one of you breaks.
Rest does not come until the morning suns begin to ascend over the horizon. You do not open your shop. And Boba does not return to Jabba’s palace.
summary: after a series of terrorist attacks in new york, an article you wrote calling out the cowardice of the organization's leader causes you to become a target, and frank castle is assigned to be your bodyguard. the resurgence of former flames and shocking sinister revelations will test just how far frank is willing to go to protect you. divulgences of his mysterious and convoluted past will make you question just how much you can actually trust him. will frank be your savior? or the reason for your demise?
a/n: a HUGE thank you to my love @thyme-in-a-bubble for that incredibly breathtaking header. this series was inspired by the absolutely lovely @lowkeythor's genius request for a bodyguard!frank x reader fic. it is a slow burn-so get comfy. this is a punisher series friends, so there will be mentions of violence and gore, as well as other mature themes. (there will eventually be spiciness bc i can't resist) if you'd like to be added to the tag list for updates, please let me know!
»— anything marked with an astrik contains explicit content. minors dni.
»— all work is my own. please do not repost anywhere else without my consent.
I’d love to stay over at the spicy spicy catacombs of Paris with Frank… I’m thinking secret, quiet, public sex… his huge hand over your mouth… eyes LOCKED… sloppy sloppy goodness…
you don't know what you just awoke in me
the horny gremlin has risen
as a reminder, staying overnight means it's spicy! (minors dni)
headcannon below the cut
frank castle likes your eyes on him
frank is big on eye contact, in any situation. it's his way of silently telling someone he's about to rock their shit, or in instances with you, that he's down bad and he needs you (we know our boy ain't so good with words)
so sometimes you'll catch him staring, and he's giving you those warm brown puppy eyes that tell you he's hopelessly in love with you, or he'll be using them for evil to manipulate you into not being mad at him bc look how sorry he is with those eyes can't you tell he's so sorry don't be mad at him 🥺
but your favorite is when he looks at you in pure hunger
and oh boy that one look can immediately have your panties ruined and it doesn't matter where you are or who you're with the second you see it you both know it's time to go
but sometimes you just can't wait, and frank doesn't mind when you're impatient, so when he takes you to a fancy italian place for dinner and he gives you that look, you're getting up and walking back towards the bathroom, giving him your own look over your shoulder, and he doesn't even care if he's being obvious when he shoots up out of his chair to follow you
he doesn't turn you around to bend you over the bathroom counter, no no no, he wants to see those pretty eyes when he's inside you. his favorite thing in the world is watching them flutter when he starts to fill you inch by inch, and how they roll towards the heavens when he makes you come
"can you be quiet for me, baby?"
you both know you can't, but you nod fervently anyway, already panting as your fingers fumble with his belt buckle
and frank doesn't make a move to stop you or make you slow down bc when does he ever deny you anything you want? his movements are just as ravenous, pushing your dress up to your hips, pulling you closer towards the edge of the counter, tangling his hand in your hair to tug your head back, his teeth and tongue finding your thrumming pulse point
he lets out a delicious groan in your ear with his fingers pull your panties to the side, gliding easily through your drenched pussy, spreading it open for his thumb to caress your sensitive clit, earning a needy whimper from you
"fuck, sweetheart. love how wet you get for me. you need it bad too, yeah?"
your trembling fingers fumble with the buttons of his shirt, desperate to feel that warm skin and firm muscle, the symphony of his heartbeat against your palm. but as you're tugging his shirt from where it's tucked into his jeans where his belt is hanging open, his large hand glides up your throat to wrap around it, his thumb pressing against the underside of your chin to tilt your head up
"eyes on me, sweetheart. tell me."
something about having his hand around your throat drives you absolutely wild. those hands, scarred with evidence from a violent traumatic past, visual reminders of how dangerous he is, the destruction he's capable of, always touch you so gently, with a reverence reserved for something precious and delicate
when your eyes lock on his, and he sees how heavy they are with desire, the raw need swirled in your irises, he brushes his thumb along your bottom lip, pushing his hips forward slowly
"that's it, good girl."
time is not a luxury either of you have in a public bathroom, so when you lock your legs around his waist, frank clamps one of his large hands over your mouth to muffle your moans, and grips your waist tightly as he starts to fuck you hard against the counter
he presses his forehead against yours, staring deeply into your eyes, giving your waist a firm squeeze when they start to flutter
"keep those pretty eyes on me, c'mon. lemme see you."
he revels in the way your eyes widen when you feel it coming, your nails digging into his back as a silent tell, but he knows. he knows your body better than you do. he can feel the tremble building in your thighs, the way they tighten around his waist, drawing him in impossibly deeper, how your muffled sounds become more needy and higher in pitch, how your cunt clenches delectably around his cock
"I know, baby. I know. keep lookin' at me, keep bein' a good girl for me, c'mon."
he always makes you come first, bc he's a goddamn gentleman, but also he wants that sacred moment to watch you fall apart beneath him, to witness how much pleasure he brings you. it's a given that having you wrapped around him is the closest he's ever gotten to heaven, but watching you come, seeing your eyes glaze over with raw euphoria before they roll back, that is what gets him off more than anything
Tags: Smut, PIV, No Protection, Characters in peril, Poe AND reader have anxiety now
A/N: Hello! Wow! It's been a while since we've talked! Lost inspiration for some time and combined with work, I had nothing to write. While I was fine with leaving "I'd just wanna hold you" as a standalone, I really wanted to give Poe and Reader that happy ending. So, I'm sorry if the vibes don't quite match, I mainly wanted to get this out to get the idea out and, voila! Here we are with an ending (I was very excited to explore Poe, post Rebellion). Or if you prefer the angst of Part 1, be my guest and enjoy that! I have another Poe fic running around in my head, and I'm hoping to have that done by the end of this weekend. Feels good to be back with my main man, so cheers! I hope you enjoy!
No beta reading, as usual
Likes, reblogs, and comments are all appreciated.
Divider by @/saradika
“Poe-” Your voice breaks through his trance, and he shakes his head, wiping at his eyes. “Sorry, sorry, this is probably annoying for you. I’m sorry, I’ll let you go-”
“Poe.”
He knew that tone of yours, demanding, yet warm, he knew when he heard that tone no matter what, it meant that you had him, despite it all.
“Poe, where are you?”
Poe sniffles, shuffling his feet shyly. “The Oga’s by your apartment.”
You sigh, glancing at the clock, knowing you could get there in under ten minutes. When you left D’Qar, you didn't bother keeping it a secret, the rebellion was near its end, and you had trained more medics than the rebellion knew what to do with. You could have sworn though, on your very last day, a familiar set of brown eyes staring at you as you left the planet for the time.
Once you moved into your new home, you received a package from the resistance, notes of thanks, and a single hologram congratulating you and thanking you for your service.
You watched the holo-Poe more times than you cared to admit.
“I promise I wasn't here to see you-the crew wanted to stop here after our mission.” Poe quickly adds knowing how thai would all seem. You sigh, moving around your living room and tugging on your thickest coat.
“I’ll see you soon.” Is all you say, hanging up the call before he could get another word in.
Your city was calm at night, the cold weather typically good at keeping people in their homes.
Except for the sad looking pilot currently slumped over before you. You tried not to let your breathing change, despite the rapid beating of your heart. He looked smaller, his hair longer than you remembered and when he looked up, you had to stifle a gasp at his glazed over eyes and dull looking skin.
“Poe.” Is all you say, bending down to kneel beside him. Your hand moves instinctually, running through his thick locks. He cant help how he leans into your touch, his body acting without care. You carefully loop a hand under his arm and help haul him to his feet, his body only swaying minimally.
His eyes still haven't left your face.
“You're so beautiful.” He murmurs, and you try to act as though you don't hear it. Getting into your home was a challenge, and almost caused you to topple down on top of the pilot.
“Okay,” you say, carefully setting up Poe on the couch in your living room. “You can spend the night, then we will talk tomorrow, okay?” You tell him softly, kneeling down beside his body. Poe simply nods, unsure of what else to say.
Thank you?
I missed you?
You grab a blanket, and carefully tuck him in on the cushions, leaning over his body to adjust his pillow. Poe squeezes his eyes closed and prays his body doesn't react. He tries to focus on other things, like the books laid out on your table, the photos of people he kind of recognizes, the way your hair was longer than it was on D'Qar.
“Okay, get some sleep.” You tell him softly, glancing down at him. Poe nods quickly, too scared to meet your gaze. You sigh, shaking your head, and heading back to your room.
Poe doesn't sleep. Hours later his drunken fog disappeared as he lay in silence with his emotions for the first time in, maker, he doesn't know. His heart was pounding as his eyes roamed the lines on your ceilings, the random items around your home that were so you. It made him proud, it ate at him, this future you made for yourself.
Without him.
He groaned as he sat up, his body shaking from nerves. Running a hand over his face he let out a silent sigh, realizing just how complicated he made all of this. He should have just stayed home, he shouldn't have called you. A thought races through his mind with an icy chill.
You could hate him for this.
His thoughts began to spiral so quickly he almost didn't hear the slight creak of the flooring, or the small hitch of your breath. He looks up quickly, seeing you standing there illuminated in the moonlight, a soft blanket wrapped around you.
“Poe?” You whisper out, softly walking closer to him. You could see now the harsh lines under his eyes, his lighter frame.
“I’m sorry, I shouldn't have called you like that.” He starts, clasping his hands together to try and stop the shaking of his body. “I’m just-shit, I’m so sorry for this.” He says softly, his voice wavering as his emotions begin to stir.
You wait, allowing him a few moments to collect himself. You can still feel that part of you, the one who wants to reach out and console him, to hold him close and tell him its okay you forgive him.
You let him take a few breaths alone.
“You didn't deserve how I treated you, but I thought I was doing the right thing.” He begins, his voice broken with tears. “I thought the more I protected the rebellion, the safer you would be. I didn't think of how that would hurt you, how it was doing the opposite of what I wanted.” A tear slips down his cheek as he takes a long inhale, his eyes finally moving upwards towards yours.
“What changed?” You ask softly, still standing rigidly across from him, your fists shaking as you keep your blanket wrapped tightly around you.
“A mission, like any other. Something went wrong, and the first order had the jump on us. I was trying to get everyone out, but my X-wing was hit, and I crashed.”
You try to keep your breath even, but the tremble in his tone alerted you it was more serious than you could have imagined.
“It took them days to find me. To pull me out of the rubble. But you know what? The only thing I could think of was how this would be how they told you they found me, crushed under some debris, that would've been your last picture of me. And then it clicked, for the first time, I was scared.” He admits, his eyes blinking in surprise as you had moved closer to him, easily within arms reach. “I was scared I had become your worst nightmare. So,” He lets out a low chuckle, raking a hand through his hair, “I cut back on the missions. It was time for someone else to lead the Black Squadron anyways, and there was always room for more trainers.” He smiles softly, wiping at his face. “I just, I couldn't let your last memory of me be a tragedy. Because-” His eyes meet yours once more, his hand slowly reaching out to gently hold the edge of your blanket, biting his lip as he stops the next few words from leaving his mouth. “I don't think I’ve ever cared for someone like I’ve cared for you.” He whispers as he gazes up at you, you know this look, this look that means more than the words leaving his lips. You reach down to his face, gently sweeping a caress over his cheek, the familiarity of his skin comforting. Poe leans into your touch with no hesitation, his eyes not leaving yours. “You know I’m not good at big speeches, I don't say the right thing most of the time. So this is all I can say, I love you.”
You sniffle, your body shaking at his confession. You pull your hands back from his face, trying to wipe at your eyes as your body resists, only wanting to be closer to him.
Poe just smiles softly, gently running his other hand along your thigh.
“I’m sorry I had a terrible way of showing it. My entire life, I’ve sacrificed my safety for others, for those I loved, it is all I know, but I want to learn how to love you right.” Poe says softly, carefully moving forward as if you would run away. “And, I don't want me saying that to push you, or pressure you in any way. You've made a life for yourself here, I don't want to ruin that for you.” He adds quickly, looking up into your watery eyes. “But if you're in the market for a reasonably handsome ex-pilot, who can cook breakfast how you like, I’m here. As your friend, as a lover, as whatever you need, I’m here.”
The tears streamed down your face harder, a low whimper leaving your lips as you dropped your hands to his shoulders. Poe smiles, that simple radiant smile, the one he gave you in the past that let you know everything was going to be okay.
“I couldn't watch you hurt yourself, Poe.” You whisper back shakily, voicing those feelings from what feels like a lifetime ago. But despite the time, the distance, he never left your heart.
“I wanted you to choose me, and, I know it was selfish to ask during a war, but you were all I wanted.” You admit, sniffling softly. “You're all I want. Despite it all.”
You don't say anything else back, he knows, and you know. You simply tug on his hands, leading him back to your room, the one you thought always felt a little too big for one person. You ease under the sheets, sighing with content as your body seeks out the heat of his as he climbs in after you. You fit against each other perfectly, as you always have, his arms holding you tightly to his chest, gently smoothing his hand down your back. There were so few who could say they had something as special as this, someone who understood them without so much as a whisper of a word.
This simple peace, wrapped in his arms once again.
You both sleep, harder than either of you had in years. The soft sunshine of the morning filters through your window and onto your face. You groan and your nose bumps against his chest, seeking out his warmth. You smile as Poe snakes his arms tighter around you, burying his face into you.
“Good morning.” You whisper softly, reaching your hands up to snake through his dark locks. Poe sighs happily, his body trembling at your touch. You shiver as his lips brush against the skin of your neck as he pulls back, looking down into your eyes. It was only seven months apart, yet somehow this Poe before you was so different from the one you used to know. His frame felt a little lighter, his eyes, despite the warm honey-like glow, were still tired.
You look around your room, noting how much brighter everything felt with this man now in the space. You groan as your alarm begins to sound, breaking up your peaceful moment. Poe smiles, shifting his body weight off of you as you sit up, turning off the small device.
“Work?” He asks, leaning back onto the pillows, one arm cocked casually behind his head as he looks up at you. You nod, rubbing your eyes despite the good night's rest.
“Yeah, I have a morning shift at the medical center nearby.” You explain, gently removing yourself from the bed. Poe nods, his eyes trailing after you, “I can bring you lunch, if you want?” He asks gently, sitting up in the bed. “Or if you don't want me to do stuff like that, I get it.” He quickly adds, making sure he wasn't overstepping your boundaries. You smile softly, turning the corner into your bathroom to change into your medic uniform.
“Lunch would be great.” You call back, and you swear, you can feel the warmth of his smile even from here. You gather your items, Poe standing nearby to help you slip your jacket on. “I can get you a key if you want to stay-” You begin, but stop as Poe’s lips gently meet your forehead.
“I actually found a property nearby. I’ll look into it and stay there.We don't need to rush.” He says softly, brushing his hand along your cheek. “I want you to live the life you love, I’ll be happy to be a part of it without disrupting it. We can take our time.”
He finds you later that day, both of your lunches clutched tightly in his hand, a nervous smile on his face.
It became routine.
The other medics in the hospital would all grin at the suave pilot, now flight instructor at the nearby training facility, making his way through the medical center with ease, knowing exactly where to go. You both would sit beside each other, laughing over Poe’s newest class of students, or supporting you during a difficult shift. Poe wound up buying that place near yours, enough space between you both to not destroy the delicate balance you created, but just close enough some nights after work you could stop by for a friendly dinner, or Poe could swing by for drinks and a movie.
Best friends.
Best friends was harder than you realized.
Maybe, you tried to tell yourself, it was only because you weren't with anyone since you split, of course anyone would begin to feel their heart pound at seeing their ex-boyfriend bring them lunch everyday, or meet their new friends, or watch him teach young pilots how to turn safely in their x-wings.
Anyone would.
Wouldn't they?
You let out a huff of air as you watch him out of your kitchen window, leaning over the engine of your landspeeder, brushing his hand through his hair as he assesses the mysterious noise emitting from it.
It was normal, right? For a best friend to drop everything to take a look at your broken vehicle? Surely?
You can't help the smile that stretches across your face as you spot one of your neighbors, waving familiarly at Poe. Poe returns the wave with a bright smile, even remembering their name.
You feel your skin flush as his head turns, meeting your gaze through the window. His face sinks into that typical crooked smile of his, his hand raising up to offer you a small wave. You begin to raise your own hand to wave before you spot that mischievous glimmer in his eye. “Enjoying the show?” He calls back, and you flush furiously, throwing your hand down as you quickly turn away from the window. His laugh flows through the window, warm and deep, and you find yourself smiling along as well. You shake your head, returning to the kitchen to continue making something for you two to eat.
Before long, the sky was already growing dark as night approaches, Poe still hard at work outside.
“Poe!” You call out, opening up the front door, “Come inside for dinner!” You cross your arms as you watch him remove himself from underneath the speeder, and you beg your eyes to stay trained on his face, and not the exposed skin of his stomach as he carefully pushes himself out from beneath the vehicle.
It was sad, honestly, how easy you smiled around him.
You carefully walked over to him, giving him enough space to get up and dust himself off. Your hand drifts forward, assisting in brushing off some small pieces of debris from his chest.
Your eyes slowly trail up to his, finding his eyes already boring down into yours, that warm brown creating a heat in your body. Poe reaches his hand up carefully, placing it over yours as he removes your hand, and you can feel the flood of disappointment beginning to stir, only for him to gently hold your hands between your bodies.
“Should we go inside?” He says, his voice low. You watch as his thumb begins to draw those rhythmic patterns on your skin, and you nod distractedly. Poe laughs softly, gently pulling on your hand to have you stumble closer to him.
“You seem distracted.” He muses, a smirk forming on his face. You roll your eyes, pulling your hand away gently, your skin brushing along his chest.
“I’m not, I was just wondering if you even fixed the car or simply played down there.” You shoot back, your smile lessening the blow. Poe barks out a laugh and holds his hands up in surrender.
“Oh I fixed it, hopefully, I’m a pilot after all not a mechanic.” He grins, motioning for you to enter the house first. You both laugh, this carefree energy caring through your dinner, following you both well into the night.
“Wanna watch a movie?” You ask happily, glancing back as you finish drying the last of the dishes. Poe stands behind you, placing his cleaned dinner plate back in your cabinet. You watch his muscles rippling underneath his shirt, his new job keeping him on his feet all day with the students but you were also happy to see the weight he’s put back on from your time apart. You return your gaze to the dish in your hands, so focused you barely feel the soft touch along your waist. You turn your head, finding Poe leaning his head against your shoulder blade, his hands gently holding onto your waist.
“Poe?” You ask softly, gently placing down the dish. You hear his intake of breath, but he doesn't speak, his hands simply tightening on you.
“Is this okay?” He mumbles, and you shiver as you feel his lips on the fabric of your shirt.
Was it okay?
You both walked a finely blurred line of, well, did either of you know?
You spent nearly every waking hour together, but neither of you pushed for what it all meant.
You both simply enjoyed the presence of the other.
“It's fine.” You whisper back, gently reaching your hand back to run through his hair. You hear a small whimper from behind you, and you can feel that heat burning brighter inside of you.
“Can I hold you, just for a minute?” Poe asks softly, and you find yourself nodding immediately. His hands move across your stomach to pull you in tighter, embracing you gently. His touch feels like fire on your skin, and you have to bite your lip as you feel the hard expanse of his body behind you.
“I promise I’ll get over it, I just, I need a minute-” He rambles, already beginning to pull away. Your hand flys down, settling on his arm to stop him.
“Stay.” You whisper, slowly turning yourself in his arms to face him. His face was art, painfully painted in desire for you. His hands drift along your spine, as if he isn't sure where he wants to touch you next.
“I want you to stay.” You smile softly, your hand drifting up to his face, cupping his jaw gently. “Poe, do you still want this? Do you still want us?”
Your question halts his movements, as if he were trying to hold back his next few thoughts.
“Is that even a question?” He grumbles, leaning his head down to settle in the crook of your neck. His breath hits your skin, and you gasp as you feel his lips touch your skin reverently. “I’ll always want you.”
So much for best friends.
Your hands roam across his back, your nails sinking into his skin possessively. Poe gasps, tightening his hold on you, practically crushing you to him.
“Keep going-” He gasps out, and you have to stifle a moan from yourself. You were dangling on the precipice, any further and you know you could never go back to how it was before. You faltered, and Poe immediately pulled back.
“What's wrong?” He asks quickly, moving his hands to his side, as if it was him that was the issue. You couldn't help the way your eyes welled up, a shake racking though your body.
“I’m not sure why I-” You say softly, your arms wrapping around your body protectively. “I just feel scared.”
Poe nods, not looking at you with any pity, or frustration. “Its okay, we can take it slow-”
“I don't want to go slow anymore Poe, I want you, I miss you.” You interrupt, reaching forward to grab onto his arm. “It’s not you, I am just scared, it's like, I feel everything for you so much more now, it's a lot. And I haven't done this in awhile-” You pause as you let that piece of information slip, and you watch the way his body stiffens.
Poe quickly recovers, running his hand along yours, “If it makes you feel better, I’m nervous too.” He says softly. “I havent-I didn't want to be with anyone else.” He says, gently stroking your skin.
Maybe it was the honesty in his voice, the way he told you slightly nervously, as if you would judge him. You move, pushing yourself up onto your toes to press your lips to his, finding that familiar movement with ease. Poe groans, leaning into you, running his hand up to your neck to hold you in place. Your hands tighten against his shirt, gripping it tightly as you pull him into you, pouring out every unspoken word between you both.
I want you.
I need you.
I missed you.
I love you.
You barely make it to the bedroom. Poe’s lips seem to latch onto every inch of your skin, biting and kissing with an unbearable amount of precision, knowing exactly where you need his lips next.
Your legs hit the back of your bed, threatening to topple you over except for Poe’s arm, wrapping itself around your waist to practically pull you up to him.
“I need you so badly, baby.” He moans against your lips, grinding himself against you. You tip your head back, letting yourself moan at his actions. The friction from the hardness of his body against yours sent delicious waves of pleasure through your body, and you grip onto him harder.
“Tell me I can please you, baby, tell me you’ll let me fuck you-” He pants out, his pupils widened with lust as he gazes down at you, another clothed thrust almost sending you to climax.
“Poe, please-” You gasp, your back hitting the soft comforter on your bed as he crawls over your body, still not touching you aside from his cock pressed to your stomach.
“I need you to say it, I’ve been waiting for so long to hear you say it to me again.” He whines, trailing his hand along your body.
“Poe, please, fuck me-”
Your words are squashed as his lips meet your excitedly, devouring any sounds escaping your throat. Your legs spread as he settles himself between them, the heat of his body searing into yours.
Your hands move to the play with the hem of his shirt, and Poe wastes no time in shucking it off, tossing it somewhere into the room. You laugh at his antics, and marvel as your hands trail along the planes of his torso. Poe places his hand over yours, pulling it along his body until it reaches his mouth, where he presses a hot kiss to your palm.
“I’m yours.” He says softly, looking into your eyes with adoration. Despite the heat from his earlier words, Poe moves slowly now,taking his time in torturing you. He gently eases your top off, placing kisses along your skin in worship. His hands deftly undid your pants, easing them down your thighs until he was able to tug them off. Poe grins as he moves down to the end of the bed, nestling himself between your legs as he carefully pulls your pants off from around your ankles. He grabs your leg gently, turning his head to place soft kisses along your leg, making his way up to your thighs.
Your hand threads through his hair, tugging with urgency. “Poe-” You whisper out, gasping as he bites down onto the soft skin of your inner thigh.
“Are you begging me?” He asks lowly, a rumble of a laugh in his chest. You nod, not even caring if you seemed too eager. Poe’s tongue moves slowly along the bite mark, soothing it as you moan out.
“You like when I beg.” You counter back breathily, your other hand slowly moving down your body to your underwear, determined to at least feel some sort of relief. Poe’s hand snatches yours away, a growl in his throat.
“I love when you beg, so let me do this.” His words are cut off as he places an open mouth kiss over your clothed mound, a startled gasp escaping your lips. His nose rubs along your clit, and you have to shakily grip his hair tighter to refrain from grinding yourself against him as he kisses you through your underwear. His fingers gently pull the material to the side, his tongue lapping up your wetness already leaking down onto the bed.
“Fuck-” You gasp, arching yourself off the bed as his tongue delves into you, his body knowing exactly how to make yours sing. You were already approaching an orgasm, your body sweating and shaking under his touch, when all of a sudden your pleasure has stopped, leaving you so close to relief. You whine as you look down at the man between your legs, grinning, his eyes sparkling at how he has you so undone beneath him.
“You look so beautiful like this, sweet girl.” He coos, his hands clamping down on your thighs and holding them apart. You could almost curse your body for being so pliant for him, but it remembered this. A string of slurred words leave your lips as your need grows, and Poe only watched with a warm smile before returning to your body, which in his own right, was seemingly mapped to his memory as he grazed every spot that made you whimper and moan. More clothes were removed, and before long he was sheathed inside you. His dark hair fell into his eyes, a shaky hiss leaving his lips and he held himself there on strained arms.
“You okay?” You ask breathily, your legs crossing behind his waist as if to slowly nudge him closer. Poe nods quickly, releasing a breath.
“Yep.Yep. Its just- Its just been a minute and fuck baby, you feel like home.”
Has anyone ever died from feeling so much love?
His hips begin to move slowly, deliciously, knowing exactly what angle would make you scream. Your nails scratch at his golden skin, leaving marks of existence for this moment here together.
The night sky bathed you both in darkness, the lights from the rest of your home the only source of light for the two of you. You could only catch a few glimpses of him, his face pink with lust and his eyes, oh his eyes, locked on to you. You lean up, a certain thrust pushing you the rest of the way to his lips as you kiss him deeply, your hands intertwining with his by your head.
I want you.
I need you.
I missed you.
I love you.
Poe gasps, and you can taste the tear as it falls from his eyes. His breaths come out in small whimpers as you feel his body begin to tense.
“Let go, Poe. I got you.” You whisper softly, moving your body to meet his thrusts perfectly. He curses, dropping his head to your shoulder as he speeds up to a relentless pace.
“I love you, I love you, I love you-” He cries out before slamming into you, the warm sensation of being filled coinciding with your own orgasm, muffled as his lips seek yours for one final kiss. Your bodies settle against one another, existing in this moment of serenity together. You feel Poe lift his head, and you find yourself staring at his sheepish smile once more.
“I’m sorry I couldn't last longer, you just felt so good-”
“Poe Dameron-” You snap, your eyes bright with anger, “ I know your first words to me are not going to be apologizing.”
Poe had to bite his lip so as to not cum prematurely again at your words. His hand comes up gently, running a knuckle along the soft skin of your cheek.
“Okay. I won't apologize, but I do promise with practice this’ll be fixed.”
You laugh, pushing his chest as his arms only snake around you to bring you closer, his chest rumbling with a laugh as you lay together.
You had many dreams like this, before Poe had returned. Sweet words whispered to one another under the cloak of night, wrapped in eachother's arms. By the time you could look up, to see Poe say those words you longed to hear again, your eyes were fluttering awake to the reality of his absence and the harsh morning light.
You gasp softly as you feel his lips on yours, drawing you from the ledge of slumber back to this now, with him.
Poe draws back with one final sigh, smiling down at you as he tucks you close to his heart.
“I missed you. I love you.”
You exhale softly, by this part of the dream you would have woken up.
you’re not counting, but there’s no need— every sunday evening, without fail, when megumi’s dropped off at your front door with his little backpack and scuffed sneakers, he’s right behind him. leaning against the frame as if he owns the place, all casual arrogance and bored glances, pretending he’s not eye-fucking you the second your son turns away.
toji fushiguro. your ex-husband and biggest fucking mistake. tall, broad, shameless. wears that stupid chain, chews gum like a delinquent, licks his teeth when he’s pissed. and god, he’s pissed a lot— scowling, jaw tense, watching you like he wants to spit in your mouth and call it closure.
you keep things civil. surface-level. polite, even— because it’s megumi. because you’ve made peace with the fact that you’ll always have this one thing tethering you together. you hand off the overnight bag. he hands off the attitude. sometimes you talk about school, allergies, schedules. sometimes he mutters shit like, “still don’t know why you left when you keep dressing like that,” and you bite your tongue so hard it aches.
you don’t fight anymore. that’s the rule.
until tonight.
“date go well?”
you freeze mid-step, the takeout bag in your hand crinkling. you don’t turn around. “what?”
“megumi told me,” he says from behind you, voice low and flat. “some guy picked you up. said he had flowers. cologne. nice car.”
you close your eyes, inhale slowly. of course he did.
“we went for dinner. nothing serious.”
“hm,” he hums. you can hear the crack of his gum. “he kiss you?”
your fingers tighten around the bag. “that’s none of your business.”
he laughs— low, sharp, ugly. “funny. didn’t know other men liked their mouths on used pussy.”
you whip around, slapping him before you can think. hard. the sound echoes in the entryway.
he doesn’t even flinch.
just tilts his head, jaw flexing, tongue running across his bottom lip. and then he’s moving— slowly crowding into your space until your back hits the wall and the food hits the floor.
“you done?” he asks, voice calm, hand on your waist like he’s done this a hundred times. “or you wanna hit me again before i fuck the attitude out of you?”
you breathe hard. you should shove him. scream. kick his ass out.
but your thighs are already clenching.
it’s toji— warm and big and dangerously familiar, his breath brushing your cheek, steady and unbothered. you hate him— you hate him— but you still dream about the way he used to fuck you like it was his goddamn right.
“fuck you,” you whisper.
his grin is slow and mean. “you will.”
+
you don’t remember how you ended up bent over the kitchen counter, panties shoved to the side, his fingers shoved in your mouth to keep you quiet, saliva already pooling on your tongue from how deep he forces them in. your cheek is pressed to the cool surface, breath stuttering, hips pinned back against him while he crowds over you like there’s nowhere left to run.
“two fuckin’ years,” he mutters, cock grinding against your slit, thick and heavy and leaking against your folds, smearing slick up and down until you twitch. “two years and you still get wet like this for me. pathetic.” he drags the head through your mess again, unhurried, purposeful, making you feel every second of it, and your thighs tremble around nothing.
you try to turn your head, muffle something unintelligible that sounds like “don’t—” but he grabs your jaw, forces you still, and spits directly in your mouth.
you gasp, choke on it— and he uses it, of course he does. leans down, tongue sliding over yours, licking it up with a low, filthy groan, his cock twitching against your entrance as your body jolts. “fuck,” he breathes against your lips, “still take me so easy.”
“no running this time,” he growls, voice dropping as he lines himself up, thick tip nudging at your entrance, pressing just enough to make a tiny you whine escape you. “you hear me? you take it. every inch.”
and you try. you really do.
but he’s already pushing in, splitting you open raw and thick and ruthless from the first thrust, no warning, no patience— just taking. he buries himself to the base in one hard snap of his hips, forcing a broken, muffled moan out of you, “mnn- ahh—!” your fingers clawing uselessly at the counter as your body jolts forward. the stretch burns, too much, too sudden, and he just stays there for a second, seated deep, wanting you to feel every inch of him lodged inside you.
“shit,” he groans, low and wrecked, “still so fuckin’ tight, fuck—”
then he moves.
hard. fast. relentless.
the slap of his hips echoes through the kitchen, sharp and wet and filthy, each thrust stealing the airw from your lungs while your moans break around a sob, drool slipping down your chin. “ah- ahh- f-fuck—!” it spills out anyway, messy and high, your body jerking with every deep drag of his cock as he fucks into you like he’s pissed off, like he’s punishing you for something you don’t even remember doing.
“this pussy’s mine,” he snarls, yanking your head back by your hair so your spine arches, forcing you deeper onto him. “doesn’t matter how many dates you go on. this—” he slams into you harder, knocking another choked cry out of you, “—belongs to me.”
you legs give out completely, knees buckling, but he doesn’t care. he just hauls one up, plants your foot on the counter, spreading you wider, folding you open so he can hit deeper, rougher— so deep it makes your stomach twist.
“look at you,” he pants, pace turning sloppy and heavy, “creamin’ on my cock already. fuckin’ mess- shit, listen to that.” his hand presses against your lower stomach, as if he can feel himself moving inside you, and the thought makes you whimper, broken. “you missed this, didn’t you? mmh, fuck, missed this fat cock stretchin’ you open, knockin’ the attitude outta you.”
you sob something like a yes, thoroughly wrecked, dissolving into breathy, dragged-out moans, “y-yes- hah- ahh—!” already unraveling, teetering on the edge, and he knows. he always knows. his hand slips down, fingers finding your clit, rubbing messy, unforgiving circles that make your whole body spasm.
“there it is,” he murmurs, almost mocking, overly pleased. “go on. cum on it.”
and you do.
you cum so hard your vision goes white, thighs shaking, a broken cry tearing out of you as your body clenches around him, pulsing, dragging him deeper while your back arches and your hands slip against the counter.
and he doesn’t stop.
he never stops.
not when you squirm. not when you whimper. not when your voice goes soft and desperate, “t-toji, too much- mmh—!” not even when you sob into your arms and try to crawl away, hips twitching like you can escape the way he keeps dragging you back onto his cock.
“nuh-uh,” he grunts, grip bruising as he hauls you back, fucking you deeper, harder, like he’s chasing something. “where you goin’, huh? not done with you.” his pace turns mean all over again, each thrust punching a moan out of you. “you wanted to play house with someone else? go on lil’ dates like i’m dead?”
he leans over you, chest pressed to your back, mouth at your ear, breath hot and rough as his hips snap into yours.
“nah,” he mutters, “i’m right here, baby. mmh- fuck- i’m right here…” another deep thrust, making you cry out, “…and i’m not leavin’ till this cunt learns who she fuckin’ belongs to.”
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