Din Djarin? More like Dihh Djarin

Din Djarin

One shots 🖤❤️‍🔥💝Limitless: You always wanted something more with your Mandalorian companion, luckily a new advancement in Coruscant may help fulfill your desires.

🖤❤️‍🔥💝Welcoming Home: Din comes back to the covert newly repented. ❤️‍🔥💔 A Mutual Agreement: He's been acting strange, what does your period have to do with it? Series

🖤❤️‍🔥💔Love at First Sight

🖤❤️‍🔥💔Din's kitten

❤️‍🔥💔Starlight

Moon Knight

Series

🖤❤️‍🔥💔Dream Walking: Therapy and the consequences of your sleeping pills. He couldn't be real; it was just your brain confusing dreams with reality. 🖤❤️‍🔥💔Dream World: Your and Steven's dreams and realities converge

🖤❤️‍🔥♥️A Wolf in Sheep's Clothing Masterlist

Joel Miller

One Shots Series 💔What Could Have Been 🖤❤️‍🔥💔Claiming

Miguel O'Hara

❤️‍🔥💝Pixie Dust: Early morning greetings and first meetings. Miguel finds his very own little guide after encountering problems with a warlock. Their first challenge being flowers.

Series 🖤❤️‍🔥💔In Over Your Head: Miguel likes the intern he technically stole from the research department.

You wear your golden chain around your neck proudly. He had gotten the gem from the black market. It cost a fortune. But it glowed a bright green. The thought of at least you being protected made him sigh out in bliss. 

It was kryptonite. Just as rare as you. The only one able to calm his nerves, his turmoil. He swears just your touch was able to pacify his inner thoughts. You drag him to bed, pulling on his arm softly as he pretended to be dragged away. 

He watches you sleep. His fingers tracing over your shoulders. He lifts the stone and curls his thumb against it, almost as if in prayer. The hard edges of the kryptonite were rounded and cut, wrapped tightly in gold. 

You thought it was an emerald. You were never really that interested in gems to notice the almost alien glow of it. 

You never take it off, he told you never to. It was gold, it didn’t lose its shine or stain your skin like other metals would. He had to be there when you cleaned it gently with a cloth. You weren’t allowed to place it down for more than a couple seconds. 

You rarely took it off as is, it was precious, the gem valuable. You’re scared you’d lose it if you ever let it out of your sight. 

…

It was all over the news. A building had collapsed, near LuthorCorp’s own headquarters in Metropolis. It was scary, you had been there to have lunch with him hours before the attack. It frazzled Lex, to the point where he evacuated every employee from the building, relocating them to a smaller town near the outskirts of the city. 

You watch as Lex speaks in a televised press conference. He spoke with conviction, his eyes shone brightly in irritation, then frustration and finally anger. Superman had fought a villain, he wasn’t quick enough to stop the building from losing its foundation, his punches caused quakes in the ground that lasted more than a minute. 

Lex reads off the names of the ‘casualties’ and the missing, along with the people who had lost their property and homes due to carelessness. You watch with your breath held still, waiting for him to finish. It took him maybe two minutes, he read off their names, their ages. You could hear the reporters sitting nearby gasp at the names of the deceased, some were just barely months old.  

Lex comes home late, his emergency squadron still working through the rubble. It was a quiet dinner, a quiet shower, his face buried where your shoulder and neck meet. He doesn’t sleep and neither do you. 

Clark Kent sits in the bullpen, feeling his chest seize with each victim. He watches the news with the rest of the Daily Planet reporters, some staring into the screen in horror, others shaking their heads and going back to their own tasks to block the day away. 

It was an accident.  Clark goes home early. 

It was an accident. 

He refuses to turn on the TV. He wishes he couldn’t hear the cries and prayers. He wishes people trusted him to help look for survivors. He lays in bed, staring up at the ceiling. He was new at this. Protecting a small town was much easier than protecting a city. 

There were more people, more buildings to consider. Lois calls him, her words stuck in his head as he turns to his side and pulls the sheets over his body. 

‘It’s not your fault, Clark.’ 

He had gotten quiet at her words of comfort. He felt as if some warmth had finally crept back into his chest knowing that he had at least one person in Metropolis not cursing his name. And from the most pessimistic woman in Metropolis at that. 

…

You read over the final report. The impacts were made by the assaultant, now named a domestic terrorist and contained in a highly secured and monitored cell. Superman was liberated of blame. It was self defense, he had no choice but to fight back just as hard. 

You place the folder on the kitchen island, your lip quirks in half a grimace as Lex paces in front of you. 

He didn’t like that at all; he saw the conflict differently. Supervillains go to cities where superheroes reside. They want destruction and they want to be challenged. The most powerful man on earth is stationed in Metropolis. Therefore Metropolis now attracts danger. 

The latest incident should have been the final straw. The city should have woken up, so Lex claims. 

He’s on the phone now, ignoring the soft call of his name, purposely finding grifters with gullible audiences to have him talk on their show, their podcast, for interviews and discussion to gain a sense of following. 

He hated feeling so small. So ignored. His need to be the loudest and right in the room was kept well-hidden. For the most part, he was always acknowledged, his presence appreciated and even praised. 

Now everyone was looking to Superman to save them, when it used to be him. His egotistical tendencies were rearing closer to the forefront of his psyche each time he was contradicted.

The way he viewed you as his partner started to change as well. 

You rip the phone out of his grip, hanging up and placing it face down on the counter. His jaw tightens and he looks down at you with narrowed eyes. 

Your arms were crossed. You were never shy to call him out, or disagree with him. It was cute. He found it endearing. He sighs out the tension in his shoulders and your eyes soften. His lips quirk upwards as you gently smile at him. 

You were so easy to please.

He downplays your concern. He grants you this one, for today. Maybe he never saw your opinions as any of his concern anyway, despite your own accolades. 

You were smart, no doubt. But as intelligent as he was? He debated this frequently, always coming to the conclusion that no, you weren’t. He cups your face, caressing your cheeks with his thumbs. You melt into it. 

He fights back a chuckle, as if he were watching a puppy bark at its own tail and fall over in defeat. 

He doesn’t blame you. He’s not sure anyone could match his prowess. He would never tell you this, it would unnecessarily upset you. 

He was getting in his head, digging deeper each time Superman came on the news or saved the day. It was almost like he wanted Superman to slip up again. He wanted people to get hurt so that he could prove his point. 

Your hands glide over his arms and grip his shoulders, as if to reorient him. 

“Just think about the people.” 

Ego trumped compassion at times. He had to be right, he had to get people on his side. He nods complacently as you pull his head down, his forehead resting against yours. The one thing about Lex Luthor was that he was sporadic. He didn’t keep his promises very well. 

…

Clark hears everything. He acknowledges his faults, he internalizes them to be better. But the way they spat out ‘alien’, as if it disgusted them, made his calm falter. He understands very well what the implications meant. 

You did too. Despite your face of shocked disapproval whenever Lex had an interview and spewed out harsh anti-metahuman rhetoric, he kept going. You felt stuck between Lex and the general public. He was your fiancée, you had to support him in all of his actions. Right?

Everyone loved Superman. He learned from his mistakes and improved. One of Lex’s scientists had studied all of Superman’s incidents and discovered a 94% reduction rate of damage and casualties. All in the span of three months.  

Lex couldn’t handle those numbers. He hated them. He was cooped up in his lab more often, the doors locked and not allowing you in until he cleaned up and left. 

“Must have forgotten to give you access. You know they update the security systems every six months, sweetheart.” 

He never fixed it, despite saying he would. You didn’t bother asking about it anymore. 

The relationship was straining. You spent less time with Lex since he was too busy campaigning for the arrest or intervention of Superman. 

Your own events, conventions, dinners, and humanitarian fundraisers were deleted off of his schedule by his assistant. COP27 in Egypt was characteristically missing a certain charismatic and financial incentivizing stakeholder. His lack of attendance was noted. 

Lex speaking in COP26, in support of the Paris Agreement was his birthday gift to you, so he had joked, or you hoped he had. He had economic and social pull you didn’t. Unfortunately, you were starting to feel it whenever anyone asked where he was instead of what you were doing yourself. 

Sometimes you didn’t wait for him at his penthouse anymore, instead opting to sleep in your own apartment at night. 

You’re sure he didn’t even notice. 

…

The hall was packed full of researchers, the conference was relatively popular amongst the geneticist community. You stay by Lex’s side as he flutters around the room, meeting new people, reconnecting with old faces. 

He’s been taking a unique interest in genes and genetic copying. It was amusing to watch him head down in a textbook at night as if he were a grad student again. 

Lex departs from you, kissing your head lightly as he shoos you away to a conference hall on the other end of the building. He wanted you to take notes on the speaker and the presented research. The panel was less important to him, he didn’t like discussions, he could figure things out himself. So he claimed. 

He always thinks your notes were incoherent. He would rewatch the conference recording anyway. You sigh as you make your way towards the hall, taking out a notepad and pen from your bag. 

Your mind wanders as a panel of scientists are shoved into the small stage. Their voices are too low and they lack confidence in their speech. They stutter too much, almost endearingly but not enough to make you excuse their lack of preparation. Communicating science effectively was key, something Lex Luthor excelled in and you appreciated.

Something prickles the back of your neck, making your skin pebble up with goose skin, the hairs on your arm rising. Your shoulders tense. Someone keeps on glancing at you. You ignore it. You get that a lot. Lex Luthor was popular among researchers. 

Lex had funds. He took on crazy ideas. If you were here, that must mean he was nearby. You were well known for your kind disposition. A direct contrast to his direct and blunt words. 

You were used to being asked to put a good word in for people. 

You ignore the glancing man as everyone stands. You make your way out of your row in the hall and towards the other side of the conference to find Lex and give him the notes that were surely going to collect dust on his desk. Someone stops you before you could escape into the lobby. 

“Mrs. Luthor.”

You grit your teeth. You turn slowly and present yourself with a smile, the hand with your engagement band hidden in the pocket of your slacks. He lifts his badge up, highlighted with PRESS.

“Clark Kent, Daily Planet.”

You take him in. He was not how you expected him to be like. Tall, head full of dark curls and even bulky. 

You didn’t bother to search up how he looked. His name had become popular. The only man to interview Superman. The first reporter to do it. You somehow imagined him being an old man. The way he writes was proper, borderline corny. 

His puff pieces were a hard read for you. You think it might be because he was always sucking Superman’s dick in his articles. He could see your smile falter. Your eyes sharpen, ready for a question that he was surely going to twist for his narrative.

“Didn’t know you were a man of science,” you say slyly. 

A diss. He knew he didn’t really write much with “substance”. Not yet. Most of the themes on his columns were about kittens stuck on tall trees. He wanted to change that. He had connections that helped him find people. He wanted to write something controversial. 

At least that was what Lois encouraged him to do. A page describing his encounter with Lex Luther would be great for publicity. Especially since he writes all about Superman and his heroic endeavors. 

Why not get to know other perspectives?

“I’m not afraid to try new things every once in a while, ma’am.” 

You grimace at the honorific. Your thumb twists your engagement ring in your pocket. He steps forward but his back stiffens as if a hot rod had impaled his spine. He swears he feels his stomach turn nauseously as his body stiffens and threatens to keel over. 

You push your notebook into your shoulder bag and grab a hold of the man in front of you, you attempt to steady him. He looks like he just got off of a roller coaster, his center of balance off. 

“Hey, hey, you alright?” he hears you murmur in concern. You weren’t heartless, good to know at least.

The proximity makes his head spin. He notices a hint of green peeking above your shirt collar, your sweater vest and loose button down slightly open to reveal a charm and- he swallows thickly. Of course Luthor would have this. 

The green ore almost hums, he could feel the heat of it, as if he could see the radiation it emits clearly. He takes a step back and straightens himself. Your hand slides off his shoulders and your look of genuine concern makes him blush.

You try to take a step closer but he backs away. He was embarrassed. He shakes his head. 

“I’m fine.” 

You open your mouth to retort. He shoots back bluntly. 

“Really. I’m fine.”

You glance up at him as if he were crazy. You take a step back. Clark watches as you cross your arms over your chest, you eye him as if he were a freak. The pursing of your lip, the crease of your brows that signaled both concern and exasperation. He thinks that might have gotten under his skin more than he’d liked to. 

He feels a burn in his chest. A sort of unbridled rage at the awkwardness you were making him feel. 

“Don’t look at me like that,” he says sharply. He watches your eyes widen, your shoulders tense. It was a one-sided aggression that he had to hone in. The kryptonite was making him lose his inhibitions, it was making him woozy, sick, his blood burning the longer he stayed near you. 

Despite this, he’s confident you think the same way Lex does about Superman. His animosity must be deserved, right?

Firm hands cup your shoulders, pulling you back to a solid chest. Clark’s eyes flicker to Lex’s as he manhandles you to the side and slightly behind him. Their gaze holds firm, as if they were both actively trying to shoot laser beams into the other’s eye sockets. 

“If you have questions to discuss, you address them to me.” 

Clark watches your face contort in a flicker of annoyance at your fiancé's words. He can see your hands clench, your jaw tense. The hint of frustration is clear underneath your veil of passivity. You don’t like being pushed down to the side. Noted. 

He watches you both leave, Lex holding a firm hand over your shoulder as he leads you out of the conference room. 

…

Cracks were beginning to show in your relationship. Clark revels in it, he looks for the signs. Paps capturing images of you both in a heated discussion in a restaurant you used to frequent. Your engagement ring is missing in public events. 

There are less and less pictures of the two of you together, now more of you leaving his penthouse with hands covering your face from the flashes of cameras. 

He thinks he should feel like a creep, his google notifications set on any news or publication with your name on it. Lex has become more aggressive with his tactics, he was leading a supersoldier program, turning military vets into superhumans. 

He can only imagine what homelife was like. Lex’s constant paranoia, his pessimistic predictions. The tendency he had to start tantrums now became more physical and violent. There were rumors, blind items as they called it on tik tok, speaking of how he threw a fit in a gala recently, pulling you to a room in the venue. Guests heard glass shatter inside, your muted yelp. Pieces of ceramic found near the wall once the event concluded.

Your sobs and Lex’s sudden quiet were also rumored to have occurred in that same room. He imagined Luthor held onto you like a vice after his explosive action, arms snaking around you and refusing to let you go as he mumbled sweet slickened apologies. 

Shortly after, the public had seen you sporting a new car. It must have been an apology gift from him.

He shouldn’t feel such satisfaction at Lex’s broken relationship with the woman he used to say in interviews as being ‘the love of his life’. 

Clark’s face breaks into a small smile at two in the morning as a new paparazzi picture is published on TMZ. His thumb presses on the notification at the top of his phone, the device held up above his face as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes. He had been scrolling for the past hour, watching your tik toks and reposts, for research, of course. 

You were at the club with a friend, sporting a v-cut top, exposing much of your cleavage and leaving your collarbones completely bare. 

That “emerald” necklace even the public recognized as never being taken off, gone.  

…

Lois peers over his shoulder, he can smell her perfume, fresh and sweet. He swallows thickly as she balances a completely full mug of coffee over his shoulder, threatening to spill over the printed draft of his article resting on his desk.

A faint blush rushes over his cheeks as she notices his almost hypnotized stare up at her face. Her lips fight back a smirk. She knew about his “crush”, she’s sure he knew about hers. They've been dancing around each other for weeks. His usual shy demeanor replaces itself with his witty and sharp confidence the moment she retorts back at him. 

It was sweet, it was pure. They felt like equals. It scared the shit out of her. But his persistence was chipping away at it. He wanted this, he was working for it while respecting her boundaries. It was clear he wanted the relationship to evolve at a faster pace, but he reigned himself in.

It was reassuring. 

She sips her coffee as she steps back. He turns his chair to face her. His mouth was open, a wry smile forming as he started his morning flirt.

“You know you should really tone down the sugar on that coffee-”

A sharp ping could be heard from his computer monitor. His eyes flicker to the side. She glances behind him and she purses her lips. Lois was extremely perceptive. One of the reasons she was the first to know about his secret identity and now his sudden plethora of knowledge on Lex Luthor’s fiancée as if he were a TMZ reporter designated to her and her only. 

Given, he also keeps track of Lex Luthor, but his relationships, especially the one he has with his fiancée, or soon to be ex-fiancée from what she’s heard, were Clark’s main points of interest.

She was set to present at a seminar at a college, or so Clark's computer screen says, the popup hard to miss as it covers half his monitor. 

It reminded her of a virus. Popup after popup appearing every other second. Loud, blaring, eye-catching. He imagines Clark as the color wheel of doom, endlessly spinning around the screen. 

“Planning on asking her to be your source?” 

His brows scrunch, glasses almost falling off the bridge of his nose before he quickly adjusted them. She snorts. It was as if he never realized he could go further. He never wanted to push discomfort on others.

It must be innate due to his superhuman (alien more like) abilities, Lois thinks. She relates to that, although less so physically and more emotionally. 

He was currently writing an article on Lex Luthor. It’s evolved to include a timeline on his campaign, ideologies, funds, programs, research. Luthor used to be considered an entrepreneur, someone who managed breakthrough over breakthrough. Now he was just an internet meme, a troll and oddly enough part of the red pill online community. 

He turns to his screen, the pop up notification having a thumbnail of her face, clearly a professional photo for the upcoming talk. He swallows thickly. 

“You think she’d agree?” 

She was leading a seminar on urban conservation. His eyes narrow, he shakes his head. That was definitely so unlike Lex. At least the Lex of today. Lois shrugs and sips from her mug.

“I think so. Might be bitter. She must have some nasty stuff on him.” 

He hums. She eyes him, swallowing thickly as she traces back the path of his eyes. He was staring into her picture, tracing the lines of her face, her soft smile and jawline. 

Lois bites her cheek, something twisting her belly at the soft and almost admiring look in his eyes. She swipes the printed draft on his desk, his eyes widening at her action and refocusing back to her. 

“Could make or break it..” she trails off, sucking in her teeth in exaggeration as she reads over what he has, as if it was missing something. She glances at him with a look. He takes back his stapled draft and purses his lips as he reads it over again.

He hated (loved) when she was right.  

With an overdramatic sigh, he nods. She smiles. 

“Great. I know someone that knows someone that could get you in contact with her.” 

…

A meeting never came. It was never scheduled. 

Who would have known that you’d be under rubble on a Tuesday afternoon. You had just wanted to get some lunch. You were halfway down the block before your ears rang from explosions. 

Your head was pounding, eyes blurry, the world spinning so much you think you were going to puke. You didn’t know if the concrete slabs were on the verge of collapse, the air in the concrete pocket you were lucky enough to be in after the explosion was thin. 

You could hear the concrete above shift, pieces of rock and dust blasting into your face and forcing you to close your eyes and sputter. Your eyes were met with a figure eclipsing the sun, beams of light spread around a broad chest and bulging arms as he raised the slab away from you and to the side.

His hair was perfect, smile soft and apologetic. For a second, Clark thought he would have had to quickly move away, the pain from your last encounter still in his mind, the sharp pain unforgettable. 

You didn’t wear your necklace anymore, he feels it. Your hand reaches out automatically, not really caring who it was that was helping you. The delirious look on your face told him you may not have noticed he was in front of you. 

His hand extends to you, your fingertips brush against each other and then he’s flung away. A blunt impact to his ribs makes him fly several blocks away from you. 

Metallo’s punch, pumped full of straining energy of kryptonite, was enough to weaken him down a few levels. He stands weakly, the villain thankfully ignoring you and charging for him again. 

You watch as Superman tackles and holds the cyborg tightly, clearly in pain from the crystal embedded on the villain's chest. They both struggle but Superman starts to fly up and up until they leave earth’s atmosphere. The edges of your vision darken as you attempt to stand, your voice coming out in painful wheezes as you call for help. You hear quick footsteps and a mumbled call. You feel yourself weaken, either your mind knowing help was nearby or your body finally failing

You watch as the two figures form a plume cloud as they reach outer space above you before you close your eyes. You don’t have the strength to open them back up again.

You wake up in a hospital, Lex nowhere to be seen. He sent his half woman, half nano-bot friend or lackey, whatever she was, to watch over you. The flowers he had left on the bedside table made you cringe. You had asked her to take them away and with an almost human-like look of pity, she did. 

…

Lex always liked the saying “eye for an eye”. The week before, a new reporter had made her name known as the second person to ever interview Superman. Lois Lane. He’s been keeping tags on Lois, sending someone to watch her during the day. They had noted how she always catches Superman after battle, how they look at each other with warmth and something else they couldn’t quite show in public. 

It was clear. At least very clear to Lex that this was someone special to him. He had watched your heart stop and then start over and over again. You had fractures all over your body. Punctured lungs. A concussion plus lacerations that required stitches. 

They didn’t let him bring his own doctors at the hospital, they needed to work to keep you alive quickly, you’d most likely have scars for the rest of your life. It was common for most citizens to think they’d be the next victim of an attack on Metropolis. Most people were heavily insured because of the frequency. 

This was never supposed to happen to you. He tried his best to protect you. You just kept on pushing away from him for the past few months. All because of Superman. Once you were stable he had you transferred to a hospital he owned and funded. 

He left the engineer with you, guarding, as he turned to make a call. As he hung up, glancing inside your room once more, he felt an inkling of satisfaction, knowing that in weeks, he would get his retribution. 

…

Clark had dropped everything when he was called as Lois’ emergency contact, notifying him that she had been brought into the emergency room for a stabbing. He watches as she lays in bed, drowsy and still just a little in pain. She defended herself as best as she could. 

She slept the whole day from the medications. He could see the tears in her body as his eyes visualized her organs. There were so many stitches over her abdomen. She was lucky someone had found her quickly after the incident. 

All Lois could remember was a masked man. The name George called out from his partner in warning before they fled the scene. 

He was the strongest man alive and yet he couldn’t even protect her. One person. A person he cared about deeply. 

It took some time but he had managed to track down every George in the city. Flying every which way when anyone so much as mentioned the name. He felt like a ping pong ball, flung from one corner to the next, until he had seen through thick metal walls near the ports, a transaction being made. Lois’ name being mentioned. 

George parted ways from a Luthorcorp minivan after having gotten a bagful of cash. 

For once in his life, he felt blinded by rage and started to let himself succumb to his negative emotions. 

… 

As he stands in his apartment, pacing, almost pulling the strands of his hair out, he thinks of Lex, he thinks of Lois and he thinks of you. He knew you were at the scene of the attack weeks ago, he was so close to taking you to safety. 

He knew you were in the hospital, it was all over the news, his computer pinging non-stop for almost an hour. It was Lex’s new talking point. His fiancée was in the hospital because of Superman. So many people were in the hospital because of him. Superman this, Superman that. 

He’s never wanted to hurt someone as much as he does now. Lex was a coward. Lex couldn’t find a way to hurt him so he went for someone close to him. 

He looks up from where his head was between his knees, held up by the palms of his hands on his eyelids. The sharp ping from his laptop, a notification on you. 

Lex was holding you close to him as you were guided out of a restaurant. You had been out of the hospital for a couple of weeks now, your healing was better. Clark could see by the missing bandage on your cheek, a thin scar in its place. Your smile was facetious, strained. Lex was gleaming. Genuine. The touch on your waist was borderline possessive, too tight, restraining. 

You refused to speak about him in any capacity. Questions on Luthor were dodged, you didn’t even speak his name in public. Not like you used to with pride. 

Clark scoffs. Luthor loved you so much he sent someone to hurt Lois. He glares at the screen. It was clear you didn’t even feel the same anymore. All of this violence to keep you by his side, just for you to be unwilling to love him as much. 

What was so good about you? His mind snaps. He quickly shakes his head at the question. 

He knew. He felt it encompass him more and more as he watched your every move. It was easy to lose oneself to you. Kindness, beauty, the sharp witted responses. You had a balance, a mission, a clear path of passion. 

You were magnetizing. And so was Lois… His hands clench tightly as he contemplates. This was obviously Superman’s punishment for your indirect injury. As if he wasn’t beating himself up over it too. 

Superman can hurt back. He wanted to so badly. 

What was the thing that would hurt Lex the most? Deep down Clark knew It wasn’t losing money, or praise, or fame. It was losing you. 

…

You press your arms over your chest as you stare at your window. The red and blue was sharp against the darkness of the sky. You felt exposed. No makeup, no heels, no bra. Just lounging in your cozy apartment with nothing but a large tee and some sweatpants. Oh, and fuzzy socks.

Your eyes were softer without the dark rim of your eyeliner. Your skin was fresher, plumpened by whatever skincare routine you had completed minutes before he knocked on the glass of your floor to ceiling windowpane. 

“Hello,” he says softly as you push the pane open, your hand pulling back quickly as if he were a wild animal. His eyes narrow, smile bitter as he steps inside your room. Your heart was quick, you were shaking slightly. 

“I’m sure you know why I’m here.”

His voice was close to booming, overly confident, so unlike him. You were too nervous to notice. 

It was also obvious by the crease of your brow and your frown that you did not understand him at all. The tilt of your head irritated him. He steps closer, his eyes darken, shoulders squared and hands fisted. 

He could hear your heart pick up. 

“Where is he?” 

A hint of clarity in your irises. Your shoulders straighten and you take a cautious step back. Your eyes flutter around the room as if looking for an escape. His head follows where your eyes flicker, he is suddenly so much closer, head tilting, following with yours as he forces you to look up at him. 

Superman looked upset, no– angry. You’ve never seen him like this. Not in any pictures or news footage at least. 

“He doesn’t live here,” you respond with a thick swallow. Lex doesn’t. He rarely made his way to your place. He knew it was his cue to leave you alone when you went back to your apartment ‘for the night’. 

Maybe Lex was right. Superman is dangerous. He looks it. You feel it radiating off of his body as he steps closer, his hand suddenly reaching out and making you react like a skittish animal. You step back, only to catch your foot against your fuzzy heart shaped rug. 

Damn Lex for buying you cute decor and damn you for choosing the aesthetic. You fall on your side, your hip flaring in pain and shooting down your leg. Your feet shuffle on the floor as you attempt to scoot away.

You didn’t realize he had gotten down to your level, crouched down to watch you squirm, His hand shoots out and grabs at you. You freeze, elbows supporting your torso up. His hand was large, hot, and almost scalding against your skin. 

For a moment you watch each other, his eyes flash with empathy, a question of if you were ok about to shoot out of his mouth before he stopped himself. His grip trails softly up your calf as he decides what to do. His eyes sharpen again before receding and gripping your ankle whole. 

His quick moment of tenderness makes your breath hitch. His body casts a shadow over you. He makes you feel small, weak. Vulnerable. It looks as if he was holding himself back, or letting himself finally let go. You attempted to pull away but it felt like you were pulling your foot out of its socket. He doesn’t tighten his grip, it’s powerful enough to detain you, and he’s not even trying. Heat builds in the bottom of your belly and a faint whimper erupts from your lips. 

You feel your body start to heat up, nipples tightening underneath your shirt. You really shouldn’t keep the AC so low. You tremble, a mix of fear, of the cold and the warmth of his proximity. 

It’s been so long since you’ve been in this position. Someone above you, you below and at their mercy.

He holds your ankle firmly. Your chest rises and falls quickly. Your elbows are knocked out of balance and your back hits the floor as he pulls you forward, your body sliding underneath him from where he’s kneeled. For a moment all he feels is guilt. 

His fingers flex, aching to release you, to be gentle like he’s been taught since his powers were first realized. Then he thinks of Lois; of what your fiancé did to her. 

His eyes were intense, brows casting a shadow over them. You briefly wonder what Lex did. Why was Superman looking for him? Your breathing was fast, making your chest pump up and down quickly like a hummingbird. He could see the tears glimmer down the sides of your face, collecting in your earlobe. 

You were so afraid. But you could feel something else develop near your lower stomach, your clit starting to throb as the thick black curl on his forehead falls further, making him look even more disheveled, as if he were on the verge of completely ruining you. 

It’s been so long since you’ve been fucked. 

He could hear your heartbeat, your body was aroused in heat, skin hot to the touch. It reminded him of his ex-girlfriend. The only woman he’d been with completely, Lana from Smallville, specifically comes to mind. Lana who he had to be incredibly gentle with at all times, who he was afraid to scare, hurt, break with his superhuman needs. 

His stamina was otherworldly, dick so big it took some time to actually sheath himself completely, let alone build up to moving, which he always had to be mindful of. 

You had that half dazed look, bodily functions dialed to 100. You didn’t make a move to escape his hold, he inhaled deeply and he swore there was a hint of your musk there. His pupils dilate, he swallows thickly. He could do whatever he wanted, he realized. 

His hands squeeze at your plump flesh, first at your heel, then your calf. One reaches your hip, the other hand wanders up your waist, up your stomach, pressing, prodding all the way up to your breasts.

“What is it about you, hm?”

You felt like a mouse. Stuck in utter fear. Not scared enough to actually make a run for it. Not yet. He was a damn lion. He straddles you, his hand encompasses over your ribs, thumbs pressing your breasts up, watching them shift under your shirt. 

“I- I don’t know,” you breathe out shakily. 

He’s sure if he presses hard enough, he could fracture a rib. Effortlessly. The thought makes him cringe. He doesn’t want to do that. But maybe he was planning on it. Rough you up, give a warning to Lex to never mess with people close to him again. 

Instead the roughness of his hand presses up your neck and to your jaw. His thumb and pointer squeeze your cheeks enough to make your lips pout and open. His eyes were stern, genuinely inquisitive. He wants to discover the answer to his question. Slowly, deeply. He wants to be buried in you, to feel you squirm, have those eyes roll back beneath fluttering lashes as he makes you cum. 

He wants to see you at your most vulnerable state. To see what all this trouble was really worth. 

His face lurks closer, his weight presses you down further, you could feel his breath flutter over your face, your lips, the side of your neck as he dips down. His mouth parts as he inhales your scent. You smelled sweet, like fruit. Musky from the sweat that drips from fear. Salty from your tears.

You don’t shake anymore, you breathe deeply, steady, waiting for him to make his next move. 

His nose nudges the underside of your jaw and your eyes start to flutter closed, he feels you slacken further, boneless, eyes hooding over as his lips make contact with the thin skin of your throat, pressing, puckering ever so slightly but not enough to feel like a real kiss. 

When he tilts your head back you finally snap out of your haze, the sudden headspace that blurred your thoughts into mush dissipating. Lex was your fiancé, Lex was his arch nemesis. Superman had you underneath him, trapped in your own damn apartment. 

“Don’t-” you attempt to say through his grip. Stuttered, panicked and completely shocked. 

His heart drops at the tone of your voice. He pulls back suddenly, his own mind clearing just as yours did. The realization of what he was doing finally caught up to him. 

His body was slower to respond. 

His hand jolts away from your face, shaking you before you could speak further. His mouth waters as your eyes refill with tears, his hold on you impossible to escape from.

His hips push further onto you, you could feel his bulge-

Your breath hitches the second the moan comes out of your mouth. He could feel the heat of you underneath him, steadily increasing. His own pressing against you too. 

It shocked his body away from yours. A blink and he had already stood up, leaving a heaving, tearful mess of you on your fuzzy carpet. He’s gone as you sit up and scooch away on your butt quickly after, head also clarifying from the mist of whatever fog he had placed you both in. 

…

Your hand shifts over his cock languidly, twisting ever so slightly as you reach his tip. The wet smack of your fist against his base makes you shift your hips needily as you kneel, completely bare, at his mercy on your couch. His arm was extended past you, his hand against the back of the couch curls further, making the wooden frame underneath fluff and expensive velvet creak and crackle behind you. 

It makes you whimper. A spike of fear shooting up your spine at his show of power. The sound makes him throb. 

One hand was cupping the back of your neck, always present, pressing, a warning. 

You didn’t have to come back to your apartment. You could have gone back to Lex. You could have told him about last week’s encounter. The way you trembled and tears fell from your eyes as he left that night made him believe you would. 

He found you waiting, sitting on your couch, glancing every so often out of the window. He told himself he wasn’t going to come back. The last time he was here was enough. To do what…? He wasn’t quite sure. He thinks he would have liked to scare you. He wanted you to feel his power. Go running back to Luthor and retell the story. 

It was only a warning. He would never really hurt you. 

But what if you liked the feeling? The thought had crossed his mind throughout the week. 

Notifications on his computer echoed in his head. Each one a new event you were inhibited as a guest speaker. A donation you had made. A snarky, almost bitchy retort at some paps. You were such a strongheaded woman, almost stubborn in your dominance. 

But the way you whimpered, slackened in his hold so easily was anything but. You were not like Lois at all he had found out. 

Is that what Lex saw in you? Is that why he liked to have you around? To dominate a dominant woman?

He didn’t feel bad about exerting his strength with you. You found pleasure in it. It was an exhilarating, freeing feeling. His hand slides down your collarbone to your breast, the flesh indenting, bulging between his fingers as he squeezes. 

You wince, he loosens his grip after another harsh squeeze. He would never hurt you. Not badly enough to make you feel it for more than a couple of days at least. His palm smooths over your cheek, his thumb so soft despite the ever tightening grip he had on the back of your couch. The fabric tears and the wood chips away. 

His pre-cum was staining your neck as it shoots from his cock, sliding all the way between your breasts to cover your soft tummy. Each flick of your wrist, the thrust of his hips in reaction makes him paint your skin with more. 

The final eruption was like a faucet. It makes you gasp, your face hit with sporadic globs of his thick white cum. Your couch finally breaks apart under his grip, he pulls himself away from your hand and pumps himself over your body.

Your body glistens with him. His spend accumulating on your belly button as it slid down your skin. You shiver, he could smell your arousal as you kept your eyes on him and stayed still. His fingers were gentle as he massages his cum into your skin like a salve. He kneels, hands pressing lower past your sternum, then belly, then hips to lift you by the thighs to have you fall back against the cushions. 

He splays you out on your couch. His hands were rough, as if he were doing a full body deep massage. You’re sure he would leave bruises as he spreads your legs and you whimper. He made the apartment colder, having your body prick with goosebumps, nipples hard the second he stripped you of your underwear. 

Your folds glistened and it was as if, for a moment, you realized what you were doing. A week since he first came in through your living room window, Superman was staring at your pussy, his cum covering your body. Your couch was ruined, fluff scattered, fabric torn and pieces of wood scattered over the back of the couch and floor. Your thighs close instinctively but his head doesn’t allow you to hide. 

His hand presses against your belly, pushing you down on the soft cushion of your couch.

His tongue licks open your seam, pushing apart your folds to press into your hole. He holds you still against the couch cushions, his tongue as firm as possible as he flicks it in and out. The thick muscle was teasing you, his face burying between your legs as if he were licking clean out those single serving jelly packets from diners. 

Your jaw hinges, hands tremble as you attempt to pull away from the sudden intense stimulation on your cunt, his nose pressing against your sensitive and hard clit harshly.

“Fuck- please-“ you gasp. His fingers press into you, not caring to make you feel pleasure. More so to explore. He feels you squeeze against one, so tight, hot, wet. He feels the ridges of your canal, the soft spongy area that makes your hips fidget against his forearm now pressing you down. 

You’d have to get used to taking him, he realizes. You could barely handle one of his thick fingers. Lex must be small. He doesn’t stretch your cunt open enough. Of course he doesn’t. 

Your pussy drools into the cushions as he nuzzles his face onto your mound, slick sliding down to your other hole. You were probably going to stain the fabric. His fingers trail down, his hand turns to palm your ass, squeezing at the flesh, his fingers parting your cheeks to glide down your crack.

You couldn’t move away to make him stop. His finger presses against your tight rim, pulsing and tracing there for a moment. He mouths at your clit as if to distract you as it starts to press in. 

“Wait-”

He moans into your cunt as he presses the tip of his finger in, your hole wrapping tightly around the intrusion, pulsing, twitching. Your body warms, shivers and tenses. Goosebumps ride over your skin in waves. 

Your hand tugs at his hair, his arm, anywhere you could, all while your eyes hood over. Who were you kidding? You prepped yourself for this tonight, douching. You rocked against his hand and mouth, absolutely stuffed, both fingers sliding in tandem inside of you. You had set a hard boundary with Lex on that. With anyone you had been with before.

His pointer and middle fingers thrust into you, each in a different hole, slickened and throbbing as he harshly sucked at your clit in patterned suckles. You feel your body throb with the need to release. You knew you were going to cum the hardest you’ve ever done in your life, your head falls back, mouth parting, hips moving towards him instead of away. 

But his hands had pulled away too quickly. 

He wipes his mouth with the back of his hands and licks his fingers as he sits up. You whimper as he tugs up his suit. Without a word, he leaves you through the window, your pussy throbbing with a built up release he didn’t grant you.  

…

His laptop pings. 

Trouble in Paradise: Mrs. Luthor spotted with bruises. 

There was a picture of you circulating all over the internet. You had bruises on your hips, stomach, one on your shoulder. You were clearly drunk, girls night. Your top was sliding off your shoulders. 

He gets hard. Oh goodness he can’t help but get so hard he feels the zipper of his pants threaten to rip open. They were his marks, His fingerprints on you. The bloom of an undertone of purple underneath your skin makes his head spin. 

Comments were unsure on the claims. It might be the lighting, a smudge of makeup, spilled drinks. He knew the truth and he may be the only one to know it. He feels his pre-cum spread over the head of his cock, collecting in the fabric of his boxers. He leaks as his hips adjust on his desk chair. He bites his lip and scrolls through more comments, each theory making him throb harder.

They had no idea. 

The night before, he had you face down on your bed. His pelvis smacked heavily against your ass, a harsh plap louder than your half whiny, half panting moans. You took him so well, like you prepped for him. 

Actually, he knew you did. You had practiced, opening yourself up as he watched with a dildo you hadn’t used before because of the size. It was an online purchase. Who knew nine inches looked like that…? You didn’t. Still, it didn't match his girth. 

He considered it a warm up. 

He had spread your ass that night, after catching a faint shine hidden beneath your flesh, showcasing a gemstone plug as you positioned yourself, ass up, face down, over your bed. Soft tugging made you tighten around him. His handprint was on your asscheeks as he slapped them to watch the pink gem’s reflection glimmer with the overhead light. 

As he plunged into you, he pushed your face deeper into the mattress. Your back arched as for the first time, he finally plunged into the hilt. Your belly bulged, trembling with each harsh thrust. His cock pressed in deep, straining inside you, the ring of your hole so tight around him that he almost felt as if he couldn’t move. 

Almost.

His movements were rough, fingers digging into your hip and lower back to make you arch into him. He didn’t let you move, doing all of the work as the loud squelch of your pussy took him over and over in rapid succession. Soft uh uhs escaped you, face skidding further against your pillow with each thrust. 

A sharp slap to your ass made you yelp and the press of his chest against your back, his teeth nipping at the skin of your neck made you squeal. 

He had left you boneless, pussy dripping with his cum, gaping and twitching as he spread your legs open to watch it drip down to your sheets. 

He didn't think you would have gone out after that. But as he jerks his cock off in a bathroom stall, biting into his hand to keep quiet as he spewed creamy white heavily into the toilet bowl, watching clips of you walking drunkenly with your friends, exposed skin showing bruises fresh and blooming, he’s not upset you did. 

…

He wants to see you. Sooner than usual. He felt an ache embed itself when he was speaking with Lois throughout the day. It started when he first came out of Perry’s office. Lois and Jimmy had been waiting by his desk, pretending to have a conversation about nothing in particular, their eyes wandering to the gold letters highlighting Chief Perry, the door Clark had been called into twenty minutes ago. 

Jimmy had clapped his shoulder and put his fists up in glee. Clark’s piece was approved for the front page. The one he had been working on for little over a month. The one that would expose Lex Luthor. Lois knew Perry would want it published as soon as possible. Her confidence in Clark never wavered. 

She had pulled him into a hug. His arms pulled her in by the waist, lifting her slightly as he chuckled in relief. He gripped her tight. So tight her face twisted with a gasp and she pulled away sharply. 

He saw the twitch in her lip, the frown as he immediately let go and apologized. His eyes were wide, he took a step back. He hated the slight annoyance in her eyes, the hurt in the way her body instinctively pulled away and tensed. She was fragile. He couldn’t hold her as tightly as he wanted.

She pulled away from him and he had to stand there with an apologetic look, sorry for holding her. You wouldn’t have pulled away.

Now, the sun setting behind him, he watches you get ready from your balcony, your hands fiddling with your necklace. You adjust it over your chest, the green gemstone delicate between your breasts. Your hands smooth over the sides of your dress, simple, black, mid-length. You sigh out, motions slow and heavy as you fiddle with your clutch. 

It was clear you were going somewhere and not with someone you particularly enjoyed being around at the moment. Lex. He rolls his eyes and steps forward to open your french doors. 

You gasp the moment you hear the swish of your balcony opening, the city beneath loud with sirens and traffic and honking. His form blocks the entire frame. His eyes narrow at your necklace, heat radiating off of it. He feels the nausea start, his veins ache from the proximity.

His lips tick before he comes at you like a bullet. His fingers were quick, efficient as they tore the gold chain off and threw it out of your window. It hurt, the kryptonite lightly grazing over his wrist as he flung it away, his body on the verge of collapse before the pain receded, the last rays of sun for the day helping him stand taller, his grip tightening as you gazed up at him in complete shock. 

His body embraces over yours as he catches your lips and presses his erection against your stomach. The stutters of your complaints and the loss of your invaluable jewelry are muffled against his lips, your tongue sucked into his mouth to stop you from speaking.

Your hands fist over his chest as he sucks harshly, teeth lightly tugging at your bottom lip. For once, you push him away, eyes wide. His eyes wander over your body as he takes a step back. Did he hurt you? He hates that sinking feeling, an apology at the tip of his tongue. 

“Lex is coming. You need to leave.” 

This was the first time you’ve ever mentioned him. He steps forward, his hands slide onto your elbows and he tightens his hold on you. He mouths at your neck when he cranes his head down. You shiver, eyes closing briefly at the sensation. Your fingers turn to grip his forearms. Thick corded muscle flexing underneath your touch. He pulls you flush against him. 

He wasn’t scared of Luthor. 

“I’ll be quick,” he mumbles against your jaw. Quiet yet firm. His eyes didn’t hold any mirth, they never did. His eyes were hooded over, a hint of relief at the fact that you didn’t pull away because you were hurt or didn't want him anymore. You were just worried about your fiancé seeing you beneath him. 

He hears a soft electrical thrum in the room. His head turns slightly. His eyes find it immediately. The heat and hum from it in the corner of your room, one hidden in your vanity, another on your bed hidden in the headboard. This was new. Lex must have gotten some suspicion recently. It must have been the pictures all over the internet. He stares directly at one, eyes open, hooded over, words chosen carefully. 

“Just the tip. He won’t even know I was here.” 

You shake your head, his hand stills it, fingers digging into your jaw. He leaves a soft peck over your already kiss swollen lips. It pacifies you. He knew what you liked and what made you throb for him. He leads you to your bed, hand at the back of your neck, the other lifting a thigh up his waist to flip your skirt over your hips. 

You nod as he drapes you over the mattress, as he pushes your legs up to spread your legs and pull your panties to the side. Quick. Just the tip. You bite your lip as he kneels, his mouth hot as his tongue parts your already sticky folds, his hand gripping at your breast harshly through the front of your dress. 

His extremely cool breath makes you jerk away, he keeps you still, hands going to your hips and pulling you closer. Your body shivers, trembles as a wave of goosebumps so sharply glides through your body like a rush of adrenaline. 

You’ve seen him use his powers in the news. An icy cold breath. He licks your folds as if he were savoring an ice cream cone. He sucks on your clit like a cherry. He groans. 

“He can’t be smaller than my finger,” he says smugly, as if the thought of anyone's dick being smaller than his massive forefinger was funny to him. The thing is, you’re sure he knew that there were dicks smaller than his finger. His thumb circles over your clit as his fingers push into your hole. He watches as your hips shift, his other hand holds you still roughly, threatening to tear your dress apart if you didn’t stop squirming. 

“Won’t even feel the way I stretched you tonight.”

The sudden loss of his fingers shocks you. He positions himself above you, his weight crushing you down. All you see is his chest, the curve of his neck. Your hands were pressed at the small of your back, held by his grip there. 

You didn’t even realize he had pushed his suit down his hips, his cock springing free and smoothing over the apex of your thighs as its heavy weight presses between you. He presses his cockhead against your clit, watching as pre coats your folds and sensitive throbbing nub. It makes you clench, hole twitching. 

He presses in gently, slowly. Too slow, enough to make you whimper against his suit. His grip on your wrists behind your back tighten as you instinctively try to wrap your arms around his shoulders. He groans into the pillow beside your head.

His tip notches in your hole, stretching it wide, making your breath stutter. He reaches for your hand, his tongue laving over your palm, his saliva coating it, dripping in excess. 

It makes your chest tighten, eyes flutter at the sensation of the soft muscle against the sensitive skin. He presses your palm against his cock. A heady moan escaping his lips as you struggle beneath him, body in his complete control as he manually tightens your grip on his member. 

He set a pace, back and forth against the velvety skin, slickened hand moving smoothly from where his tip pulses within your hole to the base. 

He pulses, his tip burrowing further inside you as you hiss through your teeth. Your cunt lubes itself, adjusting to the size, attempting to help him slide in deeper. 

“Just a little more–” he groans.

Your eyes widen, you feel his hips adjust, his abdomen flex as he pulls out just an inch.

“C’mon,” he says under his breath, pushing through your slickened walls. 

“Wait—” 

He presses completely forward, every inch pulsing inside of you. Your walls contract at the sudden intrusion, hips cramping as you attempt to spread your legs as far as possible to accommodate his size. 

Your hand grips his side, pushing, weakening as his heavy breath glides up the column of your neck to softly suckle and lick. 

“You said—“ 

“You can handle it. Take it for me. He won’t touch you tonight. He doesn’t reach the places I can.” 

His thrusts shake the bed, rutting up into you wildly, unbothered by the tremors that passed through you as his cock pounds into your cervix. 

You squeal as his hips increase pace, your soft body bouncing as his hips slammed into yours. The thick pubic hair at his pelvis rubbed against your clit. 

He looks to the side, towards your vanity. He’s sure Lex could see him, or will see him soon. His hands wound around your back, his body completely over yours. 

“You like taking this big cock?” 

You gasp, he bullies into your cunt, keeping still against your cervix, pressing there enough to make you feel the weight of his length. His hand rises up your throat, flexing, wanting an answer. You stir as his warm breath tickles your ear.

“Tell me whose cock you love more?” 

Your lip trembles, a broken gasp escapes you as his hips press deeper. You felt as if your uterus was about to burst. Your head falls back. 

“Yours-” you groan out, repeating it over and over again as his hand pulses in strength against the sides of your throat. 

He rewards you, pulling back slightly, only to thrust into you again once you took a shaky breath in. You moan out. A shot of pain and pleasure rolls up your spine.

“You’d prefer me over his puny dick. I know you do. He can’t make you feel as good as I can.” 

He’s on his knees now, spreading them so that your thighs part further with them. His thumb rubs over your opening, tracing over where it strains against the girth of him. He chuckles at the sight. Your skin stretched thin, clit throbbing, pulsing red, almost purple.

“My pretty girl likes a big stretch.” 

“Gonna make her cum all over this cock.” 

“Look at you making a mess for me.” 

Your makeup was ruined, your sweat dripping down your forehead and between your breasts. Lex will know. Anyone could see how ravaged you were. His hips start again, rapidly pounding into you, his teeth grit, eyes focused on yours as they roll back under fluttering lashes. 

He doesn’t cum in you, he gives you that. He doesn’t let you cum either. He watches you try to slow your breathing, body tense in heat, a tiny frown as he wipes his forehead and buckles up his pants at the edge of the bed only to leave with an erection he would deal with at home. 

He took one last glance at the headboard, knowing deep in his chest that Lex was watching him leave his fiancée’s bedroom. Your eyes were glazed over as you sat up, fixing the shoulder strap of your dress. He feels the bitterness in his chest soften as he turns and flies away. 

But this was your punishment for attempting to push him away at first. For wearing that damn necklace. 

…

A video was released. 

It had brought the whole world to a stop. Superman’s feral groans, the force of each thrust into you. The way he held you down and straddled you, to the public eye, against your will. 

Clark had felt Lois’ stare on him the second he walked into the bullpen that morning. They wouldn’t show the ‘film’ on the news. It was graphic, there was no way to sensor the way he had fucked you into your mattress. 

Lois was an avid fan of Twitter, the commentary, the toxicity, the controversy. It was all in fun, it provided her a chance to let out her frustrations. Clark Kent didn’t have social media. He was Superman. He was critiqued endlessly every day for little things. 

The color of his super suit, the way he did his hair that day. His sometimes awkward tone of voice when speaking to a crowd. 

This was different. Lois glances at him. Her eyes were full of contempt. Full of anger and disgust. Questions swirl around her mind. She had never questioned his intentions before. She trusted him to be good. 

But if what everyone was saying was true, that he had entered Lex Luthor’s fiancée's bedroom by force and violated her? She would never trust her intuition again. 

Clark was confused by her avoidance, so he takes a step towards her desk. Jimmy practically runs over to him, as if he had the best gossip in town. He was holding back a grin. Lois caught it, it made her blood boil. She stood from her desk and bumped shoulders with them as she made her way to get coffee. 

Jimmy barely acknowledges her discomfort. He was already scrolling through his phone, attempting to find the video that was being taken down but quickly reuploaded by creeps on the internet. 

“Have you seen it?”

Jimmy arches a brow. He starts to lift his phone to Clark’s face, lowering the volume. 

“Seen… what?”

Clark had just gotten out of bed, it seemed. He didn’t turn on the TV before he had to get dressed and rush to the Daily Planet. He hears a wet squelch, a deep groan, his deep groan, before his heart drops to his stomach. 

…

You remember your phone blowing up. So many allegations, not against you, but against Superman. You had several missed calls. Friends, family and even coworkers, all worried, all concerned for your well being. None from Lex.

You don’t know how long it took for you to get out of bed. Your eyes were swollen, your body feeling heavy. You had watched the clip. It looks bad. So bad. Luckily your body was mostly concealed, your dress wasn’t taken off that night. 

It was clipped, edited. To make it seem as if you didn’t enjoy it. Your emotions were already complicated about seeing Superman every other night. His presence did give you a sense of helplessness, of fear. 

But you liked it. It makes your heart beat in your throat. Guilt, shame and embarrassment flood through your system, calcifying your bones and turning you into a fetal ball in the middle of your bed. 

Save a man who has never once had an actual conversation with you but means so much to so many all over the world. Or side with your fiancé who records you without your permission, and releases footage as some sort of revenge porn. 

He wasn’t trying to save you. He wanted to punish you. You lose in either situation. He knew that. All of your events have been cancelled. Event facilitators wishing you well and to take some time off to heal, most said in pity. Some have broken off ties because they didn’t want that image correlated with their institutions.

You have been contacted to comment. To clarify. It made you nauseous. You felt an obligation to clear up the allegations towards Superman. It was to reveal the truth. It was the only thing you felt was at least benefitting someone. 

The world gets to keep a hero. A sexually active one at that. 

This was the game you had consented to, you'd say. You puke into the toilet bowl the second you stand and make a decision. What could you even say to make this smooth over? To not ruin your reputation and his? 

This would only amplify Lex. Make him seem like the victim of a cheating ‘wife’. Superman would then be the victim too, of seduction. Of your lies and deceit. 

…

You watch him float into your new apartment. Social media, talk show hosts and many more the past week have reacted to your PR approved instagram apology, statement, clarification or whatever bullshit it was that you had posted. You keep yourself in your room, huddled in your comforter and refusing to get out of bed. 

Your gaze trails over him as he softly closes your window. It was the first time Superman seemed normal. At least what he portrayed himself to be to the general public. 

Only you knew the simmering heat beneath. The way his jaw tightened every night he came to you to let out his frustrations, his barely placated control. His hair was perfectly pushed back now, a curl loose at the front. His chest wasn’t heaving with pent up emotion. 

He exuded calm and composure. Bitterness festers in your chest. 

Lex’s and Superman’s petty feud had left you with nothing. You had deleted your social media apps after your last post. It wasn’t worth seeing all of those comments, the think pieces on your sexual behaviors as if everyone had to learn something from it. 

Superman sits beside you. His hand shaky as they lay on his lap. He watches whatever tv show was on your laptop screen, the way the light splayed across your face, highlighting the swollen dark circles underneath your eyes.

He didn’t know what to say. Thank you? Sorry? I shouldn’t have done this to you? I should have never started this?

You looked so vulnerable now. As if your layers of strength and dignity have been stripped away from you. He’s seen your vulnerable self before, you’ve wanted him to bring you to that state then.

He bunches his cape, laying it over your lap and his. He inhales the sweat on your scalp, a mix of sweetness from your shampoo and musk from laying in bed all day. 

“I didn’t think he’d do this.” 

You turn and watch as his fingers twitch against each other. Like a scolded child. He’d ruined your career. At least stalled it gravely. His actions had turned into memes, appraisals from men and women alike. 

“Superman fucks!”

“SuperDom!” 

“I wish that were me…”

Superfans had pieced together the bruises from weeks prior. Some even make edits of him, the starting image before the beat drops to a hyperpop song being your pap pictures that blew up that one night out with friends. Bruises visible and speculated on. 

Those had been depressing nights. Getting drunk, feeling like crap after being used by both fiancée and secret lover. Superman never noticed, you may have not either at the time. 

You could only look at him with a mix of exasperation and fatigue. His words were irrelevant. His lie didn’t convince you. He knew, deep down. Lex always retaliated, especially when it came to him.

You focus back on your screen, bringing your blanket over your shoulders and up to your chin. You feel his arm come around you, pulling you close to his side.

Superman wanted someone to break. To squeeze and push until it was on the precipice of shattering. It felt like you were sand escaping through his fingers now. He didn’t know how to fix this. 

“Have you spoken to him?”

You sigh, inevitably falling into his side fully. Whatever reality tv was at a dull plot point anyway. Lex had offered to ‘forgive you’. He wanted to start over, give you back your ring, another necklace with a green pendant on it. 

He was so sure of himself, his hand holding yours and pressing it to his lips. It made you want to scream. You threw your ice water in his face after that ‘talk’.

“I told him to kill himself,” you respond softly. 

He closes his eyes and sighs with a short nod.

“Yeah.”

His hand rises up your neck, thumb massaging into the meat of your shoulder. You melt into him, eyes closing in flutters at the feel of his hands holding you steady. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t like you like this. Soft, drained mentally and physically enough to fall into him so easily. 

He feels the guilt build in thrums, but it dissipates the more you lean into his warmth. He was the only person you had left. Your family was appalled, if they had a conversation with you, it always diverged to the video, to how disappointed they were.

Your friends thought you had changed. They didn’t like ‘liars’ and ‘cheaters’. 

Superman lightly closes your laptop, the only lights coming from the open windows. 

In a way Lex got what he wanted. Lois barely speaks with him, let alone looks in his direction. He lost her. Clark got what he wanted, he thinks as he slowly tilts your head up towards him. Someone malleable, who brings him comfort and was able to handle him at his most needy.

He took you from Lex. 

You couldn’t say you weren’t addicted to the feeling as well you straddled him, or, really, he lifted you to sit over his lap. He nips your lips, his hand at your throat squeezing lightly enough to make you lightheaded, weak.

You don’t stop him as he lifts your shirt up, or when he pulls your sleep shorts down enough to push into you. You hold on tightly to his shoulders as his teeth dig into your shoulders, hips thrusting up into you as if you were a fleshlight. 

Lex’s  contact flickers on your phone on your bedside table.

You let your mind go blank. Maybe if he squeezed hard enough he could put you back together and take you apart all over again. 

--------------------

I don't know about this one... but it was fun to write. I need to get my sexual frustrations out somehow.

Your face falls as he makes his way to the cockpit, his shoulders tense, his movement slow but firm as if he hadn’t heard a word you said. It looked as if he didn’t care. Maybe he didn’t, you’re sure he was tired of lugging you around the galaxy. Someone looking for adventure, exhilaration rather than necessity for credits and honor. 

He saves you frequently, but you’ve had his back too. The sudden silence and irritation directed towards you was infuriating and, though you’d hate to admit, disheartening. You were hormonal, you say to yourself. Your cycle has begun and you may be overreacting. That must be it.

It wasn’t until he had practically tossed you a bowl of soup, which spilled over the sides, making a mess of your tunic and the front of your pants that you took it personally. He didn’t even look back as he did so, hurrying away before you could call him out on his aggressive serving of dinner. 

You start to pack your things hurriedly, so much so that you didn’t notice him approaching from above.

A shadow cast over you and you were filled with an overwhelming sense of dread. You turned quickly and his unmoving form prevented you from taking a steady step in front of you.  

As you fall backwards, in an attempt to soften the impact, your palm slices against the edge of a crate. Feeling like an idiot as he continued to stare, you sat up on the floor. You could imagine his taunting stare from where you sat. His judgment was pungent in the room.

You scowled and stood up. He didn't even offer you help.  

“Did I do something wrong?” you ask firmly. His hands twitch at his sides. Your eyes flicker over his body, attempting to figure him out.

“Why are you acting like this?” you ask more sharply. 

You feel his stare intensify and you almost want to cower. You press on, your bloody palm throbbing in time with your rapidly beating heart. He stiffens further as you take a step further. Your irritation has blown past anger. 

“See! You act like a weirdo!” 

Despite what your body was telling you, his eerie silence and palpable angst imploring you to step away from him, you step closer. He finally reacts and takes two steps back. You stand with your mouth wide open, a scoff escaping you at his behavior. 

“Do I disgust you that much?” Anger rises within you. It fuels you enough to  go up to him confidently, too confidently. 

As you raise your hand to point accusingly at his chest he grabs hold of your wrist. You wince from the surprise more than the pain. 

Before you could properly react he lifted his helmet off by a couple inches, only uncovering his mouth and nose. He brings your sliced palm up to his half exposed face. Your words get stuck in your throat.

He inhales sharply, a deep groan making his throat vibrate against your wrist. If he had  revealed himself entirely, you would see that he closed his eyes, irises rolled to the back of his head in pleasure. You can feel the rumble of his whimper as he nuzzles against your skin. His nose grazes the vein of your wrist and slowly makes a path towards your open cut. It stings slightly as he leaves a peck over it, some of your blood spreads over the creased lines of your palm.  

His tongue peaks out to taste. His hold tightens, and more blood spills from the slash. He purposely puts pressure in order for more to gush out. His tongue laths flat against your palm.  It was warm and the muscle was firm but soft at the same time. Electricity spikes through your throat and chest then travels further down towards your lower belly and core, he tugs you closer by the wrist, making you fall into him, chest to chest. 

The skin of your palm felt tender and sensitive as he continued to lick and suck, moaning wantonly as if he were deep in someone. Your face heats up impossibly, attempting to pull away, unable to due to his grip.

He licked up your wound slowly.  His unoccupied hand moved to your waist and squeezed in time with his quieted groans which were bordering on moans. He stopped when he saw that the wound no longer leaked anymore of your delicious crimson liquid. He licked his lips and swallowed audibly. 

You watched as his Adam's apple bobbed. You swallow the saliva accumulated in your mouth and you shuffle your feet. You gasp quietly as you feel dampness as you squeeze your thighs together. 

Why are you wet right now? 

The hand on your hip slides away to tip his helmet back down. He hides himself again. His hand was still tight around your wrist.  

“You entrance me.”  

Your eyes widen as he stares down at you. Soft, confused, and heavily aroused blinks greet him as he swipes a thumb over your cheek. 

“You're menstruating.” he says lowly, not in a teasing way, but as if he were stating a fact you didn’t know about. 

You stare up at his visor blankly. You're currently questioning your life choices. Who was this creep and why did he know your cycle?  Did he go around looking through the trash bin?

He could see the questions flash before your eyes.

“I can smell it.” he says bluntly. 

Your eyes widen comically.  

“Excuse me?” You’re slightly offended. You take a step back, your wrist twisting out of his hold. You didn’t realize your open gash had closed completely. 

“Wait-no- I have a condition,” he said quickly, his hands coming up in front of him to pacify you. Your face scrunches in disbelief. 

“What kind of condition?” you ask quickly, as if you didn’t entirely believe him. What could possibly make him sensitive to menstruation. 

He sighs. He didn’t like explaining this part of himself to others.  

“I require iron or– l have a craze inducing desire for it. Unfortunately, blood is abundant in iron. Blood also happens to be found in great quantities around the universe, mostly inside organisms.”  

He’s babbling, he knows it, and he can see your very visible confusion increase as he continues. He reaches for your hand, his hands gentler than before as his fingertips graze over a path of your vein.

“I just– I can smell your blood. It smells too good for me to resist most days..”

His head leans down and towards yours. His visor tilts further down and stares into your neck. You felt goosebumps pimple over your skin as his gloved hand softly trails up your forearm and to your collarbone peeking through your tunic. 

“You’ve always smelled so sweet. So good.  But Maker, when you're menstruating, it gets ten times worse. You're just everywhere, and I get so hard, so hungry every time you're near me now. I feel like I’m going insane.” 

He can basically feel your pulse spike, making his cock throb in time. 

The beeping of an incoming transmission makes him step back. Your eyes were rounded in awe, pupils dilated.  He felt his whole body heat up in embarrassment, realizing that he just confessed his sexual desire for you in a not so conventional way.  He also may have implied that he wanted to eat you as well. 

Your brain took as long as possible to catch up to the situation. You were very confused, but so very aroused. Maybe slightly afraid too. 

As you watch him quickly climb the ladder to the cockpit, using answering a transmission as an excuse to leave the room, you think that you might need to hop on the fresher and take a cold shower. 

… 

You groan as you get out of the shower. The cramps don’t seem to be letting up even with the pain killers. You look around the hull warily. Mando always stays in the cockpit whenever you shower and change, only coming down when you’ve given him the okay. 

It was one of the many unspoken agreements you shared amongst each other, especially since the shower had no door. You keel over and hold yourself up against the metal panels. It felt as if someone was twisting your uterus and squeezing.  

You didn’t realize you were making such worrying noises. You saw him climb down the ladder in a hurry. The logically thinking part of his brain shut off the moment he heard you groan in pain and slump heavily against the side of the hull. He was right in front of you, watching as you clutched your towel closer to your body.  

His hands reach for your arms to steady you.

“You ok?”  

You awkwardly look around. Your heart rate jumps, and it was as if he could feel it. The helmet isn’t helping him dampen his senses, now. Not when you were so exposed and he was so close to you. You clutch your stomach and step away, creating more distance between yourselves.  

“I’m fine,” you spat through gritted teeth.  

You always lied to him. You always acted like a brat, a child. You got shot, you acted as if it was a graze, you bruised one of your ribs, you say you’ll walk it off. One too many times he’s requested to help you and you deny him.  Deep inside you knew how much you wanted it, but you felt that if you accepted it, you would think of him as something more than a companion.  

You didn’t like it when people were nice, when you could tell they were being honest to you. You fall too quickly, too hard, it was your fatal flaw. 

But he knew you just wanted to be taken care of deep down. With heavy introspection, he realized you weren’t entirely afraid when he had licked your palm clean.

“Orgasms make the pain go away. I can help with that.” He cups your face gently. You wince as you feel a cramp start up again. 

“I can make the pain go away. You just have to trust me, mesh'la.”  

He lightly caressed your cheek with his thumb, massaging water droplets into your skin. He strode forward and you stepped back until your back hit the wall. With a hiss and a thud his helmet lands on the floor. 

“Let me take care of you…” Your half-lidded eyes moved across his face and your mouth slightly parted to wet your lips. His jaw ached, saliva accumulating near his tongue as if urging him to bite into your soft, supple, throat. 

His eyes were dark brown, you stare up into them. His breathing was heavy, hair damp with sweat. Lips parted and fangs peaking as if he wanted to eat you alive. 

It was as if you were in a trance. You nodded your head slowly while his thumb softly traced your bottom lip.  He pushed his thumb in as you widened your mouth and you sucked it happily, swirling your tongue around the orange tinted tip of his glove. 

It tasted like leather and gunpowder; metal.  

You moaned around his thumb as his other hand went to your folds, lightly tracing them and coaxing them open. Your knees buckle as he pinches your swollen nub. 

“I’ll make you feel real good, honey.” 

He positioned you in his bunk, body facing the entryway, back against the pad of his bed. He said that it would give him better access. You certainly weren't complaining as he spread your legs apart and pulled them over his shoulders.   

He lazily traces your folds, with his now bare hands, and as he finally separates them to see your center he gets in closer. It felt as if he was inspecting you. You start to close your legs but he stops you roughly. 

“Stay still for me,” he seems transfixed in the way your cunt squeezes and twitches as he blows air on it. The way you clench, and your arousal seeps out of you and drips onto his sheets makes him groan. Your arousal was stained with red, clumps of blood flowing out as he pinched your clit and made you clench your pretty holes. 

He inhaled deeply, relishing in your smell. If he thought you were intoxicating then, you were much better now. You invaded his senses being completely bare for him. 

“I’m going to eat you up,” he mouths against your folds, relishing in the slick that covers you. It had a slight metallic taste that made his eyes roll to the back of his skull.

“Make you mine,” he whispers softly. He licks a stripe from your hole to your clit. He looks innocently up at you from his position between your thighs. You rest your elbows up on the cot and meet his eyes.  

“Invite me in,”  he says softly, his lips puckering over your clit to suck on lightly.. His lips were glossy with your arousal and even showed a hint of red. His eyes glowed, even in the darkness. 

You nod and respond with a half moan and half cry as he grazes his teeth against your cunt.  

“Yes, please.” 

You get lost in the sensations he gives you. You didn’t even realize he was knuckles deep in you until you felt a gush of arousal mixed with a little something else for him to enjoy escaping you.  He sucks even harder, particularly focusing on your throbbing clit.

His arm presses against lower stomach right above your mound. Your back arches and you stutter on a moan as you grip the sheets harder. You tighten around his fingers and your hips roll against his mouth frantically.  

A subtle curving of his fingers against the soft spongy spot inside of you makes your eyes roll to the back of your head. His tongue peaks to lick up your essence. 

He moves his head ferally as if he were devouring your cunt like a full course meal. Your lower belly tightens and your body tenses you gush all over his hand and fingers. 

You stare into the ceiling of his bunk, giving a whine as he sloppily kisses your core, helping you come down from an orgasm that was still making your legs twitch. You sit up carefully.  

“I’m not done.”  

He pulls you down again. He could smell a fresh wave of blood push through your cervix due to the cramping of your first orgasm. 

You didn’t know if you wanted him to stop. On one hand you felt so sensitive, especially since you were on your cycle and everything was so much more tender.  On the other hand, you knew you were probably giving him the meal of his lifetime.  

If it wasn’t for the groans as you roughly push his head against you or the whines he made when you pulled away slightly from how hard he was sucking on your very sensitive and swollen nub, you would have thought he was suffocating between your legs. 

The slap of his cock in his fist makes the pressure you feel in your belly almost explode.

“You're enjoying yourself aren’t you,” you murmur between gasps and moans.  

He suddenly lifts his head from you and licks his lips sloppily.  His tongue lightly scrapes his sharp teeth and you whimper.  His hands massage the apex of your thigh roughly.  

“You have no idea.”

…

“You two seem different.”

You’ve come back to your home world, for a couple of weeks. It was part of the deal. Stay a couple months with him, doing some bounty work and jobs and then you would take a few weeks for yourself back home.  

“How so?”, you ask as you unpack some of your things and toss them onto your bed.  

“You look like you’ve gotten awfully close. You were only gone for, what, three months”

“Five”

“Right. And now you act like an old married couple. Are you two, y’know, a thing?” 

“No-no we’re not- we’re uhm. Yeah, we’re not.”  

You choose to ignore her and instead watch as Mando awkwardly interacts with your cousins, answering their questions as much as he can.  

“I just– we help each other out sometimes. It’s casual. Not serious.”

She gives you a look. She understands. Human needs and such, especially in such close quarters. 

“You're not being forced to… are you?”  

She didn’t know you helped him in many more ways than one. You almost wanted to laugh. You appreciated your friend’s concern.  

“Oh, no, no, no- it’s not like that. Not at all. It's always mutually beneficial I swear-” You shut up the moment everyone was called in for dinner. 

Everyone rushes to the small dining area and some of your family members along with other members of your village finish setting up the table. Your family decided that they would invite almost everyone over to celebrate your return home. 

Your younger cousins rush in last with Mando striding into the ever increasingly small space. He looked like a goliath in comparison to your family.  

They all start to pressure him into staying and having dinner but you're pretty sure he was itching to leave from the amount of people in the room and the amount of attention he was getting. You carefully pack him some food as he’s forced to sit and recount some of his ‘bounty hunter stories’. You softly smile as he very obviously softens the retelling of events for the youngest children in the room.  

Your voice startles everyone's focus from Mando’s story.  

“How come you guys don’t ask me for my stories?” you ask, mocking offense as you place the container in front of him, which he grasps gingerly.  

He nods to your mother in thanks, knowing that she probably made you pack some of it for him. 

A cacophony of giggles and shouts were directed at you.  

“You’re boring!”  “We’ve heard them all before!” 

“Yeah, yeah, I know,”  you roll your eyes exaggeratedly.  Another round of giggles graces your ears.  

“Mando has to go.” 

You didn’t want to tell them he couldn’t eat with other people around and that he especially couldn’t take his helmet off around that many people at once. They would have asked too many questions, including the adults in the room. The children break out in aws and whys.

“He’s a very busy man. He has things to do.”  

You lead him out the door along with your mother. You close the door softly to have a little bit of privacy, at least to say goodbye. You turn to see your mother’s grip on his arm, leaning into the side of his helmet to whisper something. You're pretty sure the audio for the helmet doesn’t work that way but he makes the gesture and leans into it anyway. She pats him on the shoulder and with a stoic nod from him she heads back inside.  

As the door clicks back shut, you step closer.

“She told me she’s grateful that I was able to take care of you,” he says softly. 

You shake your head lightly, “Oh Gods.”  

“She also said she’s grateful I brought you home in one piece,” he says with a soft lilt in his voice, teasing, wanting something in return.

You shrug and kick the dirt on the ground. You nod. You both had a habit of never saying thank you to each other.

“Thanks by the way, for making sure I lived and all that.” You pretend to grit your teeth as you speak, as if it hurts to speak the words of gratitude.

“No need to thank me for making sure you didn’t die from blood loss, or stitching up your stab wounds, or even resuscitating you that one time you almost drowned-” 

You hug him, and you lay your head against his shoulder. He freezes for a moment before reciprocating the warm embrace. 

“Thank you, as well.” For keeping me sane, for making sure I ate, for healing me, for caring for me.

As you step back from the ug, you nick your finger on the knife you know is hidden by his side and lift it towards the underside of his helmet. You make sure to inconspicuously press your pointer finger to his lips and he automatically sucks it into his mouth. 

Your mouth parts as he does so, his chest fills with arousal as he shakily inhales with your finger against his tongue.

It barely stings as his tongue passes over the small cut you made. He lets it go with a pop. 

“Kriff, woman.” His whole chest rumbles. 

You pull your finger from under his helmet. 

“There. So that you could hopefully remember to come back?”  

He nods, trying to withhold the temptation to haul you over his shoulder and take you back with him. You both said your goodbyes and he strides away to the ship on the outskirts of your town.  

You enter your childhood home and close the door only to see, when turning around, everyone huddled against the windows.

--------------------

My monster fucking era is back, my lovelies. I loved this small series. I will eventually post new content for it.

Asks open for this! Part two soon...

You were slightly overdue. He wasn’t as worried as you. You were trying to get him to do something about it since the first few days the complication occurred.

You’ve been begging him to see a doctor for the past month before your due date, but he denied, stating that he knew a lot about pregnancy and birth and that he was prepared for anything. You were a bit frightened when he came to you with a vial of pills and tablets one day, claiming they were vitamins.

He said he asked a physician for them but you had a feeling the barrel of his blaster did most of the persuasion for the prescription. You think this especially true because you’ve only gone to the doctor once to confirm your pregnancy. Din refused whatever they wanted to prescribe you then, even denying them the chance to talk to you in private and to schedule another appointment.

You didn’t think it was healthy being cooped up in a ship for most of your pregnancy. Ever since he took you, you’ve been idly waiting for him to return each and every day from his missions. You had nothing to do, nothing to think about except him, him, him.

And the child. But taking care of the green baby was more effort than it was before. It used to be a reprieve, even a solace. But he stays the same age, mentally and physically. He was fifty and he still toddled like a three year old.

He constantly needed attention and care. He’d wander and get himself hurt if you weren’t vigilant. You often wonder if the mandalorian knew he subjected you to constantly being a mother. If you were stuck with him for the rest of your life that is…

That may have been his plan after all.

Din stays longer because of your restrictions in mobility as the child inside of you grows. It makes you feel suffocated. Although everything does at this point.

He moves towards you and you think you would have liked it if he had his helmet on. It made him seem less human. As if his depravity was justified.

Your hands shake when he pulls you up from your seat carefully. You’ve been on the verge of crying lately. One, because you physically were exhausted and two, because he refuses to take you to a doctor or even a midwife, often causing you to shun his advances for conversation.

He guides you to the bedroom and you pass by the nursery, peeking inside to hear the soft snores of Grogu bundled up in his blankets. Your hand goes to your stomach. You stop for a moment, watching the soft rise and fall of Grogu’s breaths.

To think soon there would be two little noises of gurgles and giggles in the house. You almost laugh at the predicament. You would have never thought you would be here months ago.

A part of you believed that you would have travelled the galaxy before settling down. You glance at the man beside you. Maybe in another life, one where he was normal, where he was sane… you would have travelled the galaxy together, willingly had a family after settling down. 

Din’s hand puts pressure on your back to move you along and you groan. The bedroom seemed like a good idea now, the heaviness of your body made you want to lay down. Din's heavy steps creak against the wood as you shuffle to bed, reaching out for the blankets and attempting to crawl to your side of the mattress. 

He chuckles as you struggle to get comfortable, rearranging and moving things around and then sighing again when it didn’t look or work right. You pout, sighing heavily. He prepares his own side, taking off pieces of his armor, chuckling at your displeasure. He stops and his face falls when he could see the tears drop against the pillows below you, making the covers darken.

His hands roam frantically over you, finding nothing physically wrong. He frowns and smooths a hand over your head and face.

“What’s wrong?” he asks panicked, his words short and quiet. You sniffle. You couldn’t help but start to ramble.

“I’m so tired and I feel heavy and I need to see someone. Something might be wrong with the baby, with me, I just-“

He stops you, holding your hands gently.

“Hey, hey, we’ll go tomorrow, yeah?” His voice was shaky. He was desperate to placate you. His eyes roam over your face, eyes bright with fear and panic. 

Your tears fade and you calm instantly.  His shoulders tense and he freezes. His only movement as you adjust yourself in bed are his eyes as they narrow suspiciously.

“Okay,” you respond and lay on your side, facing away from him with a shaky exhale. You adjust your tunic, smoothing a palm over your swell before resting it atop your pillow. You really were worried, and scared. 

You also wanted to go outside. It was a chance to see the world again before you inevitably had to hide in your spacious cottage.

You could feel his stare dig into the back of your skull as you let sleep take over.

…

He wrapped you up tightly in winter clothes. He said it was cold when you started to complain,  but he was right. He didn’t have to know that as you stepped out into the snow your teeth clacked slightly before you willed them to stop.

You stared at the open door suddenly feeling nervous to get to know this new village.

The planet was covered in a soft blanket of white. The homes expel fumes from their heaters and fireplaces. You’ve never experienced snow in your home world. You stare at it, you feel the cool breeze intensify as you walk past the clumps of shovelled ice. 

Puffs of warm air meeting the chill of cold swirl over your face as you breathe. A soft chuckle escapes you. Din warms at the sight of your enjoyment, taking his time, the planned walk turning to a slow and easy stroll. 

Your hand tightens over his arm, the one not cradling Grogu, as you walk over the ice coated sidewalk. The 'trip' was going to be to Grogu's school, since you've never seen it, and straight to the local midwife's home.

Grogu was wearing his mittens and his boots, and you gushed over him when he huffed and puffed from Din putting a hood over his head, protecting his sensitive ears before opening the front door to your cottage.

You couldn't bend down to pick him up, but Din brought him up to your face so you could peck soft kisses over the only parts not covered by fabric, his chubby cheeks. Grogu stopped his whines considerably and settled into his father’s arms. Your mobility was further restricted from the fur lined coat placed on top of your sweater and shawl.

The sheer amount of fabric you were enveloped in made you look hearty rather than expectant.

As you shed your layers once entering Grogu's schoolhouse, you still felt as big as before, especially as everyone started to crowd and lean over to watch as the mandalorian carried your coats for you. You sigh, watching as Grogu twaddles off to his friends, giggling and happy.

Everyone was surprised by your presence. They’ve never seen you before, except for the time you arrived a few months back, your stomach was still small, at least smaller, and only a select few were able to catch a glimpse of you if ever when you were out of the house to get some air.

Still, your cottage was located further away from the others. It was bigger as well, with plenty of land around it. Din cared for privacy and only the neighbors were able to keep up with your outdoor appearances.

Rumors spread quickly of the Mandalorian and his “wife”. They thought he was very protective of his family by the way he scoped everyone out the first few days he brought his son to school, almost cold in his demeanor when he asked about the classrooms and their policies.

Din turns momentarily to speak to a teacher assistant. A droid. You’ve learned of his distaste for droids early on. He keeps you far from them if he can.

The droid offers a hand to you. You extend it back. Your mouth opens in a polite greeting but Din’s sharp tone and broad chest cuts the droid off midway to a staticky good morning.

For a moment you stood there, suddenly feeling your heart beat rapidly in a mix of embarrassment and anxiety. The tender moment outside, your first snow and the gentle care from Din, fell down like whittled petals around you. 

You stay put, eyes down and hands clasped over your belly. You almost felt scolded, treated like a child who couldn’t speak for herself. 

Fortunately, many of the parents approached you, asking which child was yours. 

“Grogu,” you say softly.

You pointed towards him, and they gawked, looking at the Mandalorian and wondering what he looked like under the helmet. They initially thought you were the green one. As many of the parents chuckled softly and began to pull you into a group of gossipers, your nerves died down.

You appreciated being talked to, maker knows how long it has been since you’ve interacted with anyone.

Some mothers ask to touch your stomach. You hesitate for a moment before nodding. You secretly craved physical affection. A friendly hug, a peck on the cheek, a hand to shake. From anyone other than the Mandalorian or Grogu. 

You gasp as you’re pulled back into a cold and hard chest. Some swooned at the protectiveness and some looked at you in pity, especially when he stared down at the parents talking to you. 

You rolled your eyes. They took it as you showing your annoyed fondness towards his actions.

…

The walk to the midwife was short, and you didn't have to wait long to be admitted into her office, which was inside her cottage.

You appreciated the padded chairs and the homey feeling inside. The warm brown walls and the vibrant plants inside made you feel safe. The midwife, not much older than you, watches with a smile as she leads you to a side door, where an examination room smelled of sterility and a hint of chamomile. 

Din complains when she orders you to undress quickly after shaking your hand, not yet being told the problem but looking smug as she puts on her gloves. Her confidence made you feel safe, it irked Din profoundly.

Your eyes blink up at him pleadingly as you start to shrug your many layers off and she pats a medical chair. Her warm smile invites you onto it easily. He sighs loudly, fingers passing over his blaster at his waist pointedly before leaning against the wall next to the doorframe outside.

She rolls her eyes before closing the door softly.

"Very protective, hm?" she mutters cheekily. You nod, your cheekbones burning in embarrassment.

"When was your last check up?"

She sits in front of you. Her rolling chair’s creaking wheels make your eyes shift.

"Eight months ago."

Her brows furrow slightly before relaxing again. She scribbles down on a pad. 

"You're really far along, sweetheart," she scolds softly.

You wanted to cry. You felt guilt build up in your stomach, even if it wasn't entirely your fault. Her eyes glance from her notepad to you and she pauses at your anxious state. Your hands shake as you place them over your stomach.

"I think I'm overdue..." you stutter worriedly. Her brows shoot up and you start to panic, your eyes start to water, and your breathing picks up. She shushes you gently, her eyes glancing towards the door.

"I'm going to do a checkup for you, okay?"

You breathe in deeply and exhale. Nodding along to the instruction to calm.

The checkup took about an hour, Din was practically pacing outside of the door by the time you came out, smiling tightly and fully dressed again.

The midwife sat you both in her office, which seemed almost comically small for Din's bulking form.

"The baby is fine," you both sigh in relief and she smiles at you, she turns to Din, "I performed a membrane sweep on your wife-"

"I'm not his wife," you interrupt quickly, fiddling with your fingers over your bump. He turns to you in slow silence, obviously irked by your comment. She stares between you both, clearing her throat and continuing.

"I’m very sorry for the assumption.”

Her eyes creased with a hint of confusion. She glances down at her notepad, most likely going to write that down later. 

“Like I was saying, with consent, of course, I performed a membrane sweep and-"

"What is that?" he demands.

She sighs deeply, maintaining her smile with a strain.

"It's a technique where we take the amniotic membrane off by sweeping over the cervix. Helps her body know that she’s ready."

He nods as if he understood. You sigh as he glances towards you, his helmet burning the side of your head. 

"The success of the procedure isn’t certain. I suggest other methods of inducing labor as well."

She smiles cheekily as she leans her elbows on her desk, pressing her hands under her chin and grinning fully at your confusion.

"Of course, the most enjoyable method is to have sex, but there are other ways."

You tense, Din shifts in his seat, watching as she writes down on her notepad and rips the sheet off loudly. Before she pushed you both out of her home’s door she winked.

He was relatively silent on the walk home and you were buzzing, practically bouncing on your feet as he opened the door.

He was expecting you to jump him the moment he took off his helmet and you started shedding your coats to the floor. But he was shocked at the way you practically ran, more like waddled, to the kitchen, taking out ingredients for spicy stew.

You didn't even notice him walk out the door, some hours later, to pick up the kid from school, too busy pacing around the house and eating fruit.

During dinner you breathed in and out with your mouth wide open, pouring water down your throat from the excess amount of spice you put in your own serving. He shook his head gently at your antics, especially when you went to sleep without even looking in his direction.

…

It's been two days; the membrane sweep did not work, and you were getting antsy. You've checked off every single thing off the list, except for the ones that needed a certain partner.

Your hands were constantly on your belly, almost pushing down as if that would make the baby come out. The house was warm, Grogu was playing in the common area, gurgling half mumbled numbers as he pushed building blocks and toy ships one by one.

For a brief moment you imagine a baby next to him, a human baby. Brown hair, brown eyes. Playing along.

You brush the window curtains open, the slight chill of the glass migrating to your fingertips. You shiver as you see the image in front of you.

You watch Din's deft fingers work over the panels of his ship, hyper focused on the way they flexed against the metal and the way they gripped tools.

Sparks flew, illuminating his armor and helmet. He grunts in irritation when a weld doesn't come out as well as he’d liked. He enjoyed keeping busy. Fixing up things, upgrading his ship. He’d ask you to help but most of the time he was met with half hearted responses.

You ignore him a lot. He never gets upset about it, not unless he’s had a bad day. Most of the time he practices shooting in the makeshift range he made in the back of the house to get his frustrations out. 

His voice never raises, he never tightens his hold to hurt. 

He does this thing in the morning, where he presses kisses to the curve of your belly before getting ready for the day. The sensation of his lips leaves a trail of tingles over your skin each time. He never pushes further unless he sees you reach for him. 

Then he’d bury himself between your thighs to suckle on your cunt. Your orgasms would release slickness he would lick clean, often leaving you with another climax and another and another… He’d leave you boneless, skin clammy as he watched you steady your breaths while he meticulously equipped his armor. 

You haven’t had his cock in months. Externally, you claim it was his punishment. Internally, you just didn’t want to allow yourself to enjoy it as much as you have. You felt helpless with want and the need for space. The push and pull was driving even you crazy.

But this time, it would be for a good reason…

He turns. His hands making their way to his hips as he watches you back.

You retreat further into the house when he quirks his head in question of your stare. The moment he entered the household he was met with you waiting at the table for him, food ready at the table and steaming.

Dinner was relatively silent; you were unfocused, and you ate mechanically. You hurried to the bedroom the moment you finished and placed your plate in the sink.

You take a yawning Grogu from his seat and hurriedly strode to the nursery.

He sighs, getting up to wash.

He stood in the hallway, dishes done and left to dry in the rack, watching his son sleep peacefully. The crib next to his empty and half of the room vacant. He sighs, wishing the baby would come soon.

There were two separate bedrooms apart from the main bedroom, each big enough to accommodate two or three children. Grogu had chosen his little siblings' toys. The color of the walls.

He was just as excited.

"Din, I need your help," you shout from your bedroom. He comes in immediately.

"What happened?" he shouts back, looking frantically around the room.

You were in the bathroom; he ran towards you only to see you in your underwear twisting and turning in front of a mirror with a pout. His brows furrow, you didn’t seem in pain or stress. Just pouty as you usually are. 

"Why did you take me?" you ask, tracing over the trimming of lace lining your panties. You pull up the waistband over your hips, your ass bounces as you poke at it. You wince when the cellulite emphasizes over the lighting.

You sigh, looking towards him in a heady stare. He walks over to you, envelopes you in his arms and sighs as you turn your face away from his chest.

"I love you."

"Do you? I don't think you can fall in love so quickly-"

"Well, I did," he says shortly.

You sigh, his hands smooth over your abdomen and you stop his hand, watching him through the mirror intently.

Something was wrong with him, he knew. You drove him to do things he wouldn't do otherwise. It was as if the moment he saw you, something was triggered in his brain. He couldn't function without you now, he would get angry, depressed, demoralized.

You were a necessity now.

"Would you fuck me, Din?" you ask innocently. He shivers at the way your eyes lift lazily up to meet him in the mirror.

You lead his hands under your underwear grinding against his palm as he cups your mound. His fingers get sucked into your cunt and you sigh. You rest your head against his shoulder as he pumps slowly. 

"Please..." you beg. A quiet okay was said behind your ear and your feet shuffled in anticipation.

His hand quickens and his fingers work you over slowly and firmly. It was as if you were being rocked by a wave, back and forth his palm connects with your clit, rubbing it firmly and then sliding across it, letting it go and doing it over and over again.

You gnaw on your lip, you could feel heat build within you ever so slowly, so gently that you sigh in content. The pain and throbbing of your body was soon forgotten as he led you to the bed, his fingers gliding over your folds and moving to your mouth languidly.

You suck his fingers as he lays on the mattress pulling you on top of him. He imagines your sucking motions to be akin to your lips around him, you look into his eyes deeply as your tongue swirls over his digits. He groans, slowly pulling away from your lips and trailing his fingers over your neck and towards your breasts, cupping underneath them and making your breath hitch.

His chest was firm underneath your hands as you closed your eyes and moved your hips to an invisible rhythm.

His cock bumps against your cervix repeatedly, and you speed up, feeling him open you up each time your hips meet with wet slaps. He watches your breasts bounce, nipples hard, arms flexing as you keep yourself stable above him. 

You whine when your thighs start to cramp from your desperate movements.

"I-I can't -"

He flips you making sure you bounced and landed carefully on top of the sheets and pillows.

"You want it hard or soft."

You moan.

“Hard. Please.”

He has you with your back against his chest, your legs spread wide as he spears his cock into you quickly. You gasp with each thrust, arching your back against him as he sucks bruises against the tender skin of your neck.

His hips plap against your ass loudly, you had to cover your mouth from the feeling of your slick running down towards his thighs and making you slide easier against him. 

Your cervix bumps into his cockhead, almost pushing back against him as he pounds into you further. His fingers tug at your breasts, nipples tender and swollen as he pulls them to twist. Your back aches as you arch it but you don’t care, the feeling of his cock rubbing that spot inside you, angled and hard, the sticky smack of his balls against your clit make your brain short-circuit.

Your body twitches away from the immense feeling, but his hands tug your hips to stay put and take it. 

You feel pure pleasure, almost as if your body is renewed and numbed down to a form in which pain doesn’t exist. You cum harder than you ever had before in your life and as you fall limply against the sheets, your belly atop a comfy pillow placed under you by Din, you sleep instantly.

He was convinced he made you pass out and for a second he worried, almost sliding his cock out of you before you whined, gripping his hand and pulling him so that his arm would wrap around you, effectively forcing him to stay put.

You shivered when you felt him shove himself deeper inside of you because of the proximity. Eventually when you were deep in sleep, which hasn’t happened in a long time, he pulled out, his seed and your slick rushing out of you.

You woke up that day feeling better than ever, albeit a little sore, but you don’t think you’ve felt that much relief in a while.

As you sit up you groan, the weight of your bump finally getting to you. You look to your side seeing the outline of his half erect cock through the sheets and hold your breath.

He woke up with his cock in your mouth, the hollow of your cheeks sucking harder as he sits up on his elbows. A trail of your spit follows from his cock to your mouth as you sit on his lap. He was already hard as you started grinding.

He was elated at the fact that you were initiating this. It made him feel as if he was wanted, as if he had a purpose.

You couldn’t agree more as his thick cock stretched you that morning, making you see stars and replacing the aches in your body with pangs of intense pleasure.

…

It felt good to be fucked. It felt good for him to tire you out and to sleep from satisfied exhaustion. So, you did it each and every night until you would inevitably go into labor.

He was feral for it. He loved your body; it was so plush and swollen and his. The fact that anyone from the outside, when you make him take you out for walks to aid in your predicament, could see that you were carrying his baby made him want to ravish you then and there.

You would often have mothers come up to you now,  saying that you were going to have a big baby, and that they would probably be as strong as their father. It made him keen.

The whole village knew you belonged to him, especially as you stuck to his side and huddled for warmth from the heavy winds and the freezing air and especially as you hold his son as if your own, close against your chest as if you haven’t seen him for years even though he was just a walk down a path the whole day.

Everyone thought you were a happy family. They thought that when you wrapped your arm around his you were cherishing your time together, you were, in a way, it was just that you only wanted his cock. He usually took that as a signal to hurry up home, especially when your hands started to wander over his chest plate, supposedly wiping off dust or snow from his armor.

A big and happy family is all he wanted. He was just missing a member at the moment.

…

“Fuck, Din, h-harder.”

It's been three days so far. The midwife said you were dilated 1 centimeter. It only made you more desperate for his cum.

Sperm softens the cervix, and a soft cervix prompts dilation, you had said softly, ignoring the not quite believing you look Din gave you after another cervix softening session. This was purely procedure, at least, that was what you wanted it to seem like.

"I can't-" he groans, holding your hips still and leaning away. You cunt fluttered around his cock, he was going as rough as he could without hurting you. 

"Please-" You press your ass against his crotch, pressing him deeper into you and making yourself gasp out against the pillows, your drool accumulates and spreads against the pillowcase, prompting you to lick your lips.

"We're so close..." you say pleadingly.

He squeezes your waist, stilling you from bouncing your hips against him.

"Close to what?"

"Our baby," you whine.

You knew him well. You knew what made him tick, and how well you could manipulate your way for something you wanted. That being, getting plowed into the mattress, with the bonus of speeding up the process of labor.

Your voice echoes in his head. Our. You usually refer to the baby as yours, because you're carrying them and you're going to be the one taking care of them. So you thought.

It may also be because you didn't want him, at all and in any form, outside of sexual pleasure.

He twitches and you swear you hear him growl. A shiver runs down your spine and you push him further.

"I want to give you a baby. Don't you want me to?" you murmur moaning and whiny, mimicking the women in holos usually seen in your same position.

Your hand moves under the swell of your belly, making you wince from the uncomfortable position and connect with your clit. You circle your hips, feeling him start to thrust lightly against you.

"You can put another in me after..."

His fingers meet yours and rub with you. You almost scoff against the pillow from his sudden eagerness, but your breath catches from a particularly hard thrust.

"I'll give you as many children as you want," you blurt out as you feel your body heat up quickly. You didn't have a filter anymore, your mind was shrouded in the feeling he was giving you, in the need to reach completion.

"Please- I want to expand- mph, our clan-"

He hushes you, thrusting into you with precision and pushing you into the sheets below, careful to not put pressure on your stomach. You didn't even notice that he turned you over, your back hit the mattress, his hands pinning you beneath him. His mouth glides along the valley of your tits.

His tongue slides over to your swollen and dark nipple, helping him engulf your fatty tissue into his mouth. He sucks in pulses.

He lifts your ass in the air, pressing himself as deep as he could go before pulling out and thrusting in again. His pelvis slides against your clit each time his cock meets your cervix.

You come apart with a tremble and a high-pitched whine. He groans into your breast, sucking until your milk coats the inside of his mouth. Your back slowly lowers back into the soft blankets and he holds himself up, his head buried in your breasts.

You sigh, pressing your hands against his hair as the pressure on your chest was being relieved. His cock was pulsing in time with his suckles.

Your nails were scratching behind his head, caressing his brown locks and smoothing a thumb over his cheekbone.

He came with a long groan, still inside of you, when you tug on his locks after he bit you lightly.

He lifts his head, his eyes search your own blissed out ones, half lowered and drowsy. When he kisses you, you respond back sensually, slowly and as if you meant it.

It stung him.

The only way he could get you to show him affection was if you were in a state of euphoria and not your complete self. You grumble as his lips start to part yours.

"I'm tired," you mumble. He chuckles, nodding his head, helping you shrug some pillows under yourself and placing his body behind you. You hum as you press your head against the pillow.

His lips meet your earlobe and you smile lightly, still in a daze. You pause when he speaks, lowly.

"I will get you swollen again. I know you; you seem to forget that. I know you're using me to get off, but any words said to me are a promise."

Despite yourself and despite everything else you clench around him, a quiet moan escaping you as he presses himself against your back and slides back into you slowly.

The very next day the contractions hit, he carried you to the midwife across town and you met a very beautiful, yet slimy, chubby baby.

Your eyes softened when he first handled her with gentle care, as if she were made of glass. He smiled, almost grinned, when she gurgled and moved her head from side to side, looking for you.

You forced your hands to stop shaking when you gently cradled her to your chest. Staring into her eyes as they opened slowly, you truly started to believe it wasn’t unbelievable he fell in love with you so quickly.

--------------------

Asks open in case anyone wants to implore about this Reader and Din's "relationship". Thank you so much for the support on the other parts, yippeeee! :)

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