PaolaBH2O: Memes and such

Experiencing hot flashes out of nowhere, getting distracted by vivid daydreams of being full of life, pregnant, and thoughts of going off birth control—these were not usual items on your daily agenda. But for a few days, these distractions, as you called them, had been plaguing you. The ovulation week certainly had something to do with this feverish state of yours, and, of course, it had its own tricky games that tried to distract you every month. Frankly, its doubled efforts to throw you off track seemed to be paying off.

This manifestation, baby fever, as you’d later realize, had started to bloom in the quiet corners of your heart and mind when you saw Din on the balcony one night, playing with his advisor’s adiike; the war was over for you.

You couldn’t get those few minutes of that night out of your mind; it was like a vermin gnawing away at your thoughts, torturing and consuming you day and night. Children whose faces you barely made out, their silhouettes lit only by the moonlight, giggled and played happily with Din, with a hint of unconditional love in their eyes as if he were their own father. And there was a thought that you couldn’t help but dwell on: if they were Din’s own children, would they look up at him with those same bright, adoring eyes?

The combination of you and Din into one tiny little human being—something both of you wished for and desired from the beginning of your relationship—became inevitable and undeniable when Grogu came to you. With all his mischief and adorableness, he sparked a baby fever in both of you that you couldn’t hide from or escape. You had seen all of Din, and he had seen all of you—how you both took turns caring for and tending to him. It wasn’t just about taking care of or playing with him, but rather how you looked at him with overflowing love and yearning in your eyes.

All these possibilities were a bane to you and your delicate nature, and one night, you decided to get them off your bosom.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

You knew Din would be in the council chamber tonight; you vaguely recalled him pressing a soft morning kiss to your forehead and mentioning his agenda for the day at dawn while the bullet-like raindrops fell against the long windows of your bedchamber as you chased your next dream, half-awake and half-asleep.

In the earlier days of your new life, both of you were so occupied with duties that you could only catch fleeting glimpses of each other while darting through the palace corridors or during the rare moments when you came together to welcome and host the councils of neighboring planets.

The nights were no different; some days, you would retreat to the bedroom just to sleep. But with the routine you had finally settled into, you could spend time alone together. And, of course, you made sure not to neglect enjoying this solitude. On those nights when desire triumphed over exhaustion, you made love to Din: skin to skin, stripped of everything you carried, bare and vulnerable, in a sweet desire that clung like wild, thick honey until both of you came undone with pure pleasure in each other’s arms.

Just as Din was bound by the responsibilities that came with his title and his rank, so were you. Both of you had sworn in the mines of Mandalore, where you were redeemed in the Living Waters one night, in the presence of your people, to revive and restore this mighty civilization and bring it back to its former glory. This responsibility, of course, brought its own set of challenges and burdens. Both of you, two broken and beaten souls molded by pain and loss, longed so long, so desperately for a cozy little family, a child, until confronted and fathomed how hard it was to keep up with the rough responsibilities that came with your rank. And, truth to be told, you two wanted to enjoy the merits of married life a little; being newlyweds and having time alone together was your true right.

It was a mutual decision made by the two of you: you were certain that neither of you wanted a child until you had fulfilled the responsibilities of your rank and allowed your souls and bodies to heal from the wounds you had borne for years together. Only once you had become enough for each other would you consider the prospect of a child.

Until something—an animalistic, conditioned urge in your very core—began to shift and grow.

At an hour when the corridors are empty and the rush of the day finally fades away, you make your way to the council chamber. When you reach the door to his room, you pause for a few seconds to catch your breath and steady yourself, unable to suppress the thrill overflowing from your being. You can feel your heart pounding so powerfully, so brutally, as if it might leap from your heaving chest at any time. You knock three times and wait. When you hear his voice, you step inside, overwhelmed by the feverish rush of words building in the back of your throat.

He is sitting at the large oak table, with a black royal mantle embroidered with beskar draped over his broad shoulders; he is helmetless and unarmed. With furrowed eyebrows and a glass of Kri’gee in his hand, he has focused on a tedious document on the datapad.

“May I steal a few minutes of your precious time, ner Mand’alor?” you break the silence and ask, full of innuendo, though you already know the answer before it slips from his lips. The moment he registers it’s you, he turns toward you, and you swear by the Maker, his tired eyes light up like the stars, like the moon.

“My time is yours, mesh’la,” he replies, sipping the last drops of his drink before setting aside the document—or whatever he was reading.

You used to wonder what his brown eyes would look like if he were ever in love.

You know now.

Whenever he wants to forget, even if only for a moment, the responsibilities of being Mand’alor and finding shelter from the burden of the Darksaber he carries on his belt, he runs to you. But this time, you come to him first, with a hidden bomb between your lips.

With a smile lingering on his lips, he beckons you to his lap, “Come here, princess.”

Without hesitation, you settle on his sturdy, beskar-clad thighs. You notice your not-so-long dress riding up to gather over your hips, but you make no effort to adjust it, knowing well it will soon be discarded on the floor. You press your body into him, closing the gap between you. He hugs you, and his face finds its favorite resting place where he loves to kiss you most—the tender curve between your neck and shoulder.

“Kriff,” he murmurs against your skin while placing soft kisses on your neck, his stubble beard tickling you, yet you don’t care. “You’re all I’ve needed tonight,” he whispers with a quiet exhale, his hands roaming over your back, pressing small circles. I know, I know, you think. I need you, too. You tip back your head to offer him more room to kiss you and show him you are a flower ready to bloom in his hold.

“How was your day?” you ask softly, your hands massaging his scalp.

“As usual,” he replies, sounding weary. “Hectic and exhausting.”

Trying to ignore the alluring warmth of his lips on your skin, you murmur into his hair, “I know, baby,” as your fingers comb through Din’s curls. “That’s why I’m here.”

He finally lifts his head, and you come face to face and lips to lips with him, breaths mingled. And he seizes the chance; he presses his lips to yours. His lips are warm and soft, and you can taste the bittersweet alcohol he sips. You kiss back, hot and wet, eager for intimacy. He responds to your kiss with fervor, and you can barely hear him let out a low, muffled moan. The rising passion between you and him grows louder, and you have to restrain yourself before falling into the claws of eventual, pressing lust.

“Nuh-uh,” you protest him, “Easy, riduur,” you murmur against his wet lips, your voice nothing but a breathless plea. “It wouldn’t hurt to save a little for the bed, would it?”

His eyes shine with mischief in response to your words, and the smile on his lips widens. Your fingers trace the sharp contours of Din’s face, brushing over his smile lines and cheekbones, memorizing every detail of him. “Sometimes,” he murmurs, pressing his forehead to yours, “it feels like everything begins and ends with you.”

A shiver runs down your spine, and your mouth falls open, ready to speak—but no words come, for anything you say will be futile, meaningless against his devotion and love for you, no matter how hard you might scream or cry.

All of the men.

All of them.

It is he.

Din.

A man who is violently sensual, alive, and earthy. And he is yours. Yours to love, to die for.

“Din,” you murmur, clearing your throat, trying to hold his full attention—as if it weren’t already fixed on you, his beautiful wife.

“There is something I need to tell you.” His gaze sharpens at your words, full of wonder.

“Tell me,” he says; his protective hold tightens around you as if he is trying to secure you from what’s been ailing you. “What’s the matter, ner cyar'ika?”

You speak, and your voice cracks with anticipation, hoping that this feeling, long suppressed by both of you, also resonates within him. “I’ve changed my mind.”

His brows furrow in curiosity for a brief moment, yet the question follows swiftly. “About what?”

His brown eyes lock onto yours, almost staring into your soul. The breath you take feels like it might catch in your throat, and you notice the muscles in your back tense like a bow. And you let it go, ready to face every possible consequence.

“Bearing an heir.”

His mouth falls open abruptly, and his face pales at that instant, shocked. A storm flashes through his eyes, and you notice the brown of his precious eyes darken a shade, turning into a shade that your eyes have never fallen upon. That urge he has kept hidden, suppressed deep inside, finally surfaces, kicks, and throbs within him.

“I want to give you an heir, Din.”

His breathing quickens, and you feel his hands move away from your waist to your plush hips. His eyes, ablaze with thrumming thrill and lust now, ogle you—his dilated pupils take in your fertile and ready body while his mind races to process your words. I want to give you an heir. The very manifestation of what he silently wished for every time since the moment you said yes to a life together has been spoken aloud in your delicate voice, stern and irreversible.

There is no turning back.

He stammers in the frenzy of the moment, words stumbling from his lips as he struggles to fathom. “You want—” he swallows hard before continuing, “to be fucked without any means of protection.”

“Yes,” you purr, your voice trembling, breath hitching.

“Fuck me pregnant,” you tease, your lips trailing over Din’s warming skin.

“Is that what you really want?” he presses with a voice that is thick and throaty, moments before his carnal desire breaks loose. “Are you going to let me fuck you like I want?”

“Yes, yes, yes,” the desperate plea spills from your lips, urging him to give in.

You want to scream.

Every cell, every inch of your body burns with a hunger you’ve never known before—a need you’ve never felt. Ever.

You wait, breathless, eyes closed, heart racing. I want it, Din. I want this with you.

Then he murmurs, “Let me show you.”

And the tension between you snaps as he lifts you up and places you on the table, lost in the thrill of the moment.

Your lips meet again, fervent and wet; your burning body is trapped between his beskar-clad, heavy body and the table. You wrap your legs around his muscular waist, pulling him closer to you, pressing your hips needily against his. Lost in the fervor of the kiss, he moans into your mouth, one hand caressing your thigh, feeding the flames of the lust burning inside you.

This time, it’s wilder and deeper, as if you are racing, running to reclaim something you both have long desired.

With your handful of hair in his powerful grip, he angles your head to deepen the kiss, allowing his tongue to dive into the sweet and warm, inviting depths of your mouth. When his tongue brushes against yours, he pulls back with a soft gasp, only to plunge back into the kiss, noses grazing, lips fitting together perfectly.

Din has always been a patient man, even in the sheets. He always takes his precious time, savoring every inch of you, consuming and toying with your lust, waiting for the moment you beg him to make you cum. This stern patience of his was left as a gift from his bounty-hunting days.

But tonight, that gift betrays him as he rushes to claim what he wants most.

He trails down from your lips to your neck, the warm lips of his press against your neck, kissing and nipping wetly with a hunger evident that will bruise your delicate skin. You’re certain that tomorrow, a reminder of this night will bloom in your neck and collarbone, showing everyone what you’ve been up to. Kneading the soft flesh of your thighs, the warmth of his hands sends shivers rippling down your spine; you chant his name.

Din. Din. Din.

“Don’t you think it’s time to take this off?” he says in a low and deep voice, pulling himself back enough to take in your blushed cheeks and red lips, his fingers already unzipping your dress. “There it is,” he breathes as the blue chiffon slips from your shoulders, leaving your breasts free and exposed to the heat of his gaze.

With a guttural fuck slipping from his lips, he wastes no time taking them into his warm mouth. “Din,” you moan, biting your lip as desire pools and overflows in your belly, making you crave more, more, more. “You’re gorgeous, so gorgeous,” he breathes against your sternum between his ragged breaths, lost in your eternal beauty. He bites and licks your heavy breasts, reveling in the fertile femininity of your body.

There are no words—only the soft and wet press of his tongue and mouth on your skin and your muffled, desperate pleas while silence surrounds the two of you.

You feel his hard cock stiffen against your hip as he licks, sucks, and laps at you, revealing how hungry and needy he is for you.

But you can’t wait any longer—you need him to bend you over and fill you up like he always does in your bedchamber. Your fingers glide up his neck to his jaw, cupping the sharp, strong edge as you pull him closer, noses brushing and lips aligning. “Please,” you beg, “please, my king, I need you inside me.” His lips curl into a sly smile. “Such a naughty girl,” he murmurs before lifting you off the table, your feet barely touching the ground. And in one swift motion, he bends you over the table, a soft gasp slipping from your lips. His strong hand presses down on your shoulder blades, and your full hips arch up instinctively for him.

His gloved hand lands a sharp slap on your ass, and you whimper with a mix of pain and excitement. “Mesh’la,” he praises, his hand caressing your soft curves as he savors the sight of you. “You’re such a good girl for me.” Something stirs deep inside you like wild vines rooting and spreading within. “Please, Din… I can’t—I can’t take it anymore,” you plead desperately, although he seems to ignore your pleas, enjoying your neediness.

“And I can’t wait to see you swollen, round, and full with my heir,” he cuts your words and continues as his hand finds the fabric of your lace underwear and rips it away, leaving your soaking cunt bare to his mercy. You suck in a breath at his wilderness, how his demeanor changes, going wild completely when his carnal instincts take over. Your cunt tightens, aching at the thought of how Din is going to use you, taking you like an insatiable animal, infatuated with your soft and fertile body, ready for him.

“Let me see you, princess,” he teases, his fingers tracing a rhythm over your soaking cunt, applying just enough pressure to drive you wild, teasing with a feather-like touch. You try to press your thighs together, searching for pressure and friction to cool the flames burning in the pit of your belly.

“Poor girl,” he coos, mocking you. “How long have you been like this?”

Drawing a shaky breath, you attempt to answer, trying to steady yourself as you realize your limbs and knees tremble at even his slightest touch. Without warning, his thick fingers dip lower, slick with your arousal, slipping into your swollen entrance. You gasp at the sensation, at how tight and hot you feel around his fingers.

“I know, I know, baby,” he murmurs, trying to settle you down. “Just relax,” as he pumps his fingers into your tight cunt. Settling his body over yours like a warm, shining star, he presses and cages you beneath him. He whispers against your neck, “You’re tight, so tight, cyar'ika. It’s gonna feel so good to fuck you.”

You feel your climax building like a wave, rising in your bones, your heart, and every inch of your body, pulsing wildly and brutally. Din, feeling how your walls flutter around his fingers, keeps his rhythm steady, knowing well that his words alone are enough to push you over the edge.

“Don’t hold back, mesh’la,” he says, his voice low and coaxing against your skin. “Show me how you cum for me.”

A faint moan escapes your lips as your entire body tightens beneath him. Your cunt heats and clenches around his fingers, squeezing them like a vise, as you try to put into words how good it feels, though your voice barely obeys your input.

“Yeah,” he assures, his slick fingers out of you, holding you steady and tight while your whole body twitches with delight and pleasure. “Just like that, baby, give it to me.”

“Good girl,” he praises you, nibbling and kissing the nape of your neck, relishing you. Then, he lifts his body off of yours and finds his balance. You can feel his hardened cock pressing against your cunt, his flight suit doing little to hide how hard he is.

“You want me, don’t you?” he asks, his hands roaming over your ass and thighs, stealing your last words, your last pleas before he fucks you senseless, hard. “You want me to fuck you until you scream my name, do you?” Knowing the truth in his words, all you can do is nod in helpless surrender. As he utters the final sentence, you nod and plead, baring the raw, undeniable truth burning within you. “You want to give your king an heir, right?”

“Please, Din,” you beg, “yes, please.” You hear the sound of his zipper being undone, followed by his deep, throaty voice: “Then I’ll give my beautiful wife what she wants.”

He runs his heavy, hard cock through your swollen, wet folds, slicking himself with your arousal. You bite your lip at the sensation of his thick cock gliding over you. When he gently presses and pushes his throbbing tip against your swollen entrance, both of you let out moans. “You feel so—so good,” he stammers, holding himself back from pushing in too quickly, fearing he might hurt you. When he’s to the hilt, he pauses, letting you adjust to his girth, then gently begins rocking into you.

At first, he moves slowly, savoring each moment as he drives you wild and listens to your keening cries for him. Yet he can’t resist the allure of the sweet moans and pleas spilling from your lips. He quickens his pace, his thrusts becoming harder, each one accompanied by the sound of vulgar moans and the sound of skin slapping against damp skin.

With a fistful of your hair in his grasp, he yanks you roughly, pulling you closer to his beskar cuirass, forcing you into a small bow under his control as he fucks you deeper. He leans to whisper in your ear, “You’re mine. All mine,” before giving you a bite on your ear, his breath ragged.

And all you can do is whimper, your body responding, walls tightening around his cock, obeying his words.

“You’ll be so full—so full of me,” he pants, voice breaking. “I’m gonna spill and fuck it deeper, mesh’la.” His beskar-clad hips slap against yours, the armor chafing your skin.

“Fuck—fuck yes, Din,” you slur through your moans, mind hazy, cock-drunk, and dizzy with desire.

“Yeah?” he breathes. “Does it feel good?”

“Yes—” you gasp as your walls clench tightly around his girth, the heat of your orgasm beginning to pool low in your belly. “You feel so good. You make me feel so good—”

Stars above—you hear Din panting, his breath coming in ragged bursts as his thrusts grow harsher, hitting that sweet, spongy spot inside you, pushing you closer to the edge. He’s desperate now, knowing he’s close, too close.

“…Oh fuck, baby, stop clenching, or I’m not going to last—” he pleads, his voice strained, unable to handle how good you feel around him—wet, hot, pulsing, driving him closer to his climax.

“Then don’t,” you tease, your voice shaky just moments before your legs begin to tremble. The crescendo of your orgasm builds, tightening and pulsing within your walls, ready to crash over you.

You cum again on his cock, a low, wanton moan slipping out of your lips as your eyes roll back and your back arches. Your cunt floods and pulses painfully, desperate to milk him of every last drop.

Din follows moments after your crescendo, thrusting a few more times into your tight cunt before filling you up. He curses under his breath, barely conscious, lost in the haze of the moment. You feel him throb and pulse within you, spilling his seed. His hips slap against yours one last time, fucking his thick cum deeper, keeping it there—where your fertile womb lies.

The seeds of the one thing you’ve wished for the most have been sown, and perhaps from now on, they will be sown again and again until they finally start to blossom in the soil.

The two of you stay like that for a while, breathless, trembling, content. Din is still inside you, savoring your warmth, his body on yours, bodies entwined and souls intertwined. He caresses your tender body and praises, “You were wonderful—so wonderful,” planting soft kisses on the back of your head. Then a muffled I love you, follows his words, though his voice cracks toward the end, sometimes at a loss for expressing his devotion for you.

And at last, you find the courage to part from each other’s warmth, knowing you must find your way back to the bedroom before falling asleep in the council chamber. He gently detaches himself from you, making you gasp at the sensation, and he holds you steady as your legs wobble slightly from the intensity of your climax. He guides you carefully to sit on his lap once more, cradling and draping his embroidered cloak over your bare body, covering you. He brushes and fixes your tousled hair while you try to smooth his own mussed attire. Yet, the events that just took place between you are undeniable and raw—like the essence of humanity itself; they cannot be concealed or fixed.

You rest against him for a while before your eyes flutter closed, laden with the sweet fatigue of pleasure. He lifts you effortlessly into his arms, ready to leave the room, his lips brushing gently against your forehead. The warmth and sense of security in his embrace envelop you, and you teeter on the edge of surrendering to the embrace of sleep. “Sleep, cyar’ika,” he murmurs, his voice nothing but a soft whisper, “I am here, and as long as I’m with you, there’s nothing to fear. I promise."

*taps the microphone*

IN CONCLUSION, WE'RE MAKIN BABIES!!!!

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Mando'a Translations

ad'ike - little one, son, daughter, of any age (plural)

Kri’gee - a Mandalorian ale with light, bitter taste, sold in bottles by the Mandalorians.

ner Mand’alor - my king

Mesh’la - beautiful

Kriff - a vulgar expletive used as ‘damn’

Riduur - husband, wife, spouse