don’t think about boba singing a lullaby to his baby while the baby is sleeping on his bare chest
THIS HAD ME MESSED UP ALL DAY BRO PLS OMG
Drabble below the cut! (Gender Neutral Reader; no y/n; found family; mention of child abandonment with rapid subsequent adoption; Boba has a fast trigger finger and no patience for bs; light gentle smooches; Boba singing; SOFT FEELS)
You pressed a gentle kiss to Boba's cheek before you departed the throne room, an empty sack thrown over your shoulder waiting to be filled with whatever was fresh at the market. As you made your way down the dim corridor you thought out your mental list despite knowing that it would be abandoned as soon as the fragrant spices of the open air stands washed over your senses.
Things had been going well lately, and Boba seemed content in his position. You wanted to surprise him, so you made plans to seek out a certain bakery stand to pick up something sweet, a nice treat at the end of his day.
The vendor offered many delicacies from across the galaxy and sometimes they had a few pieces of Corellian air cake - Boba's favorite for the fruit filling and delicate sweetness. Your mind was full of sugar and berries, sticky and light as you quietly hummed to yourself, thinking of sitting on the armrest of the throne to feed Boba little pieces of confection from between your fingers.
You swung the heavy iron door behind you with a smile, pausing to ensure it clicked before making your way to your speeder, stopping once again when an eerie cry filled your ears.
Was that?
No, you thought, it couldn't be.
But the sound was persistent, cutting through the air and straight to your heart. You immediately moved towards the noise, hugging the wall as you approached the main gate. You found a small basket, the noise coming from the small child swaddled within. When you pulled your binocs from your belt and scanned the dunes for any sign of life you found nothing but harsh sands, wavy with the heat of the binary suns.
You chewed your lip for just a moment, the choice quite obvious. You gathered the small thing to your chest, holding them close while you stuffed the basket in your bag, racing back into the palace as quickly as your body would allow. Blessedly the baby stopped crying, but that didn't stop you from calling out for Boba as you ran down the steps.
He held up a hand to silence whoever it was talking to him, beckoning you closer. You began to explain the way you found them, abandoned at the door. Words were pouring out of you at lightspeed, tears threatened to fall over your lashes as you clutched the baby to your chest, stopping only when the hunter next to Boba made some sort of bitter laugh. When you sent him a scathing glare the man scoffed, making some offhand ‘joke’ about abandoned children being fed to rancors.
Boba slowly twisted his head at that, and the man didn't have time to apologize before smoke was rising from his chest. Before you could blink his blaster returned to his side, and Fennec was pushing the body into the pit of the very beast the man had mentioned.
Boba scanned the room, the other bounty hunters and callers unbothered by the events that had unfolded. He cleared his throat once and all eyes fell to him, a single word emptying the chamber in a second.
"Out."
-
Several weeks had passed since you found the baby, a little Twi’lek with purple skin blotched with teal. Boba had taken to calling them Sarad'ika - little flower, he had mentioned once - and you quickly followed suit.
The day you found them he went to the markets instead, bringing a larger speeder and piling it high with cloth, pillows, and blankets, extra food and some simple toys. When he returned you learned that he was skilled with a hand needle, showing you how to sew simple garments. Your knowledge was previously limited to simple repair stitches and holding these delicate fabrics in your hand and a spool strong silk thread, Boba’s hands gently gathering material while his brow furrowed in concentration, you couldn't help but laugh. These hands of his, known throughout the galaxy for destruction, were gently threading needles, sewing together little garments and changing small diapers.
You thought he was protective of you before, his long time lover. But it was nothing to what he was now, silencing questions about the child held to his chest with a dark glare or the menacing tilt of his helmet. He insisted on making trips out to town for supplies, leaving you to play or nap with the child.
It was a slow day for once and you finally convinced him to let you go to the market, suggesting he spend his rare spare time playing with the kid. He finally agreed, so long as you promised to take one of the pill droids with and carry his extra blaster at your hip. An easy compromise.
When you returned to the palace your bag was heavy, laden with fruits and vegetables and breads. You had a wrapped parcel in your hands, too delicate to throw in with the rest. Two neat slices of air cake with jogan fruit filling were resting inside, the last the vendor had.
You shuffled along the corridors, dropping your bag off in the kitchens before heading to the throne room, finding it empty. The few visitors that day must be long gone if Fennec had left too, so you continued to your chambers. The door was cracked a bit and you stopped, leaning on the door frame as you looked in.
You smiled, finding Boba in the rocking chair he had made, gently pushing himself back and forth with his foot. Sarad was fast asleep on his bare chest, their little hand wrapped around one of his pinkies as he sang a sweet Mando'a melody. They looked so tiny in his arms, the thumb of his hand rubbing across their little shoulders.
The tune registered as slightly familiar, and you wondered if you had heard Boba sing it before as you fell asleep tucked into his side. The words were softer then the finest silks, wrapping you and the baby in the kind of warmth that could only be kindled by a whole and true love. You could watch him like this forever, cradling this sweet child to himself, looking at peace at last.
He paused, placing a kiss to the top their head, nestled between their budding lekku.
"You can come in, my dear one."
You grinned as you quietly opened the door, padding inside before closing it as gently as you could. You placed the parcel on the edge of the bed as you made your way to Boba’s side, placing a light kiss on his cheek before running the tip of your index finger over your child's tiny knuckles.
They yawned a little, rubbing their cheek against Boba's skin. He stood and kissed you once more, placing them in the crib at the foot of your shared bed. You helped him wrap them for the night, quiet motions now muscle memory. Your routine came together easily enough, like it had always been this way.
When he sat next to you on the bed you handed him the parcel, watching him beam when he found the treats nestled safely in the box. He set it to the side once more and wrapped an arm around your waist, his forehead meeting your own before wrapping his other hand around yours.
He pulled your knuckles to his mouth to breathe a quiet promise frequently repeated, love rolling off his tongue in the breathy way he spoke his father's tongue.
He needs someone to give him soft praise, boy has been through a lot 🥺 also I’m a huge sap and I had planned to make this a little spicy but it went in a different direction once I started writing
The two of you are sitting slumped on your couch, watching TV. EZ has an arm draped across your shoulders and you’re leaning into his side, head resting on his shoulder.
Plates left over from your simple dinner sit on the coffee table in front of you.
You begin to drift. The late hour, the quiet predictability of the show you’re watching, and the comfortable weight of EZ’s arm all work together to create a relaxed haze in your mind. Your attention slides away from the TV and you stare at the faint glint of a chain where EZ keeps it tucked into his collar.
Reaching over to splay a hand on his chest, you can feel the outline of the medal under his shirt.
“Tonight has been really nice,” you say softly.
He leans his cheek against the top of your head. “Yeah?”
You slowly trace his medal with a fingertip, enjoying the warmth of his chest against your palm. “Hmm. I like it when you come over. When we make dinner together.” Smiling to yourself, you add, “Even though you don’t know how to dice onions. Or cook anything other than eggs.”
He chuckles and you feel the vibrations under your hand. “I’m learning,” he says, mock defensive.
“You are,” you concede gently. Turning slightly, you press your face into his shoulder and try to find the right words to express the warm squeeze in your chest. “I like having you in my space,” you try, voice a bit hesitant, “I like talking to you and hearing about your day, and I like sitting with you like this.” Heat spreads upward from that space in your chest, into your face and the back of your neck. “I like when you put your head in my lap so I can play with your hair and when you kiss my cheek while we’re walking, just because you feel like it.”
He holds you a little closer, kissing your temple. The room is silent, save for the low sound of the TV, as you both let your words linger.
“Y’know,” EZ begins after a few moments, his voice low and slightly strained, “I thought you were about to kick me out.” He laughs. “Saying that you had a nice night and everything usually means something like ‘go home so I can get some sleep.’”
You laugh too, sniffling a little as emotion stings your sinuses.
He swallows. “I wasn’t really expecting...everything else. And I love you. That’s the only thing I can think to say that really sums up how you make me feel after hearing all of that.” Pinching the bridge of his nose with his free hand, he quietly laughs again and whispers, “damn it” while trying to wipe at his eyes.
“I love you, too. And I’m not kicking you out,” you giggle, feeling your own eyes water. Sitting up, you cup his face with one hand and draw his gaze back to you. “I was actually hoping that you might stay here for tonight. If you want to.” You bite the inside of your cheek while studying his face, hand drifting down to the side of his neck where your thumb can trace along his jaw.
He smiles, carefully covering your hand with his own. “Yeah. Yeah, I’d like that.”
Cas but what about jealous neighbor!frankie. Like one summer evening he comes over and knocks on your door and you answer in a new sundress ready for a blind date, and he’s like speechless cause duh. But then your actual date walks up and he’s completely forgotten why he came over in the first place but he wishes y’all a good date. And like he knows he shouldn’t worry you’re a big girl and can take care of yourself but he waits up for you to come home. That’s what good neighbors do right?
okay so we’re gonna say this takes place before the kissing went down :)
[neighbor!frankie masterlist]
Frankie had wondered why you didn’t show up for the “date” in your garden this afternoon. He walked into his backyard with his guitar expecting to see you in your garden. It was something he looked forward to almost every day now, but today you weren’t there. As he knocked on your door, he wasn’t expecting anything that you were about to tell him.
You opened the door and smiled at him. “Hey Francisco.”
“Hey.” His eyes scanned over you quickly and noticed the lovely sundress you were wearing. You seemed to be dressed for something...but what? “You look nice,” he said.
“Thanks. I have this ridiculous blind date my friends set me up on,” you said and Frankie was sure his heart shattered into a million little pieces.
“Blind date, huh?” he asked even though he had definitely heard you.
“Yes.” You noticed the change in his body language but didn’t think much of it.
“Where are you guys going?”
“A little cafe downtown,” you told him.
“Ah...that’s nice.” He stood there for a moment then sighed. “Well, I’ll leave you to it.” Before you could stop him, he walked away looking slightly dejected.
*
He pretended to be working in his yard for hours while he waited for you to get back. Every car that drove by made him look up from what he was doing and most of the time he ended up disappointed.
Then you finally pulled up and he turned away quickly, pretending to be invested in weeding the sidewalk.
“Hey Frankie,” you said, walking up to him.
“Hey. How did the date go?” he asked though he didn’t really want to hear how much fun you had with another man.
“Ugh...not good.” You made a face and he looked at you, surprised (and happy as hell).
“What happened?” He stood up straight so that he wasn’t staring directly at your legs.
He wasn’t you, you wanted to say. “We just didn’t have anything in common. There was no connection, you know?”
“I see.” He shook his head and put his hands on his hips.
“I’m gonna go change. I feel silly getting dressed up for nothing.” You started to walk away.
“You look perfect,” he called and you turned to him with a smile.
“Thank you.”
Ask her out, he thought.
“I know a better cafe in the next town over if you ever wanna check it out,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck.
“I’d love to.” You looked down then back up at him. “Is it a date?”
“If you want it to be,” he said.
“I definitely do.” You had butterflies in your stomach and so did he. “Well, goodnight.”
“Goodnight.”
You smiled as you walked away. His eyes were on you until you walked into your house. When he was sure you couldn’t see him anymore, he punched the air happily then ran inside to tell his best friend he had a date for the first time in forever.
“Just let me see (her/him/them) one last time. Please.” with Paz 🥺
Title: Home Is In Your Arms
Pairing: Paz x F Reader
Word Count: ~4k
Rating: R
Warnings: Canon-typical violence, Reader is an ex-Storm Trooper and was not treated well, some attempts at medical jargon, Paz is injured, a hint of angst, and vanilla sex.
Author’s Notes: A request from the lovely, wonderful @huliabitch that was supposed to be a one-shot but evolved into this entire-ass fic because I sort of like this concept? There’s a lot of buildup and not a lot of angst, but just a hint. I really hope you don’t mind! [Holy crap, I copied the wrong list of tags for this. I took those extra names off as soon as I realized it. I’m not sure if I got it quickly enough, though. If you got a note, I am really sorry. Forgive me, please.]
📚 My Master List 📚
If you want to send in a prompt (or just talk to me lol), feel free to peruse the list here!
The gunshot wound to his side is like a singular point of white-hot fire, a blinding supernova of agony as he stumbles against the crumbling remains of the blown-out grocery store. Blood burbles up through his lips and sprays against the inside screen of his visor, streaking crimson as it drips out through the bottom of his helmet. Paz sinks down between two of the shelves, fingers trembling as he tries to staunch the blood rapidly seeping into his kute. Paz gasps as his backside touches the ground, jarring the agonizing pain shooting up his side. His head swims nauseatingly as he struggles to get each gasp of air into his aching lungs.
Fuck, he thinks to himself. Really got in over my head today.
He had a bounty to pick up – a simple bounty for someone skipping on bail – and he had almost gotten them. Then the troopers had shown up with two AT-STs and a TIE-fighter. His head suddenly feels both heavy and empty, and he thinks about his family. His home. Paz lets his head fall back against a stone pillar, blackness starting to seep in at the edges of his eyesight.
Just let me see them one last time. Please.
The last thing he sees as his head bobs down toward his chest are a pair of white boots approaching him.
-
-
-
The EMP blast triggers a minor explosion that knocks you off your feet. Collapsing into the remains of the store, you try to regain your bearings. It takes you several minutes to realize that your collar is no longer buzzing. You toss your weapon down and yank your helmet off, pulling at the band digging into your neck. It does not budge. You swear quietly to yourself.
You remove your breast plate and abdominal armor and drop it on the ground. They will not protect you much from Mandalorian weapons. You’d rather die in your undersuit than in the Empire’s armor. The vambraces follow, falling to the dusty, cracked concrete with a clatter. Glancing around the shop, you find that you are in some sort of supply store. Hopefully, there will be a knife here you can borrow.
As you pass by a display, you pick up a bag and loop it over your chest. Then you go to ransack the shelve for food and medical supplies. There isn’t much here, but it will be enough to tide you over until you can find someplace safe.
When you round the corner, you see a massive pile of blue armor in the corner. You freeze. This is the Mandalorian who had taken out half the buckets on your squad by himself. Many of them had been collared like you. Others were blind followers of the Empire. Despite this, you hold no bitterness against him.
Rather, you find yourself in terrified awe of him.
You get as close to him as you dare and crouch, poking his pauldron. He doesn’t budge. Glancing down at his side, you notice the wound on his side. Shit, he has lost a lot of blood. Chewing on your lower lip, you begin digging through your bag of pilfered supplies. You have some basic first aid training, so you get to work on getting him back onto his feet. When you’ve packed the wound and sealed it with a mass of tape, you start to rifle through his pockets to see what medical supplies he might be carrying. He has a single dose of the really good bacta, the stuff that’ll get a corpse back onto its feet for a few minutes. The stuff that cannon fodder like you would never be given.
For a moment, you stare down at the tiny bottle in your hand, watching as the dose of medicine swishes around inside. You want to take it, but you decide against it. This warrior deserves better than to bleed out in a damn grocery store.
You stab him in the patch of skin you can see. Then you grab his vibroblade and start sawing at the band around your throat, cursing violently as the blade just barely begins to chew through it. You are so engrossed in the task at hand that you do not hear the soft inhalation from behind you. Or the near-silent growl. A rough hand grabs you by the shirt and pulls up. The other hand wraps itself around your neck and you go very still, teetering on your tiptoes to avoid being choked to death.
“Who the fuck are you?” comes a low, deadly voice in your ear.
“The idiot who decided to help you?” you choke out.
“Why the hell would an Imp help a Mandalorian?”
“F-figured would be the right thing to do,” you gasp out. “Borrowed you-your knife – “
“Did you want me on my feet to try and kill me?” he hisses at you. “Did you think I’d be an easy target?”
Your heart rate spikes as his hand tightens around your throat. You cough in response, pulling at his forearm to try and breathe. He doesn’t budge.
“Collar – cut it off – let me – let me die free, please – “
The arm around your neck loosens slightly. Blood rushes back into your head and your knees wobble. His other hand comes up and you inhale, closing your eyes, expecting him to snap your neck. Instead, he examines your collar.
“Interesting,” he says.
Then he yanks his blade from your hand and puts it back where you had borrowed it.
“If I let you go, will you attack me?”
“Not suicidal,” you gasp out.
“Smart girl,” he rumbles out.
He lets go. You stagger a bit, wheezing as you suck down some air to your oxygen-starved lungs. You turn to look at him. Upright, he’s even bigger than you thought. He towers over you by no small amount, nearly twice your size. You swallow tightly, feeling quite exposed without your armor.
Not that it would have protected you much if he decided to take a swing at you. Tripping and falling would crack that cheap plasteel shit. He stumbles and you just barely catch him around the middle. A grunt escapes you at just how damn heavy he is.
“If I help you out of here, will you take this damn thing off me?” you ask him.
“Sure, why not?” he slurs.
“Where to?” you ask.
“East,” he says.
“Are we waiting for anybody?”
“No,” he manages to say. “Just me.”
You stare at him incredulously.
“You are responsible for all this?” you hiss, gesturing at the mayhem outside.
He throws his head back and laughs. It takes nearly two hours to walk the half-mile back to his ship. At some point, you debate on asking him if he’d be willing to ditch the armor, but you decide against it. That amount of beskar is probably worth a small fortune. It takes you a minute to spot his ship, cleverly hidden under a rocky overhang and a large camouflage tarp.
The ramp opens and you carry him up the ramp. There, you drag him as far as you can before he collapses. You grab the tarp and drag it inside to keep it from getting sucked into the intake vents. You shut the door before you start looking for a med kit. You find it in the galley, just above the sink. Then you hurtle back to the Mandalorian and inject him with another dose of the good stuff. Then you check his wound. Miraculously, the bleeding seems to have stopped.
From there, there is little you can do but wait, so you cover his chest with a blanket and climb into the cockpit. It only takes a few minutes to get the ship into the air and away from the battlefield.
-
-
-
You aren’t quite sure when you fell asleep, but when a hand clamps down on your shoulder, your neck is sore, and you have drooled on yourself. You look up. Big Blue is looming over you.
“The fuck are you doing?” he growls.
You blink the sleep out of your eyes. Then it all comes back in a rush. Shit.
“I didn’t know where you wanted to go,” you stutter out. “So I put her in a random hyperspace lane. I think.”
“Move,” he snarls.
You quickly get out of his way and he sits down. You retreat into the copilot’s chair, where you sit in silence for several minutes. He makes several course adjustments before you dare to speak up.
“Can I use your refresher, please?” you ask.
Be polite and he may not just toss you out the back. He growls. You take that as a yes. You head down the ladder and into the refresher you had seen. You relieve yourself. Then you eye the tiny washing machine stuffed in the corner. You stare down at your stained undersuit.
It’s filthy.
You’re filthy.
Gnawing on your lower lip, you peer over at the ladder. You asked for the refresher, not the toilet. And the washing machine is in the refresher. So it’s fair game?
Swiftly, before you can porg out like a coward, you shuck the suit and your underthings off, stuffing it all into the washing machine. Then you jump into the shower and begin cleaning up quickly. You untie your hair and work the worst of the knots in your braid out with your fingers. Then you steal some soap and start scrubbing the layers of blood, dirt, and grime off your body.
The water is cold, but it is glorious to be able to shower for more than two minutes at a time. When you are finished, you hop out and grab a towel. You can just barely wrap it around yourself, and it does little to cover your curves. You are just moving your things into the dryer when you hear your Mandalorian’s footsteps stomping toward the door.
“It’s been twenty minutes,” he snarls.
You open the door, putting your hands up.
“I asked to borrow your refresher,” you say. “I borrowed it. Nothing more.”
He freezes, his dark visor tilted down at you.
“Uh,” he stutters out. “Uhm – “
“It looks like it’ll be a little bit before everything is finished drying,” you tell him. “Then I’ll find a corner to sit in. I promise I won’t do anything stupid.”
“Uh, yeah,” he stammers. “Get dressed. I will be in the cockpit.”
He turns on his heel and goes back to the ladder in a hurry. You frown after him. What a weirdo. It takes another thirty minutes for the dryer to finish extracting the moisture from your clothing. You put it all back on and head up to the cockpit. He turns to look at you.
“You stay on that cushion,” he says, pointing at a chair. “Are we clear?”
“Aye, captain,” you say, sitting down in the copilot’s chair.
He disappears down the narrow corridor. You peer after him, snooping shamelessly. You catch a glimpse of a big bed and a gun case before the door swishes shut after him. You turn your attention back to the dizzying array of blue lights passing by in the windows. Boredom sets in quickly. You glance at the door. Then at the cushion under you.
A stupid thought seizes you. You’re hungry. He’s probably famished. Big Blue is your commanding officer now. So, he gets to eat first. Then, if he allows it, you get to eat your own ration. You push the thoughts away. This isn’t the Empire - he may not care if you eat at all.
But still. He’s your commanding officer now. And he’s been injured.
You give the cushion a tug and it pulls away from the seat, revealing the attachment points. You climb down the ladder, the cushion under one arm. Then you go dig around in the galley for something to snack on. Setting the cushion on the ground, you take your place on it, and start sifting through the packages of freeze-dried food.
“WOMAN - !” your Mandalorian bellows.
You nearly leap into the air. He drops down the ladder and lands with a jarring thud. He comes stomping into the galley, where you have put what appears to be a ration pack on the counter to heat. He glowers down at you.
“What. Did. I. Tell. You.”
“You said I couldn’t leave the cushion,” you say. “But you need to eat – “
“I can feed myself,” he hissed. “I gave you a direct order – “
You pat the cushion under your ass.
“You need to eat,” you repeat. “Your blood sugar is probably tanked by now. And concentrated bacta does weird things to your sodium levels. You need to eat, sir.”
He inhales sharply to yell, but he cuts himself off, pressing his face to his hand. You can almost see the steam curling from under his helmet.
“Do not call me sir. Get your ass to the cockpit. NOW. Before I snap your fucking neck and throw you out the airlock.”
You grab the bread roll and stuff it into your mouth. Then you grab the cushion and climb back up the ladder, hastily replacing it where it belongs. By the time he gets back to you, you’ve devoured the bread, and you are licking the crumbs off your fingertips.
“Don’t get smart with me,” he snaps.
You tilt your head up at him questioningly and decide to not argue.
“Let me see your collar,” he says grouchily.
You flip your hair forward. Big Blue grabs the collar. This time, he far gentler as he starts messing with it. You stay quiet, hoping that it will come off. Then you feel something cold slip between it and your neck. Then it pinches and the collar falls away. You stare down at it, turning it over and over.
“I’m free,” you whisper. You look up at him. “I’m free.”
“Looks like it,” he says. “Where are you from?”
You shake your head.
“I don’t know.”
“How old are you?”
“I’m at least twenty-four,” you say. “That’s all I know.”
He turns to look at you.
“Any fodders who survive to their twenty-fourth get the dubious pleasure of being shortlisted for officer training,” you say quietly, bitterly as you look out the window. “I think my training started last year at some point.”
“How do you not remember?” he asks impatiently.
“They don’t want to damage our nervous systems with repeated shocking,” you say, looking down at the collar in your hands. “They sometimes drugged us if they suspected we were thinking too much.”
He doesn’t respond. You exhale. Then you chortle.
“Are you looking to hire backup? I’m a fair shot,” you say wryly. “I ask for two meals a day and a corner to sleep in.”
“You think I’d pay you that much?” he retorts. “You Imps are all terrible shots.”
“By the time someone gets put on frontline duty, their fine motor controls are fried,” you say nonchalantly, swinging your foot back and forth. You hold up your hand, watching as your fingers tremble minutely.
“A lieutenant made a pass at me and I turned him down. He didn’t like that,” you say nonchalantly. “He refused to take no for an answer, so I broke his nose.”
“You were tortured for defending yourself?” he asks, his voice suddenly quiet.
You tilt your head up at him questioningly.
“Oh, no. Gideon had him killed for making a pass at me. Mingling between officers and fodders is forbidden,” you say, shaking your head. “I got my date with the electrical socket because I missed cleaning up his blood. Some of it got on Gideon’s boot."
You wrap your arms around your knee and stare out at the lights flashing by. He doesn’t respond for a long time.
“Two meals and a corner?” he asks.
“That’s my best offer,” you respond. “If you let me have a blanket, I can negotiate down to one meal a day.”
“Bread?” he counters.
“Warm,” you return easily. “With butter. And I still want a blanket.”
“You look at me wrong and I will toss you straight out through the airlock. You understand?”
You nod, relief filling you.
-
-
-
Two Years Later
You nudge Paz with your elbow and tilt your head toward the gorgeous redhead at the bar.
“How about her?” you ask. “Go ask her for her comm number.”
“No,” Paz says for the twelfth time that night. “I told you, I have a different type.”
“I can’t help you find a nice lady if you won’t tell me what your type is,” you say to Paz. “You have turned down literally every person I have suggested. You do still like ladies, right?”
He sighs in exasperation.
“I don’t do the temporary thing,” he says at long last.
“So you want the whole nine parsecs, yes?” you ask. “A nice courtship, marriage, and a herd of little blue brats? Maybe a loth-cat?”
“Yeah,” he says. “Or as close as I can get to it. I’m not going to find that person in a bar.”
You sigh dejectedly.
“Why do you care?” he asks, tilting his helmet down at you.
“Well, I certainly am not going to get laid,” you say. “Might as well play the role of backup and keep helping you out.”
He huffs in amusement.
“I have my eyes on someone closer to me,” he says quietly.
“Oh?” you ask, perking up. “Is it – oh, who was that – sauce girl? The one who dumped a pot of sauce all over – “
“No,” Paz says, his head turning to yours sharply. “No, you di’kut. That was my kriffing cousin.”
“Well, fuck,” you say. “She’s the only woman I’ve seen you spend any amount of time with.”
“Much closer,” he continues in an odd tone.
“…are you hiding your lady friends from me?” you ask, narrowing your eyes up at him. “What, are you afraid I’ll tell them about your stupid ideas when you get wasted? How dare you.”
He harrumphs grumpily.
“Take mercy on the poor man,” a drunken voice slurs. “He means you, daft girl.”
A sharp jolt of surprise fills you as you look up at Paz. He grimaces and refuses to look at you as he sips his drink down. The drunk person laughs and sloshes their way to an empty booth, where they collapse onto the cushion and start snoring. You give Paz an appraising look.
“So, do you wanna fuck me, or do you want the whole nine parsecs?” you ask, tilting your head up at him.
“Uh…both?” he says.
Without hesitating, you slam a handful of credits on the bar to pay for your drink. Then you finish the last sip.
“Let’s go,” you tell him.
“Where?” he asks.
“Ship,” you say. “I haven’t been fucked in years.”
“Well, maybe we should discuss – “
“Blue,” you say patiently. “There is nothing to discuss. My answer is yes.”
You hear his sharp inhalation from here.
“Now. If you don’t start moving, I’ll just borrow the bartender’s can opener,” you say saucily to him. “I’ll get that codpiece off, one way or another.”
Paz puts his drink down and adds his own money to the pile. It takes far too long to get back to the ship. Once the ramp is closed behind him, you start shucking your clothes off. When you’re completely naked, you start helping Paz remove his armor, dropping it onto the table. Then he removes his padding and undersuit, revealing a thick, muscular frame to you. Then the lights turn off and you hear another thunk. A thrill runs through you when you realize his helmet is off.
“Bed?” you ask, hoping he’ll say yes to a tumble on that decadent bed of his.
“Bed,” he confirms.
You make it up the ladder in record time, opening the bedroom door. Paz follows after you, not bothering to shut the door, as he hurtles onto the bed after you. He throws you down onto your back, mouth crashing onto yours, one hand groping at your hip and the other supporting the majority of his weight. You pull at Paz’s hair, digging your nails into his scalp as you kiss him back, wrapping your legs snugly around his waist. It’s sloppy and a bit rushed, but you do not care.
He tastes like the cheap fruit alcohol he had been drinking and like himself, vaguely sweet and metallic. You nip at his lower lip, a little rougher than you intended, earning a growl from him. He grinds his length against you and you gasp sharply. You’re already soaking wet and ready for Paz as he slides his hand between your bodies. His fingers press inward. You tear your mouth away from his and moan, lifting your hips against his hand.
“Yes,” you hiss at him. “Paz, more!”
He nibbles his way along your neck and down to your shoulder, the wet sounds of his fingers working inside of you barely audible over your moans. Frustrated, you hook one leg behind his, the other on the bed for leverage. You kiss Paz back, forcing your tongue into his mouth, relishing in his noise of surprise. You push against his shoulder at the same time and you just barely get him onto his back.
“Not sure what you think you’re doin’,” he manages to say as you settle on his hips.
“Shut up,” you tell him, as you position his generously sized cock under you.
Your eyes roll back as you start to take him in slow, short thrusts. He’s a lot bigger than you had expected, but you are no coward – you have never shied away from a challenge. Just when you think you can’t take any more of his hard, thick length, your clit presses down against his pubic bone, and a victorious thrill runs through you.
You can feel him throbbing deep inside of you just shy of discomfort. As you catch your breath, Paz shifts impatiently, a groan escaping him.
“Move, move – “ he urges around his pants. “Baby, please.”
Resting your weight on his lower belly, you start a slow pace, grinding slow circles, relishing in each rich moan you can get from your lover. One hand finds your hip, the other your breast. He pinches down on your nipple and you mewl at the sharp burst of pleasure.
“Fuck,” he stutters out. “Feel so-so fuckin’ good, baby.”
You change your pace, swiveling your hips in tight circles, arching your back so he can get in nice and deep with each thrust. Paz gasps, a tremor running through his body as you take him that extra half-inch.
“Shit,” he says, his voice catching just a hair, “Oh fuck, don’t – don’t know what I did to deserve you. Don’t fuckin’ deserve you, baby – “
Your breath stutters at his words, but your pace doesn’t break.
“ – so good to me,” he babbles, “Too good to me – too good for me – “
Tears spring to your eyes at his self-deprecation. You dig your nails into his belly to stop him, grinding down against his pubic bone.
“You’re mine,” you whisper in response. “Mine, Paz Vizsla, you’re mine and you’re perfect.”
Both hands fall to your hips and Paz starts to thrust up into you, taking over and setting the pace he wants. Paz grunts in frustration and pulls you down against his chest, rolling your bodies back over before you can protest. He presses a kiss to your lips before resuming his punishing pace once more, each thrust sending you spiraling higher and higher toward completion. You dig your nails into his back when he starts hitting that spot, the one that makes you sob.
“Yes, yes, yes,” you chant into his ear. “Gods, yes, Paz – I’m c-coming – “
You tighten around him and cry out on more time, digging your heels into his backside as you come around him, walls shuddering around his cock. The pleasure sweeps through you in deep, devastating waves, leaving you breathless and shaking. Paz goes stiff, harsh groans escaping him with each pulse of his cock inside you. After several long seconds, he falls forward onto his elbows, trapping you under him. As you run your fingers along his spine and massage his shoulders, Paz sighs with pleasure, his cock occasionally twitching.
“Need me to move?” he asks.
“I can take it,” you say sleepily. “Kinda like it. You’re like a weighted blanket. A really warm one.”
He huffs in amusement.
“Your feet are like ice,” he says.
He pulls his hips back. A torrent of his spend follows as you stretch out for a few seconds. Then you crawl under the blanket and curl up, inhaling the soft scent of his pillows. Paz joins you a moment later, wrapping an arm around your waist.
“You’re a walking furnace,” you mumble to him. “Holy fuck.”
He chuckles and presses a kiss to your temple. Just as your breath is starting to slow, Paz speaks softly. So softly you nearly miss it.
“Always wanted to go home,” he whispers. “Never knew it was right here the whole time.”
Warmth fills your chest at those sweet words.
“Sleep, cyar’ika.”
For the first time in your life, you find rest easily. You dream of pleasant things, and your future no longer seems terrifying and lonely.
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Tags: I guess this qualifies as a fic in some places? lmao
‘WHAT IF HE LET YOU SIT ON THE THRONE AND ATE YOU OUT THERE’ BITCH THE FUCK YOU KNOW HE WOULD HED HAVE YOU CRYING AND HE CHUCKLE AND JUST KEEP GOING
DEADASS JULIA YOU AND ME AND THAT OTHER ANON HAD THE SAME THOT YESTERDAY AND I--GREAT MINDS THINK ALIKE HUH
he would just be like “go on :))))) take a Seat.”
and you’re just like “oh NO” bc yKNOW thIS IS JUST THE BEGINNING OF THAT SWEET SWEET TORTURE LIKE YALL IN FOR IT NOW, GOODLUCK TRYING TO FUCKING WALK AFTER THAT
ty maam may I have a crumb of angel with a side of competency kink? 😳
Okay first of all we need to talk about how he rides a motorcycle with one hand, like what the fuck is that and why is it so hot. Second of all: him? In general tbh? Like okay, the man has his fair share of dumbass moments but he still generally gets shit done and we love to see it
So thing is; the competency kink goes both ways.
He loves to watch you work, the way your brow creases in concentration or the little sounds you make, maybe talking to yourself under your breath to figure out a problem or little celebratory things when you get it right.
If you’re any type of craftsperson he’s entranced by the way your hands move, so quick and sure of what you’re doing and the fact that you can make something never ceases to amaze him.
He wants to hear you talk about what your interested in, your job. Sometimes he asks if you can narrate what you’re doing for him, why you’re doing something a certain way and not another. Your voice calms him down like almost nothing else, and hearing the passion in it when you’re talking about something you love is just the icing on the cake for him.
“Are you flirting with me?” “You finally noticed?” With Frankie 💞 and congratulations on 1k!! You deserve it!!
character; frankie morales
prompt; “are you flirting with me?” “you finally noticed?”
warnings; none! but frankie’s attraction methods are certainly questionable
“I like your shirt,” someone says.
You look up and Frankie is standing across the kitchen island, his paper plate piled up with chips and chicken wings, a little sandwich, a couple different cups of dips, and two sticks of celery haphazardly tossed on. You looked down at your shirt, an old striped top that you had thrown on last minute when your college friend, Pope, had offered for you to come to his Super Bowl Party.
You aren’t really a football kind of person. You don’t mind the occasional game in the background, but a whole event dedicated to the game? Not your thing. But ever since you lost your job, Pope had been trying to get you out of the house and socializing, because he knew there was no way you were going to do that without a little bit of encouragement. And if you were being honest, it feels good to get out of the house, and the crowd this afternoon is nice. Mostly other college friends plus some guys Pope met in the military that you kept seeing. Frankie is one of the nicer of those guys.
You look back up at him. He’s staring at you expectantly and you wonder exactly what sort of response he wants. Your shirt is nothing to be admired, and this isn’t the first time Frankie’s said something like this; nice but out of place. It dawns on you.
“Are you flirting with me?” You whisper-yell across the island, eyebrows furrowed in confusion and frustration. You glance around, thankful the two of you are the only ones in the kitchen, the rest of the party in the living room for the kickoff.
“You finally noticed?” he says, smiling.
“Finally noticed? None of what you’ve been doing has been obvious at all.”
“None of it?” he asks, face falling.
You feel a bit bad about it but someone had to break it to him. If he called that flirting, it needed work. “Sorry, Frankie.”
“It’s fine,” he says, “At least you noticed now?”
You chuckle, shaking your head in disbelief. “Yeah. I did notice now.”
“And?”
“And what?” you ask. “What’s your offer?”
“A date? This week?”
You can’t help but grin. He’s so bad it’s actually funny, but it’s also kind of cute. And it’s not like you haven’t noticed Frankie before. He’s shy but sensible. And it helps that he’s pretty hot.
“And maybe to sweeten the deal,” he continues, “I can offer some rousing conversation so that you’re not stuck watching the game this afternoon?”
You bite your lip through the smile before you realize what you’re doing. “I’d like that, Frankie.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah,” you say, giggling. “And maybe, next time, don’t take your flirting tips from a Wikihow article or whatever it is you’re using?”
“…it did work on you,” he says.
“Oh my god, don’t tell me you actually used a Wikihow article?!” Your eyes widen.
