(P.S.- If you’ve got any fic recommendations I can gorge on, please send them my way! Drop them in the comments under this post or pop them into my inbox. I’m a fanfic fiend at this point 😭🙏)
Massive shoutout to @cafekitsune for always pulling through with the dividers in all my posts!
Currently Reading🔖:
*Gets updated whenever I find a series I'm actively invested in*
Joel Miller | The Last of Us:
1. The Savage and The Sanctuary by @justagalwhowrites
2. This is Not a Place of Honour | AO3 by @not-cricketing
Clark Kent | Superman 2025:
1. Handle With Care by @kryptidfiles
The Pitt:
1. Remember Me (Jack Abbot) by @at-this-point-i-dont-even-know
2. Keep Up (Jack Abbot) by @deliciousangelfestival
3. Sugar Me Up (Jack Abbot) by @penvisions
4. Acute Adoration (Jack Abbot, Michael Robinavitch) by @/penvisions
5. Tipping Point (Michael Robinavitch) by @skymouth
6. Hold Me Down (Jack Abbot) by @amnatreal
7. Stay (Michael Robinavitch) by @andrew-codys
8. The Slippage in the System (Michael Robinavitch) by @sweetestcowboy
Harry Castillo | The Materialists:
1. Dear Desperado by @damneddamsy
2. Lemonade by @/justagalwhowrites
3. The Art of the Deal | AO3 by @gothicpaperback
4. Material Girl | AO3 by @foxtrology
Monthly Reading List:
Everything I've read monthly! (Monthly updates)
2025
September | October | November | December
2026
January | February | March | April | May | ?
Masterlist of Fic Lists:
Hall of Fame fics I look back on in times of comfort (Weekly updates)
> Clark Kent | Smallville + Superman (2025):
↳ Pt. 1 | Pt. 2 | Pt. 3 | Pt. 4 | Pt. 5
> Multiple Pairings | The Pitt:
↳ Pt 1 | Pt 2 | Pt. 3 | Pt. 4
> Joel Miller | The Last of Us:
↳ Pt. 1 | Pt. 2
> Din Djarin/Mandalorian | The Mandalorian:
↳ Pt. 1
> Javier Pēna | Narcos:
↳ Pt. 1
> The Punisher | MCU:
↳ Pt. 1
> Batfam | DCU:
↳ Pt. 1
> Poe Dameron | Star Wars Sequel Trilogy:
↳ Pt. 1
> Miguel O'Hara | Spider-Man: Across the Spider-Verse:
↳ Pt. 1
> Cassian Andor | Rogue One, Andor:
↳ Pt. 1
> Bucky Barnes | Marvel (MCU):
↳ Pt. 1
> Frankie Morales | Triple Frontier:
↳ Pt. 1
> Miscellaneous:
↳ Pt. 1
Specific Fic Lists:
Fics that cater to different niches I'm constantly on the lookout for (Weekly updates)
> WOC!Reader Specific Reads
> Chubby!Reader Specific Reads
> Chronic Illness!Reader Specific Reads
> Older!Reader Specific Reads
> Grumpy!Reader Specific Reads
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You know, reading through a soulmate!AU where two soulmates share injuries and, as such—it got me thinking about what having chronic illnesses would look like between a set of soulmates.
Would they have matching symptoms? Would one go through the disability and be on medication for it while the other is experiencing said symptoms in a healthy body NOT be able to be on medication for it? Would one be ridden with guilt, anger, and pain for putting the other through the illness? Would the flare-ups act as a homing beacon between the sets? Would one be caught in the lie of holding it together during a flare-up only because the other experiences the flare-ups too? Would there be resentment there at being so hyperexposed? Would it be a test in humility and vulnerability?
I'm sooooo curious about the angst hurt/comfort potential of this trope. Like, the possibilities are ENDLESS.
aight im really sick of my mutuals being accused of ai over and over again and them having to defend themselves—which in and of itself is such a tedious task for writers who come on here to share their craft for free and genuinely for the love of the game—but since everyone wants to continuously be fucking stupid as hell, here’s some general notes on picking up whether something is ai or not:
shockingly, you have to fucking read thing you’re accusing of ai to figure out whether it’s ai or not. no, the use of em dashes (—) are not a giveaway for ai use; no, the phrasing “it’s not x, it’s y” is not a giveaway for ai use. oftentimes the biggest giveaway in fiction/creative-focused ai writing is the emptiness behind each word, metaphor, figurative speech, etc.
one of the hallmarks of great fiction or any form of creative writing is generally the voice an author brings to the text. think about your best friend telling you a story about their day over facetime or while you're hanging out or even on a discord call idfk. the story could be the driest, boring story you've ever fucking heard about someone's worklife, but it's the way your friend tells it to you that keeps you hooked and engaged: what was about some bitchass customer ordering the stupidest coffee order becomes this odyssey-like adventure because ur friend, endearingly, can't stfu! they're using such animated language, they're playing with pauses and pacing, they're bringing out this voice that is so uniquely theirs that the world from their eyes simply is a different color than you'll ever get to experience—and that's what makes it so interesting. a 5-minute interaction becomes a 2-hour conversation simply because your friend can tell a story.
so when you're reading some fic about idk bruce wayne dicking you down or whatever, what's keeping you there, besides the smut content, is the way the smut is written. does the writing leave room for you to get immersed? are you engaged with the story being told? does it fucking make sense? obv in a smutty bruce wayne fic, you're not going to see phrasing like "it's not x, but y" (could you imagine.."it wasn't his hand, but his dick" how erotic!), but the potential use of ai would come in through flattened language that doesn't make much sense given the narrative being told. although, given most llms today (maybe other than c.ai? idk how that one works tbh), you probably won't be able to get explicit smut generated off of fucking chatgpt or claude but to give another example—this time, fluff—you'll have to discern whether the fluffy 'jason-todd-taking-u-on-a-bike-ride' fic makes any fucking sense when you read it. yes, it has em dashes, but does it also have emotion? are you walking away from that fic feeling moved in any particular way? are you smiling like an idiot because the writer described holding onto jason todd's waist at a stoplight as if it was a fucking washboard or an omnichord where your fingers got lost in the melodic touch? yes, thinking of someone's waist and abdominal muscles as a fucking musical instrument is odd, but does it make sense within the realm of the paragraph? if it comes out of nowhere, sure! but if the writer turns that around and goes on a brief ramble about how loving jason todd is a musical feeling of some sort, it's not all that odd at the end of the day, is it? essentially, you have to (a) read and (b) use your brain.
ergo, instead of seeing an em dash and yelling "witch!" maybe ask yourself, as you read:
does this fic have the same vibe or linguistic voice as the others, or is that changing every fic?
does the figurative language used make any sense given the context of the story?
do the metaphors make sense or is it just straight bullshit?
does this read like a corporation tried to think about what i'd like as a consumer, rather than a reader?
does the language here feel very much like the writer is trying to sell me an idea, rather than tell me a story?
an important thing to note: the unfortunate reality is that within a year or two, ai will be almost indistinguishable from human-created writing. it’s the shittiest reality-check you’re gonna have to reckon with today, tomorrow, next month, next year, etc. but it’s here, it’s fucking up our creative spaces, it’s fucking up the land we live on, it’s fucking up our clean water supplies—it’s fucking up the very fabric of reality as we know it, accelerating us into zones of contention, hostility, and violence. in short, it’s the neocolonial frontier, the playground imperialism is stretching its grimy hands across and fucking us left, right, up, down, sideways, and on entirely new dimensional fields of existence we haven’t even fully realized yet. and while i can spend the rest of this already long ass ramble talking about just how exactly ai/llms are functioning as such, that’s an essay for another day; im mostly just here trying to tell yall to get a fucking grip and actually be intentional with how you interact and engage etc.
piggybacking off that: another thing to acknowledge is that not everyone is a good writer; it's a harsh truth, but as a critic i have every right to say this given the slop of our contemporary publishing landscape (and genuinely, there are better writers on tumblr than there are on bookstore shelves today). but with that being said, many current young and emerging writers are unfortunately trained in a world where ai is beginning to be accepted and used as a publishing standard. not going to unpack this idea to its fullest here, but there's a generation of emerging writers that learned how to write like shit from a lexicon of tiktok regurgitation and empty and meaningless youtube video essays. we can't blame them either, this is just the reality of our linguistic landscape developed on social media (hence why the generation after you will have a meme-language you won't be able to understand). so, yes, we're going to see writers who do write weirdly similar to ai, or carry this corporate-like language full of funky ass metaphors that make no sense and shit like "fostering a vibrant community" whatever tf that means
ultimately though, the more you read, the more you'll develop taste, and that's what'll help you determine if something is ai or not. that's the only thing that'll save you in a world so devastatingly polarizing in antagonizing the layman and pacifying us into stillness (which is the exact word i would use to describe ai writing actually!). in knowing yourself and, by extension, knowing what you like, you can build out a language that carries meaning, life, intention, and therefore cultivate a unique worldview just with this ever-moving language you collected. but u have to use ur fucking brain and know when to turn away from something: the world is going to feed you slop and the only weapon you have to defend yourself is being able to look at it and say "well, that was shit!" and move on.
also uh oh am I using ai because i dared to write this with an em dash that’s been a staple to grammar and punctuation across multiple languages for centuries, with literal fucking evidence tracing its uses back to 15th century printing presses, and possibly earlier but im no early modernist/medievalist??? guess I should just kms!!!!!
i also feel the need to add this disclaimer because ik there are people who cant fucking read and comprehend shit: i don't support ai, i don't fuck with ai, i hate ai, and i don't support writers who use ai. but, i also don't go around accusing people of using ai without substantial evidence to back up my fucking argument. if you're going to accuse anyone of ai, do so with your sources fucking cited. there's a reason they teach you that shit in school! again, the world is already so vile as hell, don't go around adding more bullshit to the mixing bowl
headcanons of how the characters would react when they find out you are on the aromantic spectrum
characters: adrian chase, clark kent, jason todd, john constantine, bucky barnes, benjamin poindexter, steven grant, ryland grace
tags: aro!reader & also not really proofread so be warned 😬
a/n: do note that personally i relate to being quoiromantic/alloaro so below are loosely based on my understanding, experience and feelings. also, happy pride month!!
DETECTIVE COMICS
Adrian Chase
imo he's borderline aro too LOL
but i've seen more people hc him as ace (which honestly yeapp i see it)
100% supportive even though he's clueless about what it means
when you do break it down to him on what it means to be aro he'd find it cool
if you specifically mentioned you're quoiromantic, he would most likely relate and start questioning himself
"Now that you say it, what is the difference between platonic and romantic?" (#storyofmylifelol)
if you two mutually like each other and get into a relationship? i can see it def leaning more to a queerplatonic relationship
Clark Kent
poor guy would stop his pursuit thinking you're uninterested until he learns that you are aro
he would do his research (knee deep into different umbrella terms/spectrum and find it fascinating)
if he does confess, he would def say that he would understand and respect if you wish to remain as friends and nothing more
he would question you out of curiosity on how do you feel little or no romantic attraction
in a non-offensive way, i think he would try to come up with analogies to help you differentiate between romantic and platonic if you mention you are quoiromantic but immediately backpedal when he realised he sounds like he's trying to mansplain (he meant no harm yall)
Jason Todd
this man is devastated thinking you are rejecting or not reciprocating when he flirts
i can imagine him bringing up the topic of romance / crushes to see if you had any at the moment
would be flabbergasted to find out you don't have any crushes and start to jump to conclusion that he's not your type
until you tell him briefly that you might be aro (which he had to look up)
would finally understand (and calm down a little)
hundred percent would still shoot his shot 'subtly' if you give hints that you are open to the idea of relationships and dating
bad thing is that its gonna take forever until there's progress of you realising he's actually interested in you oops
might be a hot take but he lowkey gives off aro vibes a lil
John Constantine
thinks you're flirting during banters but gets a shock of his life when the one time he was being super straightforward, it goes over your head
or you just blinked at him before laughing in his face thinking its one of the normal usual banters
immediately starts to doubt his charm
once you break the news that you identify as being on the aro spec, he'd raised an eyebrow and be like ???
i feel he wouldn't be judgemental just perplexed and shrug it off (he's seen and done weirder things in life)
if he ever come across you showing interest in someone (or him), he'd probably be like: "Is that in a romantic way or do you think they're just visually appealing?" (i ask myself this question everytime lmao)
MARVEL
Bucky Barnes
when you tell him about being on the aro spec, he thought you were making shit up
internally i can see him thinking that 'you haven't met the right person' but he knows better than to say that
oddly enough he would kinda understand your perception?
once he notices the little things you do that doesn't necessarily equate to love in a (romantic) way he's familiar with would he finally get what it means that there's varying types of love
example: you know how he likes his coffee done but its not because you like him in that way
its because you are thoughtful and would do the same for other people in your life who you regard as friends/family
Benjamin Poindexter
finds it frustrating at first when you show no signs of liking him back
but! i can imagine him being overjoyed once he finds out you are aro because he has the 'if I cant have you, no one else can' vibe
would take whatever crumbs of platonic moment with you and replay and overthink it in his mind
he's more than happy being friendzoned as long as he still gets to be near and around you
would still get jealous if you talk to someone for far too long even though its clear as day you have zero interest in them
Steven Grant
imagine poor steven who has a crush on you and wonder if you liked him
you were nice but he can sense that youre not getting the hint?
colour him surprise when you drop the bomb on being aro
like clark, would read up on it
personally, he can't understand but tries his best to see it in your perspective
if he has his other two self bickering in his mind, i think he can understand it more because hello? remember that scene where he sacrifice eternal peace for his other version in the show?
though it might not be the same kind of feeling and relationship, he would understand the feeling of love that goes beyond romance
MISC
Ryland Grace
would be confused at first when you try to explain
even more confused when you point out how aroace coded he is
once he learns the diff terms he would have an aha moment and realise how much he fits into it too
honestly, you two would probably have the most purest kind of friendship/bond where no one else can really understand and relate
you're basically each other's person (kinda like him and rocky — they are literally the definition of platonic soulmates 🥲)
similar to adrian, if you guys ever established a relationship for whatever reason (and not just romantic): it would be between a queerplatonic one or 'a secret third thing'
want to read more works for other characters and join my taglist? click on >>> ('MASTERLIST' &'TAGLIST')
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-`♡´- tags: soft!Frankie, safe love, a lot of feelings, fluffiest fluff
summary: While a storm rages outside Frankie recognizes the saftest place is in your arms.
word count: ~ 460
a/n: Happy Frankie Friday from the sidelines! I hope this little fluff warms your heart just as much as it did mine writing it. Btw, I am working on something bigger behind the scenes involving our favorite pilot. Hopefully I can tell you more about it soon. 😉
The storm was raging outside, throwing itself against the windows hard enough to make the glass shudder in its frame. There had been a time, not even that long ago, when sounds like that made Frankie tense instinctively. Sweat gathered at the small of his back while ugly memories flickered behind his eyelids like lightning. A life carved open by violence had a way of following a man home, even years later. It never mattered much that the things he had done were in the name of a country. That kind of reasoning didn’t quiet the ghosts. Didn’t help him sleep either.
The only thing that ever truly silenced the noise in his head was you.
Your body tucked against his, his arms wrapped around you tight enough to feel real. Face buried into your hair while he inhaled the familiar scent of vanilla and something warmer underneath it. Something impossible to bottle up into words because it was simply you. Home in a way Frankie had never allowed himself to believe existed for men like him.
In all the years Frankie Morales had spent dragging himself across this godforsaken earth, he had become terrifyingly good at running. Never staying anywhere long enough for roots to catch around his ankles. Movement was easier. Easier than explaining himself. Easier than letting anyone look too closely at the wreckage. “No strings attached” had become less of a preference and more of a survival tactic he wore like armor. Or at least that was what he told himself.
Then somewhere along the way, there was you.
You made him pause long enough to wonder if the life he’d been living was actually freedom or just another kind of prison. Frankie had been buried so deep inside himself for so long that some days he couldn’t even see the sky anymore. Days blurred together. Time passed without him noticing. Survival became muscle memory.
But you came into his life like sunlight through storm clouds, soft and stubborn and impossible to ignore. And for the first time in years, he realized he would move mountains just to keep that warmth close to him.
Now peace looked like this: the two of you tangled together in bed while rain battered the world outside. You complaining sleepily about him taking up too much space while simultaneously stealing the blanket for yourself. Frankie smiling quietly against the curve of your shoulder blades anyway, because somehow this became his favorite thing in the world.
To be loved gently.
To be held without expectation.
To learn, little by little, that not every touch had to hurt.
Wrapped up in your softness, Frankie was finally beginning to understand that staying still wasn’t weakness after all. Sometimes it was the bravest thing a person could do.
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summary: you’ve seen a lot during your rebellion days & now with the New Republic… but working with a mandalorian may just send you into the wildest tailspin yet
word count: 11.9k (i’m sorry)
warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY MDNI. MAJOR MOVIE SPOILERS ⚠️ takes place before & during the events of the film, reader has a backstory & family but no physical description, light use of gendered language, slight annoyance to friends to lovers, pining & yearning, budding romance, threats & moments of violence/threat of kidnapping, flying as a love language, reader has instances of drinking and smoking, competency kink, light voice kink, slightly jealous!reader, spicy times in the cockpit (helmet stays on), dry humping, unprotected p in v, one moment of spit, creampie, protective and soft!Din
a/n: so… hi lmao I call this my ‘let’s daydream about being in the new movie’ fic or aka my attempt at plugging us into the storyline bcs it’s what we deserve lol big thanks to my dear @babynueva for always supporting my din delulu ily bb! Also this is my first official fic of the year & knowing it’s for Din means so much - so thank you for being here ♡ [divider credit & thanks to the ever amazing @saradika-graphics]
When a mandalorian first strides into base camp on Adelphi, you think you’re seeing things.
The sun bounces off his armor drawing all eyes. It’s like his ancient armor proudly beams of its power and striking force. The mysterious Mandalorian walks with intent, a steady gait that dares anyone to cross him. You can’t help but stare at the mysterious warrior.
“Is he… imperial?” Someone whispers in the mess hall and makeshift cantina.
“Nope, he’s working with us now.” Teva answers simply.
You didn’t believe it. But apparently it’s true.
“He’s set to be an independent operative, but know he is working for and with us.” The colonel’s words then officially etch the truth in stone.
Mando comes around basecamp like a ghost. Barely staying put for you to register his presence, yet the whispers about him grow.
“I heard he took out a whole imperial squadron and a Moff too.” Dyana, your closest friend, tells you enthusiastic to catch up on all the rumors.
Then Ward calls for you, and you miss out on any other gossip Dyana and the others had.
“I’ll be heading to Coruscant this week to meet with a few higher ups and senators… I need you to do all the debriefs with Mando while I’m away.
It’s like a rancor suddenly barreled into you.
“Wait, me?” You stupidly question confused, and Ward shoots you a look, raised eyebrows and all.
“Do you think you’re not capable of handling this, ranger?”
“No, colonel.” You quickly reply, and she nods.
“Good, that’s what I thought.”
When you see her off, it must be obvious how hesitant you still are. Her sturdy hand gives your shoulder a reassuring pat.
“Don’t worry. He’s not as scary as everyone thinks he is.” Ward reassures, but it doesn’t soothe you much.
Especially when the day arrives and you find yourself waiting for him.
Just like before, the mandalorian saunters in and your focus is immediately drawn to him. But then, it gets knocked out of orbit when you find he’s not alone.
A tiny green creature waddles in beside him, childishly blinking at every sight. Why is a child with the mandalorian?
“Where’s Ward?” A rich striking voice startles you. Of course the terrifying warrior would sound this intimidating.
“Went to Coruscant for a meeting.” You reply partly stunned you’re actually talking to him.
“And you are?” But then mandalorian questions, sharp and distrustful, and it pisses you off. He’s the newcomer here, and he decides to question you?
“I’m the person you’re stuck with for your debrief and mission logs unfortunately.” Your voice whips out sharp.
He doesn’t say anything.
“What about Teva?” He counters again, and you want to scream. What’s this guy’s problem?
“Out on a mission,” your reply is sharper, bladed with annoyance.
“If you want you can personally contact Ward and explain why I’m not satisfactory enough for your debrief. I’m sure she’d love that.” Then the defiant reply escapes you faster than you can stop it.
It’s as if the whole cantina mess hall heard you because it becomes deathly silent.
The mandalorian simply stares you down with his unflinching helmet. Then the warrior turns and strides out not saying another word.
“I think you pissed him off.” Wolf snickers breaking the stillness.
A sense of dread looms as you realize you might’ve truly just gotten yourself into a mountain load of trouble.
Ward calls that night, and you knew it was coming.
“Why do you want to start a fight with the mandalorian?” She asks calmly over the comms.
“I’m not! He started it!” You can’t help but childishly counter. You even further explain how demanding and untrusting he was.
The colonel sighs.
“You have to understand… His people don’t trust easily. And for good reason. Try to be the one to play nice here.”
You want to be petty and say he needs to as well, but you can’t argue with Ward.
“Do the whole debrief drunk.” Zeb jokes about it with you the next day, and you scoff.
But by the time sunset arrives you start getting tempted to get a drink because maybe Mando isn’t showing up.
Until he does. And again he’s not alone. The strange but sweet little creature continues waddling alongside Mando.
It’s awkward as hell when he approaches your table. The tension lingers thick from yesterday prickling across your skin in the worst way.
You don’t even know if you should say anything
“Mweh?” A surprisingly soft little noise floats through the tension and you turn towards it. You blink down to find the mysterious little being staring up at you with sweet wide eyes.
With curious claws, the baby reaches for the loth cat charm dangling off your belt, the one of many trinkets your niece has given you.
Melted by the sight, you grin and scoot closer. Then you unclasp the charm for the baby to examine it more.
“You like it? It’s cute right?”
The little one agrees with a chirp sounding so endearing.
Something softly clicks. If a creature so tiny and innocent as this baby confidently travels with the mandalorian, then he couldn't be that much of an ass.
Someone sighs. Then settling back into your seat, you find the mandalorian seated across from you. The baby hops up to sit beside him. Yet his eager eyes remain happily taken with your charm.
“That imp base on Hoth had no leads.” He speaks first.
You’re stunned.
Your gut urges you to not make a big deal about this, to simply now see him as another coworker.
So you nod and casually plug in the info on your datapad.
“Hoth was a long shot, but we appreciate you going.” You even add that in.
You knew of a few pilots who served during the Hoth raid. It’s an unforgiving planet, takes a lot of guts to investigate that icy fortress.
“What’s the next order?” Mando asks firm, all business, just like Ward had told you.
You slide him a bounty chip containing info on a possible military officer who could be running a smuggling ring. The mandalorian doesn’t say anything else, simply takes the card and stands up.
“Come on, kid.” All he does is address the baby, not even sparing you a second glance.
Cute and so politely, the kid hands back your loth cat with a noise that feels like a thank you.
“You’re welcome, little cutie,” you tell him warmly.
Once the pair are out of sight, you sigh exhausted, relieved, and sprawl out on the table glad it’s over. Someone barks a laugh, and you aren’t even embarrassed about it.
You can’t wait till this is over.
It’s already been a week and a half of being grounded doing these debriefs with Mando. You miss being in the skies. But all that hope of getting back in the clouds gets squashed.
“I need to negotiate a few more issues with Senator Organa… can you continue to do the debrief?” It isn’t much of a question but more of an order from Ward.
So you meet with Mando for the rest of the week and into the next. It’s cordial, barely speaking for more than ten minutes with each other.
You try to be friendly, make a joke about the weather, but he just silently stares at you, obviously annoyed.
And it pisses you off all over again.
But you think of the adorable little baby who eagerly tags along with the terrifying hunter. The kid sweetly waves, and you wave back. You started bringing treats after his guardian chided him for eating some of yours.
The annoyed sigh Mando gave when you brought more snacks to share was worth it.
This time you decided to bring something else along with you.
It was the first charm your sister gave you when you became a pilot. A tradition her daughter, your niece, now does with you.
“Look!” You eagerly hold up the plush creature that makes the baby’s eyes go wide.
With adorable tiny grabby hands, he reaches for it and you happily hand it over.
You grin pleased seeing how pleased the kid coos.
“What’s your name?” The sudden question from Mando surprises you.
A bit stunned, you give it to him.
He nods solemnly, repeating it. Your heart does a strange flip hearing his deep voice say your name.
“This is Grogu.” He then introduces the kid who chimes in hearing his name.
“Nice to meet you, Grogu.” You excitedly greet the kid.
Then you turn to Grogu’s guardian. This solemn but striking mandalorian now has you curious to who he is. Your mind thinks about the rumors that have spread about him.
“And you? What’s your name?” You ask politely, but immediately you can almost hear Dyana screaming at you. She’s become the new expert on Mandalorian customs.
“They’re private people,” she had told you, confirming what Ward had said. “It’s probably why not a lot of people know about him, much less his name.”
“I’m sorry, forgive me.” You stammer quickly. “You don’t have to give it.”
A moment passes, and you worry you’ve unraveled this tentative truce or whatever it is.
“Din… Din Djarin.” His full name. It’s lovely.
“Din…” you repeat it.
“It’s nice to meet you too.” And you mean that.
Mando, Din, nods, and you think it’s worth the few weeks being out of the skies.
When Din and Grogu leave you realize the kid still holds onto your plush charm.
“Come on kid, give it back.” Din urges noticing too.
“No it’s okay. He can keep it. Give it back to me next time.” You grin at the baby, and Grogu giggles pleased at the answer.
“What do you say, kid?”
Grogu chirps a sweet thanks and waddles away content with the plushie in his arms.
The next day, as promised, he brings it back. But you exchange another charm with him. This time it’s a cute cloud with a sweet face. Eager for the new trinket, Grogu ditches the plushie and you laugh.
Work then follows suit. Din explains on the intel he’s slowly gaining on the imp official.
“Taking a bit longer than expected.” Din gruffly admits.
“Don’t worry. Rodents like him know how to hide. It’s not your fault. Then again that’s probably an insult to rodents.” You’ve been trying to stay professional, channel your inner composed Colonel Ward. But the old rebel pilot comes out.
Suddenly, a chuckle follows.
Din laughed.
You swear you misheard it. But the way Grogu giggles agreeing with his protector, you know you heard correctly.
“A fair statement.” Din agrees.
And you grin back at him. A golden victorious feeling bubbles in your chest.
Watching the pair leave, you find you’re excited to see them again.
The rest of the debriefs go smoother than ever. You bring new charms for Grogu to play with, and Din seems to settle in more.
“You have a lot of those.” He even comments a bit dry when you exchange another new charm with Grogu. This time it’s a fuzzy bantha.
“Managed to gather a small collection.” You explain.
“Really… couldn’t tell.” Din deadpans.
That’s when you realized he just joked with you.
“Think you might like those two,” Zeb teases the next time he drops by the mess hall.
“It’s called being civil.” You stubbornly reply while messing with the holopad, and the Lasat warrior barks a laugh.
“Civil? Yeah sure.” He teases further.
You stay stubbornly quiet.
“Don’t worry… They’re a pain in my ass too.” Zeb huffs, and it does soothe your annoyance.
Especially now that something is festered in you, a sort of curious itch to learn more about Din Djarin.
“I heard… he really did blow up an entire imperial base. That’s how Teva found him.” Dyana is happy to spill more gossip about him.
“He’s quiet, doesn’t talk much. So I doubt he’d say anything even if he did.” You mutter.
“Does he really keep a pet around?” Dyana presses for any new info.
The word ‘pet’ sounds harsh.
“He’s more like the kid’s guardian.” The word ‘parent’ instead wants to slip out especially after you’ve seen Din’s fatherly watch over the baby.
“Oh that’s even more interesting! Why didn’t you tell me this earlier?!” Dyana shrieks.
“You’ve been busy.” You half lie.
You could argue that it’s because you want to protect Din’s trust and don’t want to disturb that. But the truth is, you don’t want to share this little secret bond you’ve cultivated with him.
You however rapidly kick those thoughts away.
Ward will be back sometime this week. Your brief time with the Mandalorian would be over soon.
Except that time comes sooner than expected.
The next morning Colonel Ward arrives, an early return. Disappointment arrives just as fast. You knew this was only a temporary thing.
Trying not to feel annoyed, you now work on your x-wing. Deep under the hull, you refuel trying just to keep your mind focused here.
“Didn’t know you were a mechanic.” Suddenly, the rich voice of a certain mandalorian echoes in the hanger.
You scramble out from under the ship confused if you heard right.
But standing off to the side are indeed Din and Grogu.
“What? Thought I just did paper work and worked as an assistant?” You tease.
Din chuckles, and it sinks into the glowing sunlight coating the hanger in its glory.
“You’re looking at one of the New Republic’s best pilots!” Dyana.
She perks up emerging from the other side of the ship, and you shoot a glare her way not even knowing where she came from.
“A pilot?” Din questions, curious.
His helmet tilts towards you.
“Sometimes,” you shrug.
“And I wouldn’t say best.” You weakly laugh then glower at Dyana again. She simply beams innocently back at you.
“One day you gotta tell him about Endor. Though I’m sure you have plenty of fight stories to share too, Mando!”
You want to strangle her.
“You fought at Endor?” Din asks, helmet fully facing you and voice faintly awed.
It all makes your skin feel heated and tight.
All you can do is shrug again.
Endor seems like so long ago now. You were so much younger then. Wild and ready to sacrifice it all for the sake of protecting everything you loved. A small secret corner of your heart aches for those days of when you flew with such fire.
“Well… gotta go! Nice to finally meet you both!” Dyana nods to Din and smiles at the baby before scurrying away.
A traitor in the flesh fleeing if you ever did see one.
“So…an x-wing pilot.” Din comments, still watching you. His curious and impressed tone ignites a strange sensation in your chest that threatens to consume you.
“On good days I am.” You again shrug with a half smile.
“So what was Endor like?” He inquires, and you’re surprised he’s curious about that.
“Don’t know, never went on planet… kinda was busy flying around.”
You don’t even need to see his face to know he’s giving you a silent unamused stare. He must not think your joke is as funny as you do.
A surprised giggle does come though. Both you and Din discover Grogu effortlessly climbing up onto the wing of the ship.
“Kid.” Din chides.
“How did you get up there so fast?” You laugh amused at the sight of this tiny creature waddling on top of your x-wing.
Din sighs, truly parental.
“I take it that you fly?” You ask him yet keeping your gaze on Grogu to make sure he stays safe.
“I do.” Din answers, confident.
“Must be why he’s so curious and comfortable around ships. It’s good when kids get to experience being in the air.” You think of your niece who eagerly tries to convince you to fly her around.
“My niece is the same way.” You reveal.
Din hums a noise, acknowledging he’s listening.
“Is she the reason why you have all those charms?” He asks in a tone softer than you’ve ever heard.
“Excuse you, they are medals of honor.” You jokingly try to sound offended.
“With you I wouldn’t be surprised.” He replies deadpan, and you snicker.
“But yeah… she’s the one who gives them to me.” You explain how it was your sister who first started giving you those charms to decorate your x-wing.
They were to remind you to come home safe.
“I was ordered not to come home unless I brought the charms back safe and sound.” You repeat the same words your sister told you.
A soft breeze enters the hanger bringing in a welcoming cooling touch. But it’s then you realize how close you’re now standing next to Din. You didn’t even notice when you or him moved closer to each other.
“That’s… sweet.” His voice carries a tenderness that sneaks under your ribs and sinks in deep.
You turn and find he’s already looking at you.
Under Din’s gaze, it’s like you’re caught in a tractor beam unable to speak or move.
Dangerous thoughts have already begun clouding your mind, and they all connect back to this man. Like how you’ve noticed how broad his shoulders look, and how strong he is helping move crates around the base. What’s worse is you’ve begun wondering what this mandalorian looks like under his helm.
Grogu’s little giggle finally draws your attention away. Currently he peeks inside the cockpit through the window.
“So I take it this is your ship?” Din asks.
“No, I stole it.” You quip back.
“Sure you did.” His dry reply makes you snicker.
“It’s how I got to fight at Endor.” You jest, stealing a quick glance at Din. Of course he shakes his head unamused.
“Thought you didn’t see Endor.” He uses your dry joke back at you, and you can’t help it.
You playfully elbow him.
Another little giggle comes. Glancing back to the ship, Grogu now peers over from the wing’s edge grinning at you and Din.
“Little troublemaker, are you going to be a pilot one day?” You smile at Grogu.
“Mweh!” He squeals.
“I think that’s a yes,” you tell Din proudly.
“No.” Din answers back firmly.
“It’s okay I’ll teach you one day,” you counter sweetly, and the baby giggles more.
“No.” Din repeats again firmer.
A small cluster of pilots approach. Their laughter and conversation fill the air. Guess this moment is over.
“Still need to see Ward… shouldn’t keep her waiting.” Din is smooth about making his exit.
Quickly Grogu jumps into his arms, and you bid the duo goodbye for now.
You haven’t been in the air for long, but it feels like you’re floating now.
The moments you see the pair become like scattered stars.
Months settle in, and a routine follows. You sometimes see Din in the mess hall cantina when you return from a mission. Discussing with the colonel, all you can simply do is give your boys quick smiles.
Other times Din stops by the hanger where you linger now more than ever hoping he drops by. You and him talk about work, missions, the various planets visited.
You want to ask what got him to work for the new republic, but you don’t want to disturb whatever is growing between you and him.
“It’s budding love.” Dyana sagely declares one evening at the cantina, and Zeb agrees.
“It’s not!” You screech over a drink.
“I don’t think Mando has said more than five words to me, yet I see him talking to you so much.” Another pilot chimes in.
“He talks to Zeb the most!” You argue back. The two of them are often paired up on missions now. You try not to get annoyed by it.
“Not as much as you, kid.” Zeb rebuttals.
“Don’t think we haven’t seen the way he hangs around the hanger for you.” Sash Ketter snickers, and it only ignites the discussion once again.
You dismiss all their words as attempts trying to rile you up.
Because you don’t want to face the truth. You long for your chats with Din, even just to see him for a moment and play with Grogu.
It’s just an awful infatuation. That’s it.
Your small vacation break now approaching may be more of a blessing than you realize. It’ll hopefully give you time to clear your head.
“I’m heading home to visit family. I’ll be sure to bring back something good.” You tell Din the next time you run into him outside the cantina.
“There’s no need. Just… be safe.” Din nods.
His gentle words carry you the entire flight home.
The brief week away provides peaceful moments of relaxation. While you enjoy the time spent with your sister’s family, you long to return to Adelphi.
“So, what did you get me this time?” You ask your niece the day before you’re set to head back.
“I got you… THIS!” She proudly raises up an odd creature. You can’t even tell what it is.
“She made it herself.” Your sister whispers, and your eyes go wide.
“What?! Why didn’t you tell me we have an artist in this family now?!” You cry excitedly scooping up your niece in your arms and tickle her with glee as she squeaks excitedly.
“Actually before I go… Do you think you can help me make one too?” You ask her and your niece's eyes light up.
With eager hands she gathers all her supplies to deposit them on the table ready to craft.
“So… are you going to tell me who you’re making this for?” Your sister asks slightly suspiciously as you add little puffballs to your monster creation.
“What if I just want my charm to have a friend, huh?” You deflect.
“Yeah sure.” She’s not convinced but thankfully doesn’t press any further.
As hard as it is saying goodbye to her and your niece, you’re thankful to finally be back to your routine.
And of course, the new little charm sitting in your pocket seems to hold so much weight.
Din returns a few days after you. It’s hard trying to ignore the bubbling joy that rises watching him approach your x-wing first.
“Welcome back.” He greets and Grogu squeals adorably scurrying to you.
Eagerly you welcome his jump into your arms, and you squeeze him tight.
“I miss you too,” you tell Grogu but hope his father knows you mean him as well.
“And look, I got something for you.” You shift to hold Grogu in one arm.
Then you hold up the new charm.
“What is it supposed to be?” Din sounds confused and slightly alarmed.
“It’s a little monster,” you reply lightly insulted.
“My niece and I made these, and I knew someone who might like it.” You grin towards Grogu now.
“Bweh!” He cheers and draws the charm into his small arms so enamored with the strange monstrosity already.
“See! He likes it, that's what matters.” You huff proudly at Din.
Grogu chirps like he agrees. You laugh then catch Din’s chuckle too.
“What do you say, kid?” Din says.
Grogu however doesn’t say anything. Instead he leans up and hugs you. His sweet little arms curl against your neck.
Holding this baby so tight is like holding a little newborn star. You’re grateful for this moment and hug Grogu close, closing your eyes to fully embrace this wonderful tiny soul.
“You’re welcome, little troublemaker.” You softly tell him.
The baby then settles into your arms as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.
Worried you might have overstepped, you quickly snap your attention to Din. His helmet stays focused on you.
You wonder what his eyes look like, what color swims within his gaze.
“Glad you’re back safe.” Din’s voice sounds low, softer and a bit thick.
“Me too,” you reply, letting yourself sink into whatever it is overtaking your entire heart.
This infatuation, or whatever it’s mutated into, grows stronger. And it terrifies you.
But you’re reminded quickly there are more terrifying things to face.
The wound isn’t looking good.
You’re more pissed at yourself for getting ambushed by damn pirates. This operation was supposed to be simple, check in on the distress signal intercepted by base. But one pirate ambush later and you’re now stranded trying to stop the bleeding.
You just hope the emergency signal you sent back to camp went through. Leaning against your ship, you take a deep breath trying to calm yourself down. You’ve dealt with worse. You can handle this.
Until something pierces your back, and a scream of pain escapes you. Electricity courses through your body knocking you to the ground.
Everything stings. You can barely concentrate, but you hear them. Gleeful disgusting laughs swirling all around. The damn pirates…
“Think of the price we’ll get for x-wing parts!” One of them muses.
“Or even for the pilot, quite a cute one.” That comment unleashes a panicked feral terror.
Get up, you have to get up. Even though every part of your body stings, screaming to stay still, you have to move.
You slowly try to sit up through the aftershocks, but then a boot comes to slowly step on your chest, pressing you down to the dirt.
“Nah uh little pilot, where do ya think you’re going.” A voice snickers.
You clench your jaw hard. This isn’t looking good.
A sudden blaster shot fires and immediately takes out a pirate with accurate precision.
“What was that?!” One of them screams.
Then a blaster shot silenced him.
“Step away from her now.” Din.
Or someone sounding like him.
The voice is deadly, terrifying, and you wonder if it even is Din.
Then the pirate towering above you with his boot still pressing on your chest suddenly gets thrown off.
Weakly you cough sitting up. While you do, you witness Din in action and realize he’s truly here.
And the way he attacks, effortlessly slicing through the pirate captain and the lackeys that try rushing him - he’s incredible.
You’ve never seen anyone fight so fluidly and powerful. You’re witnessing one of the most powerful warriors in the galaxy…
And he’s here to save you.
A small concerned whimper comes to your side and immediately you glance down. Grogu quickly waddles to your arm and flashes his wide worried eyes up to you.
“I’m okay, I promise.” He must see the wound, and you try smiling reassuringly.
He hums a small noise at you. Then he closes his eyes, laying his little claw against your elbow. Slowly a gentle warmth suddenly crawls up your shoulder.
What is he doing?
The stinging pain vanishes instantly. Reaching up to your shoulder, you find no wound.
“Mweh.” Grogu peers up at you with a small little wave.
“You really are something else, little trouble maker… thank you.” You fondly stroke his fuzzy little head, and he beams.
Din urgently yells your name and soon rushes to kneel before you. Gloved hands reach out to steady your shoulders.
“I’m fine.” You now reassure him and move to squeeze one of his hands.
An exhale escapes Din, relieved.
“I’m sorry you both had to come all the way out here. I’m sure there are better bounties to hunt.” You half tease.
“Don’t apologize.” He immediately snaps.
Grogu makes a sad noise as if chiding his father.
“Just glad you’re safe.” So Din gently adds and steadily helps you stand.
Zeb lands moments later with a mechanic to help patch up your ship. The entire time Din stays by your side, letting you lean against him for support. His guiding hand never leaves you.
You’re given the rest of the week off to recover.
“So was Mando on a mission with you when my distress beacon went out?” You ask Zeb when he drops by to check on you.
He snorts, giving you a knowing side eye smirk.
“Is that what you think?” Zeb doesn’t elaborate even when you pester him.
It’s Dyana of course who reveals the truth.
“Mando was the first to rush out. Ward had to practically stop him before he flew off on his own.” Her words unravel something effortlessly in you.
How can you ignore these feelings for a mandalorian anymore?
“I think it’s romantic.” Dyana thankfully doesn’t judge you when you finally admit everything to her.
There was no time for romance during a rebellion, during a war. Even now you almost scoff at the idea. There are other things to do, other things to focus on than get lovesick over someone.
But Din dismantled all those old thoughts in you, leaving you exposed and almost greedy for someone now.
“It’s okay to want that you know… romance and companionship.” Dyana tells you already sensing your hesitation.
You know her and a cute mechanic have been dating off and on for a while. She’s always been urging you to get out more, maybe try to find someone. Guess you just had to wait for a mandalorian to show up.
But you have to put all those giggles and feelings aside.
Your time resting is done, and immediately you’re thrown back into the rush of work.
A mission and orders arrive a few days later on your datapad.
Raid strike this week, get ready
It’s not a full strike squadron, but you’re thankful Zeb is tagging along.
“Think your boyfriend might be joining us.” He teases, and your eyes narrow hard. Now you regret him being here.
“I don’t have a boyfriend.” You rapidly dismiss.
“Huh uh.” He rolls his eyes.
As if summoned to add to your pain, Din enters the command center. It feels like feral lizard birds were released in your stomach.
Immediately his helmet spots you. Grogu perched on his shoulder chirps upon seeing you. Trying to act relaxed, you give the boys a casual wave and bright grin.
Zeb chuckles, and you silently shush him again under your breath. You walk to meet Din halfway.
“Glad you’re doing better.” He says, faintly warm, and you nod grateful.
“Thanks to my two heroes,” you thank them both again. Grogu beams toothy when you tickle his chin.
Din doesn’t say anything.
“Guess we’re finally teaming up.” So you speak up first.
“Seems like it,” Din agrees.
This isn’t the first time he’s seen you in your pilot gear. Hell, he just rescued you last week. But for some reason, you feel more self aware than ever.
Thankfully Ward enters, drawing the room’s attention to her.
The mission is to ambush the warlord now barricaded up in his mansion. He’s apparently greatly armed and even hired a small air brigade. It’s why this strike squadron was called in. You’re curious why Din is here though.
“Without the mandalorian’s intel, we wouldn’t have this opportunity. So we will be following his lead.” She sends her focus to him.
Din simply and silently nods back.
Then he moves to the holo map and gives details about the estate. Hearing how commanding and surefire his voice resounds, the way he walks confidently and without any hesitation, he’s incredible.
But there’s no time to linger on this warrior.
It’s time to fly.
“Finally get to see you in action,” you tell Din as he walks out with you.
“Guess you will.” He replies with a hint of something playful, and it only speeds up your racing heart.
All you can do is laugh before parting ways.
“Don’t get lost in the clouds.” You teasingly yell to the mandalorian and he looks back at you from over his shoulder.
You can’t see Din’s eyes, but you hope they’re amused.
Him and Grogu now trail away from where you’re stationed, and you settle into your ship.
Your x-wing roars alive, and the familiar comms flicker in your ear. Then the call signals electrify the start to battle.
“Delphi squadron, lock in.” Teva announces on the main channel, the leader for this run. Everyone follows suit locking in their coordinates.
“Blue 9, standing by.” You chime in, readying the flight path.
“Starfighter, standing by.” Then a new voice floats through your helmet.
The tone resonates rich as a stormy ocean sending a shock through your system.
Hearing Din in your helmet does something to you so wild that you feel guilty at how fast your core clenched. You recollect yourself fast.
That’s when you notice the ship he joined in with.
A starfighter? There’s no way. Those ships don’t exist.
But again, you’re proven so wrong.
Among the gunfire and smoke, the sounds of battle, a new gleam of silver catches your attention. The Naboo N-1 fighter is a marvel.
A sleek whisper of a dream, one minute she’s a simple flicker of light then the next she’s firing directly in the trenches of the fight.
But as in awe of the ship as you are, it’s the mandalorian who leaves you breathless.
Din flies amazing. The fast maneuvering, the excellent read he makes of the battle, among his readiness to swoop in and out of tight spaces - you’ve never seen anyone fly this beautifully.
It inspires you, the type of flying that makes you want to soar higher to catch up.
So you do.
You embrace the rebel pilot you always might be and dive through the canyons chasing after one of the bandits the warlord hired.
Quickly you dispatch the enemy ship then swirl and maneuver your x-wing to return to the open sky.
“Target on your left.” Din’s voice suddenly thunders in your ear, chiming in on your personal channel.
“Got it.” You reply steady and twist fast enough to fire on the swing mid air.
“Got him, great shot!” Listening to Din’s deep fierce voice over your private channel, his voice colored in pride, you have to mute the channel to exhale.
Because a wave of arousal crawled up your spine so fast you had to bite your lip. Now you try settling yourself down again.
You pride yourself on being composed when you fly. There of course have been times when you’ve gotten emotional and maybe reacted.
Yet here this masked man completely disarms you.
It’s a fight you realize you won’t win.
The raid is successful, and the warlord gets taken in alive. That’s the win that matters.
“Great job,” Din suddenly voices back in your comms, still sounding so proud, and you melt all over again.
“You too, thanks for the support,” you answer back, just as fond, then rapidly switch over the channel.
“Captain,” you ask Teva on his personal comms.
“Before we leave, do you think I can test Mando on how he flies?”
Teva takes a moment then sighs.
“Make it quick.”
Giddy you quickly chime back onto Din’s channel.
“Wanna go for a run?” A part of you worries he won’t want to join you.
“Lead the way.” But Din quickly answers, and you pull back up to the clouds.
The planet is rather gorgeous, full of lush canyons and towering mountains. It’s a flight playground. Among the skies, twisting and twirling down through the natural landscape, you and Din soar around each other, with each.
Playful, yet delicately cautious, your x-wing revolves alongside his starfighter. Din keeps up with you every moment. Quietly the image of a dance among the clouds floats into your mind.
“Up for a race?” He suddenly asks.
“Oh, you know it.” You agree, excited. You settle into your seat, ready to take off.
But in a flash, he zooms past you.
“What the hell?!” You shriek over the comms.
Din’s husky laugh in your ear is a beautiful reward.
Returning back to Adelphi, you and him fly beside each other. Ward gives everyone the night off, and the cantina already seems to shine extra bright landing in.
Settling into your spot in the hanger, you notice Din lands his starfighter closer than ever.
Sliding off your helmet, for a moment you worry about how bad your hair looks, how messy and sweaty you must be.
But heading down the ladder, Din already walks towards you.
All your worries vanish. You don’t even care how fast you walk towards him. Here standing before Din under the low lights of the hanger, the world melts away.
“You were incredible.”
“You flew… amazing.”
Both you and Din speak at the same time, words jumbling up and getting tangled. It startles you, even his shoulders stiffen a bit.
Then you laugh.
“No, you were the incredible one.” You tell him first.
“Not compared to you,” he shakes his head.
“Glad I finally got to see one of the Rebellion’s and New Republic’s best pilots in action.” There’s a smirk in his voice, and heat burns through your veins.
Any words you want to say, he’s stolen them right from you. All you’re reduced to is a love struck fool caught in the orbit of this powerful mandalorian.
Din doesn’t say anything either. It’s like you and him can’t look away from the other standing this close.
“Hey! Ya two love birds gonna join us or what?” Zeb suddenly breaks the spell, and your blood instantly boils.
You hiss foul curses at Zeb, and he only cackles with laughter.
Embarrassed and trying to escape this moment you shake your head heading towards the exit.
“Come on, let’s go celebrate.” You manage to smile at Din hoping to dispel any comments about what Zeb said.
The mandalorian follows you into the mess hall cantina. The lively celebratory air glimmers with joyous laughter. It’s a welcoming atmosphere, and even Wolf along with a few other pilots ask Din to join them.
“Maybe in a bit,” He nods, instead staying by your side when you approach the bar.
“No pressure, but drinks on me if you want.” You offer.
“I’ll pass, but thanks.” He instead places down credits for your drink, and you thank him with a toast.
“Come on, let’s see how good of a sabacc player you are.” After taking a huge sip, you allow the alcohol to sting in the best way.
“Think you might be dissapointed,” Din chuckles.
Of course he’s a damn natural.
Everyone at the table cries in frustration when he wins the second round, and you even narrow your eyes at him.
“Oh, so you’re a liar.” You joke good naturedly.
“Never said I was good or bad.” He answers and it’s rather coy, lighter than what you’ve heard from him.
“Next time Mando I want you comin’ with me off planet! We could really win big.” Someone suggests and now it’s comforting seeing how much everyone has warmed up to him, how much Din has settled in here too.
Until you realize the baby is missing and immediately turn to Din. Maybe it’s the atmosphere but you lean closer to him placing your hand against his arm.
“Wait, where’s Grogu?” You ask concerned and low.
Din leans closer to you, his helmet almost grazing your face.
“Don’t worry, he’s asleep in the barracks.” Din’s answer comes low, reassuring.
Then he reaches up to lay his hand on top of yours. It’s a reassuring hold, a soft touch that brings comfort.
You exhale relieved and don’t have time to realize what he just did until someone drags Din away to play darts.
He squeezed your hand, and you now fight against a dumb smile just thinking about it.
Even after another round of getting your ass kicked at cards, you don’t care. You glance over to Din.
A cluster of pilots surround him. You’re not surprised. He’s a marvel, someone truly remarkable. But one of the prettier pilots slides up next to Din, batting her eyelashes so dreamily up at him.
Something fierce, venomous and coated in jealousy, strikes.
Reaching to Wolf, you nudge his shoulder a few times, and he knowingly looks at you. Not saying anything, he discreetly slips you a smoke stick.
You head out of the cantina into the soft warm night and light up. The smoke in your lungs settles you down for a moment and cuts through the alcohol.
Dumb Mandalorian man making you feel this way…
Taking another drag of the smoke stick, you watch the smoke you exhale mix into the air.
“Didn’t know you smoked.” Din.
His voice melts into the night like he stepped out of the shadows themselves. As he wanders towards you, you shift to lean against the rail of the patio.
“Not often,” you truthfully answer. It’s been a long time since you lit up.
A bad habit you picked up during your rebellion days, being as young as you were around seasoned veteran pilots. It became a way to calm yourself down and stop your hands from shaking from the nerves.
You even tell him that.
“What made you join?” He asks, tentative and quiet.
A loaded question but one you feel comfortable enough to answer, especially with him.
The empire took so much from you. You’re grateful you and your sister managed to keep each other safe, look out for each other. You weren’t lying when you joked about stealing ships. Learning to steal is how you survived for a while as a kid.
Then you accidentally stole from a man named Luthen Rael, and your life changed. Whatever he saw in your eyes that day when he caught you… it kept you alive.
He’s the one who helped get your wings, got you in touch with rebellion once you could fly. Once you joined, you never saw him again.
“Never looked back since.” You tell this all to Din.
You don’t regret your choices. They’re what brought you here after all, kept you safe even during the danger.
“You did what you had to… you should be proud of the life you’ve made. Of the wars you've fought and survived.” Din sincerely commends you, and his words settle deep in your heart.
You softly thank him, appreciating the sentiment.
“And you? What brought you to the New Republic?” Taking another drag of the smoke stick, you finally decide to ask.
This time he’s sighing and moves to lean against the rail beside you. He’s pressed up right beside you.
“Benn a long way to get here as well.” He’s vague, but explains how he was, and still is a bounty hunter by trade. How that path led him to the kid. How Grogu is by Mandalorian creed his son and apprentice now.
“I couldn't keep getting involved with pirates, working for gangsters. It’s not the life I wanted anymore.”
It’s admirable seeing how valiant Din’s spirit shines, yet you hear how weary his soul must be like he carries so much guilt.
“There are wars you’ve fought too, Din. You should be proud of your victories. Even the ones you don’t think you should be.” Maybe it’s the fading alcohol and slow numbness of the smoke stick, but you want more than ever to just hold him.
You go to take another drag to stop yourself from doing anything reckless, but find your smoke stick is burnt to its final end.
“I don’t.. deserve such kind words. But thank you.” Din’s voice is thick, tangled in thorny emotions.
Yet underneath it all, he sounds softer and raw, like a man trying to find comfort in your words.
So you turn and see his striking dark T visor gaze on you.
A moment passes where it’s just you and him under the night sky, staring at each other.
“No matter what path you took, I'm glad you’re here.” You earnestly tell him.
In such a short amount of time this mandalorian has reawakened something in you and takes up such a large part of your heart.
“Me too.” Din mutters, nodding.
Another x-wing lands outside steals your attention away as the engines break the quiet night air.
“Always been curious to how they fly.” Din suddenly comments sounding intrigued.
“You wanna see?”
He turns to you, helmet tilted incredulous and challenging.
“Come on,” so you challenge him back with a toothy grin.
Immediately Din follows behind you, footsteps quick yet terrifying agile.
The hanger sits in eerie stillness this time of night.
“Should we even be here?” Din asks low, a bit cautious.
“Didn’t take you as a ‘by the books’ guy, Mando.” You use the common name everyone calls him as a tease.
“Only when it comes to my employer.” He replies unamused.
“Trust me, we’ll be fine.” You wave him off and he continues following you further into the dark hanger.
He doesn’t know it, but this place, especially for pilots, is an infamous makeout spot. You try not to think about that too much.
There you arrive at your x-wing.
“Hop in,” you nudge him towards the ladder.
“What?” Din sounding so boyish and confused makes you laugh.
“Get in,” you urge.
Sighing defeated he climbs up the ladder to the cockpit and you follow. You look away trying not to stare at his cute ass.
“Can we even fit in this?”
“X-wings are capable of holding various types and sizes of pilots. We are not the empire, thank you very much,” you proudly declare.
The hatch opens, and Din jumps in. The dashboard and control panel light up as he takes a seat in your chair.
Your throat goes dry seeing him sit in the same pilot seat you fly in.
“Throttle, control stick,” he points out immediately.
As much room as you have, it is cramped standing up. So you curl to the side, closer to him, but keep your eyes on the control monitor.
“It’s got a good radar system.” Din comments admiring the monitor too.
You rattle on about how these are the upgraded models everyone got after the war. The original ones you used during the rebellion are classic, but the upgrades were warmly welcomed.
“Sorry, this all must sound boring.” You weakly laugh.
“It’s not. Tell me more.” He reassures.
You’re about to until you hear commotion around the hanger.
So, quickly you scramble up and around to slide into the seat -
Right between the V of Din’s legs.
You crouch low and drag him down too.
“Wh…what are you-”
“Shh…” you shush him. “Have to lie low just in case.”
“So we should leave.” Din urges urgent.
“We’re fine.” You reassure him now.
The commotion you thought you heard passes by, and silence returns.
You exhale a bit relieved, moving to sit up. Then you grin at him from over your shoulder.
“See… told you we’d be fine.”
He stays quiet.
It hits you. Maybe you upset him or crossed a line being this close. Though you aren’t fully pressed up against his chest, the position is still intimate. You’re literally between his legs.
You want to apologize, especially now that the courage fades away fast.
But all you can think about is how stunning Din is, how gorgeous he looks here in your ship.
“One day you should fly it.” You truthfully blurt out while staring at him.
“Don’t think Ward would let me.” He stiffly replies.
“I would.” You immediately counter.
“Plus you look good in here...” Then you realize what you just admitted.
So you try to recover fast.
“Knowing your skills, if you had been with us during the rebellion days, you would’ve fit in just fine. Probably would’ve even been half as good as me.” You add hastily, half joking, hoping he doesn’t linger on anything you said before.
You now glance away to check out the window. The hanger is thankfully still empty.
Then Din suddenly softly breathes your name.
You’ve never heard it sound so holy and raw that it rips you wide open. You completely shift around to glance at him in the lowly light cockpit.
“How inebriated are you?” He asks husky, thick.
“I could recite the entire radar flight plan chart we made for Endor.” You tell him completely wide awake now. Every part of you feels like a live wire completely focused on this man.
His low weak chuckle makes your stomach flip in the best way.
Din exhales, breathy and deep.
You don’t want to over step, don’t want to ruin this. So you patiently wait, hoping he makes the first move.
Feeling his arms slide around yours, tentative but curious, you’re galvanized.
Immediately you rise and twist around to fully stare down at him. Looking at Din for a moment, here in the cockpit of your ship, you want to burn this image into your memory. Want to consecrate this in a way you never may do with anyone else again.
You rest your legs on either side of his, caging him in then you settle down onto his lap.
The soft low noise Din makes is music to your ears.
He says your name, but it sounds more like a warning.
“I want this… I want you.” You tell him, finally admitting the words out loud.
Then, you grind down on his lap, straddling him, and immediately pleasure floods into your system.
Din groans, and it spurs you on instantly.
Frustrated that you’re still in your damn flight suit, you unzip the top, slide off the jacket, and exhale feeling the coolness reach your skin. Sliding your hands up to his shoulders you whisper his name.
Then you grind against the bulge in Din’s pants pressing into you, and your mind goes foggy.
But not foggy enough that you notice Din remains still.
Everything collides into you with a halting stop. What if he doesn’t want this?
“I’m… I’m so sorry.” You halt your movements and apologize composed as you can. Awkwardly you lift yourself off of him.
“No I-” Din starts, but then stops himself.
You settle back down on him but this time further back on his thighs.
“Do you… not want to do this?” You ask cautiously. “Because it’s okay if you don’t.”
It’s okay if you don’t want me, is what you actually want to say. But you’re not brave enough for that, no matter how many empire ships you’ve shot down.
“No.” Din noisily exhales frustrated.
His hands go to rest on your thighs. His head falls forward, crestfallen.
“I want this, want you. Just afraid I won’t be able to stop.” He admits weak.
“You don’t have to stop… I don’t want you to.” You admit, soft and greedy, deciding not to hold back now.
Here in your ship, you think maybe he’s become your prey, trapped in your spiderweb. But then his helmet ever so slightly tilts up to you. Under the watch of his unflinching visor, you now feel like a prey caught within a hunter’s gaze.
His heavy breathing grows stronger and reignites something in you.
“Din,” You mutter his name, and he lets out a strained curse.
“I think about you… too much.” Din reveals like it’s a painful truth, as if the words hurt to say.
“I think about you all the time.” The truth leaves you effortlessly now.
“Wonder about what color your eyes are,” You decide to be the brave rebellion pilot you are.
“If you and the baby are safe, eating well,” you add, and he chuckles breathily.
“I think about how brave you are and how… lucky I am to know you,” you continue feeling molten and sentimental now.
Din says your name again, this time tender, and it almost causes you to falter.
So you lean closer to his helmet.
“I think about how handsome you are… imagine your cock inside me.” You mutter and hearing the words aloud feels too much.
But then his strong hands dig into your thighs and slide you on his lap fully, dragging you across his clothed cock.
How strong he pulled you, the fast friction draws a whine from you.
“Yeah?” He growls and leans his helmet directly against your face. The cool beskar touching your skin is heavenly.
“Yeah.” You moan, and your hips begin their rhythm again.
This time it’s not just you moving. Din finally grinds up into you, and you see stars. Your underwear sticks to your sticky core, but you don’t care.
Not when you and Din rut against each other and his hands chart a path all over you. One hand slides up to your neck, anchoring you close to him. The other moves to your back, sliding up to bunch your tank top in his grasp.
It’s too hot now, and you’re wearing too many clothes.
So you weakly draw away from his hold to reach up and yank your top off.
Then you wiggle the last bit of the jump suit off, trying to let your hips and legs be free. But it’s hard.
Din even chuckles at your struggle, and you shoot him a look, annoyed. Patiently, he helps slide the material down until it pools down your legs.
Now you’re simply in your underwear, completely bare before him.
The sensation of his gloved hands running up your stomach, across your back, reverently taking in every inch of your bare soft skin, it melts you.
“Beautiful,” Din breathes in awe.
Then one of his gloved hands crawls up to knead your breast in his grasp, pinching your nipple. Your head falls back, and your hips return to seek relief. Grinding against him without the jumpsuit, the friction is so much stronger, a delicious undercurrent making you want more.
“Din,” You sob, feeling the pleasure build fast.
“Want you inside of me,” you whimper quickly getting drunk on him.
He cusses again sharp, dragging you harder against his clothed cock.
A loss comes when his hands leave your body, but wearily your eyes open once you feel him move to his pant buckle. Eagerly you join in to help.
His cock in your hand is warm. He’s thick, delicious in size. He’s already leaking, and possessed by something raw you lean down to lightly spit on his cock. Din groans so loud you think it rattles your bones.
Stroking his cock slow, you love feeling his mess mix with your spit.
He quickly hisses your name.
“Inside now,” he urges, a desperate man. Clutching at your hips hard, he practically draws you up.
Who are you to deny your mandalorian?
He helps slide off your stick underwear, now fully bare.
Before you sink down on him, you lean closer to his helmet.
You don’t have to say anything. You simply look at him, a final reassurance to see if he wants this the way you want him.
A gloved hand curls up to your face, cradling your sweaty face, stroking your cheek. His touch is fond, and it rocks you more than anything.
He nods firm, so sure.
So you sink down on him, guiding him into you. Both you and him moan and the world implodes in the most beautiful way.
When you were younger and around the veteran pilots, they used to share tales of how they’d christen their ships. Back then, you couldn’t imagine bringing anyone into this sacred space to do that.
Now you don’t want Din to leave it.
A fervid raw desperation has you clinging to him, Din touches you so protectively, keeping you close. His hands clutch you firm, like he’s worried you could fly away from him at any moment.
Needing to be closer, you curl against his neck. You ache to kiss his skin. But the smell of gunpowder, of something beautifully musky, purely Din, floods your mind and makes your mouth water.
His pace grows sloppy, and you feel it coming too.
“Where?” He slurs urgently.
“Inside, got the implant,” you mutter half dazed, but when you feel his cock twitch inside you moan embarrassingly loud.
“Inside Din please please please.” You now beg, wanting to feel him so badly.
“Not until you come first, wanna feel you.” Din demands growling back, and it pushes you over the edge.
Your climax knocks you into another realm. You’re floating. Din follows you over not long after with the deepest groan.
His warmth fills you, even feel it leaking out, causing you to whimper so content.
Exhausted you flop against his chest loving the cool press of his armor against your bare skin. Then a part of you hisses to pull away. Until Din’s helmet gently leans to rest against your head, and his gloved fingers tenderly stroke your back keeping you in place.
“So… you ever done that before in here?” Din asks, partially joking but still curious.
You shake your head no.
“You’re the only one.” You reveal.
His hand tracing across your skin suddenly stops. Then it fully draws across you to draw you closer to him in a soft like embrace.
An aching adoration for this man cements itself into you. It’s now etched into your heart and now your ship. Maybe the two are the same.
After this night, you find him everywhere now.
Anytime he or you return back from a mission, one seeks the other out.
Din and Grogu now even rest in your quarters.
The lodging here is small, but it’s become your makeshift home. Grogu snuggles up warm among the blanket pile you’ve made for him on the extra cot. And Din sleeps beside you in your bed.
You believed it was something sacred to know a mandalorian, but you realize it’s a true honor to find one seeking rest beside you.
Bathed in the moonlight leaking into your room, you and Din stare at each other lying side by side.
You wish he could relax more, maybe take off his armor.
But remaining helmeted, you understand his creed and don’t want to push. It’s just a small piece of you being selfish and wanting to see him.
“What’s wrong?” He notices your silence.
“I wish I could make this more comfortable for you.” Is the best way you can tell him.
He chuckles.
“Don’t worry, I’m fine.”
To even prove it he settles deeper among the pillows sliding closer to you.
“Nicer than the cot that I have on Nevarro.”
You almost laugh. He’s so endearing sometimes and doesn’t even realize it.
But you’re reminded he does have a home.
“What’s your place like on Nevarro?” You ask about it.
“It’s good, simple.” Such a boring classic Din answer.
“Maybe… one day you can see it.” That addition he makes has your heart racing.
“Yeah, I’d like that” you nod, grateful for the offer.
Slowly your eyes close on their own now.
“Brown,” until suddenly he blurts out a random color.
Wearily opening your eyes blinking at him a bit confused.
“My eyes… they’re brown.” He reveals.
A soft grateful smile warms your face as you thank him.
You fall asleep beside him, wondering about his home, what it would be like to wake up and see his beautiful brown eyes.
But those daydreams get shoved away fast.
Missions begin piling up. The empire trash is getting sneakier, working faster in the shadows. It keeps everyone busy. You barely see Din. When you do the exchanges are brief, simple glances or even short catch ups.
Ward eyes you and Din suspicious but of course aware.
Approaching Din you try avoiding the colonel’s gaze as she leaves.
That’s when you spot the ship that flew in yesterday.
“You wanted… this hunk of junk?” You dubiously stare at the razor crest. This is the beloved ship Din apparently had been searching high and low for.
“She flies better than she looks.” Din defends.
Grogu excitedly waddles up the ramp eager to be inside the old ship.
You still eye the gunship worried about how good she can protect the cargo she’ll soon be carrying.
“Might not be a x-wing, but I trust this ship with my life.” Din senses your apprehension.
You give him a soft elbow nudge that barely makes his budge. But he playfully nudges you back, and a grin tugs at your lips.
“Ugh,” Zeb groans with faux disgust seeing you and Din. You roll your eyes.
“You know, I notice with all the markings… this ship looks like it could fit in with a gold squadron.” You tell Zeb nudging your chin towards the paint.
He barks a laugh.
“Wouldn’t that be a sight. This piece of junk flying with us?” Zeb muses.
“I don’t know…I think the crest would fight right in.” You shrug, fond.
“Yeah? Think we could get Mando in a uniform?” Zeb adds and Din flat out shuts that down with a hard no.
It makes you and Zeb snicker.
Now you head in to examine the ship yourself and look around. The older metal, the antique design and layout, it really doesn’t ease your apprehension, but you trust Din.
“Your beskar boy has shit taste picking a ship like this.” Zed snorts heading up to the cockpit.
“Shut up.” You practically hiss at him.
But he leaves you and Din alone.
It’s hard to navigate this strange space lingering between you and him, as if neither you or him know how to move.
So you decide to be brave. You grab his hand and squeeze it.
“Be safe,” you nod to the mandalorian.
He quietly nods back, gathering your hand in his. He squeezes back just as firm.
You head out of the razor crest and into the bright afternoon sun. From the cockpit window you spot your boys. Din nods a farewell, and Grogu spotting you waves down from the control panel. In his grasp is your silly little monster charm.
Not moving from your spot, you keep your eyes on the ship until it fades into the jump of hyperspeed.
You don’t hear from Din for half a month.
It’s nothing new. You’re had months where missions kept you both busy. And from how displeased she was with the last mission, Ward apparently has him working on something fierce.
Then another week passes, and you’re sent on a protective mission to Chandrilla.
It takes your full attention. But the entire time your mind is on Din. Are he and Grogu safe? Is everything going okay?
“You must be in love.” The Senator you’re escorting on the mission says suddenly. Embarrassment floods you fast.
“I’m sorry?” You ask slightly confused.
He smiles at you kindly.
“You’ve been sighing, seem distant. Like a heroine kept away from a lover.”
Shit.
“I apologize. I promised I’m focused.” You reassure him, and the senator laughs.
“It’s fine, my dear,” he reassures, then leans in eagerly. “So tell me about the lucky person.”
Now here you are telling this Senator about your awful admiration for the mandalorian.
“Oh, a mandalorian.” He whispers in awe. “They’re a rare kind. He must be quite a sight.”
He is. But he’s more than that.
He’s kind and unbelievingly sharp. Strikingly powerful, and unwaveringly supportive. There’s a compassion that walks hand in hand with Din’s firm courage.
“Oh you got it bad,” the Senator laughs.
It’s unfortunately true.
How fast and quickly this mandalorian has disarmed you, but what else would you have expected from a warrior like him? Maybe you were doomed from the start to fight against feelings for such a fierce conqueror.
The thoughts of him keep you going through the mission.
Arriving at base camp, you instead find there’s already commotion.
Din has returned, but he’s not alone.
Jabba’s son, Rotta the Hutt, is with him.
At least Din and the baby are safe.
Standing off overlooking the beach, Din patiently watches Grogu play among the beach waves with the young Hutt.
“So, looks like you’ve been busy.” You say moving to his side.
“Tell me about it.” He sighs.
The rundown he gives you is surface level, getting tied up among the Hutt twins while trying to search for the infamous Commander Coin.
“Things might get hairy soon. I’m heading back to Nevarro to lie low for a while.”
His somber tone says more looms.
“Din…” you mutter cautiously.
He turns to you.
“If you’re in any danger…know that I want to help.” You urge, hoping he’ll tell you more.
“I know.” He nods, yet says nothing more.
Please, your heart begs, please let me stay by your side and fight with you.
But you know fighting against this adamant man is a losing battle. So you sigh and reach down to your belt.
The charm you have on today is your favorite, and you hand it to him.
“Remember to bring it back to me.” You can’t even look at him because your eyes suddenly feel like they could spill over a river of tears.
His gloved hand cradles your face, letting you fully look at him.
“We’ll be fine.” His voice soothes you steeled with resolution.
You nod, fighting harder against tears.
Then Din leans down. He presses his helmet against your forehead. You close your eyes and lean into the cool beskar.
With a goodbye hug to Grogu, you tell the sweet little soul to keep an eye on his dad.
This time, you don’t have the strength to watch them leave.
You throw yourself into any available mission.
Ward must sense why you’re doing this and in a punishment of sorts, she instead sticks you on filing reports.
“Mando will be fine,” Teva tries to reassure you.
You hope he will be. Days pass and you try to settle into a routine.
But then a group of Anzellans arrive in a panic. You’d been working on your ship when they landed.
Currently they rapidly relay a message to Ward. She patiently tries to listen to all of their worried voices.
“What’s going on?” You ask Wolf.
“Apparently Mando and the kid are stuck on Nal Hutta… don’t think it’s looking good.” He mutters back somber.
Absolute dread is unleashed in you.
You don’t realize you’re moving until you’re standing right before the colonel.
“Let me join the rescue strike.” You urge.
Ward turns to you, then sighs, even says your name a bit heartbroken. That says enough.
“Are we really considering not going?!” Your voice raises, shocked and upset.
“It’s not that simple.” Ward, calm and composed, tries to clarify, but just hearing that line feels like an alarm goes off in your head.
“What isn’t simple?! He’s one of us. We have to rescue them.” You argue back harder.
“There are protocols. And with the intel and alliance we’ve tried establishing with the Hutts we can’t just strike in, ranger.” Ward sharply explains, putting you in your place.
Anger burns through your veins.
“She’s right, colonel…” Teva suddenly speaks up.
“Mando is one of us.” He agrees with you.
More Delphi officers stand up.
Before Ward can even say anything, you turn on your heels and head out of the hanger zipping up your flight suit.
You don’t care if this will get you in trouble, hell even dishonorably discharged. Din needs you. Grogu needs you.
Then you hear a few others arrive in the hangar.
Ward calls out your name. This is it.
Turning towards her, you ready yourself to accept whatever punishment. Yet, you instead see your commander in her flight suit as well. Your eyes can’t help but widen.
She sighs yet gives you a half grin, understanding.
“I should sit you out on this mission.”
“I know. I’ve accepted that I’ll be doing reports for the rest of the year.” You sleepily shrug.
Her smirks grows bigger.
“Try two years,” she says heading to her ship.
You’ll happily accept that too.
The twin’s palace is heavily guarded, and it’s a true dogfight on Nal Hutta.
Then Din’s voice electrifies the coms as he reports in with Colonel Ward. Absolute relief blooms in your chest, and you feel like crying. He’s alive.
Now you fly harder and faster than you ever have. It reminds you of Endor. That final battle all you thought of was the hope right before your eyes, knowing something precious was so close and needed to be defended.
That’s what this feels like.
You manage to knock out a few droid ships, but the main focus is on the palace.
Yet Din remains inside.
And Ward gives the command to light the place up.
“Get out of there. Please.” You whisper out loud or maybe to the force itself.
Then, the stronghold goes under flames.
You and the others circle around, flying out of the line of fire from the explosion. Yet your stomach stays in knots.
“Anyone got eyes on Mando?” Wolf asks before you can.
Out from the smoke, there among the water below, you spot them. Your boys are alive.
A watery relieved laugh escapes you as you blink away the tears.
“Go pick up the trash, Zeb.” Ward jokes, and you can’t even be mad.
Knowing they’re safe is all that matters.
Vibrating with so much emotion, you land besides Zeb’s ship hoping to see them.
But Ward of course arrives first.
You instead idle by your x-wing, pretending to be checking your engines. Ward tells him the truth about the Hutts that even you didn’t know. So that’s why she finally agreed to go.
“And… we don’t leave our own behind.” Her words resound within you.
Din deflects, saying how he’s not with the New Republic.
“Sure you aren’t Mando, sure you aren’t.” She says.
“If you aren't one of us… Who do you think helped convince us to come?”
Ward’s insinuating tone shoots a shock up your spine.
You keep your gaze on your ship, refusing to even look their way. Focusing on mindlessly keeping busy, you don’t notice footsteps approaching until you move out from under the wing. There Din stands waiting.
He’s here.
Grogu cries gleefully, and your attention turns to him. You eagerly accept him into your arms hugging him tight.
“I’m so proud of you. You must have been so brave, my little ranger.” You even press a kiss to his fuzzy head, addressing him as the courageous officer he is.
The baby coos back fond, embracing you with his sweet but sturdy little arms.
While he’s still in your hold, your eyes open to find Din.
He stares unwavering at you, and your eyes water again.
“Welcome back,” you croak out.
Din nods, then, he raises up your favorite charm you gave him.
“Had to bring this back.”
With a watery laugh, you shake your head.
“Your dad is so silly,” you half whisper to Grogu who giggles, agreeing.
A sigh leaves Din but, in a few steps, he walks towards you.
Then you and Grogu are gathered into his embrace. You immediately wrap one of your arms around Din.
“Thank you… for coming for us.” Din’s voice is gentle, grateful.
“Always.” You answer back with a resounding truth.
Your job is tied here, and you might fly for the sake of the New Republic. But you believe your true wings, your heart’s flight navigation, now will always include a path for and to Din Djarin.
Currently he chats with Rotta, from what you heard might be staying here too.
Once you head into the mess hall Ward calls your name. With a patient knowing grin, she holds out the datapad with the promise of the paperwork you knew would be waiting for you.
Logging in with your chain link, a new message suddenly chimes onto the monitor from an unknown contact.
It contains a coordinates location to Nevarro along with a single message attached.
Stop by whenever, we’ll be waiting
Quickly, you start the reports happily accepting your punishment.
After all, there's a flight to Nevarro calling your name.
jack abbot x reader
thinking only about his freckled biceps...
warnings: chokehold, fluff, flirting, playfighting
It all starts with you figuring out that he’s ticklish.
You had both been laying on the couch, watching who knows what at this hour of the night. You shifted to find the remote to turn up the volume when you accidentally jab his side.
Jack’s not just a little bit ticklish. His entire body convulses and every muscle tenses when your elbow lodges into his side.
His eyes widen when he sees yours squint devilishly with this new discovery.
“You’re… ticklish?” You smile, leaning back for a brief moment, almost in disbelief.
“Oh no,” he groans, before you practically tackle him, hands flying towards his sides. He instantly recoils.
But then his laugh escapes, loud and deep, completely uncontrollable. You giggle in response, watching him squirm under your touch, an unfamiliar dynamic, opposite to what you both are used to.
Suddenly he twists away from your reach, and in one swift movement, he’s got both of your wrists trapped in his calloused hands. He pulls them away from himself while trying to catch his breath, and nothing but the sound of both your huffing fills the room.
“I had no idea…” you wheeze, your face beginning to hurt from smiling.
“Don’t you ever tickle me again,” he warns.
“Or what?”
Jack lifts your arms above his head, and shifts them into one grip.
Oh no…
“Or I’ll have to do this,” he says, tracing his free hand down to your side before digging his fingers into the spot between your hips and ribs.
Your scream turns into cackling as he tickles you back. Between the laughter ringing out from both of you, you manage to slip free of his grip, and now it’s a full-on fight, discovering new places on each other that get a reaction.
It gets hard for Jack to breathe from laughing, but he refuses to surrender. In one swift motion, he pushes you sideways off the couch and you yelp, startled enough to stop your hands from reaching for him again.
Before you can tumble to the ground, Jack rises off the couch and catches you, pulling you against him.
You’re about to turn around and retaliate when he says, “Oh no, you don’t.”
In one swift motion, his arm slides around your neck from behind and locks you in a chokehold. It’s probably one that he’s practiced from when he served in the military. He squeezes his bicep, tight while his other arm snakes around your waist, pinning you against his body
“Hey!” you wheeze.
He leans down, his breath brushing against your ear. “I warned you once. Don’t make me warn you again,” he murmurs.
But from this position, he fails to see the smug expression spreading across your face.
masterlist | tag list open. Comment or DM a 💀 to be added, 18+ only, age must be in bio.
Summary: You go to a bar Frank’s told you hundreds of times not to, and you find out what makes the place so dangerous. When you get home, Frank grills you about your decision—and suddenly you can’t breathe.
Warnings: this is heavy imo. Hurt, unresolved comfort, violence, yelling, panic attack/panic, mentions of drugs, prostitution, neo-nazis. both are in the wrong, mentions of reader’s vague past abuse, attempt of SA on reader (foul language, no graphic details, it doesn’t happen, NOT FRANK). Protective!Frank = unintentionally loud, angry, scared Frank.
requested by anon
w/c: ~4k
song rec
Frank doesn’t ask you for much. When he does, it’s in your best interest. Boundaries to keep you safe.
So you aren’t why, tonight, you cross him. It isn’t intentional… you really don’t see the harm in it, walking into this bar with your friends. It’s just a bar. You’ve not heard anything of it other than your come and go friends—Tabitha and Johnny’s—incessant nagging to try out this hole in the wall. There’s thousands of them. Little bars, quirky dives.
Frank’s just… overprotective. That’s what you tell yourself, reasoning the bad decision against his unproven logic.
It didn’t start out this way. Your friends wanted to hit a few bars on the usual strip, so you did. It was fun. Laughs, drinks flowing, familiar camaraderie. But after those few places… you ended up… here. Exactly where Frank doesn’t want you. Where you promised you’d never go. And you find out why Frank made you swear this place off limits.
But maybe it’s the bartender with inked black eyes, surgically implanted horns on his head, and the repulsive black sun tattoo sprawling his neck handing you your drink with the snarl of a creature, not a man.
Or red light bleeding from the curtained room beyond the bathroom. The crowd of half-dressed prostitutes working a street siren’s magic to paying customers. Or the pimp that the tears open the curtain to bitch slap one of them for no reason other than lack of cashflow.
Two guys in the corner shake hands and blatantly exchange baggies of coke, cut with…?
Oh, god. No wonder Frank told you to never, ever come here.
And… no one blinks.
Bar stuffed to the brim with New York’s unfinest, the filth tacks onto your skin. You feel… dirty, just being here. Dirty, because you don’t belong. You’re not a vagabond or a prostitute or a pimp or someone that agrees with the iconology of a black sun…
You clutch your drink so hard the sweat squeaks on the glass. Death metal assaults the speakers in bloody shrieks. Red strobes batter your retinas to the point of a dull, gnawing headache. Your friends—Tabitha and Johnny—nudge you, laughing about the characters here, how insane is this?, how anything goes, and the cheap drinks and a guaranteed show when a game of pool goes awry.
You can’t hear over the music (if it can be called that). You can’t see through the haze of smoke, pot, cigarettes, the flashing lights. It smells rancid and you wonder if your goodness is eroding with it just by being here. Your friends being your ride, your begging to leave was shrugged off. Your discomfort, your nerves all disregarded for the sake of… fun? This isn’t fun. It’s sick and scary and not you.
Somewhere right after your first sip of your drink and the vulgarity of watching a suited man shove a prostitute’s face in a pile of coke and laugh about it, you excuse yourself from the bar, from your ‘friends’, leaving the drink behind. You need air, to see a world beyond this depravity.
Weaving through the crowd of leather vests and ill intentions, you pull your phone out as you head out the back door. The light flares blue over your face, a shaking thumb typing a text to the one person who’d never do this to you. Never leave you in a place like this, never shrug off your discomfort. The person that told you to never, ever go here. Frank.
You: Can you please come get me? Please don’t be mad. I’ll explain everything later.
With the address.
You pocket your phone and push outside. The cool breeze drags the scent of lit cigarettes and phlegmy laughter.
You don’t see the ten missed the calls from Frank. Or the barrage of texts telling you to lock yourself in a bathroom stall ‘til he gets there.
The last one? The most important one.
Frankie: Whatever you do, princess, don’t fuckin go outside, you hear me? Bathroom. Pepper spray in your purse. And wait.
☠︎
You bound down the two steps, music muffled by the steel door closing behind you. Closing one door opens another. You hear it just as you take your first breath.
One that could be your last.
A low wolf-whistle from the shadows.
You startle, hands sinking deeper into your pockets. An instinctual step back, yet you bump into something solid.
A tongue clicks behind you, grimey breath on your ear. “D’awww, lookie here. This one’s puuuurdy.”
You jolt forward with a gasp, spinning to face him. A head skinned hairless, the nose of a pig, tattoos etched everywhere but his eyeballs.
“I’m- I’m leaving,” you state, a sharp bite to your tone. And you stamp forward, but— boof. Another solid body.
“Leaving so fast?” A second voice chides with a tut. Your eyes flash up to him. This second man—horrifying. Skin gnarled like someone’s dumped acid on him, leathery mouth stretched to show crack-black teeth. “No, no, noooo,” he sings. “Stay. Hang around me and my guys awhile… We’ll show you one hell of a time, baby. You like coke, huh? You got some coke. Get you nice and coked up and have a little fun with us, little fox.”
“NO!” You shout. “I’m leaving! Get- get your fucking hands off me!”
But they laugh at you. Push you around into each other, passing you like the piece of meat they see you as.
“Hey, boys!” The pig squeals over his shoulder. “Come look at the pretty pussy we got over here!”
Two more depart from the shadows, as though darkness breeds them. The third saunters with a bum leg, chain-link belt rattling pestilence with every step closer.
“Who gets to go first?” The fourth calls out. Through the bodies cramming you, you see him. Face full of meth craters, a greasy slick of hair over his head. His eyes, though… it’s looking at the devil himself. It’s sin. It’s evil because it understands innocence, right versus wrong, and chooses temptation.
“Don’t gotta go just one at a time,” the one with scarred skin hums with hunger.
You shove. Kick. Punch. Scratch. You fight against the cage of four men. And the fight is futile.
You cry—scream—for help. What you get is Frank.
An engine thunders through distance alleyways; the sound of pure reckoning.
You press back against the wall, brick biting your palms as you spit indignation. “You better- you better back the fuck off! My boyfriend’s coming—and he’s gonna be pissed!”
They laugh in your face. Spittle on your cheeks. Their breath hot and stale with beer. They laugh.
Tires screech rage over the streets. It’s a screaming symphony of: he’s coming, and blood will follow.
They won’t be laughing.
Their hands prod, crossing boundaries where your yells of no, stop, leave me alone! mean nothing. Your stomach. A brush at your thigh. The fine line down your neck. Your gut flips—their touch, the suffocation of retribution like iron in the air. You tremble. You wait. You taste imminent death in the air. Copper on your tongue. Bile in your throat. You jerk your head out of their hands. You’re prey. You’re their victim. How many victims before you? How many lived? And you should’ve listened to Frank.
One of them grabs the bottom hems of your shirt. Rips. One bottom button flies off, clattering down the sewage drain. One piece of innocence defiled with a promise of more to come.
You swing, battery ram your fists. But there’s too many. They’re bigger. Stronger. Drunker. And you? You should’ve listened to Frank.
As the pungency of the dumpster mingles with their breath on your skin; putrefying gases tell you time is running out.
The shriek of tires comes down this alley, a rubber skid charred on the asphalt.
A headlight.
The bike’s fucking mean as it barrels down the narrow road. Black plague tonnage; a beast of heavy chrome exhaust pipes flaring out from the sides.
And over that headlight? The first glimpse at destiny, the promise of what’s to come…? Something they all know. And fear.
The skull.
Its rider’s name is Death.
And Hell follows with him.
☠︎
The kick stand cuts a scrape over the ground. A shrill grate of metal as Frank stomps it down, walking off the motorcycle as it growls in idle.
His boots move the ground, an earthquake from the soles. Each step closer, each step unravel his thin leash.
It razes up your spine, seeing this version of Frank.
Disgust solidifies Frank’s face as he storms forward, upper lip raised in a snarl, preserving his face as the personification of righteous fury. “Think you gotta right to fuckin’ touch her, huh?!” he sneers, voice lurching to a boom, the savagery of his physique backlit by the beam from the headlight.
The hands breaching your body snap off in startled curses. The men congregate together, forming a swaying wall to barricade their treat: you.
“It’s- it’s The Punisher—” Pig stutters.
“Oh, fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck, go!” The gimp cries.
“Get your goddamn guns!” Greasy orders, fumbling for his shoved down the back of his pants. “He’s in our territory now.”
They scramble together in a frenzy, but Frank’s voice seizes them. That’s the power of Frank Castle.
“I asked you a fuckin’ question. When I ask somethin’, I want a goddamn answer. You fuckin’ deaf?” Frank roars, tearing a lead pipe one-handed from the wall without breaking stride.
Two feet of lead. Five pounds of blunt force. And Frank stops three feet short. Flips the pipe once. Tests the weight. Cements his fist to the end. The musculature of his shoulders knots. Nostrils flare, nose quivering undeterred ire. Becoming man in his truest form…
Violence’s overture.
Just one man. A pipe.
Four disgusting men standing between you two.
“You alright, sweetheart?” Franks grits while dark eyes clock his targets. Doesn’t wait for an answer—you gotta be. No choice right now. “Need you t’do somethin’ brave right now, hm?”
You peel yourself from the wall with gelatinous legs, safety disguised in his mere presence though you’re far out of reach yet. You nod little bursts, mouth dried shut.
“Walk ‘round,” Frank instructs, head canting to signal where. “Wait on the bike. C’mon, sweetheart. Now. Ain’t no one gonna move while you walk outta this.”
Silence in agreement. Silence in waiting.
Eyes darting between the men, Frank, your escape route of the motorcycle behind him, you dash a wide berth on your tiptoes. As you get within his reach, Frank extends the pipe around you. Uses it like a lead revolving door to guide you out.
Reaching the safety of the motorcycle, you throw a leg over it. Straddle the rumbling leather, fingers digging into the warm seat to placate the tremble wracking your spine. Over the dormant hostility of the bike, you can’t hear carnage coming to a crescendo.
☠︎
“How many times she say no, huh?” Frank asks, dragging the head of the pipe in jarring rakes over the asphalt beside him. “Do I wanna know?…Yeah. Yeah, think I do. ‘Cause how many times she said no’s how many I’ll take t’break your goddamn head open.”
“You’re- you’re just one man!” Greasy spits out, his gun rattling in the terror-lock of his hand. “There’s four of us, man, you’re fucking s-stupid for trying us like this!”
Frank wears solemnity. A vacancy in his expression known as acceptance. Acceptance in the mission, the nature of the beast, the necessity to make sure this won’t happen again.
“Yeah,” Frank says, raising the pipe. “One man they mistake for a goddamn army.”
☠︎
Skulls got a specific sound when they break. Yeah. Not like other bones.
Other bones splinter. Crack.
Skulls’re different. It’s a wet kinda crunch.
So when the lead pipe lashes down into Pig’s head—bone ‘n brain squelch. Yeah. Wet. Crumples the swiney fucker in a gushing heap.
Gimp charges Frank with a belligerent wail, leg dragging. S’fine. No problem. WHOOMP.
Frank slams the shaft of the pipe into his gut. Chain belt jingles. Gut blows got a dense, meaty sound, the choked punch of breath knocked out of ‘em as the guy stumbles back, clutchin’ his insides. Jams the jagged end through his chest like a fuckin’ kabob. Frank hauls the belt off. Winds the metal links around his neck. Takes the end of that chain… and hoists it over bar the sign. Pipe speared through his chest oozes blood. Chains seizure ‘til he stops movin’. Public hanging for all of ‘em to see.
From behind—raisin skin slings a heavy fist at Frank’s head.
Turning, Frank slips the punch. No thought, pure instinct. Instinct like this can’t be learned. It’s innate.
Frank snatches Raisin’s wrist. One sharp snap down. Crrallllck. Screams “NOOO, AHHH, NO NO NO—!” Bone raptures up from his skin. Sprays a fan of blood over Frank’s face.
“No?” Frank mocks. “Ain’t a word we know, ‘member?” Yanks him by the broken wrist… and grinds the bone down the brick wall ‘til it’s a bleeding nub. Makes for damn sure these hands won’t touch another woman again. Then? Then he uses his face like a goddamn sponge. Grates his skin over the prickled brick, peeling off tattered ribbons of flesh ‘til he can’t make another sound.
Greasy guy’s got the most sense. Runs. Frank’s never lost sight. Raisin’s body dropping at his feet, Frank goes for the holster on his hip.
“HEY!” Frank yells, the baritone of his voice an augury of the night. Raises his Beretta in a final send off.
Greasy trips a step. Doesn’t fall. Twists back to look as he runs for his goddamn life down the blackened alley. His last mistake.
“Ain’t no runnin’ from me.”
And one shot rings out.
Body falls.
Blood glugs from the hole between his eyes.
☠︎
Wind slices through the visor of your helmet as Frank tears down the streets of New York with you latched on his back. It cools your skin, but not the guilt turning over and over under your skin. Your arms wind around the tense width of his midsection, jittery fists bunched in the front of his shirt.
Streetlights blur much like the night.
Frank doesn’t reciprocate anything. A stoic wall in front of you radiating raw, humming anger.
You bury your helmeted face into his back, trying desperately to break the ice, to get his affection back, but there’s no give. No forgiveness. All you can do is sit here, behind him, and wait.
☠︎
song rec
In the apartment, you try to slink off for the bathroom. One sallow light tinks above the sink, as if it’s petrified to bring light to what you’ve brought home.
Try. You get two steps in, then—
“Where the hell you think you’re goin’?”
The smallest flicker of a wince in your shoulders. You stop right then and there. Fingers lace together, cold and clammy under rightful scrutiny. “…I wanna take my makeup off,” you say, so mousy it’s sour on your tongue. “Can I please go take my makeup off?”
“Ain’t goin’ anywhere ‘til we talk,” Frank says in a low, grave tone. He posts up at the center island of the kitchen, palms flat and shoulders wide. The posturing of an animal asserting indisputable dominance.
You inch a half turn until you partially angle towards him. Your arms bunch around yourself, scared if you let go, your insides might spill out. You glance over at Frank and your stomach drops. Dried blood under his nails. Red-hot anger in the razor-sharp slant of his jaw. His eyes—dark and domineering—welded to you.
“Wanna tell me how the fuck you ended up there?” Frank asks, so low it’s venomous. “Ain’t where you said you were goin’. You forget I told you t’stay the fuck away from there, hm?”
“No, I didn’t mean to—”
“Then what?” he snips, words dragging harsher with each one. “Didn’t meant to, but you’re the one that walked in those fuckin’ doors, yeah?”
“No! Yes! I mean, yes! No, I did— I did, Frank, and I’m sorry. I’m so, so, so sorry, that’s not what the evening was supposed to be!”
It’s not good enough.
Frank snaps.
“You’re smarter th’n that! C’mon. Get real. Jesus fuckin’ Christ, coulda found you dead ‘n the alley after those sick fucks did whatever the fuck they wanted. What I tell you ‘bout goin’ t’that bar, huh? What’d I tell you?” It’s a literal question, a demand for answers. “Fuck. Anything I ask ‘a you’s f’your own damn good.”
Coming down from the alcohol, heart working overtime, your feet inch together. Your shoulders curl in, forging a weak shield around yourself. “I just- I was with friends, I thought it’d be fine if I was with my friends. The plan wasn’t to go there, Tabitha and Johnny walked us there and I didn’t realize what it was until we got there! They- they were my ride, I couldn’t just—”
“You could. You call. I answer. Every fuckin’ time. See how that works? How fuckin’ easy that woulda been? Some fuckin’ friends lettin’ you go alone in a place like that.”
His justified anger, his disappointment—it’s palpable. Eats at you until your insides are mush, your worth ruptured in a few sentences. If only you would’ve listened. Why didn’t you listen? You had one simple task and it was to listen to Frank and you still didn’t do it.
Frank throws a hand up, frustrated with the lack of sense. Drags that hand down his face, then presses just his fingertips into the countertop. A repetitive jab of them on the granite—a demand—his brows hiked up to burn the severity of the look into you. “Your friends offer up an idea s’ dumb s’that? Shit. You sure you wanna be friends with ‘em? People hangin’ out there, huh, wanna be ‘round all that? They say somethin’ as stupid s’that, that’s when you say no. S’when you don’t go, you hear me? Don’t give a shit ‘f it’s someone’s dyin’ wish—you don’t go. Need some new goddamn friends.”
He’s- He’s mad. He’s mad at you. You did this. Your actions did this. If you just would’ve opened your mouth, said no, heeded his warnings, listened—your night could’ve looked grossly different.
Air clogs in your throat. Your pulse beats manic emergency, heart raging against your ribs. Breath tighter. Breath shorter. Oh my god, you can’t fucking breathe. Something’s wrong. Something’s very wrong. Your throat jumps a frantic test. Air won’t move. Words freeze up on the back of your tongue.
“What ‘f I didn’t get t’you in time, hm? You think ‘bout that? Got all those brains, where was they t’night? You forget ‘em at home? Christ. Tryna understand this. Tryna understand where the hell your head was at.”
The floor sways under you. The room tilts. Lightheaded, heart pounding too fast, choking on your own pulse.
“Goddamn it, say somethin’!” The demand in his tone. The raise of his voice. “Use your words! Stand here all goddamn night ‘f I got to.”
Oh, it triggers the old, wounded parts of you… The parts you can’t heal. Parts you didn’t ask for when someone else—long ago—decided yelling meant you’d understand. You were just a kid. Yelling didn’t make you understand. It made you scared.
The back of your throat clicks a dry suck—no room for air. Your heart ramps to the point of danger. If you don’t calm it— oh my god, what if you don’t calm it? If it goes any faster, you might induce a heart attack. Oh my god… what if it’s already a heart attack? Your knees knock together in the wobble. Tears burn down your face, but you don’t feel them. No, you only feel the life-threatening pain twisting shards in your chest, your lungs scorching for air you can’t collect. When your crooked fingers claw at your throat, your bulging eyes red-rimmed as your vision seems, Frank stills.
A falter in his reprimand. A one second pause to calculate.
“B-baby—?” Frank tests.
“Frank— can’t- can’t—” a wheezy rasp sears down your throat; a noose of someone else’s making still strangling you.
Frank moves. He’s on your side in an instant, one big hand splayed and pressed over your chest, the other right on the other side of you, on your back. Squeezes you, compressions to breathe for you.
“Hey, hey, hey—” Frank rasps, all ire parched from his body. “C’mon, sweetheart, c’mon—“ His eyes bolt over your face, tracking the blanched terror as your breath drops to hyperventilations. “No, no, no. C’mon. Easy, sweetheart, easy. Control it, hm? In f’four. Ready? C’mon. Do it with me, baby girl. C’mon.”
With his hands packing you together, holding the shaking pieces, Frank demonstrates a loud, deep inhalation through his nose. For four seconds.
You jolt in place with the count of each second; a systemic failure wringing your body to catastrophe.
One—you could die.
Two—right here.
Three—because you didn’t say no.
Four—and there’s no room for a full breath, your chest stuffed with panic.
“Hold it f’four, sweetheart, c’mon. Hold.”
Four seconds have never felt so long. Or stupid. You go catatonic, face stuck in a gasp, fingers contorted around your throat.
When the corrective breathing doesn’t ease anything, Frank binds an arm around you to drag you along.
You ain’t got legs? He’ll be your legs.
Arms won’t work? He’s got two.
You’re making all kinds of noises that scare the shit out of him. Heaves, wheezes, hummed cries as you gasp for help. Frank rips open five drawers. Rummages the contents, shit clattering to the floor.
“Gum, sweetheart. Gum. Where’s th- the gum, huh? Mint. Get you that mint gum, hm?” Vocal panic of his own, dark eyes wet as he digs for one of your antidotes. Mint gum.
Finally—finally—Frank finds it. Big fingers fumble the pack open, tearing three sticks from the wrapper. Shoves them all in your mouth. More means it’ll work better, right?
“Chew, baby. Chew. C’mon, pretty girl. Yeah. Yeah, there she is. Atta girl.” Hand on your back, he uses the other to guide your chin. Help you chew.
The tang of spearmint explodes in your mouth. Forces salvia back into it. You chew, chew, chew. Masticate the wad, breaking out the potency of the flavor, swallowing it down to hose out the uncontrollable fire in your chest.
“Atta girl. Keep doin’ that, hm? You keep chewin’ f’me, alright? Lemme know you hear me, baby. Nod f’me.”
You do. It’s stiff and mechanical, his voice distanced by the nauseating pump of your heartbeat in your own ears.
“Alright. Good. Doin’ so good, baby. Gonna be jus’ fine, got my word. Ain’t nothin’ you can’t handle. Strong girl, you know that? Won’t let it get you.”
Your shoes drag squeals over the floor as Frank lugs you to the kitchen sink. He slaps on the water, tugs it to the coldest setting with a grunt. “Alright, here we go. Gimme your hands, sweetheart, you do that f’me? C’mere,” gently—so fucking gentle you’d cry if you felt it—he unwinds your hands from your neck.
Bracketing your hands with his, Frank dunks them under the shocking freeze of the running tap. Holds your hands open and under the rush, his thumbs on the tendons of your wrists.
Under his thumbs, your pulse’s in a crisis. Rapid fire on his calluses, each frenzied knock accelerating the rot in his gut.
But the water, the mint, the full-weight press of Frank’s chest into your back… it’s a remedy.
The water a rapid reset for your nervous system.
The mint gum forcing you into mobility, the crisp flavor a distraction.
And Frank’s weight? Deep pressure, heaviness severing the emergency alarms in your body.
Minutes go by. How many, you aren’t sure, but Frank’s there the entire time. Undivided attention and gravelly praise, his thumbs pushing gentle strokes from the veins in your wrists to the heel of your hands.
“You with me?” he asks, eyes closed with a pinched brow, his stubbled chin against your temple. “Talk f’me, princess. Gotta hear you. Gotta know you’re okay.”
Clear rills of snot down your nose, tears wiping tracks of makeup from your face, your lashes flutter back from the separation in your mind. “I- I, yeah. Here,” you croak, vocal cords afflicted yet.
“Thank god,” Frank breathes, mashing his nose against your head when he sticks a rough, relieved kiss to your temple. “There she is. There’s m’girl.“
Water drenches your arms, his, splatters to the floor at your feet with his as your shadow.
Chest stuttering, lungs cooperative, you take one big, full breath. Your lungs belong to you again. Frank’s heartbeat on your back, yours slows to match it. You’ll follow him. Anywhere, even the mechanics of your heart knows that’s.
“Yeah, there,” Frank murmurs. “Easy. Slow.”
“Frank, I–” you shift in place, throat closing with a well of tears. “I’m sorry.”
“Sh-sh,” Frank hushes. Blinks his eyes open, but keeps them low on your shoulder. “Ain’t doin’ that right now. All’s that matters is I got you.”
An appreciative hum crackles in your ribs. You nod. Okay. Not right now.
“Alright f’me to turn this off?”
You nod.
He does, hand lingering on the facet.
A weighted quiet now. Heavy with your mistake. Heavier with his regret.
The quiet plink… plink… plink of water dropping into the sink basin, remnants of the night; decisions water can’t make clean.
Side of his face pressed against yours, rough stubble to soft skin, Frank grabs the hand towel. Drapes it over your hands, squeezing them dry one by one.
“That happen ‘cause ‘a me?” he asks, thick with remorse.
“Not… you…” you whisper, licking salt from your upper lip as you watch his hands work on yours. “Just… your… tone. I don’t- I don’t like ye—”
“I know,” he softly interjects, eyes pinching shut for two seconds. “Yellin’. Got… too loud.” Thinks about saying he didn’t mean to, but that was the excuse he wouldn’t let you have earlier. “Shouldn’t’a got loud with you like that.”
“I get it—”
“No. Don’t gotta do that shit. F’give like that when I fucked up.” Hands dried, Frank sets the towel aside with unnecessary precaution. Like now he doesn’t trust himself not to make more ruin.
“Can we… can we just go to bed? I think I wanna go to bed. Forget about all this ‘til the morning,” you say, voice scratchy, all of your weight leaned back on Frank. “We can have a more constructive talk… in the morning. I just… I just really want you to hold me and touch me and tell me everything’s all right for tonight. Can we, please?”
Big arms band around your waist. Frank buries his face in the sweat-slick curve of your neck, breathing you in, seeking penance. “Yeah, sweetheart. Yeah. Can do that.”
“It’s… on hold,” you say, “until tomorrow.”
“Yeah,” Frank sighs against your neck, fans warmth. Tightens his arms around you; an apology in its strength. “‘Til tomorrow.”
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I—woah, okay I had to step away for a bit after reading this one to be able to breathe for a hot second, cuz goddamn.
Writing so good, now it's YOUR fault you have to go through this essay of a reblog 😭-
Coming back to reblog this with what I hoped would be a little more coherence than my first reaction, and somehow I'm still failing because my heart is doing all kinds of violent gymnastics trying to process this fic 😭
Seriously, every single time, without fail, you manage to pull me so deeply into a character's headspace that I end up feeling everything they're feeling beat for beat.
And listen—going into this, I genuinely thought I was signing up for another silly goofy hurt/comfort fic. Maybe a little unhinged. Maybe a little angsty. Instead, this one ripped me apart with panic and THEN ripped me a new one.
(I FULLY CONSENTED TO IT, I SWEAR.)
But god, the way you wrote Frank's rage and violence...Oof. It was genuinely gruesome. I wasn't just curling my toes—I was physically flinching reading some of those scenes because of how visceral and grotesque they felt. But, that's exactly the level of violence that makes Frank who he is. That's the reputation attached to his name. So respectfully, never tone it down, no matter how much emotional labor it took me to get through it 😂
(To be fair, rambling about Frank's violence has actually helped lower my heart rate a little, lmao.)
But honestly, I think what really got me was the way you kept digging deeper into her panic. The tension kept building and building, and I could feel myself inching closer to the edge of my seat with every scene. My heart was already racing from everything happening in the present—
And then you hit us with the connection to her childhood trauma. The parallel to growing up around raised voices. The way that panic wasn't just about what was happening now, but everything it awakened underneath. And that was the moment that really knocked the wind out of me. It felt like one of those moments where a story suddenly reaches into a place you weren't expecting it to touch. Like being caught off guard by something painfully familiar. Like a deer caught in headlights, or that eerie feeling when a character becomes aware they are being perceived by the audience and look back at you perceiving them and put you in their shoes.
I wasn't prepared for it. I felt so called out 😩
And then suddenly it wasn't just her panic anymore. I was right there with her. And from that point on, it was all downhill for both of us 😭
Honestly, you're insane for this one. I have no idea how you pulled a fic like this out of your back pocket and casually dropped it on the feed, but wow. I adore your writing so much, in every form it takes and every emotion it manages to evoke.
This one is probably going to take me a while to recover from. But god, it was so worth the emotional turmoil 🙂↕️🩷
You know, whenever somebody likes and reblogs my "blog navigation" post, I oddly feel like a I'm back to school getting emotional over a test paper marked 💯
Lmao, don't mind me, continue lurking. I just like watching the randomest interactions in my notifs from time to time 😅
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“I thought you knew how to braid.” You look in the mirror.
“I do.”
“Really?” You turn your head to the side to check out the “braid” he attempted to do. “Cause that’s not how it’s supposed to look.”
Jason shrugs, grabbing the sides of your head and turning it back. “I’d do a lot better if you didn’t tease me.”
You scoff. “How is you being a bad braider my fault?”
“It just is.” He mutters, undoing the braid to restart again until it’s up to your standards. “Now shh.”
You smile at your boyfriend in the mirror. He’s got that determined look on his face that you love so much. The braid wasn’t that bad, but you just had to tease him. You wouldn’t be his very loving girlfriend if you didn’t.
“You could have kept it, Jay.” You say, watching his hands thread slowly through your hair, needing to perfect the braid for you.
“You said you hated it.”
Your brows rise at his lie. “Now you’re just putting words in my mouth.”
“I’d put a cookie in your mouth to get you to hush and let me focus.” He fires back softly, a small grin on his face as he is amused by his own joke.
You huff, slouching in your chair and letting Jason perfect his craft.
And about three minutes later, he’s done with the braid and turns your head to the side so you can get a glimpse of it.
He looks down at you, hopeful that you’ll like it.
It wasn’t perfect. Not at all. But because your boyfriend did it with pure love and admiration, it was perfect to you. A smile makes its way to your lips.
“It’s perfect.” You look up at him. “Thank you, Jay.”
His cheeks turn a light pink and he looks away to avoid your gaze. “You’re just saying that.”
You laugh softly and stand to your feet. You softly grab his face to force him to look at you. “No, I’m saying it because it’s perfect because you did it.”
He grins, arms coming around your waist and pulling you flush into him.
Your arms fly around his neck, gently pulling his face down towards yours. “I love you.”
You watched as Dick laid the blanket down on the grass with a flourish. A small giggle slipped past your lips as you watched him set up everything for your date. He had brought a blanket, pillows, and a small basket full of snacks, two glasses, and a bottle of wine. "Your date is ready, milady." He said as he gestured dramatically to the blanket and pillows. You giggled more, settling down beside him.
Dick’s fingers brushed against yours as he passed you a glass of wine, the deep red liquid catching the faint glow of the stars overhead. You took a sip as you looked up at the sky. It was dark out now, the stars twinkling above the two of you. The moonlight casted an ethereal glow over the meadow. "It's beautiful tonight." You said softly as you gazed at the stars.
His laugh was low, warm, his eyes never straying from your face. "Not as beautiful as you," Dick murmured, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. You looked over at him, the way he was looking at you making your pulse skip a beat. He looked at you like you were the only constellation worth mapping. You felt your cheeks heat up as you looked away, a smile tugging at your lips as the two of you laid down.
Dick’s fingers traced a slow, invisible line across the sky. "See that W-shaped cluster?" His voice was a whisper against your ear, lips grazing the shell of it as he leaned in closer. "That's Cassiopeia. Queen of the heavens, eternally upside down as punishment for her vanity." You squinted, trying to follow the path of his fingertips, but the stars blurred. His nearness, the wine, and the way his thigh pressed against yours making it impossible to focus.
"How do you know so much about constellations?" You asked as your eyes traced the w shaped constellation.
His grin widened as he shifted closer, the warmth of his body seeping into yours. His finger traced the sky again, this time drawing a lazy arc toward the north. "That one’s Draco," he murmured. "The dragon. Wrapped around the Little Dipper like he’s guarding it." His fingertip brushed your shoulder as he lowered his arm, sending a shiver down your spine. "Bruce made me memorize them when I was young. Said knowing the stars could save your life if you were ever lost."
You smiled softly as looked at the constellations, a sense of calm draping over you. "And this one," Dick said, his voice lowering into something softer, as his finger traced a jagged line of stars near the horizon, "is Orion." His fingertip lingered at the midpoint. "See those three stars? That’s his belt." His hand drifted upward, sketching the outline of broad shoulders, then down again to the faint glimmer of his sword.
Your eyes left the stars as you turned your head, looking over at him. The moonlight casted a soft glow against his skin and you took this moment to take him in. You reached up without thinking, brushing your fingers against his jaw, guiding his face toward yours. Dick's breath hitched when your fingers touched his jaw, his dark eyes flicking down to your lips before meeting yours again. There was only a moment of hesitation before he gently pulled your body against his, leaning his head down to plant a soft kiss to your lips. The wineglass tipped over onto the grass as you reached your hand up, tangling your fingers through his dark hair.
Dick deepened the kiss, his fingers tightening against the small of your back. The taste of him flooded your senses as you arched into him, one hand still threaded through his hair, the other sliding down his chest. The kiss turned urgent and you parted your lips, granting him access as he slipped his tongue past your lips.
The first drop of rain splattered against Dick's cheek. He pulled away just enough to look up at the sky as another drop splashed against your collarbone. You both froze, lips hovering inches apart as more drops of rain came raining down on the two of you. Then it was like the sky split open, rain plummeting to the earth in fat, heavy droplets, drenching the two of you.
You gasped as the cool water splattered against your skin but before you could react, Dick let out a chuckle, a grin splitting his lips. He pressed his forehead against yours, both of your clothes completely soaked from the rain now. "Guess the universe thought we needed to cool off." He said with a small chuckle. You giggled softly as he leaned in for another kiss. "Too bad I have other plans." He murmured against your lips before deepening the kiss.
The rain slid down your face as he kissed you harder, nipping at your lower lip. You whimpered into the kiss as you tugged at his soaked shirt. He got the hint as sat up, tugging his shirt off before tossing it aside. The rain cascaded down his chest and abs, the sight causing heat to pool between your thighs. He maneuvered you so you were laying on your back before tugging your dress down, causing your tits to bounce free.
The cold rain traced paths down your bare skin, the rain sliding between your tits. Dick’s hands slid up your sides, thumbs brushing your hardened nipples. A shiver ran through you, half from the chill, half from the way his gaze darkened as he took you in. "God, you’re gorgeous," he murmured, voice rough, before dipping his head to press an open-mouthed kiss to your collarbone.
His mouth traveled lower, lips hot against the rain-slicked skin between your breasts. You gasped as his tongue flicked over a nipple, arching into him instinctively. The rain fell harder now, drowning out everything but the ragged sound of your breathing. Dick’s hands slid down to your hips, shoving your dress up to your waist as he dragged his teeth lightly over your other nipple. "Dick-" you choked out, but the rest of your words dissolved into a moan as he sucked hard. You whined when he pulled away only to gasp when he pulled your panties down your legs, discarding them to the side with his shirt.
You watched as he unbuttoned his jeans, pulling his cock out. He stroked it a couple of times before spreading your legs, positioning himself between them. You wrapped your arms around his neck, whimpering as he slid the head of his cock between your folds, gathering your arousal on his length before pushing inside of you slowly.
Your back arched off the ground as his cock slid inside of you, filling you inch by inch. Rainwater dripped from his drenched hair and onto your chest as his head hung low when he bottomed out of you. "Fuck," he groaned, eyes meeting yours as he slowly pulling out just to the tip before thrusting back into you again. You moaned, your hand sliding up his neck to tangle in his hair, tugging on the strands lightly.
He thrusted into you with slow, deep thrusts, the feeling of his cock dragging against your walls causing your toes to curl against the soaked blanket. Dick's mouth found yours again, swallowing your moans as he rolled his hips in a way that had you seeing stars. He had one hand pressed against the ground beside your head, his other hand coming up to gently cradle your cheek, thumb brushing your cheekbone. "I'm so in love with you." He said softly as he pressed his forehead against yours.
The rain turned into a downpour around you but both of you barely noticed, too lost in the sensation of eachother. "I love you too." You whispered breathlessly, your nails digging into his shoulder lightly as he picked up his pace. His lips curled into a soft smile as he kissed you again, slow and deep, his tongue exploring your mouth as if he was trying to memorize the taste of you.
He hiked your legs higher around his waist, the new angle letting him hit that sweet spot inside of you. "Yes, right there-" You moaned, your hands tightening their hold on him. Dick trailed kisses down your jaw and neck, groaning against your skin when you pussy clamped down on his cock. His hips snapped into your faster, chasing your pleasure as much as his own. You felt a knot tighten in your stomach, your orgasm fast approaching.
His hand slid between your bodies, his fingers finding your clit. He rubbed slow circles against it, matching the rhythm of his thrusts. "That's it, sweetheart. Let go for me." He murmured against your lips, his voice rough with need. You arched into his touch, your breath coming out in short gasps as pleasure coiled tighter inside of you.
"Dick, I'm gonna-" Your words cut off into a moan as pleasure crashed over you, your body trembling beneath his. He groaned as your pussy clenched around him, spurring him on. His hips snapped against your a couple more times as he chased his own high.
"Fucking Christ!" He groaned, stilling inside of you as you felt him cum inside of you. He collapsed on top of you, careful not to rest all of his weight on top of you. His face nuzzled your neck before he pressed a soft kiss on the skin between your neck and shoulder. You caught your breath as you came down from your high, threading your hands through his hair.
"If we don't get out of the rain soon we're gonna catch a cold." You said with a soft giggle as you kissed his head.
"Worth it." He said with a grin as he looked up at you, leaning in to capture your lips in a kiss as the rain came down around the two of you. Despite your earlier words, you honestly didn't care either. It was all worth it when it came to him.
❀ end note: i can't decide if i love or hate this fic, i hope you guys enjoy it though!
❀ if you liked this fic then i would really appreciate it if you liked, or commented, or reblog it! thanks for reading! ❀