#and i had to make one for mando just so i could include it here

[dindjarindiaries]

What Sits in the Silence

summary: Your bounty-hunting rival turns to you in his time of need and brings along more baggage than you planned on handling.

pairing: din djarin (the mandalorian) x reader

includes: enemies to lovers, injuries, hurt/comfort, angst, fluff

rating: T

word count: 4.469k

main masterlist • din djarin masterlist

Stay in one place for too long and a new threat will be just around the corner. No one has to be a hunter for long to figure that out. Yet this past job’s given you no such regard for the unspoken golden rule. The jungles of the treacherous planet that you trekked through for at least two days and nights on your latest job left you hungering for warmth and comfort the hull of your ship isn’t well-known for. That had only made the inn that sits on the outskirts of the planet’s urban sector even more alluring.

The warm, artificial fire radiating from the room’s small hearth has already swept a wave of peace through you. Luxury is costly for any hunter, especially those who wish to stay under the radar, but this is a pretty damn good deal. It’s another job done, more credits in your pocket, and a night of rest to recharge for the next one. The only thing you need to keep quiet is your own mind, something you’ve already been doing for many years in this troubled galaxy.

Then, there’s three solid knocks on the door.

You tense and turn your head over your shoulder. Your hand’s already on your blaster as your survival instincts go to work, any sense of peace now lost just as swiftly as it was gained. A true threat wouldn’t have knocked; no, their presence would’ve wanted to go unnoticed. But more than one threat, a team with one looking to distract and the other to attack. . . it could be more than likely. So much for a relaxing night.

Three more knocks. You stand up from the chair in front of the hearth and thank the stars when it makes no sound. Your blaster is lifted in the ready position as you make your way to the door, not so much fearful as anticipatory. Once you’re in front of the door, you take a deep breath and finalize the plan within your mind. You’ve done this plenty of times before.

But when you open the door, it’s not a threat that awaits you. It’s a nuisance.

“Mando?” You huff and lower your blaster. “What the hell are you doing here?”

Your rival sways on his feet for a moment and catches himself with one hand on the open threshold. Mando attempts to stand up straighter and instead releases a terse sound of pain, something between a grunt and a growl. You give him a once-over and notice his other gloved hand grasping his side, a deep scarlet now painting his orange fingertips. He shakes his helmet, weary. “I . . . didn’t know where else to go.”

You holster your blaster, the idea of a threat now vanished. With so many questions running through your mind, only one can make it to the surface. “What happened to you?”

Mando tightens his fist on the threshold. He tilts his helmet and attempts a chuckle. “Long story.”

You sigh and look around before you gesture with your head to the room behind you. “I’ve got time.”

Mando waits for you to step aside before he stumbles into the room. You secure the door closed and guide him to the chair in front of the hearth. He all but collapses into it, thanking you between a few heavy breaths of pain.

“I would say this is another scheme of yours to slow me down,” you say while you retrieve your medpac from your overnight bag, “but the blood looks pretty real.”

Mando holds his wound with both hands and looks down at it. “It feels pretty real.”

You kneel beside the chair and help him get to work. “How’d you even find me?”

“We’re hunters.” Mando remains unfazed as he removes his cuirass. “I know you’ve found a way to track me down before.” His visor finds your gaze. “Let’s not play coy.”

You hold back a snarl when your face starts to burn hot. “Do you want me to help you, or do you want me to kick your ass? Because that’s what you deserve for disturbing my peace.”

Mando huffs and continues to remove his armor. You take each piece and set it aside on the floor. “I’m sorry for . . .” a grunt of pain as he starts to free his arms from his flight suit, “intruding on your evening.”

Your anger attempts to outweigh your observation of the Mandalorian hunter’s scarred skin with your rebuttal. “The least you owe me is an explanation.” Mando gets the top half of his flight suit lowered to his waist and, in doing so, exposes the fiery-red wound in his side. “I thought you were somewhat decent at your job.”

“This wasn’t work related.” Mando’s all business as the two of you exchange medical supplies to tend to his wound, as if he isn’t appearing the most human he ever has in front of you. You set your jaw in irritation. “It was a personal matter.”

You raise an eyebrow. “One that happened to be exactly where I am?”

Mando exhales and shifts in the chair, reaching for something on his belt. He lifts his gloved hand and reveals a cauterizer.

Before he can go on, you grab his wrist and stop him. Mando tilts his helmet as you scoff. “You’re gonna cauterize it? Are you insane?”

Mando gestures to the plethora of both long and small scars on his upper half. “That’s what I’ve always done. It’s fast and effective.”

“Well, I’m not letting you do that.” Your free hand takes a hold of your bacta spray. “You’re gonna make the whole room smell like burnt flesh.”

You let Mando’s wrist go. He holds his hand closer to himself, his grasp on the cauterizer fidgeting. “I’ve never used that before.” His helmet nods towards the bacta spray.

“I’ll take care of it.” You lift the spray and point at the cauterizer. “Just put that thing away.” Mando obeys, setting the cauterizer back on his belt and gripping his armored thighs with his blood-stained gloves. You adjust your grip on the bacta and sigh. “Now, tell me this ‘long story’ of yours.”

Mando wastes no time complying with your order. “I was finishing my last job when I got into a run-in with another hunter. I’ve seen him at Karga’s before, but I—.”

Mando stops himself when you start to spray his wound. He growls in pain and grasps your wrist before uttering a tight-lipped curse.

“Shit.” All it takes is a moment for him to recover and retract his hand. “Sorry.” He takes a deep breath while you finish with the spray and start to bandage the wound. “I . . . don’t know the name. He insisted he was there to recruit me for some side-job to remove some of the competition.”

You stop your work, your fingers lingering on Mando’s bandage as you process his words. “What competition?”

��I got here as fast as I could, once I realized where they were headed.”

You frown and pull your hands back towards yourself. Your body starts to lean away from Mando’s. “So, this is a setup.”

“No.” Mando’s response comes out quick and almost breathless. He sits up and raises both his hands towards you in surrender, wincing as the motion tugs at his wound.  “No. I got to them first.” One of his hands gestures to his bandage. “There were more than I expected.”

Your heart somersaults in your chest before it soars into your throat. “You . . . fought them all? By yourself?” Mando nods, dutiful. Your brow furrows. “Why?”

Mando offers a shrug. “You don’t become the best in the parsec by killing your competition.”

The pang of disappointment his words bring is foreign. You circle your jaw in a lame attempt to dismiss it. “I have to give it to you, Mando.” You start to clean the rest of the area around his bandaged wound. “You’ve always been honorable.”

Mando’s visor falls to his gloved hands, which have since started fumbling with each other. His voice is quiet when he speaks. “This is the Way.”

“So, was it the free medical supplies that brought you here?” You set down the cleaning supplies and exchange them for a final layer of gauze. Your hand gives it a shake before you apply it.

Mando’s fingers freeze, the muscles on his upper half tensing. “What do you mean?”

“You said you didn’t know where else to go when you got here.” Your fingertips circle the bandaged area on his side. “You just knew you needed to get this fixed up, and I was nearby.” You give him a nod and put the medpac back together. “Right?”

“No.”

You stop what you’re doing, turning your head towards Mando. His hands knead his thighs and his visor looks away from you.

“I… wanted to make sure you were okay.” His helmet turns back to you and nods. “In case I missed one of them.”

You part your lips, dumbfounded. “Oh.” You look at the medpac and blink a few times in succession. “Well,” a half-hearted chuckle, “smart thinking. I owe you a favor, now.”

“Not really.” Mando waves a hand over his bandages. “Looks like there was some truth to your medical supplies idea.”

You scoff and raise your brow. “Yeah. You saved my life and I sprayed you with some bacta.” You pick up the medpac and stand on your feet. “Sounds like a fair trade-off to me.”

Mando continues his argument even as you walk away from him. “Bacta’s hard to come by these days.”

“You been to a marketplace recently, Mando?” You exchange the medpac for your canteen before you make your way over to him again. “You can find bacta practically anywhere.” You hold the canteen out for him to take.

Mando’s gloved hand rises slowly to accept your offer. His voice is low when he responds. “Only with Imperial credits.”

You turn your head to give him the necessary privacy to drink. “Credits are credits.” You cross your arms and flutter your fingers in curiosity. “You got something against Imperials?”

Silence sits between the two of you for a long moment. The water swishing against the canteen is the only sound as Mando takes a drink. “Personal preference.” He takes a deep breath, grunting as the motion tugs on his healing wound. “Thanks for the drink.”

You turn back to face him and take the canteen from his hand. “Sure,” you nod.

Mando struggles to slide his upper half back into his flight suit. “Well, I’m going to head back to my ship.” He stops for a moment to glance at you. “I still owe you one.”

Your eyes widen at him in disbelief. “You’re going right now?”

Mando slows his actions in confusion. “Why wouldn’t I?”

You release a mirthless chuckle. “Because it’s nighttime on an unknown planet and you have a gash on your side.” Before Mando can argue, you gesture to the site of his wound. “You’ve already gotten your ass kicked once today.”

Mando stops and tilts his helmet. “Your concern is touching, truly.” Your face starts to burn despite the sarcasm that drips from his words. “But I’ll be fine.”

You set your hands on your hips with an annoyed sigh. “You looked ready to pass out in my doorway, Mando.” Your gaze falls from his visor as you go on. “Plus, I . . . never got to repay you for Madurs.” Mando’s helmet straightens at that. You inhale to gain the faith to go on. “So, please, just humor me this one time.”

Mando’s chest rises and falls in careful consideration. “Fine.” He piles up his armor more neatly on the floor. “I never thought you’d be this nice to me.” He huffs to himself. “Or anyone, for that matter.”

You head back towards the bed. “Don’t get used to it.” You distract yourself by setting your weapons on the bedside shelf closest to you. “This is a one-time thing.”

Mando stands and half-walks, half-limps over to you. “Aren’t I lucky?” He stops and gestures to a blanket that’s folded on the edge of the bed. “Can I use this?”

You lift a quizzical brow. “For what?”

Mando points at the open floor behind him. “For resting.”

“You’re not sleeping on the floor with a gash on your side.”

Mando shifts his weight to one leg, his helmet tilting. “You’re actually worried about me.”

You look away from him and shrug. “‘You don’t become the best in the parsec by killing your competition.’ That’s what you said, isn’t it?”

Mando sighs, tightening his gloved hands into fists before he nods. “All right.” He gestures to the bed. “That means . . .”

“We’re adults.” You circle your jaw with an amused raise of your brow. “We can handle it.” You give him an unimpressed once-over. “At least, I know I can.”

Mando scoffs and walks around the other side of the bed. He sits on the edge of it and pauses, the back of his helmet facing you as he speaks. “Despite what your motives might be, I’m . . . very grateful for your help.” He turns his helmet over his shoulder. “Thank you. Truly.”

You nod at him and ignore the warmth that spreads like wildfire throughout you. “Don’t worry about it, Mando.” You deactivate the artificial fire with the device on your bedside shelf and turn off the light at your side.

Mando does the same alongside you. As he’s about to turn off his light, he pauses, his hesitation clear in the breath that hitches in his throat. His voice is low when he speaks. “It’s Din.”

You move your head on your pillow to look at him with bewilderment. His visor doesn’t meet your gaze, instead continuing to study the light his gloved hand is just inches away from touching.

“Din Djarin.”

There’s nothing you hate more than the way your heart’s started to race at his words. You offer a simple nod and quietly clear your throat before you turn on your side away from him. “Well . . . don't worry about it, Din.” He turns off the light and you screw your eyes shut. “Goodnight.”

Din’s response comes after a long pause, his tone only partially sardonic. “Sweet dreams.”

You have to hold back a scoff at his words. Dreams are a far fetch for your mind that’s now working overtime, despite the tempting darkness of the room and the comfort of the bed that’s certainly more luxurious than the rack on your ship. You’re aware of how dangerously close your rival is.

He hasn’t been that close since Madurs. You both had tracked a quarry to the ice moon, but once the storm had hit, the bounty didn’t matter. You were much too far from the main city and the only thing the two of you could do was hide inside a cave. The cold was so intense that you were teetering on the edge of consciousness for what felt like hours, and despite the fact his armor was completely frozen over, Din had held you close for whatever warmth he could provide.

The feeling of his touch still lingers, many standard months later.

It burns as much now as it had back then. Din had even gone to the lengths of half-carrying you back to your ship and making sure it was started up for you. It would’ve been so easy for him to leave you on your own to fend for yourself. But despite your rivalry, despite all the bickering, the injuries, the violence . . . Din had been there for you in your greatest time of need. And here he is at your side, having saved your life once again in a way that almost risked his own.

You exhale and flip onto your back. Of course it had to be him. You almost wish it was someone you could’ve taken out with your blaster instead. Then, you could’ve enjoyed the warmth of this room, and the comfort of the bed, and the peacefulness of being still and secure . . .

“You can’t sleep.” Din’s voice nearly makes you jump as you instead turn your head on your pillow to look at him. You strain your eyes to make out the edges of his helmet.

You huff. “Neither can you.”

Din shrugs, the motion visible. “I have a gash on my side. What’s your excuse?”

You take a deep breath and consider your response. If you don’t get the truth out, you’ll never be able to sleep, and you’ll be damned if you let him take a night of comfort away from you. “Madurs.”

Din’s helmet moves on his own pillow so that his visor’s now facing you. You don’t have to see it to feel the heat of his gaze. His voice is low and cautious. “We vowed to never speak of that again.”

“I heard what you called me that day.” You’re crossing into dangerous territory and you could care less. Freeing yourself from this torment is all you can focus on. “It wasn’t Basic. It was Mando’a. Cyar’ika.”

Din sits up on one of his elbows, grunting at the movement. “You don’t know Mando’a.”

You smile with amusement at his defensiveness. “You’re right, I don’t.” Your expression remains smug as you sit up and fold your hands in your lap. “So, I looked it up.”

Din freezes, his entire body going still. You don’t need a light source to notice that. His muscles are so tense you can sense it upon the material of the bed.

“You knew I wouldn’t understand it, yet you still said it. That means you meant it.”

Din continues to remain where he is. He doesn’t make so much as a single sound. Your chest flares with frustration at his silence and your amused smirk turns into a sour grimace.

“That’s why I hate you.” Your tongue becomes a flaming blade as you go on, freeing the fire from within you. “I hate you because you’re so damn hard to push away. I hate that you’re kind, and honorable, and selfless, and . . . stars, I hate that I could go on and on. I absolutely hate the fact that I was so worried when you showed up, and I . . .” you compose yourself with a shallow breath, “I hate that I can’t stop thinking about what might happen to you when you leave here by yourself.”

Din finally starts to move, his hands pushing himself just a bit closer to you.

“And now, you’ve told me your name—have you told that to anyone?—and you almost gave your life for mine, and . . . I hate you for that.” You look up at the ceiling and curse underneath your breath at the tears that threaten to blur your vision. “I hate you.”

Din’s now in easy reach, his helmet tilted at you. He remains silent.

“Of course, it had to be you.” You release a mirthless chuckle and shake your head. “It always had to be you.” You look at him and set your jaw. “I hate you for that.”

Every move Din makes is careful and cautious as he dares to lift a gloved hand toward you. You don’t flinch, instead remaining still as he brings his hand to your cheek and brushes away a tear that’s managed to escape. “Cyar’ika…”

“Don’t.” You grab his wrist and pull his hand away from your face, though you don’t release his hand. Instead, you hold it within your own, staring at it and circling your jaw. Your voice is much quieter than before. “I don’t want another person to lose.”

Din’s visor falls to your hands as he takes a deep breath. “I understand.” You lift your head and furrow your brow at him. His hand fidgets with your own before he goes on. “I’ve . . . lost many people in my life.” His modulated voice is strained in a way you’ve never heard before. “It’s easier to push people away now than it is to keep them close.”

You nod and run your thumb over the blue triangle on the back of his glove. “It is.”

Din hesitates, a breath catching in his throat. “What changed your mind?” You tilt your head, seeking clarity. “About me?” He waits a beat, and at your silence, he goes on. “Madurs?”

“It didn’t change my mind.” You swallow the lump in your throat and ignore the urge that screams at you to guard your heart. “It opened my eyes.”

Din’s visor meets your gaze with his helmet straightened in severity.

“You could’ve let me die there. It wouldn’t have been your fault. Instead, even after every vile thing I’ve ever said and done to you, you made sure I not only survived but also got away safely. I didn’t understand why at first.” You exhale and look away from him. “But, now . . .”

The two of you sit in the silence for a long moment. It’s suspended in time, a shared thought no one dares to speak on. Your hearts sit between your hands as vulnerable as ever, and you’re afraid that if you tighten your grip, you’ll risk a pain worse than any wound’s ever provided.

Din doesn’t let you go, but he gives you the choice.

“I can leave.” His words are uttered in a low tone of genuine care. “I can make it easy for you. I’d make sure you’d never have to see me again.”

The thought alone makes tears spring to your eyes again. You shake your head and tighten your jaw, cursing to yourself for letting emotions get the best of you.

“Or,” Din continues, adding another one of his hands on top of yours, “I . . . can hold you like I did on Madurs, and you can make your decision in the morning.”

You study him the best you can in the darkness of the room. The beskar barrier doesn’t hide the honesty that oozes in his every word and action. This isn’t the armored man you’ve shared banter with ever since you both started going head-to-head within the Nevarro Guild. No, this is the man that’s kept himself hidden underneath his armor, willingly peeling it away for only you to see. This is the man you’ve both tried to avoid and haven’t been able to stop thinking of ever since Madurs.

His armor was physically compromised once today on your behalf, and now, he’s doing the very same in an emotional way.

The choice is clear for you. You nod and separate your hand from his only to move closer to him, just as he’d done to you before. You ease yourself down on the pillows as Din mirrors the movement, though this time, you turn yourself towards him. With one gentle and cautious arm secured over your waist, Din lets you rest against his chest, a safe haven you didn’t know you needed until you close your eyes and drown in the very same warmth he’d provided all those months ago.

Needless to say, it’s the best rest you’ve had in a long, long time.

You wake in a different position. You’re faced away from Din, your back nestled against his chest and your hands entwined in front of you. You release a soft breath, content to keep yourself where you are for as long as you can.

But Din takes a hesitant breath of his own and starts to lift his hand from yours.

You tighten your grasp on him and pull your entwined hands against your chest. The action draws you even closer to him, until you can feel the lip of his helmet tucking your head beneath his chin. As unfamiliar as this should be, it’s as fitting as the feeling of his hand entwined with your own. You use your thumb to brush his sleeve down and set your lips upon the skin of his wrist. Din inhales, though his exhale is as sweet as the gentle squeeze his hand gives your own.

When you finally speak, your voice is a delicate whisper. “This wasn’t supposed to happen. You weren’t supposed to do this to me.” Din tenses against you for a moment. “But, now?” You give your head an aimless shake. “Don’t let me lose another person.”

Din relaxes, aside from the additional squeeze he gives your hand. “I won’t. You have my word.”

You smile, a gesture that contains some of your usual smugness. “Good thing I actually trust your word, now.”

Din huffs, an amused sound that’s nearly a chuckle. “You’re not an easy one to convince. Though, I have to say . . .” he pauses and urges you to turn on your side so that you’re now facing him, “I love that you hate me.”

You try to hide the way your smile grows as you lift a hand to run along the curve in his beskar cheek. “And I hate that I love you.”

You earn a full chuckle from Din at that. He shrugs and sets his hand over yours. “Well, I despise that I love you.”

You roll your eyes and firmly set your hand on the side of his helmet. “Must you argue with me about everything?”

Din takes your hand from his helmet and entwines your fingers with his as he rests the metal against your forehead. “Who said we had to give up our rivalry?”

You shake your head and circle your jaw, despite the grin that’s still fighting to spread over your lips. “Maybe, just maybe, let me have this one.”

Din heaves a dramatic breath as he pulls your head underneath his chin, encouraging you to take the same position you had when you first fell asleep. His hand brushes a circle over your back before he nods decisively. “Sure.” His tone becomes thick with amusement. “Just don’t get used to it. This is a one-time thing.”

You audibly sigh. “Seriously?”

Din laughs, a sweet sound that makes a pleasurable shockwave of radiant joy bathe over you like warm sunlight. From the bone-chilling cold of Madurs to the pure warmth you’re immersed in now, Din’s been a constant reminder of the parts of life in this galaxy you never knew you wanted to enjoy. You’re more than content to argue with him over petty things if it means you can hear just one more smile in his voice with a certainty as secure as his hold on you now.

At least this is a luxury that doesn’t cost you a single thing, and that’s as good a deal as any hunter could ever get.

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[grippingbeskar]

unearthed

chapter eight - tested

warnings: canon typical violence, mentions of death, a few heated moments, swearing

a/n: let’s ride let’s ride. sorry for last chapter, i’m trying to build tension as best i can. but, alas, a lady can only be edged so much, so. enjoy this lil hint at what’s to come. also a few people have messaged me, YES WE ARE GOING TO FUCK MANDO OKAY look who you’re talking to. but my God You heathens 🤺 GET BACK 🤺 we must first have our plot before we have our spice. WE MUST 🤺 just trust me okay. i love y’all. I WILL NOT LET YOU STARVE. lots of smut planned for this fic hehehehehehehehehe.

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This planet didn’t even have a name in the system it was crammed in. Just a bunch of numbers based on its jumbled coordinates. That’s how abandoned it was. As soon as you stepped out of the Crests hull, there was just… nothing. As far as you could squint and see, there was just broken-down ships and old junkyards covered in dust. Your arm covers the bright suns from your eyes, and you hear Dins’ heavy steps coming up behind you.

The holo-pad beeping in your hand is the perfect distraction from the quiet that settles between the two of you. You don’t look up when he comes next to you, grinding your teeth to stop from saying something stupid.

“Lead the way.” He says cooly, tucking the baby into his pod and pressing it closed before shutting Grogu safely into the Razor Crest.

“We’re leaving him here?” You ask, still squinting into the horizon. Din nods.

“A planet like this isn’t safe for him.” You feel his eyes on you, then his helmet tilts further to the holo-pad in your hands. “And the location isn’t too far out. We made good time.”

“Thanks to my flying?” You try, the tension following the two of you out of the Crest and hovering in the planet’s heated atmosphere. To your relief, he puffs out a breath a bit quicker than normal— he laughed. Thank the stars.

“Sure.” You smile at his reply, and then look away quickly back to the blinking holo-pad. He was right— it wasn’t too far away, maybe a twenty minute walk from where you’d landed. You’d have to leave the ship behind because the planets surface was too full of debris to land any closer, and it looked like there’d be a bit of climbing to do.

“It says it’s up three elevations. Look.” You hand him the pad, full of grids and flashing numbers displaying the exact coordinates, including levels above and below sea level. According to the increasingly annoying beeping, the closer you got, the higher the droids you were tracking.

Din nods, and continues to follow the blinking in silence. You swallow hard, and will yourself to keep up a steady front, not willing to let a little awkward moment phase your entire trip. You were doing something good— tracking this tech could lead you to your parents killers, and in turn prevent another attack on Mandalore, or your own planet. You needed focus, which is exactly what you didn’t have when you were fucking around and letting Dins hands wander your skin like a kid at a candy store.

It was just… a nice feeling. For a second there, you thought he might have enjoyed it, too. It had been longer than you were willing to admit since someone had touched you like…that. Your body practically sung to him the second he laid a finger on you. He made you feel things that no one, not even ex-partners, had made you feel. He was exciting. Exhilarating. He was the thing you shouldn’t have, but at the same time the thing you wanted the most. It would only complicate things to get… involved with someone like him, especially considering your unique situation.

But then again, it would make perfect sense. You were married to the man. What’s a few stolen touches between business partners, when you were also one day expected to have the man’s children?

As soon as the thought popped into your mind, Din froze, and you had the ridiculous thought that he might be reading your mind.

“It’s says the dump site is up there.” Din gestures to the towering form of a broken down cruiser.

This entire planet seems full of broken parts. Half ships, piles of service droids and random parts litter the ashy red surface, ruble expanding far out along the horizon. There were few planets like this anymore, but with the catastrophic consequences of the Clone Wars, all those remains had to end up somewhere. The Empire stashed them on uninhabited planets until they could figure out what to do with them, but when the New Republic took over, they had bigger fish to fry.

Therefore, now there were ‘junket’ planets, and if you could navigate to them, it was a free-for-all for parts.

You stand in front of what would have been a control cruiser— something used to deploy large squadrons of battle droids, maybe even move AT’s around back in the day. It was massive, even if it was in half. It looked like it had been dumped right on its nose, the giant expanse of it stretching up into the frosted clouds, making you squint again.

Your heart sinks a little at the thought. The entire ship was full of tiny piles of droids and broken down mechanics… and your fathers life work was just lumped in here. Like it meant nothing. All his free time was spend pulling apart these droids and learning them inside out, and now they were just a drop in the ocean of fading memories.

“We’ll have to fly up.” He says, and you laugh until you see him ready the jet pack on his back.

“You can’t be serious.” You dead pan, but he’s better at it. “We can’t just…”

“You see a ladder around here?” You stare back up at the massive cruiser— even if there was a manual way up, it’s a hell of a climb. This thing was huge. “If you don’t want to, I can go myself—“

“No. I want to.” You cut in. He takes a step towards you, and even though you burn with the earlier rejection, you don't move away.

He says nothing, but when he wraps his solid arm around you, he doesn’t need to.

He pulls you close— so close that every part of you presses and aches against him. Instead of looking where he’s supposed to be taking you, the black visor tilts down, and he looks just at you. You think about what he would be like under there. If his eyes would be on yours, or if they’d look lower, to where your skin touches his armour. He must like that, the way you look against him. You… you hope he doesn’t mind it.

“Hold on.” He says lowly, and you ever so slowly wrap your arms around his neck. He dips down to let you reach, and as soon as you have a grip, he takes off.

Your feet leave the ground and suddenly you’re flying— like, really flying, drifting higher and higher along the ruins of the transporter ship. You try not to squeak and fail when he picks up speed and turns slightly, your legs wrapping around him and head burying into his neck. You weren’t afraid— but shit, this was higher than it looked.

“It’s okay.” He soothes, and your head shakes from its sealed position. “Hey, look up.”

“No!” You scream almost in his ear, and he laughs.

“It’s okay… do you trust me?” He asks it so smoothly, as if he wasn’t holding you a hundred meters in the air on nothing but a jet back the size of a baby. But— you do. You do trust him.

So, you look.

By the time you open your eyes, he’s slowing down, dropping the two of you onto a jagged platform that looks like an old control room. In the broken centre, there are several piles of droids stacked and discarded, some still in their full form, others pulled apart. It was clear you weren’t the first ones here.

Din doesn’t let go of you right away. His arm remains tightly wrapped behind the small of your back, and he takes three or four steps away from the edge to pull you further into the wreckage. You can feel every step, every twist of his muscles against you, and your eyes finally look back up to him, watching as he inhales deeply. You feel it too, how hard his chest is against yours, almost like he’s taking you in to his lungs.

Then he quickly lets go, stepping back away from you.

The holo pad beeps wildy, a sound you hadn’t picked up on when Din had been holding you. You manage to look at it, seeing the bright red dots point you somewhere deeper into the cavern of ruins. Din looks at you, then down the darkened hallway, and clearly makes a decision as he takes a few calculated steps in the right direction. You follow close behind, but when you go to reach down into the pile and investigate, a gloved hand catches yours.

“Careful.” He says, and guides your hand back to your side. “There’s all kinds of junk in here. I’ll do it.”

Speechless, you just nod, and watch as he digs with none of the care he guided your hands with. It’s embarrassing how mesmerised you get watching him do just about anything, but you also feel a twinge of guilt at the earlier events.

Who did he think he was, leading you on with that fake ‘pilot lesson’, letting you get all close and personal only to pull away when you made a move? It wasn’t even a move, really. You’d just— grabbed him.

Okay, yeah, maybe it was a move.

But he’d started it. With those longing stares, poetic words and fucking hands— the same hands now yanking on the end of a familiar looking droid. Very familiar.

“Oh, shit. That’s— that’s it!” You say, your eyes wide as the Mandalorian pulls free a dull silver battle droid with red crosses over where it’s ‘eyes’ would be. “That’s the lazer one!”

Din promptly dropped it, angling it’s face away from you and toward him.

You feel your heart soar. A real lead— a tangible piece of your fathers history, however crushed and mangled it was, is really here. You were on the right track. You were on a track! You couldn’t help but sprint faster, mind already firing at a mile a minute.

“Okay— so we’re here. It’s here. Now what?” You say, bending down to look closer at the lifeless droid. It was bent out of shape now, clearly moved with zero care when it was taken from your planet. Or maybe in a rush. “You know anything about the rest of this stuff? Who would have dropped it here?”

Din carefully walks around the edge of the wreckage, keeping his back to you as he examines the rest of the stuff. To your knowledge, it’s all from the years just before the fall of the Empire. A lot of it is unfinished, made in a rush, and he’s right— it would all be extremely temperamental. Your dad used to keep it well away from the main part of the castle, knowing how fast it could turn into a mess.

Just like it did.

“Look at this.” He calls you over, still keeping his back to you and eyes over the top of the wreck. He’s standing a little too close to the edge for your liking, so you take to standing behind him, attempting to peak over his shoulder.

“It’s… a tank.” You say, looking up at him, slightly confused why this would be a noteworthy discovery. There’s crashed ships and tanks all over this planet. “Am I supposed to know what that means?”

“Look behind it. A clear line, nothing for miles. The entire planet is covered in junk— but it’s clear behind it. Enough room for it to turn around and back out.” You… hadn’t put that together, actually. He’s right again. The tank is pretty big, but there’s tracks in the sand, and you can only see them because, conveniently, nothing is in its path. It’s moved. Recently. “They’ve been using it to haul their loot in and out.”

“Who’s they?” Din looks back at you, and you hadn’t realised how close you’d gotten to him. It always seemed to happen like that— an unconscious magnetic force drawing you closer to him when you needed to feel safe. You step back, now that you think about it.

“Those used to be Imperial Assault hover tanks. Before your time.”

“You are not old enough to say ‘before my time’.” He laughs, and you feel drawn closer.

“It looks like the back of them have been cleaned out for storage. The hollow dip at the back—“ He points, shuffling back so your eye-line is in line with his hand. You were tracking him anyways. “None of that would be open. It’s all closed in, full of weapons or extra troopers. They needed at least three to drive the thing— now, it’d only fit the commander. The driver. The only people who know those tanks well enough to cut out the wiring and hollow them out would be—“

“Yeah.” You breathe out. Of course the Empire was involved, but this looked like a far bigger operation than just your fathers old projects. “So, we know the Empire, or a smaller force of what used to be them, is gathering old, experimental technology and tossing it on an abandoned planet. But, we don’t know who’s running that operation, or why.”

Din wraps his arm around your back and pulls you to him again, knocking the wind out of you. Before you can say anything, process the tightness of his body against yours, your feet leave the panel and you’re airborne again.

“Shit—“ You nearly shout, words muffled into the crook of Dins neck, and you feel him laugh as you bury your face further into the warmth of him. He doesn’t take off particularly fast, and you are pretty sure he’s flying you back down at half the pace he took you up, but your stomach still drops, and your arms pull his head so close your surprised he can see where he’s going. “Warning next time, please.”

“It’s better this way.” He says, the smile in his voice trilling through you, the slow descent nearing a close. As much as you aren’t a fan of flying in the air like this, having him this close is something you’d sacrifice pretty much anything for. “Stop thinking about it.”

“The jetpack is tiny. I don’t know how it holds you up, let alone me.” His other arm wraps around you now, fingers splayed along your ribcage, pressing hard against your skin.

“It’s okay. You’re fine. I promise.” It’s strange, how his words manage to calm you so easily, even with the tension between you.

Before you know it, there’s sand under your feet, and Din is stepping away again.

“We’ll move the ship up, find a place to stake out here for the night. The tracks were fresh, so they probably make regular rounds. If we stay hidden, we should have them by the time the sun rises.” Your eyes widen.

“Have them?”

“You’ll stay on the ship, and I’ll bring them in.” You roll your eyes, walking behind him as you both head back towards the ship. “We need to be quiet, in and out before the notice us. I’ll pick someone off for questioning.”

“I’m not helpless. I can come with you.”

“I didn’t say you were. But you’re staying in the ship anyways.” He slows his pace so you can catch up, his large frame brushing against your arm with every step. “If I need a quick exit, I’ll call you. You’ll have to fly to me.”

You burst out in a short, truncated laugh. You. Fly the Razor Crest. Unattended. In an emergency situation.

“That is hilarious. When they said Mandalorians’ don’t joke, Your voice flattens, and he… wait. He isn’t kidding. “Din. You’re joking, right?”

He laughs when you shove him, still staring straight out towards the horizon. This feels better— this is… better.

You berate him all the way back to the ship, and he keeps laughing.

She was ethereal, almost. Din had seen a thousand skies, watched a million suns set on planets that never etched into his mind— but this was memorable. He would remember this until the end of his days.

You, face nearly pressed to the cold glass of the Crest, watching in wonder as the fourteen suns all set in a simultaneous, almost domino effect behind the horizon. Din admitted it was a sight to watch, but if he were anywhere else, if he were with anyone else who didn’t capture his attention so fully like you did, he doubted he would have noticed.

You haven’t turned back to him in a while. Not since you walked quietly through the hatch, settling yourself pointedly into the co pilots chair. He doesn’t know why you doubt your ability— he hardly had to help you fly through one of the most complicated asteroid belts in the galaxy. You could fly to him with your eyes closed.

He trusts you.

He finds himself waiting for it. Waiting for you to turn back around, focus your steeled eyes on him and smile or make fun of him. He hangs on every word— only managing to hide the way you wrap him in conversation because he was hidden from you. He nearly wishes he wasn’t— that he was more transparent. Maybe then he wouldn’t send so many of the wrong signals.

The truth was he wanted you. He let some other part of him take over during the flight here— spending so much time caring for you, locked away in closed rooms, watching you take slow, shallow breaths, unsure if you’d wake up or not. It did something to him. And then, your hand in his, driving his ship through open space… there was something old and nearly primal in that feeling in his chest. That all of the rest of this was his— and that you could be.

If you could see his face, you’d know.

Instead, you looked crushed when he pulled away. He knew what you’d said before— that you wanted this to be business. You probably had someone waiting for you back home, someone kind and warm, someone who could share moments like this morning with you and not have to pull away. Someone who could kiss you when they wanted, show you how bad they needed you whenever they wanted.

Most of all, someone else could have you tied to them in a way you chose— not by some contract.

Still, it always comes back to your eyes. That look you got, how disappointed you were when he pulled away. It gave him a horrible feeling in his gut, but also hope. There was a spark there, and he couldn’t stifle it any longer.

If you gave him the chance, he was going to let it burn him to the ground.

“Hey.” Din calls to you, voice as soft as melted butter. “We should get set up. It’ll be a long night.”

Your eyes draw away from the fading blasts of orange across the sky, settling on his ink black visor. Sometimes, if he stood in direct sunlight like right now, and he looked up just a little, you swore you could see his eyes. Maybe just an outline, but there was something under there. Maybe it was bad to try and look, but you couldn’t help it. There was a flutter of eyelashes, a glint of the whites of his eyes. One time you think he was smiling, because you swore the hardly-there outline crinkled together.

You, instead of sharing any of these findings, just nod and follow him. When he turns, the light goes with him, and it’s nearly pitch black in the locked down Crest. The baby is hidden away, tucked tightly into his crib after a long day of wandering around and stuffing his face, and now that the Crest is hidden behind a large pile of garbage, it gives you the perfect vantage point on the tank. If it so much as creaks, you and Din will have eyes on it.

When the two of you go back upstairs to the cockpit, Din locks the doors behind you.

“So, who’s taking the first shift?” You hang your legs over the armrest and lean your back against the other side of the chair. “I vote me. I think I’ve slept more in the past two days than I have since I was coronated.”

“We both should stay awake. You watch the south.” He nods to the far side of where the Crest is parked. It’s dark, and you have to lean forward to make out the shapes. If anything moves, hopefully the calm of the sandy surface will be disturbed and make it obvious. “Okay?”

“Sounds good.” You reply, and shift in your seat. For the first time since you’ve met him, the silence is somewhat unpleasant. What happened only a few hours before— that short but intense moment of… intimacy? Something like that. Whatever it was, it still hangs in the air, draping heavily over your shoulders making you want to sink into the floor.

The hum of the ship ceases, and holy stars— it’s so silent. He was quiet by design, by trade, but you were used to filling the gaps. Finding topics that even the advisors and rulers you were least interested in could chat about, but filling this silence right now with Din? You have nothing. Nothing. Maybe you should of taken those talking points Correll offered you before you left—

Being honest with yourself, you could have all the talking points in the world and you’d still only want to ask him one thing.

“Can I ask you a question?” You blurt out, and he turns to you slowly, nodding and then return to watching his side of the planet. “What was that? This morning?”

“What was… what.” His voice is so calculated and calm. It’s… fuck, it’s hot. You shouldn’t think about it at all— but you analysed every word out of his mouth.

“That whole thing. Was that— I know we’ve been stuck together for while, and maybe we’re getting stir crazy or whatever. Was it just a… blip?”

“A blip?”

“Yeah. Like— when you lock two people in a storage closet, somethings bound to happen if they’re stuck there long enough.” Your heart was in your throat, and this was probably the most uncomfortable moment you’ve had in your entire life. Ever. “I know a lot has happened in the past few weeks, and you saved my life, and we’re on this really important trip right now— it’s a lot. I just… I’ve never been good at leaving things how they are—“

“I can tell.”

“And I don’t want anything uncomfortable between us. We’re partners. Good ones. I don’t want to mess that up.” He’s now staring at you, the steady rise and fall of the beskar across his chest giving you nothing. You finally manage to stop rambling when you watch his hands tighten around the armrests. The leather strains under the pull.

“You were uncomfortable?” Your eyes go wide, and a scoff-like laugh bubbles out before you can stop it.

“No. Stars, no, I wasn’t saying that—“ Okay, you tell yourself. Dial it back. “I just know that you are… you know, you. And you don’t want— that. And we’re married, but we aren’t. Married. Really. Plus the whole ‘only business!’ thing we— I said. Well, I said it, but you— you kind of agreed but then there was the whole ‘oh, let me teach you to fly’ as if that wasn’t some kind of move—“

“Hey. It’s okay.” He manages to get in between your insufferable rambling. You were clambering to try and get a lid on your fucking mouth but all it took was three words from him and your mind went blank. Fuzzy, even. “You look like you’re going to be sick.”

“What? No. I’m not—“ You swallow hard. Twelve years of training as a Queen, and you’re fumbling the minute he looks at you different. Fucking perfect. “You’re just… a lot to handle right now. And it’s late and I’m confused and a little terrified that I’m actually going to have to fly this ship without guidance and crash, stranding us on an abandoned planet no one knows about.”

You look back out to the completely silent planet, and suddenly have the urge to stand up. You get as close to the glass as possible, no longer able to bear the thought of looking at him.

“What are you trying to say?” He tries, the modulator making you shiver at the low, rough tone.

“I’m saying you’re hard to read. I thought I had it down, had you figured out but it’s… more confusing than I thought.” Words are less rambled— you’re more put together when you aren’t staring at him. Yeah, he definitely makes your brain fuzzy.

“I think you have me figured out.” Dins’ boots are loud as they take two steps, telling you he’s stood up. The cockpit is small, and two more will mean he’d be right behind you.

You keep staring out at the desolate planet, ignoring his looming figure over your shoulder.

You laugh dryly at his comment. “You think?”

“I do.” Your eyes shut for a moment, eyelashes fluttering.

“How do you figure that?” You’re out of breath, tired from everything that’s happened today and your rambling outburst, but then he does something that wakes up everything in your body.

You feel his hand, just the tips of his gloved fingers, graze along the back of your forearm.

“You read right through me. I wouldn’t let just anyone bang up my ship like that.” You let out a soft laugh.

“That’s your move, huh? Nearly killing us in the middle of nowhere?” The ship is so quiet, his soft little ‘mhmm’ nearly lost in the still cockpit. It’s gotten darker, too. The suns fully settled for the night on the opposite side of the planet, shrouding the ship so dark that you can only see the outlines of the little red and green buttons on the control pads. “I guess it worked.”

“Did it?” His fingers on your forearm get bolder, leaving goosebumps where they drift a little higher. “Because it seems like I’ve only made you more confused.”

“We can’t— you said it yourself. This… we can’t afford to be distracted.” Your words are hard, but your tone is so, so unconvincing.

“You’re right.” You go to spin around, but his hand wraps around your arm. You’re so shocked by the move that you freeze. “I said that.”

“Yeah…” The air in your lungs evaporates when his hand loosens and travels higher. His fingers trail up past your shoulder, slowly tracing your outline until he brushes past your collarbone.

“This is a business transaction. We signed a contract.” You nod, and he hooks his fingers into the few locks of hair that hang over your face, tucking them behind your ear. “You said you wanted nothing but that.”

“I…did.” Your eyes flutter shut, and you can hear your own heartbeat in your ears. He brushes past your ear and down, letting it drift through the strands and down the back of your neck.

“Why?”

“It’s better if it’s not— complicated.”

“Yeah?” His voice is impossible to ignore, all soft and pillowy like a velvet blanket. You clear your throat, and he steps just a little bit closer. You’re warm all over, feeling him so close. “Is that what you want now?”

“I…”

“Is it what you want?” His hand is still on you, warm through the layer of leather and your clothes— his clothes. “Or have you changed your mind?”

You suck in a sharp breath when you feel his cold helmet against your shoulder, telling you he’s leant down even further. You try your hardest to keep and eye on your post, but the blackened desert is an impossible target compared to what’s behind you. He lets the edge of his helmet drag lightly over your shoulder, like he’s leaving the kiss of metal in place of his mouth.

“Maybe.”

“Maybe?” You can hear his smile. “You don’t want that anymore?”

“No. I want— complicated.” All in one breath, you blur the lines of your carefully set relationship. Although, the only one who was drawing that line was you.

Your planet. Your rule. That was what was most important to you. It had to be. Out here, all this open space and chasing leads would come to an end, and all this simplicity would stay out here, between the stars. You didn’t have a choice but to shut yourself to the warmth creeping up your back, the soft hand brushing your cheek. You… you had to draw that line.

But a toe across it wouldn’t hurt, right?

A small, tiny step over that stupid line in the sand. Blurring it for a night. That couldn’t hurt anyone. In fact, it might be more painful to turn him away right now.

“Turn around.” He orders softly, and your eyes leave your post as you spin slowly to face him. You tilt your chin up, feeling his fingers catch on your jaw. He lets them slip along the soft skin, as if he’s exploring a part of you he’s never seen before. You wondered how he’d look at the rest of you— if this divine curiosity would follow him all over you. “There you are, cyar’ika.”

It sounds beautiful, whatever that word is, rolling off his tongue in that signature purr he does so well. You smile, letting your lashes flutter under the attention. He lets out a long breath, one that would kiss your cheeks and warm your face if he let it. You have no idea what he has planned for you, but you lean up on your toes and let him do it.

“As pretty as your eyes are, I want you to close them.” You do it so fast it makes him laugh, a soft, nearly gentle sound that breaks the quiet of the ship. “You take orders well— where was that eagerness before?”

“I’m more interested in this.” You say and pout, keeping your eyes shut tightly. He hums, and then moves away.

“Stay like that.” He says, but it sounds… different. Maybe he’s walked too far, but it was almost like his voice was lighter. Not backed with the same kind of cooling confidence he naturally exuded.

Something fell on the ground near you, and you flinched.

“Keep your eyes closed.” He says again, and something else drops. It falls softly, like a piece of material hitting the hull.

“They are closed.” You huff, impatient and a little nervous. What the hell was he doing…

“Good. Keep them like that.” He teases. Your heart manages to calm its rapid beating for a second or two until you hear the unmistakable hiss of a seal being opened.

Leather pulls under the weight of the helmet as he places it down on the chair.

You didn’t have to open your eyes. You could tell— the weight of it, the hiss and sound of his hands against the beskar. You knew he was now standing in front of you, while his helmet was on the pilots seat.

You didn’t so much as breathe.

“I was… I was going to do this on—“ He stutters, thinking for a second. “before. But I think I like you better like this.”

“Sweaty and in the dark?” His soft laugh is unobstructed, and it’s one of your new favourite things.

“The best things for a Mandalorian happen in the dark, cyar’ika.” You’re pretty sure you gasp at the double edged words, your heart skipping several and all too important beats.

“Oh?” You hear him take another step, and your back arches on instinct. “And… what are those things?”

“Let me show you one of them.” You sigh at the sound of his voice. It’s him, but smoother. Warmer. It feels like a gentle brush of warm wind, curving over your chest and settling deep inside of you. When he speaks to you, he only uses the softest murmur, and it makes you weak in the knees.

Then, your face floods with heat as two bare hands take your cheeks in their palms.

His hands were rough. Even through the gloves, you have no doubt they are worn on every day from the relentless hard labour he puts in. The gloves would be more for covering reasons than protection— you think it would actually be easier for him to pull a trigger without them. Maker knows you’ve spent enough time staring at his hands to know their details— every stitch and cross is known to you, but it’s nothing compared to the real thing.

They’re big, too. They match the rest of him, the tips of his fingers gently nudging your hairline as his thumbs drag softly along your slightly agape lower lip. You have no doubt you gasped or sighed when he put his hands on you, but you couldn’t help it. It felt good— better than it should. Just having his hands on you, flesh on flesh, was exhilarating in a whole new way. Feeling him like no one else had… or at least you think no one else had.

It didn’t matter. Nothing else mattered when he touched you. Then, he leant closer, and all hope was lost.

“Is this okay?” He asks, voice hardly above a whisper. His face is so close that his nose bumps against yours, a move that makes you giggle in surprise. You nod rapidly, trying not to wriggle too much and give the impressing that you want him to let go. It’s the last thing you want.

He sucks in a breath, going to say something else, but he must decide against it. Because he leans in then, and your mind fizzles to nothing but the Mandalorian, and the soft, sweet kiss he presses to your lips.

Everything moves in slow motion. The gentle move of his hands threading through your hair, the way he presses just slightly closer, giving you a little more pressure in the kiss. The way he smiles against you when you make a small noise. Everything swirls and flips in your stomach, it’s as if someone has set off a real firework in your stomach.

You take a step in, pressing your body to his. You feel him hard everywhere else— beskar lined along you, and the feeling is comfortable now that his lips are soft and warm and against yours. A reminder of flesh under the steel. You don’t move your hands to his face, afraid to see him that way, and instead settle them on his waist.

You tug on him, his hips stumbling forward after a clumsy step, and then collide with yours. He pulls away for a moment and you nearly whine.

“Din—“

“Mm?”

“Don’t fucking stop now.” You pull him again, and you feel him smile against your mouth.

He takes another step, pressing you between him at the side of the ship as he kisses you again, harder. He’s not as soft— still sweet and gentle but a little more desperate now, the show of hunger making you return it in earnest. He tastes good, so much better than the depths of your imagination could of thought up.

He hooks his hands under your thighs, the small squeak you make muffled into his mouth when you’re suddenly hauled upwards and your legs lock around his waist. It eases the ache in your chest, the closer confines of how he holds you. One arm stays underneath you, effortlessly keeping you suspended while the other holds the back of your neck. He keeps you sealed to him, tongue dancing with your own, and a small groan escapes him at the feeling, sounding low and nearly distant.

You couldn’t think. You couldn’t breathe— he was dissipating the rest of the world from you with nothing but warm bare hands and a talented mouth. You fist your hands in his hair and pull a little, not missing the way the soft strands curl around your fingers. You committed every small part he gave you to memory. His hand somehow felt bigger than they looked, and his hair was… long. And soft. Unfairly soft. You tug on it again, and he smiles a little and nips at your bottom lip.

“Don’t be cruel, cyar’ika.” His mouth trails away, leaving warm, wet kisses along your jaw, teeth trailing behind in a soft drag. For someone with their head in a tin can, he certainly knows what to do with his mouth.

“M’not. Y-you…” Breathless, you listen to him chuckle at the state he’s rendered you to. “You have nice hair. Long. Good to pull.”

“Mm. Really…” Mumbled against your neck, you shiver at the playful tone now drifting warmly over your neck.

You manage a small “Yeah. It’s pretty.”

“You can’t see it.” His nose drags up higher, and as he shifts, the hardness of his armour moves between your legs. You squeeze your eyes shut tighter.

“Shut up, smart-ass.” You grumble and he laughs, but obliges you. It’s slow again, and he licks into your mouth like he’s never tasted something so sweet in his life. He lets out an uninhibited groan, forehead pressing heavily into yours. He moves the arm underneath you, grinding your hips against his armour again, and your eyes roll back underneath your eyelids. “Fuck, Din.”

“You like that, don’t you?” He covers your mouth with his again so you lose your answer. “Sh—shit You’re so soft against me. So perfect.”

You nod as his teeth tug on your lips. “Yeah— yes. Not… not enough, though—“

“I know, I know cyar’ika. Let me—“ He cuts himself off, and with your eyes shut you have no idea what’s happened. It isn’t until he groans and swears under his breath that you know it isn’t good.

“Din?”

“They’re here.” Your back nearly misses the cool press of the side of the ship when Din pulls you off it, taking two or three steps backwards. You yelp in surprise, clinging to him for only a second, and then he leans down and you’re sat in a chair. “Stay.”

“Din—“ You go to stand but he’s too bulky in front of you, pressing a hand to your shoulder, and then he leans forward and kisses you on the forehead.

It’s so stupidly simple, but your heart flutters into a million little butterflies.

“Don’t go alone. Let me come with you.” You whisper into the darkness, your eyes still shut tightly.

“I’ll be fine.”

“I don’t care. Let me go with you.”

“Stay.” He leans forward again, kissing your cheek. “Please.”

You don’t think you’ve ever heard him say that before. It makes your heart stutter in your chest, and your stomach swirl with uncertainty.

“If you don’t come back, I will destroy this ship coming to get you.” Your eyebrows furrow together, and he laughs. This time, the warmth of it graces your cheeks, and it has you arching off the chair to get closer to him.

“I’ll be back with your enemies, my Queen. Before you know it.” You hear the click of his helmet go back on, and the feeling of him kneeling in front of you leaves too fast to register.

By the time you open your eyes, he’s gone, and the only trace of him left behind is the burn his lips left behind on your now too cold skin.

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[furious-blueberry0]

I have to say, I love the idea of the Clones slowly creating their own culture by interacting with their trainers on Kamino, with their Jedi Generals during the war and by just talking with the people they save from the Seppies, instead of just using the Mandalorian culture of Jango.

Don’t get me wrong, I really like when authors integrate Mando things in fanfictions or fanarts, I basically learned Mandalorian by how many fanfictions I read with it in it. 

But at the same time the idea of a Clone unique culture is more appealing, and I really wish fancreators would toy with it more, it has so many possibilities!

Imagine:

A Twi’lek trainer is in charge of a class of cadets, he is an ex-bounty hunter who can’t stand his old job anymore, not after one of his failed assignments killed his son for revenge.

And now he is here, on a secret planet, being tasked to train little perfect child soldiers, who look at him with such wide and curious eyes just like his boy. But his mind is plagued by the sight of his son’s body, and the last conversation he had with him: the meaning of the Kalikori. 

It always felt like a cruel destiny that the last thing he would talk to his son about was the Totem of his family history, where there were also his parents and his wife's deaths depicted on it.

And now his boy too.

It was on the day of his Death Anniversary that he had this conversation again, but with a different boy this time. A cadet had come to search for him, because he was late for the morning lesson, unaware that his trainer had drunk so much that he could barely stand on his feet, let alone teach. 

And it was probably because of his drunken state that he decided to just talk to this boy, identical to all the others, with no real name, that possessed nothing but the clothes on his back, his brothers and the knowledge that was taught to him, knowledge about war and nothing else.

And so he talked to him, and gave him the last lesson he would ever teach on that planet, a lesson not about war but love:

He talked about the Kalikori, about its meaning, how it works and why it is made. 

Every time he indicates a segment he talks about what it represents: his marriage, the birth of his son, his first job as a bounty hunter, the death of his parents, the death of his wife’s parents and so on… until his finger lands on the last one, his son's death. 

“It’s a way to remember your loved ones” he says, looking into the dark and curious eyes of the cadet, so so similar to his eyes.

“so that even if you’re gone, if no one who knew them is still alive, whoever will see this, they’ll know that they must have been special to someone, and that they were loved, like nothing else in this universe. It’s a testament of your love for them, eyan bou. So that they may be remembered until the stars break.”

He was never seen again.

Some say that Jango himself threw him out of the planet after discovering his drinking tendencies, some say he just leaved on his own because he missed his home.

But there is a story of an older cadet who saw him on the platform outside, standing on the limit, looking at the waves below, and the moment the cadet looked away, and then turned back to the trainer… he was nowhere to be seen. 

All his things were thrown away, including the Kalikori, and then a new trainer replaced him just a few days after, and everybody forgot about him.

But not the little cadet, he remembered his last lesson, and so he talked about it to his batchmates, and they talked about it to their friends, and by the time of the start of the war every single clone knew about it, about the testament of love, the one used to make the memory of your loved ones eternal.

After the start of the war this knowledge transformed itself into something new: in the little side pouch of every clone there was now a beaded cord, and on every bead there was a different drawing, sometimes a number, sometimes the initial of a name, or a symbol. 

No cord was ever left behind, there were multiple clones who risked their life or lost it to retrieve it, to bring on the memory of their brothers. Some symbols were familiar to them, and some were not, some were for the soldiers who died by their side, and some were for those who never got out of Kamino, clones that no one cared about and were taught to forget they ever existed, but they just couldn’t.

It was not rare to have cords full of strangers, or to attach your own cord to that of a fallen Vod, or to have more than one bead dedicated to the same clone.

And it was not rare to die surrounded by droids while clutching the cord, and not the blaster, because the presence of those fallen brothers just made them feel safer and more invincible than any weapon they could ever have.

#I JUST THINK IT WOULD BE COOL OKAY! #AND THIS IS JUST ONE RANDOM IDEA GUYS!!! THINK ABOUT THE INFINITE POSSIBILITIES THIS HAS!!! #Also “eyan bou” means “young one” in Twi'leki #I thought it was sweet and decided to include it #I may add more new ideas if I get them #If you have some pls write them!! #I'm so so curious about what others think #star wars #clone wars #clone troopers #star wars clone wars

[furious-rogue-stuff]

♛😔💤 lets spice it up a bit from my usual love for Javi and Javi only 🧐

Well, dear anon, I have finally gotten around to this intriguing gem of a prompt from my previous 300 drabble prompt challenge - just in time for hitting 400 followers 😅 Anyway~

Special thanks to @just-here-for-the-moment​ for reading through this and assuring me it wasn't ridiculous drivel! Your encouragement is my ambrosia, my friend. 

Pairing: Din Djarin x OFC | Mando x Stunner

Rating: Mature/Explicit 🔞

Word Count: 11,000+

🚨Author chooses not to include warnings

Reality

You knew something had stuck with him post-job. Which was odd, since it wasn’t the usual fiasco you’d become accustomed to when it came to this bounty-hunting-by-proxy gig you’d fallen into with him.

No, this job had gone pretty smooth, and you’d even managed to net a decent bounty. So much so that you now had plenty of supplies and plenty of credits for the reserves to take a spell between accepting the next job. You were savvy with stretching out the coffers, and had gotten a great deal for supplies in the market. But while you should feel pleased, you can’t help be curious as you stare musingly out at the hyperlane you’d just made the jump to meld beyond the transparisteel before you.

Whatever it had been, it’d hit him hard. Leaving him withdrawn and taciturn. 

Okay – you couldn’t know for sure because you’d never seen his face, so you were strictly going by the other tells: his posture, the way his pauldron-clad shoulders had slumped minutely, and how even more reticent he’d become. 

But even though you’d only spent a short time with Mando, you had a heightened sense about these things. Still, you hadn’t pried, and returned to your ship with the supplies, and him in tow. A while later, though, you’d come down from the cockpit expecting to find him on that damnable crate he seemed to favor sitting on to polish his weapons and clean his blaster. Instead, his back was to you, and you could make out that he was staring down at something. So, you shifted enough around to feign like you were heading for the kitchenette to pour yourself a fresh cup of caf when really you were glancing at him from the corner of your eye. 

The shiny circular piece of metal looked like the top of a control’s joystick. He was rolling it pensively, strong digits tracing it around while perpetually encased in his well-worn orange-fingered gloves before he dropped it into the black-leather-clad palm of his right hand and tucked it out of sight in his belt when he finally sensed your gaze on him.

He was enigmatic, the Mandalorian. 

You’d found yourself thinking about what could’ve brought him to be on his own, so far out in the Outer Rim, with no ship. But you’d learned long ago to keep your curiosities to yourself. Best to not stir up the resentments or specters that men shackled themselves to, but something about this man had always tugged at your heartstring. Yes, the last solitary heartstring you got, and that you’d decided long ago you couldn’t spare for anyone else. Still, you found yourself feeling drawn to him in this moment, and couldn’t help let that intrepid, wily part of you seek to coax him out of his brooding silence.

Taking a sip of your caf, you loped around him and kicked one of the other supply crates to slide across the polished floor of your somewhat cargo-cluttered hull to park across from him so you could plop down onto it with a sigh and recline forward – propping your elbows onto your knees as you stare directly into his glossy black T-visor to where you think his eyes are.

His posture straightened, and his hands fidgeted to find perch onto his thighs, trying to seem unbothered, but you know better. He’s clearly wary to socialize much with you, no matter how many times you’ve given him signs that you would welcome it. But you’d quickly realized he was guarded, and seemed to be building up his walls all over again. From what? You didn’t know, but you also assumed it wasn’t all due to the strict Mandalorian Creed you’d heard so much about through the galactic grapevine of years loitering in cantinas and spaceports. 

For him? He just wasn’t sure about you.

It’d been a few weeks since he’d gotten dropped off by his ragtag compatriots onto that frigid mining hub on some moon between Bespin and Hoth. He’d declined all offers of joining up with them, and had set off to lose himself for a while. Eventually, when credits were running low, he’d strode into that seedy cantina at the end of the port and asked the barkeep for leads on jobs. All eyes were on him and his chrome-shine beskar, but he was used to it, and when the Weequay pointed him to the back booth around the corner of the bar, Din had made his way around the surreptitious patrons while keeping his gaze sharp and his gait imposing. Most would shift or avert their gazes when the sweep of his black T-visor scanned their direction, and if his height, imposing posture, and deliberate stride weren’t intimidating enough, the spear fixed at the back of his left shoulder and his right hand being not so far from the blaster strapped in the holster at his hip seemed to do the trick.

When a cheer went up in the opposite shadowy corner of the bar he was headed in, he couldn’t help glance over to see what had been the cause of it. That’s when he saw you boisterously grinning at the Trandoshian across from you as he hissed sourly at his losing hand of Sabacc while you fanned your palms across the center of the table to collect your winnings. 

“You cheated!” the reptilian behemoth had sniped, snarling to show you his row of razor-sharp teeth while he stood from his seat and glared balefully at you.

Unbothered by the accusation, you swept the bunch of credits into a leather pouch and stowed it inside your cropped two-toned leather jacket and leaned back in your chair to eye him snidely while the crowd around the table began to scuttle away to be at a much safer range. “Because I won?” you’d countered smoothly and picked up your cup to sip from it.

“Because there’s no way you had that hand! Three winning hands in a row, at that,” the angry Trandoshian hissed and slammed his clawed hands down raucously on the table before his buddies tried to calm him. “No, this little harpy is a cheat!”

“What did you call me?”

The clatter of voices died down at the cold, steely growl of your voice as you narrowed your eyes at the foe and slammed your cup down to slowly stand and challengingly square up at him from across the table to deride crossly, “Who’re you calling a harpy, you overgrown hatchling!”

“Hey! No fighting in here,” the Weequay barkeep shouted from behind the counter and gestured with exasperation as he warned, “You take it outside, or you’ll answer to Quent!”

“You wanna take this outside then, lizard lips?” you sneered tauntingly at the Trandoshian, and he hissed at you, nostrils flaring irately before his buddies yanked at his grubby flight-suit and beseeched him to back off. 

The entire time the impending brawl escalated, Din had watched from his vantage point, oddly intrigued by your moxie. After all, you looked petite enough for him to toss around easily, so a seven-foot Trandoshian could’ve easily made mincemeat out of you – albeit ripped your limbs from you with the ease of plucking the tail from a krill.

He spotted a slim blaster in a holster fastened to your left hip, and from the set of your shoulders he could tell you had a hidden knife strapped just beyond your jacket, and what he guessed to be a modified stunner tucked into the shaft of your shin-high boot. All the trappings of a scrappy and self-sufficient individual making their way through the galaxy, so he’d began to turn away to resume his approach to the back booth where he assumed a shadily-affiliated guild surveyor was waiting for someone like him with several pucks needing clearing when he heard another commotion kick up.

“—Let go, dammit!”

“He warned you, little scamp. No fighting, and no hustling in his establishments—”

“What’re you, slow on the uptake?! We’re not fighting—”

“But you’re hustling after he let you off with a warning.”

Din turns back to see a pale yellow-skinned Twi’lek gripping one of your forearms behind your back while he squeezes your other arm to shake out your jacket’s sleeve, as if trying to dislodge a hidden stash of cards, but nothing comes loose.

You’re fighting him – struggling to shake his hold on you loose while the crowd around the table is hastily shoved aside by goons dressed similarly as the Twi’lek. Security for whoever runs the syndicate around here.

“I want my creditsss!” The Trandoshian is snarling at one of the other men while the Twi’lek wrings your arm to be pinned backwards with the other.

“Get off me, you kriffin’ lunkhead—”

“You’re all out of chances now, little girl—”

“Let her go.”

Everyone pauses to finally notice the broad, tall, shiny-armored Mandalorian appear as if from the shadows to imposingly glare them down from his dark T-visor. You whip to face him and see him for the first time, and the way your eyes appraise him is something Din can’t quite describe, nor does he get a chance to when he directs his covert stare at the man holding you captive.

“Mind your business and step aside!” The Twi’lek shouts, signaling with the tip of his likku-swaying head for his partners to square up against the Mandalorian in their way.

“I’m making it my business,” the Mandalorian ground out smoothly, modulated voice unwavering and deep with promise of violence if they tried him. “Let her go.”

You’d stared at him, confused by him interceding on your behalf at all, but grateful for the distraction, because you were able to swing your head back and reverse-headbutt your captor so the blunt curve of your skull smashed into his nose with a sick crack before the man screamed and let you go to cup his injured face. The melee that ensued was a full-on bar brawl with you scampering about from the bigger, clumsier foes by diving under tables while the Mandalorian pummeled and thrashed Quent’s men in hand-to-hand. He threw jabs that connected with precision, and uppercut body blows that had men folding in on themselves. You were impressed that he’d yet to reach for his blaster, or use the long javelin-looking spear, but then you noticed the goons getting organized in going at him all together. Even then he was holding his own, but it was one on five, though, so you gritted your teeth and reached for the stunner hidden in your boot, pulling out the modified rod and switching it on to bash a couple of kneecaps with baton-like swings that had men wailing as they hit the ground. You tased them in the torso before agilely sprinting over them to try and head for the exit into the chilly evening while the Mandalorian seamlessly picked up one of the tables and swung it to batter into the flank of men before following your lead.

“Hey!” You’d shouted when you felt him run up and lasso an arm around your waist to redirect your retreat down another alley. “What’re you—?!”

“Not that way. More men are coming,” he groused through his helm’s steely vocoder.

You’d nodded and with even more moxie than he’d expected, grabbed him by the front of his bandolier and hauled him along to follow your path down a few more tight alleys and alcoves while you whispered to him about getting to your ship.

That’s how he’d ended up here, in this unlikely and not-really-fleshed-out-partnership with you – for the time being. 

But right now? While he’s sat across from you and trying lamely to decipher your motives, Din can’t help wonder why you’re looking at him so – with your exacting, albeit brazen stare and the musing smile on your soft, curvy lips. 

“…What?” he finally asks, vocoder smoothening out his cagey tone. 

“I’m just curious, which I know is bad, and I tend to smother all my curiosities about people, but right now? I don’t care to, and want to know: What’s up with you, Mando,” you chime in that repartee inclined way of yours. When he just hums noncommittally in response, you set your caf down between your booted feet and cross your arms. “Credit for your thoughts, then?”

He grunts at that before crossing his own arms across his plated chest. “Curiosity is bad?” he queries laconically.

You crack a smile. He tends to evade and obfuscate as a default whenever you both have had conversation lasting longer than a giving of coordinates or detailing of a plan for him to come and go after a bounty. “It tends to kill the Lothcat, chrome-dome—”

He grumbles before deadpanning, “It’s not chrome—”

“It’s a figure of speech, Mando!” you tease, shaking your head before drawling, “Now quit being evasive! What’s up? Was it something about the job? I thought it went well, so I don’t get your sulky mood—”

“I’m not sulking,” he contradicts and tilts his helm beratingly at you. “The job was fine. There’s nothing wrong—”

“Listen, I know we don’t know each other all that much, but I’m going out on a limb here. I owe you for tag-team helping me out of that jam with Quent’s men, and being your chauffeur has been fun—”

“I cut you in on the credits I get from the bounties,” Mando interjects a bit standoffishly, but you huff and wave him off, so he sighs, “Fine. Continue.”

With a wry tip of your head forward, you continue. “I appreciate that, don’t get me wrong, but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t getting soft on you now,” you remark without umbrage or bashfulness, enjoying how his shoulders tense and his helmet cocks to the side curiously at you. “Look. It’s been a while since I worked with a partner. So, blame it on that if you want, but right now? I want to make sure that…well, that you’re alright. That’s all,” you find yourself remarking a bit more musingly than you’d intended, so you clear your throat and lean forward to add, “We both have to put in for this thing to work. I’ve trusted you on my ship, with my time, dealt with your judgment—”

“When have I done that?” he inquires in that raspy way his modulator manages to smoothen into a molten tone. “Judge you?”

“Really? That first night! We got onto my ship and hauled ass off-planet, and you talked crap about my ship—” 

Din hums, musing, “Well, it was in impound…”

“And? When we busted it out and took the jump to lightspeed you literally shouldered me out of the way and took over flying my ship—”

“We came out into an asteroid field!”

“So?! Then, when I magnanimously let you have my quarters, you made a judgmental comment about me—”

Din has to wrack his recollections for that one, and then remembers how when you’d ambled through the open hatch of your narrow and austere sleeping berth, he’d watched as you stripped your jacket off to just be in the snug sleeveless top underneath. Aside from the hidden vibroblade strapped to you, being sans jacket revealed the discreet armband fastened to your forearm housing a cache of choice Sabacc cards for sleight of hand. You’d been collecting your satchel of the few belongings you had to give him the space for privacy. Frowning, he remembers that he’d rumbled, “You are a cheat.”

Arms uncrossing grumpily, he yields and assures, “Yeah, fine. I did, and that was uncalled for.”

Smirking triumphantly, you lean cheekily forward into his personal space and purr, “You were right, though.”

A bit taken aback, he shifts his shoulders and dismisses, “A partnership has boundaries too—”

You brazenly scoff and throw your hands up before slapping them down onto the tops of your thighs. “And I respect yours. The Creed? Having to eat all on my lonesomes—never getting to see your face? Kriff – I don’t even know your name, chrome-dome—”

“All right. What are you asking me, then?” he grumbles and crosses his arms again, mannerisms becoming surly.

Sobering, you lean back and perch your hands onto the edges of the crate at your sides. “Just, this once? Tell me what got you so…faraway?” you ask with genuine interest, eyes softening as you tilt your head curiously at him. “And…if there’s anything I can do to help?”

Din is bemused, but then something weary beckons for him to relent, for the sake of his tired will needing a break and to have a moment of respite. 

After all, while the bounty had been easy, and he’d turned the forger over to the bounty collector working out of the sheriff’s office and had collected his credits to then go to the port and gather supplies with you, he’d been left reeling with longing and guilt. Because, on the way down the crowded thoroughfare, he’d frozen in his spot at sighting a man in a black cloak with a bundled child in his arms. His heart had wrung, hopeful, but then the man had turned, revealing him to be a brown-haired Mirialan father holding his green son – a toddler with big brown eyes that cuddled into the man’s shoulder. His heart had sunk, and only when you’d backtracked to his side and nudged his pauldron-covered shoulder – the one with the Mudhorn signet emblazoned in beskar on it, did he snap out of his melancholic daze and avoided your gaze as he strode ahead.

Looking into your warm, gentle gaze now? He found himself aching to unburden himself, but was reluctant. 

You could see it from how his shoulders shifted, and how his helm dipped a fraction. So, with a sigh, you give up. Collecting your cup of caf, you stand and begin to round the crate to skirt by him as you remark, “Forget it, then. I didn’t mean to pry—”

“I lost someone.”

You pause, stilling even your breathing in hopes to not miss another soft, modulated murmur.

“Today, I saw someone that reminded me…I just, for a moment, I thought it was him, but it wasn’t, and it’s had me thinking about…” Mando is parceling out in a hushed tone, and you turn, feeling a pang in your chest for him. “I just can’t stop wishing that I could see him again. To get to make sure he’s safe, but I don’t—it wouldn’t be right, so I just need to stop hoping—”

You place the cup down on the kitchenette and whirl to be at his side, dropping onto one knee so you can rest a hand on his thigh-guard and the other on his pauldron. Din’s so disarmed that he doesn’t even flinch from how close you are to him now. Instead he just stares wide-eyed at you from behind his helm while you gaze up at the black visor.

“I’m sorry I badgered you, but…I’m glad you told me,” you murmur in a soft lilting timbre that reminds him not for the first time how lovely and sultry your voice could be when you’re not being goading or teeming with bravado. “And I don’t think you should stop hoping. I – I won’t ask you to tell me more, so don’t worry, but I do think you shouldn’t begrudge yourself for wishing for anything. It’s the one thing we have that no one can take away from us…” is your sage remark, and when you don’t feel it conveys enough, you find yourself moving your hand from his pauldron to the side of his helm, where you think his cheek would be if he was bare-faced to you. “Just—just don’t be so tough all the time, chrome-dome,” you say with affection, smile softening as your eyes crinkle and your dark lashes fan coquettishly at him.

You expect him to hum in displeasure, or to scoff dismissively, like he has the few times you’ve lightly ribbed him prior. But instead, he reaches his hand up, and pets a lock of hair away from your face before his gloved palm cups your cheek. It makes your breath catch and your pupils dilate under the keen sight provided by his helm, and he can tell your pulse quickened as much as his own.

“I’m not just being tough,” he husks glibly, and traces the angle of your cheekbone with his orange-tip-gloved thumb before muttering, “Maybe take your own advice, mir'sheb.”

You’re titillated by him razzing you back, having to submerge the impulse to ask what the Mando’a term means, so you graze your teeth over the plump swell of your bottom lip absently before you instead ask in a smoky tone, “Oh? Which part?”

“The not being so tough all the time,” he counters in a velvety drawl and glides his fingertips along your jawline, enjoying how heat rises to your cheeks. His eyes catch how you distractedly dampen your lips with the swipe of your tongue before you snicker dismissively. “What? Too much to ask?” he jibes amusedly.

There’s a part of you tingling with intrigue – and yes, heated desire – for this mysterious bounty hunter, warrior and snarky man hidden behind Mandalorian steel, so you decide to be daring and move your hand from the side of his helm to the soft spot hidden by his cloak and cowl, pinching a cheeky squeeze there and earning a stutter of breath from him to rasp through the vocoder of his helm. 

“Yes, actually, that’s much too much for you to ask of me, Mando. You got your armor, and I’ve got mine,” is your sardonic musing as you glance at his retreating fingers moving to curl into a fist he places against his armored thigh. You think you see the shadowed outline of his arousal pressing against the confines of his flight-suit, but dismiss the hopeful conclusion when your eyes flick back up to his visor at his musing huff when his other hand lightly encircles your wrist and removes your touch from the sloping juncture that connects neck to shoulder hidden by his cowl.

“Fair enough,” he rumbles, steel back in his tone as he shifts back enough for you to stand so you can put some distance between you two now that the flirtatious bubble popped. 

You nod and turn to retrieve your caf and try to exit back up to the cockpit with some dignity while you feel your blush radiate in the apples of your cheeks and the pulse of arousal tingle down into the seat of your core. 

“…Thank you. For, uh…for listening,” Din finds himself muttering as he turns his helm away from your back to busy himself with his left arm’s vambrace.

You glance at him sidelong, feeling a tickle of delight skitter down your spine. “You know, it’s times like these when I could just kiss you, chrome-dome,” you snicker irreverently and watch his shoulders wind back before he tilts his helm to peer at you over his shoulder. “Right on the lips,” is your parting lilt as you wink at him and then strut out of the cargo area towards the hatch leading to the ladder up into the cockpit. 

Din huffs, aggravated with himself for feeling pent-up and enticed by the teasing prospect you lobbed his way. “Dank farrik,” he grumbles under his breath as he shifts his hand from being balled up against his thigh to cup himself, feeling his arousal throb in frustration at him. 

Truthfully, he’d been harboring some kind of attraction to you for a while now. At first he’d chalked it up to being hard-up – to not being able to remember the last time he got physical gratification from anyone other than his own hand, so the proximity of traveling with a beautiful woman? Of being surrounded by your appealing scent laced in the threadbare sheets of your cot in the sleeping berth? Let alone the wayward warm press of your confident touch every so often? It had left him yearning for more, but stubbornly incapable of broaching that threshold with you. Not with how off-kilter he still felt after having to relinquish custody of his foundling to some nameless Jedi master.

The pang of sadness cooled his arousal and made him think clearly about you. A fierce, independent, wily and brazen woman who was as fearless as you were scrappy. Is it a wonder he’d spent many a night lying on his back in the dark of the narrow berth, fantasizing about you? Wondering what you would do if he pulled you against his chest like he wanted to? How you would look naked and writhing under him? If your voice would be that sultry, smoky lilt when you moaned for him to give you pleasure?

Fuck. Din was annoyed with himself as the specter of the sensual, delectably alluring version of you he’d been conjuring in his mind stuck with him the rest of the time you both busied yourselves with tasks on the intrepid ship while still in hyperspace. Was it a coping mechanism for missing Grogu? This need to fixate on baser urges?

You’re acting like a horny foundling again. Thinking filth to pass the time. And just like countless nights in the covert, Din was lying on his back now, in the dark, warring with his lust, cock aching for him to take the edge off. He thankfully had much more privacy now than he’d had then. Sure, that had never stopped him from jerking off like a fiend, with his teeth baring down on his bottom lip to stifle his sounds of pleasure, all the while feeling insatiable and eventually learning he needed to channel the energy into something else. 

But right now? His mind could wander and encourage his hand to do the same. He thought of the first time he noticed you – truly saw you as an attractive woman. It’d been sometime that first week. You’d been in the cockpit wedged on all fours underneath the hyperdrive panel fiddling away trying to patch some frayed wires that had overheated. When underway, you opted out of wearing your durable two-toned leather jacket and slim-fit thick-weave stretch trousers, favoring the comfort of a thin dark legging that sculpted with sinful detail to your supple curves and made your ass look even firmer and rounder to his leering eyes. Heat had zinged down into his apex at the sight, and he’d feigned distraction by checking the ship’s fuel reserves when you wiggled backwards and wiped your hands on your thighs and glanced over at him. Seeing you on your knees with that long-sleeved umber top clinging to your ample bust, craning your neck back to ask him for the spanner you’d left on the console closest to him? It had made him think of something lewd, and he gritted his jaw at himself as he passed you the tool and then left the confined space before he started thinking about acting on said lewd fantasies.

He wasn’t sure if you’d noticed then, but he was sure you’d discerned his unease in being so cooped up with you at times when he’d exited the berth once in route to the ‘fresher, and found the hatch open while the remnants of steam condensed about from your recent hot shower. You were in a lighter weave legging, fastening your hair up into a messy bun while the ruddy halter-top undergarment you wore molded to your perky tits and kept them snug, the padding concealing your studded nipples…for the most part. Blinking in the mirror when you looked up in the reflection and saw his looming shadow, you’d jumped and whirled, before letting out a breath and deriding that for such a bulky sentinel, he was insanely good at sneaking up on you. Din had grumbled an apology and you’d given him a crooked smile before grabbing your olive-green knit top and yanking it on, padding barefoot by him with an easy-going, “No worries! It’s all yours.”

He'd jerked off to you in the shower. Not his finest moment, but the fragrance of your soap and the lingering scent of you had made his urges wanton, and he started thinking of how you’d taste – if you’d smell just as lovely covered in sweat while getting fucked senseless by him.

It’s what he was thinking about now, and that primal urge clawed up his insides and burrowed filthy want in his gut. So, he gave into the need for gratification – letting his captivation free to lustfully fixate on you. 

Just like the secret weapon you hid in your boot, you were a stunner – gorgeous and fearless. He found himself thinking you were the kind of woman that if he’d still been part of the covert, and came across a version of you that followed The Way? That you’d surely be out of his league. The clansmen – the ones from ancient houses that could be traced back to Mandalore, would vie for your attention. Maybe even brawl for the chance to meet you in a spar that would lead to the feral couplings Din spent the lonely nights in the corp thinking longingly about. But, in this warped alternate timeline he's conjured, if the likes of Paz Viszla ever tried to square up against him in competition for you? He didn’t give a damn if the hulking man was flanked by his allies – he’d fight him for the chance to get even a musing chuckle from you.

If he knew you’d had more than fleeting thoughts about him as well, Din would likely weigh the pros and cons of pushing you up against the nearest sturdy surface and doing the raunchy things he’d been spinning around in his mind for weeks. 

You wondered if he picked up on your light ribbing being more than just cheeky and acerbic – that it was flirty banter you’d hoped he’d play into so it could become sexy repartee and clue you into whether he was interested. Alas, outside of a few hours ago, your usually broody, reticent companion hadn’t played into your attempts. Really, you wondered if he just tolerated you most of the time, but sometimes he’d indulge listening to your chatter, and he was effortlessly chivalrous, even when you’d insist you could manage. But he’d shoulder things – setting them where you’d intended to hoist them onto for you. Or he’d put himself in front of you when he was unsure of your surroundings within a hostile scene, but he didn’t do so because he thought you incapable, you’d noticed. When he would suggest a different route, and you insisted on the flight you’d tracked, he’d defer to you. Or when you needed to suss out intel on a bounty, and he needed recognizance, he’d allowed you to go into locations prior, trusting you to ask around and confirm his target was onsite before he swaggered in. He thought you competent. You especially think so from the way he used your name with that firm, baritone intonation that made the hairs on the back of your neck stand. Yet he was guarded, and you knew virtually nothing about him other than his conviction to his Creed. It was a tantalizing level of contradictions that had you thinking about him more and more.

So, yeah – you’d been left for weeks pining. Scratch that – you’d been lusting after him in ways you’d find yourself blushing, or that got you hot and bothered. 

Sure, you had no kriffing idea what he looked like under all the armor or that blank helm, but wasn’t that part of the allure? What made it more titillating and thrilling to fantasize about him bending you over the console in the cockpit and railing you while the fluid glow of hyperspace danced in your mystified eyes? Or when you’d catch a whiff of his masculine-musk scent in the ‘fresher after he’d showered, and long to bury your face in his bare neck just so you can get lost in his enticing smell, and feel the heat of his skin? Maker – you didn’t even know his name, so when you fantasized about him, you had to call out ‘Mando!’ when you touched yourself and muffled your mewls of pleasure against the back of your hand while curled up in the snug alcove you’d converted into a makeshift sleeping cubby for yourself in the cockpit. 

It was ridiculous. But then again…he was sexy. Enigmatic, with a tantalizing broadness of frame and physical strength that made you tingle whenever he got close – that made you want to pounce on him and see what he’d do. Someone with that much electric, effortless appeal had to be a damned stud under all that damned beskar, right? You often passed the quiet and boring time in the cockpit like this – wondering what he looked like under the helm. You knew he was a human male from the sliver of skin you’d seen when he’d adjusted a hand back into a glove one afternoon when you’d come back from getting a scanner for the nav-computer diagnostics you’d been putting off doing. He’d been working on a delicate part of his blaster that required nimble dexterity he couldn’t totally achieve with his glove still on, and it’d taken all your willpower to yank your avid stare away from him before he could notice. His hand had been tan flesh, with long thick fingers and trim, clean fingernails; it’d helped your mind conjure a suntan hunk from the neck down, with talented hands able to disassemble you with pleasure, but still – you couldn’t picture his face. 

Now, though, your mind wandered to the things you replayed about him the most. One of which you really gravitated to, was his voice. A warm, steely-coated baritone that made you wonder if he had a more earthy, huskier pitch, or a honeyed timbre without the modulation of the vocoder. 

“I lost someone.”

Frowning, you recall the way his voice had sounded so hushed, yet full of untold regret and loss when he’d confided that. It makes you want to know more about him, and wish you could comfort him. Then, you wonder about what triggered such melancholy in him. 

You picture the market from earlier in the day, and do recollect seeing a man with a child. Really, you only recall it in your mind’s eye because when Mando had strode off ahead, you’d looked back in the direction he’d been staring at and saw the little boy wave a chubby little green hand your way before scrubbing at his cheek and curling further into his father’s shoulder while he haggled with a vendor. 

Did he have a family? The way he spoke, it was as if he missed a little one…

You suddenly picture him holding a child. Mando, the strong, inscrutable sentinel in beskar, with a little bundle tucked in the crook of his arm that he cradles with tender fondness while effortlessly shooting at foes who dare bother him and his kiddo. Huffing wryly, you let yourself pine for him until you’re longing with whimsical thoughts that’re leap-frogging through your mind. Said thoughts make you smile, and fawn a little thanks to the fantasy Mando in your mind playing out all the delectable things you wish the real Mando would make reality.

After all, something about the way he takes charge – how he can command his surroundings and make you feel worthy when he herds you close to him when he seemingly wants to make clear that you’re with him and everyone else should tread lightly? It inspires your daydreaming of him now, where he saunters over to you and cups his large hand into the small of your back and pins you to his side. Then it jumps to him in protective stud mode, swaggering up to you and looping his arms around your waist to hitch you against him before he takes flight with that real wizard jetpack of his. Yes, your mind keeps spinning off scenarios where you’re more than associates who’re trying to make your ways through the galaxy, and it starts to fluster you. Especially when you fixate on your blossoming enthrallment for the ruggedly sexy warrior that you sense to be capable of melting you down with his sweetness just as much as with his badassery. Would you quit lusting after him?!

Annoyed with yourself, you huffed at your empty caf cup and decided to take a trip down to the ‘fresher to splash some water on your face in order to cool your heated features. Once down the ladder, you loped across towards the open hatch when you noticed the berth’s hatch was shut. Straining your hearing, you picked up the sound of the air scrubbers and the ambient noises of the ship’s engines, but no Mando. Hmm, odd. He usually putters around until we’re out of hyperspace and can find a spot to idle…

You soundlessly move to the hatch and press your ear to it, picking up what sounds like clothes rustling. Thinking he’s finally taking a much-needed rest free of his heavy armor, you’re about to move away towards the ‘fresher when you catch a muffled, modulated sound that makes heat bloom between your thighs. 

Din’s in the dark, with his helm still on, but the rest of his armor is removed and stowed to the side. He’d peeled his flight-jacket down so he was just in his undershirt while stretched out on the narrow cot that barely accommodated his height. His hand was down the front of his semi-open trousers, touching himself while he muffled a frustrated groan. He’d been at it for a while, and just couldn’t get himself off, and now his cock throbbed beseechingly while his balls ached with needed release. His mind couldn’t settle on one fantasy, so he couldn’t ground himself in one desire before something else skittered across his mind’s eye for consideration. It was only distracting him and making him burn with exasperated need.

With a snarl, he shifted completely flat on his back and flopped his bare hand out from the layers of his clothes to idly twist his fingers into the collar of his undershirt to tug it down from his heated skin. Dank farrik… He’s surly with himself as he closes his eyes and tries to concentrate on the hum of the ship, and before he knows it, his sexually charged mind crackles with fantasy after fantasy that manages to tire him out into a state of half-slumber, one where his body relaxes enough to doze while his thoughts slog through the fog of desire.

Said desire drafts a fantasy in which you’re standing in the open hatch, merely a silhouette in the darkness as you appear and crawl over him. His skin tingles where he feels your weight settle over him, and his loins throb from the wanton urge stoked by the heat of your velvet-wet mouth wrapping around his cock. Oh fuck…fuck this is more like it. Maker, could it feel as good as this in reality?

You hum around him, and Din groans, coming out a bass-pitched rasp through his vocoder as he slowly wakes from his doze to reach down his body with clumsy fingers to wrap around his pulsing cock, but instead jolts when his bare hand brushes your soft, lush hair. 

“W-What—? Mmmph,” he stammers before his voice cracks and dissolves into a throaty groan when you hollow out your cheeks around him and the hand propping you above him shifts to glide up his bare apex to caress his muscled abs and grope his warm skin beneath his undershirt. “What’re—y-you’re…” is his broken croak as he cards his fingers through the back of your hair before gripping the strands and bucking up into your mouth when you take his throbbing length deep. 

The feel of his pulsing, smooth flesh-wrapped-steel cock against your tongue is better than anything you’d fantasized about, and the taste of his skin? It was making you dizzy. He was thick and velvet-smooth in your hand as you stroked his length and pursed your mouth around the girth of him, tasting the salty beads of pre-cum that had gathered on his delectable tip as you laved your tongue over it. The sounds he’s groaning have lewd delight revving your arousal while you press your thighs together to clench and assuage the throbbing of your clit as you suck Mando’s dick like you’ll never get the chance to again. Because – well, this could be the end of whatever partnership you’d managed to cobble together between you both! 

His reactions are the only thing keeping the hope alive that he won’t recede from you and go his own way after this, and when the rush of your pulse subsides in your ears, you can hear Mando swearing in a guttural growl, “Fuck, g-gonna come—oh fuck, fuck—!” just as his cock swells and twitches against your tongue before jerking with surge after surge of his climax. He moans through it and fists his hand in the back of your hair as he loses himself to the bliss of spilling his seed in the warm heaven of your mouth. 

When he finishes and starts to tremble from the aftershocks of pleasure coursing across his charged nerve endings, you let his softening length pop free from the clutch of your ravenous mouth with an airy sigh of accomplishment before nuzzling into his hip and catching your breath while delighting in his warm, heady, masculine scent. Din can only muster to gulp air while his buzzing senses stabilize to realize this was real – you coming to him in the dark and going down on him with gusto was absolutely reality while he tried to reconcile how his fantasy could’ve been conjured into being for him.

You’re brushing soft kisses over his apex and nosing into the trail of hair dusting below his navel when he lets out a frazzled breath and husks your name. When you pause and hum innocently, Mando mumbles huskily, “—What…what made you come in here?”

“Hm, well, it sounded like you needed a hand, so…I figured I’d help,” you murmur in the dark up at him before smiling against his warm, bare palm when he cups your cheek reverently. “And in all honestly, I’ve been hoping to have my way with you, just a little, Mando,” is your sultry chuckle before nuzzling into his calloused-yet-gentle hand with affection.

“Din.”

“Hmm?”

“My name.”

“Oh,” you sit up more, awed and a bit taken aback. “I like it,” you blurt with genuine warmth before wryly smiling when he chuckles and caresses the pad of his thumb along your bottom lip. “What made you want me to know it?”

“The fact that I want you to say it,” he retorts with an assured smoothness to his modulated tone before it dips an octave as he adds, “I want you to take your clothes off, and say it while I touch you. And I want you to keep saying it while I fuck you. And when you come? I want you to know who made you come.”

With his hand cupping your face, Din can feel your little excited breath and relishes how your lips plush out when he drags his thumb over them before gripping your chin in a firm gesture and guiding you up to lie fully on top of him so he can press his cool and smooth beskar-clad forehead to yours. 

You sigh and murmur, “After telling me something that naughty? I really wish I could kiss you, Din.”

He chuckles, hands caressing down your body as he rumbles, “You just did.” Snickering, you curl into him so you can nose into his neck and press a kiss there, reveling in how he hums approvingly. “So…just a little?”

“Hm?” you dreamily query as you get lost in his musk and warm skin.

“You wanted to have your way with me just a little?”

The pitch of his tone sends tingling heat into the clutch of your pussy and rushes a new wave of arousal he can feel through your clothed crotch against his thigh. “Y-Yeah—”

“That’s a possibility – but not tonight,” he purrs and presses his thigh up into you. An exhilarated gasp catches in your chest as you rut down and seek the delectable friction he’s allowing you to have. You’re so turned on and focused on how strong and firm his muscular thigh is under the layers of clothes between you that you don’t sense him reach a hand up to the side of his helm while the other gropes up your hip to fondle your breast over your knit top. He cups it and zeroes in on swirling his thumb around your studding nipple before he growls, “Now…take off your clothes and let me see how wet you are for me.”

Oh Maker. Of course, you completely flaked on the notion that while it’s pitch black in the berth and you’re seeing strictly by touch here, that he could easily see everything he wanted with the help of his helm. 

Din was enjoying seeing you coming to that conclusion plainly written on your face, and when his hand encouraged you to grind down on him, he could see you riding his thigh and looking sexily down to where you sensed his gaze. And when you smiled and stuck your tongue out at him cheekily, he chuckled, confirming your suspicions. 

So, you coquettishly got up from straddling him and scampered to stand over his form before slowly working your top up your torso and off to be discarded to the floor. He could see you in a kind of sepia-relief, thanks to the setting on his helm, and was able to appreciate the smooth expanse of your skin as you unbuttoned your trousers and shimmied them off your legs. And when you stripped your bodycon undershirt to free your breasts, Din could feel blood zing into his cock. But he got rock-hard when you took your skimpy underwear off to reveal the soft curls of your mons and the dewy heat slickening your cunt.

“Just for the record, while I respect it, it’s totally unfair that I don’t get to see you naked,” you jibe and pose for him, even doing a silly little spin so he can take a real gander at your voluptuous, bodacious form while you toss your hair back over your shoulders. 

Din chuckles a smug, honeyed purr before rumbling, “Play your cards right, and you just might.”

You snicker at him, about to scathe something naughty when you sense him shift up on the cot and then hear his clothes rustling. He tosses his undershirt at your feet, and you hear the clank of his heavy boots getting discarded aside before the thick material of his flight-suit gets shed and shirked towards the corner where the piled armor sits. 

“You look surprised,” he drawls, amused.

“I am. Pleasantly,” you chime, and smile when his hand cups your hip and tows you closer.

“You might not see me, but you can settle for feeling me, can’t you, mir'sheb?” he goadingly intones, the smirk clear in his delectably modulated timbre.

“Ugh, well, I suppose I’ll just have to take what I can get,” you faux-chide before letting him pull you down to straddle his lap. “You better not be a virgin—” is your teasing jibe.

“I’m not, flygirl,” he laconically drones and pinches your nipple lightly, earning a squeak from you before you swat his bare shoulder.

“You’ll just have to prove it, chrome-dome,” you challenge and undulate yourself against the hard throbbing length of him.

Din growls and pivots you down onto the cot, earning a gasp of surprise that dissolves into a mewl of heated want when he starts to touch you with possessive, deliberate strokes of his fingers through your drenched folds before playing with your pulsing clit and pinching your nipples.

“You touch yourself like this and think of me?” he asks in a smooth, modulated purr as he seats his thumb to grind over your clit while he starts plunging two fingers into you. You moan and arch, gripping the sides of the cot, aching for him to be on top of you. “Hmm?” he hums when you don’t answer, then stills his hand between your thighs as he props himself over you with the other to husk, “You got a silver tongue, you wily little tooka, so use your words. Do you touch this sweet, wet pussy and think of me?”

“Y-Yes—yes, I have. I do, Din. Please, don’t stop,” you gasp and plead, angling your pelvis up for more and whimpering, “Never as good as this. It feels so good. Want more of you, Din.”

He wishes he could put his mouth on you, but settles for taking you apart with his talented digits and watching you come hard with his name recited over and over again in varying cries of pleasure as you ride out the orgasm while he finger-fucks you through the aftershocks. Din marvels at how your cunt is a silken vise around his thick fingers while your climax soaks his hand, and admires how you sigh wistfully and stare unseeingly up at him, looking the most serene he’s ever seen you. 

When his fingers recede from your fluttering pussy, you mewl and reach blindly for him, but then you hear a telltale hiss before the unmistakable sound of a muffled unmodulated hum rakes delight across your aroused senses. Just as Din finishes sucking your heady, tangy slick from his drenched fingers, he secures his helm back over his mouth and it seals in place with another hiss.

“Oh, c’mon, that’s totally not fair!” you whine breathlessly and sit up on your elbows to pout at him in the dark. “You’re such a karkin’ tease, Din—”

With a smug chuckle, Din derides gruffly, “You’re cute when you’re surly.” The goading smirk is evident in his modulated baritone as he wraps his still-sullied hand around his ramrod cock to stroke himself with your remaining climax, making sure to let the slick friction obscenely carry so you can hear what he’s doing before he rumbles provocatively, “And, you’ve proven to be the one that’s nothing but a brazen little tease.” He can see the deviant thrill quirk your features as you take an excited breath when he moves to crowd between your waiting thighs and guides himself to your slick heat. As he starts to breach into your molten, rippling sheath and punches a gasp to skitter into a mewl of pleasure, he groans and looks up from where he was watching his cock disappear into your cunt to stare at your ravishing features as you moan at the stretch of him. “Mmm, so tight. Taking me so good,” Din grouses before thrusting to the hilt into you and relishing how you arch and wrap your legs around his hips. “Tell me you want this—”

“Yes! Oh Stars, Din, please don’t pretend you don’t know I’ve wanted to jump your bones, dammit. Or else you’re gonna drive me crazy,” you scathe with needy feistiness and reach up to encircle his broad shoulders so you can rest your forehead to the cool beskar of his helm’s brow. He grunts a velvety sound, so you scoff airily, “You better quit teasing me—”

Din’s chuckle rakes lewd delight in your belly. “I’m not, you little stunner. Just making sure—”

“I’m naked under you after having sucked your cock, you nerfherder! Of course I want this! Do you??? Hmm? How ‘bout you open that trap of yours and tell me what got you so horny and wound up, eh?” is your sassy counter as you pivot to cling your lower half to him so you can lean up and lick the defined tendon in his corded neck.

He rumbles an enticed sound through the vocoder and grips his arms around you to pin you against him as he starts fucking you with hard, deep thrusts that steal your breath. “You. Was thinking about you and all the things I’ve thought about doing to you. How fucking stunning you are even when you’re trying to get me riled up—” Din grits huskily through his clenched jaw as he sets a possessive pace, reveling in how you’re lighting up with exhilarated delight and clinging to him as he fucks you, with the cot protesting from the furtive movements and limber jostling.

“Shit, D-Din, want you all the time—” you confess on a mewl, ecstasy blooming inside you as he moans in response and quickens his pounding thrusts, which only makes the lewd sounds bouncing around the durasteel walls echo raunchily in your ears as his cock squelches through the molten heat of your yearning cunt. When he cants his hips and angles his thrusts up, you writhe and trill, “—Ah, mmph, r-right there, fuck, Din—please don’t stop!”

Din has you precariously arched over the cot while he holds you at your waist and hip, weight balanced backwards onto his haunches as he slams you over and over onto his cock while you grip his forearms and fall apart, crying out his name and wailing euphoric sobs of pleasure as you come. He growls at the sight of you arching and giving yourself over to the scintillating rapture, and the heat of your cunt clamping greedily around him has Din wanting to make you come again and again.

So, when you feel him lay you out onto your back, and feel his still-erect cock ease out of your heat, you whimper, dimly confused and reaching for him. “D-Din?”

His hand caresses up the outside of your thigh before affectionately squeezing your hip as he rumbles hoarsely, “Get on your hands and knees for me, stunner.”

You shiver, joints feeling like jelly and making you clumsy as you scurry to flip over and do as you’re told, breathy and quivering with the thrill of being dominated by him. 

Din doesn’t prolong the anticipation this time. He hitches up against you and hauls your hips back for him to spear his cock into you from behind, making you see stars in the dark. You moan and reach a hand backwards to grip his wrist, anchoring to him as he starts to piston his thrusts in and out of you like he’d fantasized doing for weeks. Snapping his hips in a pounding pace and gripping your waist tight in his strong hands, he revels in how you arch and squeeze his wrist encouragingly while you rock back to meet every thrust, mewling his name in breathy adulations and basking in being possessed so completely like this by him. 

You’re wrecked by how decadent it feels to have him rail his cock into you with zeal, and even though he’s so big and thick that you know you’re going to be aching and sore for days, you undulate your hips backwards, cock-drunk and mewling fervently from the effort of matching his ferocious pace. 

It lights a primal fuse in him – seeing you so feral with need to be dicked down by him like this, that he crowds you and fucks you with abandon now, side of his helm pressed in a show of dominance to the back of your head as he thunders his pounding thrusts into you. Overcome by the passionate blitz of being fucked so roughly and thoroughly, you wail and bow under the onslaught down into the cot as you cry Din’s name like it’s the only thing you know how to say. He growls at the feel of you strangling his straining shaft before pulsing with the molten rush of your pleasure cresting through you.

Fiercely, you come undone completely by the primordial way Din envelops you with his body while he roots into the most tremulous part of you that shudders incandescently with igneous ecstasy that fans up into your womb and makes you climax with a hearty shout of wordless bliss. 

He’d intended to hold out for one more go, but the way you curl up and cling to his arms bracketed on either side of you while you mindlessly rock back against him is too much for his crumbling resolve and disintegrating control.

Pace becoming frenetic with impending release, Din swears something in Mando’a before grousing in a gruff pitch, “W-Where, fuck, where do you want me to—”

“Inside, oh please—come inside me, Din!” you gasp out in a harried, needy tone as you feel yourself about to fall apart all over again, as the pounding pressure and weight of him has you quaking – clit throbbing with another impending orgasm. “I wanna feel you fill me—”

That’s what cracks him apart and has him barreling into you until his hips stutter as the molten sensation of his pleasure scintillating through him surges forth to swell and strain his cock to fuck his cum deep inside your fluttering, hungry sheath. Din’s mouth falls open on a guttural moan as he nestles home in you and bows his head against the back of your shoulder while the aftershocks of his climax tremor through him. 

You let out a triumphant, melodious sound of delight at feeling him curl over you and hold still against the bone-rattling exhaustion threatening to collapse him on top of you. For a fleeting blink of time, you both just remain like that, panting and coming down from the high before the post-coital serenity beseeches him to shift you both before he ends up just flopping over you like a selfish, teenaged conscript after reaching true manhood. 

Blissed out, you feel him pull out and maneuver you both on the narrow, creaking cot until you’re somehow tucked against him on your side while he lies sprawled out on his back. His arm is bracing the small of your back and pinning you to his hip while his other hand hooks your leg to be draped over him. Your head is pillowed by his muscled pectoral, and you finally feel the sheen of sweat clinging to his warm skin while it beads your hairline and dews your own body. 

His seed is seeping from you, but you’re unbothered, heated features sublime while you recover from the phenomenal hookup. A sense of debauched elation that makes you feel contentment when the whole reality of things should give you some pause fills you up in this sultry post-coital calm – making delight settle in your bones. After all, you’re so thoroughly fucked out that there’s no way you’re going to let anything make you fret. Especially when you feel Din relax while keeping you protectively tucked against him.

Din’s sated and sedated by the intense, lascivious gratification he reached with you after being so pent up with need. Truly, he hadn’t had it that good in a very long time, and he feels like a glutton for wanting to go again. His release had been sheer bliss – a moment of ecstasy he wanted to revel in. To bask in the exhilarating thrill of fulfilling his insatiable desires with you over and over until you both were exhausted heaps of satiated sinew against each other.

He wanted to be like this with you as much as he could while he still had the chance. Hazily, he licks the perspiration off of his upper lip, and wonders if you’d want the same – as well as hoping you’ll want to go again once you’re both recovered, when you loop your arm around his broad torso and nuzzle his collarbone.

“Din?”

“Hmm?”

“What’d that mean?” When he grunts questioningly, you mumble, “What does ‘Gar cuyir mar'eyce’ mean?”

Din blushes under his helmet. Not having realized he’d said that while in the throes of his pleasure. He clears his throat and answers as stoically as he can muster, even with the help of his vocoder modulating, “It, uh, roughly translates to, ‘You are heaven’…”

Your heavy-lidded eyes blink open at that, and a slow, sly smile pulls at your plush lips. “Oh, am I?”

He grunts wordlessly before muttering in a deadpan, “You were when you were all nice and submissive—”

You swat his bicep and snicker, “Hah! Oh, really? Well then, I’ll play the doe-eyed kitten for you more often—”

“I like how you are.”

You pause your silly heckling at his guileless, blurted remark, and feel an odd little tingle behind your breastbone.

A comfortable silence reins, where you idly trace the contour of his shoulder while he caresses your hip in slow strokes of his fingertips.

“Din?”

“Hmmph?”

“What’s ‘mir'sheb’ mean?” you pipe dreamily, wondering if it’s some romantic, Mandalorian term of devout love and profound reverence for one’s mate.

He chuckles in that gravelly way even the modulator can’t smoothen out completely. “It means ‘smartass.’”

You scoff in outrage and pinch his nipple in retaliation, causing him to jolt and grunt a comical sound before he swats your ass with the hand that’d been holding your leg hooked in place over him. You yelp and nip him with a cheeky love-bite on his pec, and he hisses a mixture of enticed umbrage before you nimbly maneuver to climb him and press your hands flat against his chest while you straddle his hips salaciously.

“Oh, just for that, I’m going to have my way with you now, chrome-dome. Just a little,” you growl at him and rub your puffy, dripping pussy along his hardening shaft for emphasis. 

Din has no rebuttal, and simply allows you to have your way, which includes luscious kisses along his bare skin while you ride his cock and murmur filthy praise at him while he watches you in the sepia-heightened visual display provided by his visor’s HUD-augmented sight preset. 

After you both reach climax together, you are absolutely tuckered out and fall asleep curled against his side, lulled into exhausted slumber by his rhythmic heartbeat.

Din spends the serene repose in the darkness punch-drunk, relishing the novel moment of calm and contentment that’s so alien to him. Still, he wants to bask in it more, so he carefully shifts up, mindful not to stir you, and delights in how you seek his warmth. Guiding you to lie on your back in the warm spot he’s just vacated, Din watches you stretch out and murmur sleepily. He’s beguiled by how pleased he is to see you like this, looking beautiful and dreamy – hair tousled, countenance tranquil, and supple curves still exuding the sensual allure that first got him yearning for you in the first place, even while knocked out. 

Fitting, seeing as she’s a knockout. He realizes now his wariness towards you was because he’d been intrigued, let alone attracted to you from the moment he saw you unflinchingly stand your ground and square up against a foe twice your size. And he wasn’t sure about you because he suspected you’d be a liability – that you’d become someone he didn’t want to part with. 

As he looks down at you now, Din decides those are concerns for another day.

Reaching for the rim of his helm, he watches as the hermetic seal’s hiss doesn’t stir you, and lifts the heavy helmet off to be soundlessly set down on the floor by the cot. He can’t see you in stark relief anymore, but when he leans down to brush his nose along your temple, he can smell your hair, and savor the heat of your skin as his lips caress the ridge of your cheek. You sigh, but don’t wake, so Din continues his cataloguing of these new delights by tracing his mouth down to kiss the swell of your breast before he lightly flicks the tip of his tongue to lick at your nipple. He wants to purse his lips around it, but decides to move on to instead curl down your body and nuzzle his face in the soft, lithe skin of your womb before nosing into the soft curls over your mound and groaning reverently at the heady and divine scent of you. 

But by the time he delicately shifts your askew legs up and apart so he can settle between your thighs, Din can’t deny himself any longer, so he suckles soft kisses along your inner thigh before brushing his thumb over the seam of your pussy to part your puffy folds and drag through the commingled mess of his cum leaking out of your slit with the honeyed arousal his touch is conjuring. 

Your breathing is getting shallow, and without his helmet, Din can’t tell that you’re awake and playing docile, too eager to see what he’ll do – to give him this comfort.

And when his tongue swipes through your folds, the unmodulated rumble that hums in his chest has you yearning, especially when he nuzzles into your cunt and sighs an enraptured sound before he licks at your clit. 

You moan and don’t say a thing or give into your baser urges, not wanting to break this compromised treatise he’s made with himself that’s allowed him to go without his helmet. Even when you’re spun up into a hearty orgasm and desperately want to bury your hands in his hair you can feel wispily brushing your skin. And when he laps hungrily into your molten core and moans at the tangy taste of your climax, you manage to curb the impulse of riding his tongue greedily to instead revel in the voracious way he devours you.

No, you let him give you pleasure and control what happens, without a saucy musing or flirty quip. So, when Din climbs back over you and presses his straining cock into you before he buries his heated features into the crook of your neck, you wrap your arms around him, clutch his powerful and broad shoulders, and hitch your legs to his waist as he gets lost in this feeling – of being completely bare and engulfed with how safe and worthy he feels. 

When you reach bliss, you bite your lip and mewl, not wanting to shatter the moment or pull him back to reality – to the fact he’s bending the rules of his Creed. 

But, when Din stifles his moan into your neck when he climaxes, you feel him pant against your skin and drowsily collect his wits. As he does so, you can feel his nose brush along the side of your neck before his lips drag covetously over your pulse point. From the way he nuzzles you and mouths languidly along the erogenous spot below your ear, you can almost sketch a picture of his features in your mind’s eye, albeit fuzzily. 

You can tell he has scruff on his features by the soft, not-so-coarse tickle of his beard and moustache, and you’re just able to deduce his lips are nice, full, possibly pillowy morsels you yearn to claim with your own. When he sighs into your skin, you can almost trace that his nose has a strong bridge crafted below a set of distinguished-and-possibly-expressive brows. You’re silently longing to conjure what his eyes must look like in your mind’s eye when Din lets out a long exhale that ends in a husky hum.

“Thank you, kandosii'la dala…and, it means ‘amazing,’ or ‘stunning woman.’”

You smile at his delectable and smooth unfiltered baritone rumble, and turn your cheek to kiss the side of his head before running your tapered fingers through the curls of hair tufting damply at his nape. You’re welcome, smartass.

_____________________________

Thanks for reading! Please consider leaving a comment and sharing your feedback. I would be eternally grateful.

Taglist:

@redsilentwolf28 | @just-here-for-the-moment | @mandosmistress | @sarahjkl82-blog | @knittingqueen13 | @mamacitapascal | @chronic-nosebleed | @hnt-escape | @eri16 | @gracie7209 | @casssiopeia | @athalien | @qwertymx | @rosiefridayrogersunday | @pascalesque | @maknimuk1 | @kirsteng42 | @greeneyedblondie44 | @littlemisspascal | @southotheborder | @rosegxoxo | @in-for-a-pennyx | @dolly-on-the-dotted-line | @harriedandharassed | @deadhumourist | @trickstersp8 |

#Din Djarin #Mandalorian #The Mandalorian #Mando #Din Djarin x Stunner #The Book of Boba Fett #TBOBF #Star Wars #Din Djarin fan fiction #Mando fan fiction #Star Wars fan fiction #Pedro Pascal #Pedro Pascal characters #drabble prompt #ROGUEFURY's 300 Followers Drabble Prompt #ROGUEFURY's 300 Follower Drabble Prompt #Mando x OFC #Din Djarin x OFC

[roughdaysandart]

Opinions wanted on including a Sweet Girl PCOS headcanon (Rough Day fanfic comic script idea).

GUYS HEAR ME OU-

Ok, so had time to daydream about what/how I plan to abridge Ch7(rushed) for Christian roomates on the way home.

Basically planning on keeping the entire Karga meeting the same, and very straightforwardly making SG just feel Mandos face in hyperspace and have them talk about how jealous he was etc, easy lemon squeaky.

However I thought I could get more creative and heartfelt with the concept of Mando not being "rushed" in the chapter.

Instead of him wanting to spend more time (like an hour or even a day) letting her touch his face/sit/talk before he goes to get the first quarry, why not have him not rush his mission for a whole WEEK (or a few days) just for Sweet Girl?

Particularly, the week of her period, which she happens to feel oncoming/triggered (happens to me sometimes whwn lifting heavy things or when I go to stand up) as the ship exits hyperspace and they fall over?

AND BEFORE YOU-- I DONT PLAN TO GET UNNECESSARILY GROSS WITH IT, I PLAN TO USE VAGUE OR SYMBOLIC LANGUAGE OK?

Here's how I plan to frame it:

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

Sweet girl feels a sharp cramp as she flexes her abdomen to rise from falling during the exit of hyperspace. Waiting to gage what it was, she feels another light wave and realizes she's gotta check just in case right now. Thankfully the last few months ths since she met Mando, they were all just those lighter, shorter cramps and no blood. And the lack of fertility was generally a bad thing on the alredy barren environment of Arvala7, but served to save her from the inevitable floodgates for at least a few months in this situation at least. Thank the maker, her body had spared her the possibility of being too afflicted to do her job, and possibly get fired for it, thus far working here. Quite the tragic convenience.

She has an irregular period (were talking MONTHS without it, a genetic condition she was told her mother had), so she prays that it could be just cramps without any blood this time, like it is for months between the ones where she bleeds out months worth of period at once, so she can brush it off and move on.

She knows she couldnt have planned around it and so is visibly distressed both With pain and sudden worry as to what she's gonna do about Mando.

She's scared because for SG, her cycles are agonizingly painful, so much so that she can barely walk or move at the worst times. She's always had to fight through it for survival on arvala7, so she's not afraid of getting through working through it like she's had to do for years with or without the herbs she luckily remembered to bring, but she's worried about how she's gonna explain anything to Mando if it really IS coming now. Or if she should at all, or if it can even be avoided because although she's not surprised anymore by the pain she's had her whole life, she isn't that good at hiding it at all; It never gets better with time, she's just grateful is to so infrequent at this point; and infact still has to audibly grunt and limp and crouch extensivly to adjust to any work shes doing on the worst, usually first 3 days or so. With months of its abscence, she honestly usually forgot that the inevitable might even have to be possibly confronted one day, and that she had no control over when.

She tries to brush it off, reminding mando that he should land the ship and get going to the first quarry, and that shes gonna go visit the fresher real quick. She tries to make it look natural and not out of nowhere, but he definitely noticed the pain in her face as he helped her up, now concerned that he seriously hurt her during the fall out of hyperspace. He is worried she's trying to hide an injury that he accidentaly inflicted to not make him feel bad, just like the bruise from chapter one.

Sweet girl panics in the fresher, in finding the dreaded red stains, unintentionally smearing blood on the wall near the door in the tight space as she braces another incoming cramp with a grit, trying to stay quiet while gripping the sides of the enclosed space.

Mando tries to give her space on the off chance that he's just imagining things, but notices how she's been in there even after they landed, and how the shower is NOT on. Didint she say she'd only be a moment? SG is waiting for him to leave for the quarry and avoid anything, everything all together.

His back at the cracked fresher door (she forgot to fully latch it, as she became too focused on just staying there trying to sound fine to remember), Mando asks if she's alright.

Sweet girl rakes a moment to gather composure and grit that she's fine. Mando doesn't belive her, hearing her pained tone, and starts thinking again that he really did hurt her in that fall, or at the very least something is very wrong for her to sound like that.

He continues asking her about why she's been there for so long and why she sounds like that, why she so forcedully asks, no, pleads for him to stop asking and just go and start his search for the quarry.

In turning his head slightly, he can see the small streak of blood on the wall near the slightly parted door. He then glances downward to see drops of red also on the floor. Now knowing that she's bleeding at the minimum, he immediatley claims that she's hurt and demands she opens the door, pushing the frame.

Sweet girls hand slams to keep it shut, and she screeches for to stop and go away.

Shes never screamed at him before.

He obviously sees her bahavior as bizarre and asks why on earth she's hiding it from him, that she needs a bacta-kit, that she doesn't have to hide it if he hurt her by accident.

But then tries explaining that he didint hurt her, that it's just, normal, sounding defeated and exhausted.

He takes a minute. And then understands. He begins telling her how sorry he is for being so forceful, how he thought she was injured.

She begins trying to fight back tears and hics as she explains that she is so sorry for bothering him about this, how it's something so small, and is interrupted by her own audible gasp and grit as another cramp comes towards the end.

He asks if she's really alright.

Beliveng he possibly just does not know what a period is, being the isolated person He has always been, she begins explaining how all women get it etc. That it's fine.

He points out that she doesn't sound fine.

After a moment of silence, she gradually explains how hers aren't normal, how she's always been this way just like her mother, who somehow managed to even conceive one child in an the already scarce and low chances of survival in the environment that was her home planet. How she just gets through it, even though it feels like shes dying, how she has to, and for him not worry about it affecting ting her job, she'll just do it. She sounds frustrated and tense, not only from the physichal pain but from the sheer anguish of this whole thing she's had to deal with, and not being able to tell past employers for fear or losing jobs when jobs were alredy hard to come by back home. She explains she never told Mando when he first hired her, not because of the general tendency to keep that thing private, but that she didn't want to even consider letting him know that she might slow down for a day or three sometimes. She feared he'd see her as weak and slow and not be willing to hire her then.

"You're......

not weak" mando interrupts the silence following her heated confession.

She is stunned in silence, still bent over with exhaustion now from crying and the emotional relaying of this part of her life she planned on keeping to herself.

Mando explains something along the lines of Mandalorian women being seen as even stronger warriors for giving blood to make life etc. How it's seen as symbolic and sacred, something to be celebrated and never ashamed of, how the pain was a sign that they needed rest and deserved that rest, for facing the battle given to them in life.

This means everything to her. The validation she's never had the luxury of ever even considering belongs to her, always villianized and humiliated by those without so much as the patience to even listen. She is overwhelmed by what he says (and hormones duh), his understanding.

She jokes that she just though he didint know what this was, and he clarifies that he IS human and was raised by other humans on Mandalore, so it naturally was talked about for various reasons like that.

Another pause, and she apologized for making him worry and being so apprehensive, but glad to know he now sees where she was coming from. She reiterates that she'll really be fine though and be able to hold down the fort, and that she's sorry for making such a commotion right before he leaves.

It's then that Mando tells her that he's not leaving. In fact, he's staying longer, that he isnt rushed to leave when it comes to something Ike this, not for anything that means he cant be there for her when she needs it. He says screw what he hired her for, she needs to rest and is going to rest while he takes care of the kid and her for however many days this cycle decides to stay for.

Din then spends the next 3 days taking care of her and the kid, going out to buy and bring the food right to her, never letting her get up from layng down or sitting if he can help it, even when she insists he shouldn't be doing all of this. One of the first things he prioritizes is modifying old hardware to be able to give off heat, then wrapping it in a blanked for her. She thinks she might die of love right now.

At one point, SG remembers that they forgot to get more Bacta shots on Nevarro, and how she wished they had saved it for now. Mando tells her that her wrist's cut was bleeding way too much for him not to do it, that she even agreed. She cleverly remarks how she's probroably lost more blood today than that entire wound. He calls her strong again.

He holds her hand when she has to groan and hiss thorugh her worst cramps on the second day, not sleeping the entire night, though heavily comforted by his presence in the dark. He holds her up as she regains the strength to walk as time goes on, acting as a support beam, with God like patience as she limps her way to wherever she needs to go in the ship.

When she's well again, Din takes off for what will be a month, and she thinks back again to what Karga asked.

No, he isnt always so rushed.

[FIN]

Soooo yeah basically PCOS Sweet Girl Headcannon. What do we think, could it fit? Again, I wont make it super graphic, but I want to know if the sweetness is conveyed here and if yall think it fits with the plot already on place. I Don't think it would particularly affect anything as far as the rest of the chapters, it's a one off scenario between the two of them that doesn't have to come back guaranteed foe months (thanks PCOS lol)

*And for anyone wondering, yes I've had pcos my whole life (or at least since 12 lol), so I really know the emotional weight that is somone taking care of you and validating your pain at such a vulnerable time, especially when your used to evyone thinking your wither lying, being dramatic, or straight up don't get a "freebee" even if your in genuine pain that they don't take seriously.

*Painful periods aren't normal for any of yall who were still wondering if you should get it checked out btw 😃. Meds only mask the symptoms, go for the root of the issue!

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

Credit to @no-droids for original Rough Day fanfic, go check it out when your roomates aren't near by!

#mando #mando fanfiction #mando x reader #the mandolarian #ao3 fanfic #fanfic #the mandolorian #din djarin #drawing #rough day #periods #menstruation #menstrual cycle #menstrual cramps #menstrual period #menstrual health #the mandalorian #the mandaloria/reader #the broski report #britney broski #broski nation #brittany broski #star wars fanfiction #fanfiction #rough day fanfic #my fic #writing #writers

[johamur]

One Mando'a to rule them all ...

Ni me'dinui nuhun! Just kidding!

@ranahan lamented:

Honestly I wish Mando’a had some sort of a community for dictionary & grammar building, where people could communally vote and choose which words to adopt and/or how to adapt/change them. Because a word is no good whatsoever if nobody wants to adopt and use it.

(In the comments of this post: https://www.tumblr.com/ranahan/737237603889397760/sen-fly)

TL;DR

Most people support their own version of Mando'a, which they DO USE — in their fan fiction. So pick a dialect (could be your own!) and put your efforts toward expanding and promoting it. The poll feature of Tumblr is a handy tool to get quick insight from folks in this community who follow whatever tags you include. Should you want recommendations for communities were Mando'a is used somewhat regularly, keep reading.

A few major dialects and discussion places

Here are a few place if you want to support someone else's version of Mando'a or want a place to throw out ideas and get feedback that's easier to follow than reblogs and replies on Tumblr posts. (Downside to Discord vs. Tumblr: At least if you post something on Tumblr, people can "like" or reblog with only tags; on Discord, the engagement is short-lived if at all.)

I'll start off with mentioning someone who is collecting all the fanon that the person can find. I don't know if there are any parameters on what will be included, but the person seemed to appreciate my document of badly formatted links to fanon. This dictionary starts with one of the popular Tal'jair spreadsheets from forums.mandoa.org and adds to it. Contact information is on the website. https://peltigaan.neocities.org/

Mandoa.ru has a private supporting team. The website features Tal'jair's own expansion effort. (Yes, that Tal'jair.) The group primarily speaks Russian, but the members have a pretty good command of English. Contact them on their site to find out how you can support them. I am not in any public server with them.

MandoCreator.com has a submission form and a consulting team of a handful of people who each have been working with Mando'a for a couple of years at least. Periodically, the dictionary programmer offers words for discussion, and the team makes their recommendations based on whether the words are necessary (can some other word or phrase work equally well?), consistent with the in-universe culture, constructed logically with regards to the construction of existing words, and sound as if they belong with the base dictionary. The programmer sometimes further modifies the definitions of the recommendations. The dictionary is updated a couple times a year. Few people use or discuss the language in the associated Discord, which people primarily use to discuss the main feature of the MandoCreator site, its amazing Mandalorian armor designer. The dictionary's useful features and link from mandoa.org are likely to improve its popularity. Submission form is here: https://forms.gle/x2aSDCD5vCspG5cz9. Discord invite: https://discord.gg/u8vnVrj55e

Project Shereshoy is a Mando realism server that has run a couple of events supporting the MandoCreator dictionary. Occasionally, discussions of possible new words crop up, but most people are the there for the scenery. The programmer of the MC dictionary is also a PS mod. I included it as a place to discuss MC expansion efforts, if you like that dialect. Discord invite: https://discord.gg/ruU36wD3KK

You've probably seen me mention the Oyu'baat a few times, so I'll talk about that dialect, too. This is another Mando realism server, older than PS, which started life as one of two Discord servers created to support mandoa.org. This is the server that thrived. The team of the Oyu'baat overlaps with the MC support team and generally follows the MandoCreator dictionary, plus has a few of its own additions. Most word-creation discussion is on a private server due to difficulties with casual language users getting confused or frustrated with nitty-gritty discussions, or offering ideas that show a lack of understanding of what already exists. Getting on the language team requires demonstrating a deep understanding and support of the Oyu'baat's dialect as it currently exists, which has stricter word-formation and grammar rules than almost any other server. Message me if you want the link.

The SW Conlang Discord is good for exploring options, but they don't support one dialect. In fact, they promote creating dialects tailored to the stories authors want to write. Message me for a temporary invite.

I'm in a few other Mando-themed servers, but those have even less Mando'a discussion in them. There are more out servers and groups out there that I know nothing about, particularly since I don't follow fan fiction. I'm sure if someone has recommendations, they'll pipe up in a reply or reblog.

My preferences

As for my design philosophy and the version of Mando'a that I support: If I wanted a complicated language, I'd take up French again or turn to another of the hundreds or thousands of languages that exist on this planet. But I haven't, because I'm intrigued by the limitedness and relative simplicity of Mando'a. I see Mando'a as a logic puzzle and try to deduce its grammar and word-formation rules based on the clues given in the base dictionary, grammar guide, and source examples. I turn to real-word languages as a last resort. My intention is not to create a new conlang inspired by what the original author did, but to expand what's already using internally consistent logic. Having said that, as a side effect of plumbing the depths of this conlang, I eventually started designing my own version of the language, with updated spellings and revised pronunciations for existing words and a slew of new fanon words. For now, I primarily keep it to myself and stick to MandoCreator and mandoa.org when interacting with others.

Well ... I'm sure I missed something and got off track somewhere. Feel free ask for clarification on anything.

#mandalorian language #mando’a #mando'a #mandoa #mando'a language #mandoa language

[geeky-politics-46]

Fluffy Sinister Strange Playlist

Sinister Strange x Reader

Songs that are either referenced directly in my Fluffy Sinister Strange series, or make think of our naughty & sweet spooky boy.

I wanted to give a little snippet of some of the songs I picked for this playlist. So I've included the song title, artist, & a few lines that I feel fit the story. There are more that aren't listed here. These are just my personal faves.

"Rescue Me" by: Chris Young

This one is one pretty much all of my Marvel playlists.

"Who is gonna rescue me? Cause it sure feels krytonite how you got me on one knee with my hand out begging for mercy. What's a happy ending if I can't get the girl? What's it matter if I save the world? If you don't promise me, before you take this ring & rescue me."

"I Wish I Was The Moon" by: Neko Case

This one is for Stephen before you fell into his universe.

"Last night I dreamt I had forgotten my name. Cause I had sold my soul, but I awoke just the same. I'm so lonely. I wish I was the moon tonight."

"A Thousand Years" by: Christina Perri

I can't hear this song without bursting into tears. It's like a Disney fairytale.

"I have died every day waiting for you. Darling, don't be afraid. I have loved you for a thousand years. I'll love you for a thousand more."

"Feel Again" by: JLV

"Been so long that maybe I forgot how to love. I've been running. I've been running. Somehow, you reminded me with only a touch. Make me wanna feel it again."

"At Last" by: Etta James

I firmly believe this song is overused, but it still fits very well here.

"You smiled. Oh, & then the spell was cast. Here we are in heaven. For you are mine at last."

"Ablaze" by: Alanis Morrisette

This one is for little Donna from her parents.

"To my girl, all your innocence & fire. When you reach out, I am here hell or high water. This nest is never going away. My mission is to keep the light in your eyes ablaze."

"Ain't Nothing 'Bout You" by: Brooks & Dunn

"Once I thought that love was something I could never do. Never knew that I could feel this much. But this yearning in the deep part of my heart for you is more than a reaction to your touch. It's a perfect passion, & I can't get enough."

Songs directly referenced in stories & moodboards:

"In A Different Light" by: Doug Stone

"Spooky" by: Classics IV

"Can't Help Falling In Love With You" by: Elvis Presley

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

Back to main masterlist

Back to Fluffy Sinister Strange masterlist

Stephen Strange Taglist: @starkiller-queen @glitterylokislut @verycollectivecreator @chatampr @lovecleastrange @wheredafandomat @mkixx @evelynrosestuff @katefullerrr @littlepinknightmare @foofarny @stygianoir @moonroyalt @saturnsbabe69 @blaxdet @blackrose-92 @ironstrange1991 @rindulacre @nancy-thompsons @wolfatheartandsoul @dangerouslittlefairy @n0obmaster-69 @oliveoilthoughts @onebatch--twobatch @yourmajesty13 @blondekel77 @lil-sweater-slut @gwephen @taramaria @sinceimetyou @slashersrus @coeurgrenadiine @cc13723things @just--a-magpie @supervengerslock @strangelockd @dont-feel-so-good-peter @kingsmanperfecthartwin @ghost-lantern @inlovewithloki16 @thefalconandthewinterwidowshield @itssmaugtheterrible @katherinemaximoff @veryfancydoilies @cute-angi @mochacake2016 @prix19 @alexfanficnook @anotheroddfish @mando-is-the-way @xourownsidee @baes-x @dreamingsmile @negar77rd @imaginesfreetotake @ppatricia34me @rougepetale @tis-vereon @divinearchangel @sherlux @hiddlechive @ginnykate @thatesqcrush @friendofplenti @yuugenmomo @holdmyowos @the-royal-petals @lokislov3 @captaincarmel164 @lucimorningst4r @mydearalmira @petalcranberry @singhfae @emotionsareforuglypeople @trappedinlimbo15 @veryladyqueen @icytrickster17 @kentucky-criedfricken @briefhandsstudenttoad @calamityismyspecialty @sinisterstrange616 @patbrdsc @trojanaurora @azu21 @massivehahaao3tree @strangesgirls

#sinister strange #fluffy sinister strange #sinister strange fluff #sinister stephen strange #sinister strange smut #sinister strange playlist #doctor strange #stephen strange #sinister strange x female reader #sinister strange x reader #sinister strange x you #marvel multiverse #multiverse of madness #doctor strange multiverse of madness #doctor strange variant #doctor strange x reader #stephen strange x reader #doctor strange playlist #stephen strange x you #doctor strange x you #dr. stephen strange #mcu playlist #music inspiration #doctor strange smut #stephen strange smut #sinister strange fanfic #sinister strange fanfiction #doctor strange fanfiction #benedict cumberbatch #marvel playlist

[better-call-mau1]

Ok I gotta ask: The Timeless art of Bride theft sounds amazing.

Love that you asked about this one!!! 🤣 It might be the WIP I’m most excited about on the list, which is really saying something. The original idea actually came from the summary of @lothcatlovesysalamiri’s From Here On Out — which I’m waiting to read until after I finish Bride Theft. (But her stories are great, and they were some of the first Sabezra fics I read years ago. Definitely recommend them!)

Anyway, just based on the outline I have, this will probably be the longest fic on that WIP list once it’s finished and posted. A snippet alone won’t do it justice, so I’ll give you the rough-draft summary I wrote, an explanation of the premise, and a little snippet. 😁

(Here’s the link to the WIP list for the ask game.)

Summary:

Ezra may not ‘get the whole Mandalorian thing,’ but when Sabine is captured and held by her own clan, he finds himself enrolling in Fenn Rau’s Mando Culture Crash Course while on a desperate mission to rescue her — not only from house arrest or the lurking threat of Imperial collaborators, but an arranged marriage orchestrated by her well-meaning mother.

He’s pulled off a few impressive heists over the years, but stealing a Mandalorian bride on her wedding day is going to take the uj’alayi.

Obviously Sabine isn’t the traditional damsel-in-distress type, but I wanted to write a rescue fic where she, a damsel by definition, is in serious distress — and if anyone is a match for her, it’s her own mother.

The basic premise is that Sabine first goes down to Krownest alone in “Legacy of Mandalore” to smooth things out with her family before giving Ezra, Kanan, and Rau the green light. And just like in the show, Ursa knows that Sabine’s return is bound to bring Clan Wren into the crosshairs of Gar Saxon — but without the Jedi as a bargaining chip, she has to make a calculated decision to keep her family alive (including Alrich, currently a prisoner of Saxon and the Empire). As far as she can tell, the best course of action is to ‘neutralize’ Sabine in the eyes of the Empire by marrying her off to another Mandalorian clan, signaling that she’s given up fighting for good and is no longer a threat.

Shockingly, Sabine isn’t too happy about the idea, not least of all because the prospect of marriage to a total stranger forces her to face the feelings for Ezra that she’s kept buried for some time. Her initial attempt(s) at escape backfire…but little does she know that among the pool of suitors her mother invited to Krownest, there’s a Loth-rat coming to her rescue. 😏

Here’s a little snippet:

“This is great! Just as light as stormtrooper plastoid, but it feels like it can actually take a few hits!”

Ezra clapped his palm against the stark-white chestplate, enjoying the solid smacking noise that filled the cabin of the Phantom II. Vanity may not have been the Jedi way, but he did feel pretty awesome in Mando armor — and he probably looked awesome, too.

“That armor can take more than a few hits,” snorted Rau. Leaned up against the bulkhead, his weariness was as easy for Ezra to see with his own eyes as it was to sense through the Force — having just returned from a brief retrieval on Concord Dawn, the Protector was burdened with a fresh reminder of what happened to his men. “Beskar disperses heat two hundred times more efficiently than durasteel. It’s practically indestructible to conventional blaster weapons.”

“Unfortunately for Mandalorians,” Kanan added, sitting arms-crossed in the copilot’s seat, “Jedi don’t carry conventional weapons.”

“Beskar holds up better against your laser swords than anything else,” Rau countered, his voice carrying a combative edge for the first time since he joined their cause.

Ezra couldn’t really blame him — he felt just as off-balance. Since Reklam Station, Sabine had become a constant steadying presence, a partner he could count on during high-stakes missions like this one…but this mission was for her, to get her back and bring her home.

“Hey, think of it this way,” he blurted out, making an attempt at levity for his own sake as much as Kanan and Rau’s. “As a Mandalorian Jedi, I’m unstoppable!” He reached out with the Force and called his lightsaber from the cockpit. “Rescuing Sabine is going to be easy! If you lent me your spare set of armor sooner, I could have toppled the whole Empire by now!”

Rau grimaced, his expression darkening. “Firstly, wearing that armor doesn’t make you a Mandalorian.” He drew in a sharp breath, the corner of his mouth twitching. “But the armor you have on isn’t mine. I don’t have a ‘spare set’ — that would be considered profane.”

“Then where’d you get all this?”

“Where do you think?” Reaching behind himself, he scooped a clunky object off the cabin bench and tossed it to Ezra. “Until we return this to Clan Saxon, I’m guilty of the highest desecration in Mandalorian culture. And if you’re caught wearing it…I doubt Countess Wren will hesitate to disintegrate you.”

Ezra gaped down at the white Imperial Supercommando helmet in his hands, staring at his reflection in the transparisteel visor.

“Wait…did you take this off a dead guy?!”

#yes in fact he did #and Jabando (Jabba+Lando) Saxon is about to crash the party on Krownest #basically everyone wants to kill him including Sabine lol #actually she’s prepared to kill anyone her mother makes her marry #and Ezra’s Clan Saxon persona is gonna be at the top of that list #don’t want to spoil anything but it’ll be a wild ride 😝 #aeon2407 #thanks for the ask! #sabezra #sabezra fanfiction #fenn rau #kanan jarrus #ezra bridger

[gravvitywritestrash]

Dincember Day 1, Prompt: Gift

Hey guys, I'm gonna do my best to keep up with this year's dincember. Just for the sake of things, these are gonna be mostly connected, but no continuity. This is supposes to take place after tbobf, but this is my world, there is no timeline! Anyways, enjoy! (Also im trying my best to do gn!reader. Let me know if I miss something!!)

Warnings: mention of weapons, and food chewing, mentions of anxiety. Let me know if I miss something!

Prompt Masterlist

The market was lined in brightly colored banners, flags, and decorations. The square was lit by lanterns with colored glass, only adding to the many colors that lined the square. The market was busy, busier than usual. At least, that's what the stall owner that sold you the skewers of meat you and the kid were munching on, had said. Apparently, the planet you had landed on was currently getting ready for their ‘Festival of the Lights’, a phenomenon that happened once a year at the height of the cold season. People traveled to the planet just to see the lights that blanketed half of it. The natives of the planet had created a tradition of day-long festivals that included feasts, celebrations and parties. The natives even created a tradition of giving, as a thanks to their planet for giving them life. They would exchange gifts to those that they appreciated, as a way of showing that appreciation. You squinted against the brightly colored lights shining down as you turned over the idea of the festival in your head.

“What do you think about the lights, kiddo?” You looked down at the kid, who was strapped to your chest and mostly covered by the large winter cloak you had wrapped around yourself to keep you both warm. The kid’s head was mostly covered by said cloak, but there was a large enough hole for you to peer down at him. He responded by giving you an open-mouthed grin, showing off the food he was still chewing.

“Very nice, kid.” You nodded and headed began your route, first taking care of food and drink for the ship, personal care and medical supplies followed. After taking care of the “easier” supplies, you then headed for the ammunition and weapons shop you had spotted earlier.

The inside of the shop was warm and was absent of the colorful decorations you had been drowning in. Though the decorations were nice, the various sensations were starting to make you slightly overwhelmed, so the modest shop was a very welcome break. The shopkeeper, a very large and gruff human male, greeted you with a grunt before returning to the large repeating blaster he was tinkering with.

Despite his less than warm welcome, you approached the counter with a smile and a small ‘hello’. To your surprise, the shopkeeper put the weapon down and greeted you with a large grin.

“How can I help you today?” He set his large palms atop the countertop as you approached.

“My employer asked me to get this stuff for him. I’m, uh, not a big weapons person so I’m not exactly sure what I’m looking for.” You explained, handing over the small note. It wasn’t a lie. You had only owned one blaster your entire life, an A-180 that was currently strapped to the same hip it resided for the past 10 years.. You only knew enough to keep it cleaned, and in working order. You knew it could be reconfigured, but you didn’t know how to do so. The most tinkering you had done was replacing a few pins and reloading it with charges, speaking of-

“Oh, and I could use some charges for an A-180.” You hadn’t told Mando you were running low on charges, and you didn’t want to be caught with an empty blaster in the middle of a fight.

“It’s on here.” The shopkeeper waved the note you had handed him. “Give me a bit, I’ll go and find these for you.” He gave you one last smile before rounding the counter top to search through his store.

You were a little dumbfounded. Had Mando noticed you were running low? Well, you guessed it wasn’t hard to miss since you stored your ammo in his weapon locker. But the fact he had considered you when preparing his list left you feeling something strange. Kinda fuzzy. You considered being annoyed with him, for thinking you were incompetent enough to forget, but you knew he didn’t think that. Though you had your days where you were a little less than graceful or observant, but he never made you feel like you were incompetent. You knew he considered you in high enough regard to keep you around. If you were more of an annoyance or problem, he simply wouldn’t have you around. Though he didn’t say it, you knew he appreciated the work you put in on his ship, taking care of the kid, and even when you took up small repair jobs to earn a few extra credits. He didn’t say it, but he did little things, little things like putting your blaster charges on his list so you wouldn’t have to worry about it.

You thought about the planet’s tradition, showing appreciation. You started toying with the idea of getting him a gift, though it made you a little nervous. What would he like? You didn’t know Mando that well, didn’t know if he liked little trinkets or hand-made carvings. You never saw him in anything but his flight suits and armor, or the occasional sleep wear when hyperspace was long enough to relax during. You weren’t even sure if he would like a gift from you. You were an employee, hired to keep the ship up and running to avoid price-gouging mechanics. Though as the months had passed in his employment, you felt like you were starting to get into friend territory. He didn’t have to do nice things for you, like preparing your meals and caf, remembering your favorite fruit and buying it at any market that had it, or even noticing when you were running low on blaster charges.

Yeah, you were sure he considered you more than an employee. He didn’t have to do anything more than provide you with a place to sleep and some level of privacy the close confines of a ship could offer, yet he did more. He made you feel appreciated. Thought of. He didn’t have to do half of the things he did for you, yet he did. 

You wanted to return the favor.

But what did you get for a man who required so little and asked for nothing?

You took a glance around the shop. You could see the owner walking around, placing the requested items in a crate he was carrying. You thought about what you could get him as your eyes roamed the cases of various weapons. What could you even get him from here? Mando had more than enough weapons to support a small group of fighters, part of my religion, he had told you. Was a new weapon even a good idea? What if he already had it, or what if he didn’t like what you picked? You wished you knew more about the swords and blasters in the store.

Though, as you heard the shopkeeper make his way back to you, you figured that you didn’t have to know much about the weapons in the store. That’s what he was here for, right?

“I was able to get everything on your list.” The shopkeeper set the crate down on the counter next to you, leaning one arm over the top as he addressed you. “Is there anything else I can get for you?”

You reached down to your own pouch of credits, trying to get an idea of how much you had, and how much you could spend without dipping into the credits Mando had given you to buy the supplies.

“There is something I use your help with.”

—

 You were taking longer than Din had expected your supply run to take. He was starting to get a little nervous, worried that something had happened to you and the kid.

He should have gone with you.

He was just about to set out to locate you when you entered the hangar, followed by a small speeder stacked with a few crates. Din could physically feel the tension leave his body when you entered the hanger, and a warmth spread through his chest when you smiled upon seeing him.

“Sorry, I know it took me a while. The square was a little crowded today.” You said while unloading the first crate off the speeder. Din took the crate from your hands and walked it to the bottom of the crests ramp. He repeated the action two more times, and when he turned around to check for more crates, he saw that the speeder, and driver, had left. You had also taken off your cloak, and Din noticed that one: the kid was asleep against your chest, and two: you were holding something behind your back.

He waited while you took a few steps, starting to close the gap between him and you. Once there was only a foot or two left, you stopped. Now that you were closer, he could see a rectangular box held in your hands. It was sleek, black in color and metallic. He could see the nervous smile, and noticed the way you dug the toe of your shoe into the ground, a nervous habit he noticed you had.

He started feeling nervous himself. He’s noticed that his emotions started to match your own. When you were happy, he was happy. When you were annoyed, whether it be at a difficult ship repair or even because of him he was annoyed as well. He wasn’t sure when this started happening or why, maybe it had something to do with being with you almost everyday. Maybe it had something to do with the kid, even. He wasn’t sure, he just knew that he enjoyed making you happy, seeing you smile. Your smile always made his chest tight and his head light. He often couldn’t help the smile that matched your own, despite no one being able to see it. So if you were nervous right now, he was nervous, and he was sure it had something to do with the box you were holding behind your back.

“So, the kid and I wanted to get you something. That’s why it took us a little longer today than usual.” You said while producing the box from behind your back. You held it out to him, using both hands to balance it.

For him?

“For me?” Din’s face started getting hot beneath his helmet. He made no move to grab the box, the gift yet, not quite processing the fact that you had got him a gift.

A gift from you, and the kid. For him. He couldn’t believe it. No one had ever gotten him a gift before. Not one that didn’t have strings attached, or a darker motive that went with it. And here you were, holding out one for him.

“Well, open it!” You shook your hands for emphasis.

Slowly, as if it might disappear if he moved too fast, he reached for the clasps on the front of the box. Inside sat a thin cylindrical pole made of shiny steel. He picked it up gently, avoiding the button near one end. It was light, and a bit longer than his forearm.

Once he had it out of the box, you closed it back up and stuck it under your arm, careful not to disturb the sleeping kid.

“Look, look!” You pointed at the scratched near the bottom of the cylinder. Nerves from earlier gone, you ran your finger along the scratches-no engravings.

“Grogu did these,” You said while pointing at the various lines that ran around the sides, loops and swirls that ran several centimeters along the side. “And I did this.” You said while turning the cylinder over in his hands. On the other side, he could make out what was engraved in aurebesh.

For our Mandalorian

His breath caught in his throat at the phrase. Our Mandalorian. He almost didn’t hear your when you started talking again, barely able to hear you over the blood rushing over his eardrums.

“The man at the store had a laser engraver. He let us draw stuff for your new weapon.” That got his attention, jolting him out of his trance.

“Weapon?”

“Yes! Press the button, be careful!” You took a few steps back, gesturing to the button he had noticed earlier.

He stared at you for a few moments, taking in the excited look on your face, feeling the same excitement spread through his chest. He then turned his attention to the cylinder, holding it parallel to the ground and away from his chest. With one last glance at you, he slid his thumb over the button, and almost dropped it when it jumped in his hand, elongating from both ends suddenly.

It was some sort of staff, he realized. One end was forked, and he could hear the low hum of energy, a stun probe, while the other side was speared at the end. In this form, the staff was as much longer, perfect for keeping foes back in close combat settings. He was busy surveying it, weighing it in his hands, and surveying the design. His attention was drawn back to you when you began speaking again.

“I know it isn’t as strong as your old beskar spear, but I thought it could still be useful to you.” You were nervous again, the toe of one of your shoes digging into the ground again. “You don’t have to use it, I mean you already have the darksaber, I guess you don’t really need it.”

This time, he didn’t match your nervousness. Instead, he felt like was almost floating. His heart swelled and he could feel himself getting choked up. A gift, and a weapon at that. Not only had you gotten him a gift, you had personalized it, both you and the kid leaving your mark on it. How could he not use it now, not carry it with him everywhere, with pride and as a symbol. He was sure you probably didn’t realize the significance of gifting a mandalorian a weapon. He was certain you had no idea this was a courting ritual in his culture.

But to you, this was still a gift, a symbol of your appreciation of him. You had gifted him the best thing you could think of to give a mandalorian, your mandalorian. Maybe there was more symbolism behind the gift than he originally thought. Maybe this meant more to you than you were willing to admit, and that was fine. He wasn’t sure if he was ready to admit what this really meant to him either. One day, he would. For now, he’d just tell you how much he appreciated the gift, well, once he was sure his voice wasn’t going to crack and the tears cleared from his eyes.

#dincember 2022 #din djarin fanfiction #din djarin x reader #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian reader insert #the mandalorian #the mandalorian fanfiction #this is getting posted sooo late #im so busy with classes #i wanted to get this posted earlier #but its posted now! #so glad i already have tomorrows prompt written out #anyways enjoy

[neutron-stars-collision]

Waiting for the Night

Bruce Wayne x F!Reader

Chapter 6 - Misery is a Butterfly

Masterlist; Chapter 5 Summary: A murderer to be caught and feelings to be denied. As yet another night falls upon Gotham, you and Bruce need to make sure emotions don't influence reason. Is that even possible? Warnings: Swearing; implied alcohol abuse. Author's Notes: Some loose ends to be tied before I can move on with the movie plot. And 7.5k words because I really can't write short chapters. Some pining, some angst and whole deal of characters doing whatever they want. Thank you Shet for motivating me to keep writing and working on the story. You know how much I love you 💕 I hope you will enjoy this one and feedback/comments and everything else in-between is always welcome ✨ Taglist: @thecraziestcrayon, @kookiewastolen, @imimsy, @tuskens-mando, @sugarcoated-lame, @blue-aconite, @hypnoash, @rabbitdictionary

In the evening, hours before the meeting with Bruce, you learnt what panic meant. Technically, organizing a provocation to catch and arrest the murderer sounded like a stressful situation. But, admittedly, snogging your partner (not-in-crime) a day before might not have been the best decision you had made. Still, the nerves did not make you regret it. They only made things a little more… complicated.

The ultimate plan for the night was not simple, but it did seem manageable. Having told Scott to meet you beforehand, you had to give him the miniature recorder connected to your headset so that you could listen to his conversation with the target. Afterwards, you were to meet Bruce by a derelict building, which would give you a good viewpoint of the arranged provocation between John Kane and his friend. Should your hook be in danger, you were to intervene or call in the police, waiting nearby. Otherwise, patiently wait for the confession and act accordingly. The part you liked the least was that one bit, which included spending another hour with Bruce with nothing to fill the silence or disperse the tension. Bailing was not an option, however.

You did consider it, though.

Despite the ongoing crisis, you made it on time to meet Scott Wilson. He was there when you approached the spot, shivering underneath a thin coat and eyeing you with palpable scepticism. You did not blame him one bit.

“Hello,” conveying the enthusiasm that was nowhere to be found through your bright grin, you gave him a firm handshake, adding the memorized formula “Once again, thanks for doing this”

And you were thankful. Even though the intel you had on the cheating bastard and the fact that he often leered at you in the most despicable way did not make the gratitude flow easily.

The man in question only acknowledged your sentence with an impatient nod, looking around the spot with uncertainty in his eyes:

“Where’s the other one?”

Right. Refusing to let the thoughts influence your voice, you made sure to throw in a cocky smirk, nothing but confidence within the tone:

“Oh, he’s around, don’t worry” you held his gaze longer than necessary, hiding the lack of comfort behind the familiar façade.

Only, that was not going to end too well this time.

“Why is it always you, though, and not your… partner?” the inflexion he gave to the term made you squirm inside as you shuffled nervously on the spot.

The only hope left was that Scott Wilson was not such a good cop. You had to place all your bets on that one, pushing through the agenda without a stutter.

“Because he’d rather remain in the shadows, so to speak” glancing at the darkness around you offered him a wink.

“What is he, some big fish?” Scott squinted at you with the newly found passion of someone who is dead certain they just struck the goldmine.

You would have laughed. Could have even. But the high spirits were missing, and you did not feel like extending the nonsensical conversation. You fished the device Bruce gave you out of the pocket and handed it to the cop with instructions:

“Here, that’s the mic. Just press the green button, and we can hear everything going on at your end. We’ll see you too, so you’re not in danger” the years of acting came into play, making the delivery the more effortless.

Without breaking the image, you waited patiently for the man to turn on the microphone and place it in his breast pocket. The escape was near. Even if that meant facing Bruce…

“I bloody hope not,” the murmur brought you out of the dangerous thoughts, as the conversational tone did strike an alarm bell in your head, “Listen, after we’re done here… Would you mind repaying me for the sacrifice by going for a drink?” Scott gave you another bold look, sliding his gaze all over your figure and taking a step closer.

You took one step back. Just to be careful. The assumptions loaded in the question already felt like an insult, yet you had a haunch there was more to come.

“Just a drink?” a gentle prodding, nothing more, asked with the most innocent tone you could muster.

Scott grinned in that awful way that always told you a man was not worth it, and you better run. That intuition was hardly ever wrong.

“Well… In an ideal world, a drink and a night in my bed, but we can start slow” his cheeky grin widened as he took another step in your direction.

Yep, time to run.

This time, you did not hide the passing displeasure from your face as you frowned:

“Mm, no. Nope. I don’t mix business with pleasure” a lie? Maybe “Sorry” a hurried addiction to make sure he would not bail on you and then an exit, the goodbye half-whispered as you already turned to leave the scene, “I should go, in case your dear friend shows up early,”

With the downpour trickling down your neck and your heart feeling heavier with each step, a jog around the building felt like a marathon. By the time you rounded the corner and spotted a figure clad in black waiting under the roof, it was too late to turn back. But you couldn’t. That was not even a question.

“Hello, stranger” by the time you reached him, Bruce already had his gaze trained on your approaching form.

Yet still, you had to repeat the familiar phrase, looking up at him with a weary smile. Because doing anything else would have been out of character. Even though your heart ached faintly at the sight of him.

“Did you give him the device?” the strict business tone was a welcome distraction.

Though you did not miss how his gaze lingered, slipping over your features as if unable to let go too harshly. Maybe you both needed a wake-up call, getting rid of residual weaknesses and hopes.

“Yup, he’s all set” the reminder of Scott left an unpleasant aftertaste in your mouth, making you add with a frown, “He was behaving like a dick, but… It doesn’t matter,” only to falter quickly, realising that you did not want to relieve the moment.

But it was too late. The intensity of Bruce’s gaze has been turned up, scanning you from the head to toe as though searching for some damage or signs he had missed seconds before.

“Are you alright?” finally, a simple question laced with tentativeness.

It is fair to say you did not expect it. Because people never asked. They should not have to. You were always alright. Right?

“Of course,” it was impossible to hide the notes of bewilderment as you itched to change the topic by gesturing towards the building behind your back, “Shall we?”

After a final, long scan of your face, Bruce nodded, immediately leading you into the building, which was to become yet another makeshift base for the next two hours. Thankfully, Gotham had a lot of spare ruined houses for you to make use of. This one was not much different, filled with trash and destroyed furniture and without a heater in sight. You made your way upstairs to a room with a window looking out on the archway, where Kane was meant to meet his friend, Scott Wilson, in just about a quarter. One issue? This time there was no sofa.

With a heavy sigh, you perched on the windowsill, watching Bruce set up the equipment. No binoculars this time, only a small radio receiver with an antenna, and a set of earphones. You did not have to wait long for a comment on that last item.

You felt the sentence coming before Bruce spoke with how his gaze was boring into the side of your head. The curiosity had nearly reached its peak, but you did not want to show him how much, so you stared at the floor, awaiting what had to come.

“I’m afraid you’ll need to come closer for this one,” he whispered the words as if he was actually afraid.

You raised your head with the cheeky smile already on your lips. And then mockingly fanned yourself:

“My god… The forwardness,” seeing Bruce roll his eyes, you chuckled and stood up, quickly crossing the space to join him on the other sill, “Aren’t you worried we won’t survive sitting that close to each other?”

To prove a point, you pressed your shoulder against his, bumping your knees together with your eyebrow raised. In response, he only moved an inch away and handed you the earphone with the face of stone. On the other side, you heard the static and faint rustling of fabric as though Scott could not keep still. To check the assumption, you leaned through the window to spot the man pacing outside the archway.

“If this works out, you’ll have an exclusive on the news until 6 am,” Bruce spoke suddenly, making you look back at him with unhidden surprise.

You needed another second to process it, yet still came up empty-handed. Because everything that your mind came up with did not sound possible. But if- No, surely not.

“What?” the word fell before all the others could, “You asked the cops for that?”

You never really considered how you could still make a deal for yourself out of the situation without an exclusive. But, at some point, you made peace with the fact that you might not be the one to break the news. At some point, it became more about time with Bruce rather than getting anything out of it. Only, you were keen on never admitting it. Even to yourself.

“Yeah, I’ve told them that’s the condition” there was a degree of uncertainty in his gaze.

As if your reaction was unexpected and he no longer knew how to act. Absolutely ridiculous. The disbelief mixed with fondness and gratitude made it harder to find words befitting what you felt. So, you just stared, feeling the joy quirk the corners of your mouth upwards into a genuine smile. This time the heart caught up before the head did.

“Bruce… thank you” the whisper was all you could manage, letting your eyes wander over his features up close.

Over the slightly parted lips, expressing the puzzlement and hesitation. Over the cheeks tinted pink and chiselled sharply. Over the blue eyes that always drew you in with hundreds of emotions visible within. It was not different this time. Unconsciously, you both leaned in, closing the gap between your faces to a near minimum. You felt the ghost of his breath on your lips, like a promise of something wonderful within your reach. If you wanted. And you did.

“I’ve no idea why you wanted to meet, but-” the sharp, arrogant voice in the earphones ripped the moment into pieces.

You both lurched back as if burned with mirroring expressions of guilt on your faces. It has begun. Bruce adjusted the reception on the receiver and glanced through the window at the meeting taking place below. Judging by his curt nod, all was going well. So far.

“I can’t let you get out of this so easily, man” a familiar tone rang out in your ear as you unconsciously moved closer to Bruce.

The anxiety had kicked in, speeding up the tempo of your heartbeat and shallowing the breath. The only comfort was the presence and warmth of the man next to you, seemingly focused on the conversation taking place on the street outside. Only he did not move away, registering your growing tension with a passing look.

“So, you don’t care about the stuff I know?” the cheeky inflexion in Kane’s voice brought your head back to the moment as you pursed your lips, feeling the flare of anger.

If only because he really should not be the one to take the moral high ground.

“John, you’ve got to be kidding. These two things don’t even compare” you were glad Wilson was quick to point out the obvious.

Even if far from ideal too. And that was a major act of generosity on your side.

You did not like the snort proceeding the reply:

“Annabelle will be heartbroken when she hears that” even without seeing them, you could easily picture the dynamic of the situation unfolding, “I mean, that woman- Jane, was it? Is she out of college yet?” another self-assured chuckle.

Curious, you glanced at Bruce to gauge his reaction to the conversation. The clenched jaw and half-closed eyes told you he was on edge just like you, hoping to get the resolution as fast as possible.

Only, it did not seem likely.

“You’ve murdered innocent people for a post and a cheque” the dry notes in Scott’s voice made you focus on them again.

There it was; the magical keyword. As if triggered, Kane scoffed. A dent in the armour.

“Who said I’ve murdered them?” the cockiness was no longer convincing to your ears.

But still, your psychological analysis made no difference. What you needed was a clean-cut confession. An admission of sins that could not be interpreted otherwise. And that was not what you were getting so far. An aggravated sigh escaped your lips as you tuned out the escalating chatter. Half of your attention was enough for what occurred outside. Instead, you nudged Bruce’s arm with yours and locked gazes as soon as he turned to face you. What for? No one knew. Least of all you.

The nerves must have shown on your face, for the crease between his eyebrows deepened, wordlessly asking whether there was anything you needed. Ignoring the obvious, you flipped your palm towards him, showing the needs instead of saying the unspeakable. He understood. Without making you wait, Bruce tangled his fingers with yours, squeezing your hand lightly. Offering last bits of hope that maybe you would get what you desperately needed. And soon.

Because, sometimes, especially when looking into his eyes and letting yourself get lost, it seemed like you already had something you wanted. Even if only for a moment. Gravity pulled you in, distracting the head from the task so much that at first, you did not hear the words said through the earphones. Until the grip Bruce had on your hand tightened, and he let out a warning whisper. Startled, you focused on the conversation unfolding outside in time to catch the rant, which had begun to gain momentum:

“-they… They made me do it! I never planned for this to happen, but I need that money, Scott. And there’s no fucking way I get elected if there’s evidence of what I did in college. So, I hunted down the only friend who knew the truth and-” Kane was spewing the words out hysterically, admitting to what you suspected as a man backed against the wall would.

You did not let go of Bruce’s hand.

“And you killed him,” Scott cut right in, stating the sentence with lethal seriousness.

You still half-expected your target to deny it. To pretend like the previous rant never happened or was merely a joke. But he did not.

“It wasn’t the plan!” a stifled sob made his voice break as he continued, letting the emotions overpower reason, “I asked him to keep quiet, but he started getting cheeky and I- I lost it. I lost control of it all. I had to kill them. I had to” your hands shook as you understood what happened.

I had to kill them. You met Bruce’s gaze over the space, checking whether it was the reality and you had not yet lost it. He nodded, confirming your hopes and squeezed your hand reassuringly before looking at the scene outside. There was time to waste.

“Call them in” your whisper carried the urgency you felt down in your bones.

Another nod. It was over. It was truly over.

And you did not feel too much relief. Fuck.

***

It was hard to say when the idea found its way into your brain. Whether it was that look you shared with Bruce when Kane sealed his fate. Or when you hugged him tightly, speeding through the sleeping city on his motorcycle, unable to do anything else but breathe and enjoy the ride. The only thing you were sure of was that you could not let Bruce go without proposing it. So, as soon as he stopped by your apartment block and you (reluctantly) let go of him to step onto the sidewalk, the words were waiting on the tip of your tongue:

“Come in” the unfamiliar level of shyness turned the tips of your ears pink and made them tingle.

Maybe only because you fully expected him to turn you down? Or maybe, because you cared about the outcome more than reasonable?

“What?” the clueless question and gaping mouth were the perfect distractions from the inner turmoil as Bruce eyed you with confusion written all over.

Shrugging with a light chuckle, you directed his attention towards the apartment block behind your back and explained:

“You’re already here. Might as well come in for tea or coffee… or whiskey” his eyes widened a little more, and you snorted, ignoring the spreading warmth in your chest, “And yes, that’s an invitation, Bruce,”

Because maybe if you did not acknowledge it, it wasn’t real?

You could see the hesitation in his eyes as Bruce weighed the options, nervously flicking his gaze between you and the ground as though hoping to find help in either. Then, finally, a whisper.

“I’m not sure-” that was the uncertain man from yesterday standing before you again.

The same one that played on the guitar and allowed you to stay and listen. The same one that kissed you with tenderness. You had to cut right in.

“Oh, come on. I’m only inviting you for a tea, not to stay the night” only once you finished the intended persuasion, the meaning caught up, helping bravado step in as your gaze flitted over his body straightforwardly, “Although…” the flash of panic in the blue eyes was enough to break the role and add dismissively “Just kidding, I know you’re not interested,”

In truth, you did not know that. But it was safer to assume than the contrary, so you swallowed down the ache in your chest and pasted a confident grin onto your face.

Only for Bruce to knock it down again.

“I never… Alright,” you both knew he did not mean to say.

That is why you did not question the agreement further, offering a beaming smile in response, complimented with a wink:

“Thanks for the honour, Mr Wayne” without waiting for him to change his mind, you turned towards the building entrance and took out the key, rambling as you dealt with the rusty lock “And excuse the mess, I’m a single woman who’s not that used to having boys around” as the doors finally gave way, you threw a look over your shoulder to highlight the point.

And to make sure he was still behind you.

“I’m not a boy” the offended tone made you snort with laughter, causing an abrupt stop on the ground floor landing.

Bruce barely avoided colliding with you as he reacted with the speed of lightning, hands reaching out to rest on your waist to steady the both of you. It was easy to blame the breathlessness on the giggles that only now started to die down as you eyed him with a brow raised pointedly:

“You sure about that?”

You did not anticipate an answer, so instead, you just winked and quickly turned back around to climb the stairs to the second floor. The creaks on the wooden steps told you Bruce followed until you stopped by the scratched up black door and turned a key in the lock.

You knew what that shyness was all about beforehand. After all, it had been ages since anyone visited your apartment, let alone someone like him. Whatever that could even mean. Before anxiety could be let loose, you took a deep breath and pushed the door open, letting in the faint hallway lights. Noticing the mess, you were suddenly glad that the disclaimer had been dropped beforehand. Bruce was silent as you turned on the light and stepped to the side to let him in. With undeniable curiosity, you watched as he eyed the corridor and the objects cluttering the space. You knew he would never voice the judgements even if he had come to hold any.

Bruce followed your wordless invitation to take off the jacket, and you led him to the living room, mindful of the strangeness of the situation. It was undeniable even if you wished it could be. Yet there was a strange layer of comfort, familiarity within the bizarre. You held onto it as you stepped into the kitchen space, eager to occupy your hands and find the next step in the puzzle. You invited him in; it was all on you. No one else to blame and no one else to repent. Another sigh, muffled with the water boiling in the kettle before you finally dared to look at Bruce again. He seemed lost in the space, standing by one of the few old bookshelves with his eyes fleeting over the contents and titles. It was time you broke the silence.

“Tea or coffee?” the simple question was good enough for an icebreaker.

Hopefully.

There was gratitude in the look Bruce gave you as he turned around at the question. That was enough to bring a soft smile onto your face as you awaited the response.

“Tea,” he did not seem to consider it too long, adding the rushed pleasantry, “Thanks,”

It was easy to go back to another time, only days prior, when you had to be the one to remind him about the simple “magic” word. The reminder itself was the reason to grin, throwing in the simple tease:

“There’s hope for you yet,” the absolution for the bravery fell upon you as soon as the corners of his mouth turned upwards, and you had the courage to change the topic, “When I said that Scott was behaving like a dick…” you did not know why you wanted to bring it up.

Only that despite the insistence, you could not let it go. You could not let it pass without sharing the bitterness that filled your heart at the memory.

“Yeah?” Bruce raised his head, eyeing you closely.

You could tell that he wanted to know yet would never press on unless you mentioned it again. And now it was too late, and you had to continue. Using the apprehension to fuel the irritation, you waited until you had poured the water into the mugs to continue the tale:

“He tried to ask me out for a drink. And sex too,” never the one to stumble over the word, you felt your cheeks heat up from shame “Made it sound like it would be a payoff for his troubles, which made everything worse but…” suddenly it was difficult to meet Bruce’s unwavering eyes, so you chose to focus on swirling the teaspoon in the brewing drink, letting the resignation come through the cracks in the surface “Wasn’t the first time, so probably not the last either” completing the admission with a shrug, you took out the teabags and turned towards your guest.

The gaze Bruce had pinned on you was intense and full of emotions you could not name. Among them, you found the surprise, shock, and anger, as though he was not indifferent towards what you had told him. There was a long moment of hesitation on his side, making you shuffle nervously as if awaiting judgement. Even though you knew none was coming. And then, at last, Bruce broke the silence:

“You didn’t want to go out with him?” the question seemed simple on the surface.

Offensive, maybe, even. Only it wasn’t.

You already understood what he meant, standing in the middle of your apartment, about to have a drink (tea is a drink, right?).

The answer was simple.

“No way in hell,” and you meant it.

Something has lifted, allowing you to take a deeper breath and motion for Bruce to join you at the small table. Setting his mug in front of him, you sent him a grateful smile. That had to do. Anything more would feel foreign. It would set him running. And that was the last thing you wanted.

You allowed the silence to stretch a little longer, observing in fascination how Bruce seemed to relax into the space you offered him. At first, it was just that tentative sip of the tea, making sure that what you gave him was drinkable. Then shoulders slowly dropped, softening the posture and letting down the guard. Finally, his gaze started wandering around the space, betraying the curiosity and interest in the pieces of your life he could find in the room. That was the perfect moment to step in, luring him back for a little while:

“Well… we’re victorious” as soon as Bruce met your eyes, you grinned, “And I’ve got the night to conjure up the breaking news piece” that felt both relieving and daunting, but you could never be the one to draw back in fear from opportunity.

Well… usually.

Bruce did catch the hesitation, arching his eyebrow as though to challenge you.

“Is it doable?” the edge within the question, only confirming the assumption.

You welcomed it with hands open wide. Propping your chin on the arms folded on the table and eyeing him from the new vantage point with a glint:

“For a desperate woman, everything is doable” for a split second, you considered adding more, something like even you, especially you. But you didn’t; you couldn’t, “Thank you, though, for letting me work with you. Hope I made myself useful” instead, you told him what had to be said, eventually.

You meant that one too.

Noticing the proximity of your hands atop the table, you felt a familiar spark of tenderness, urging you to do something about it. So, you crept closer, curious fingers reaching out to curl around his palm in a loose hold. Something shifted in his gaze, and the mask had started to crumble. Bruce frowned, thinking hard and abusing the thin skin of his bottom lip. Unable to look away, you focused on him, letting your eyes wander over the fascinating edges and angles. Over the fading bruises and old scars. Over the pain and hunger, he kept underneath.

“You… You’re far from unimportant” the earnest look in the blue irises made the breath hitch in your throat, freezing thoughts.

At first, you did not get it, desperately carding through the previous conversations to find the answer:

“What? Oh. Right…” until it fell into place.

Am I that special or that unimportant? Now you knew. And the weight of that revelation pulled you further down into the abyss of feelings and words you did not dare acknowledge. Further into him.

With the thoughts raging on, you could only offer Bruce a tiny nod, accepting the answer to the previous question and waiting for what he had to say next. Because, if the time spent together taught you anything, it was that once he was ready to give you something more substantial than the superficial treatment, you had to listen. It would be important. Your fingers were still loosely wrapped around his hand, thumb gently stroking the skin to comfort and remind him about your presence. You did not have to wait long. Bruce swallowed hard and met your gaze again, weakly squeezing your hand all the while:

“Today might’ve been the easiest one since… I didn’t think about them at all, and that’s… new” he trudged through the sentence word after word, struggling to reveal such a truth only for you to hear.

The gratitude for the honesty was almost overwhelming. So much that you worried showing Bruce the extent of your feelings would scare him off. Instead, you only tightened the grip on his hand and offered a smile:

“Sometimes all it takes is a good distraction,” a cheeky addition waiting in the wings so that he would not forget the dynamic “And you’re welcome,”

You knew he was grateful. This was his way of showing it; through a slow yet fascinating disclosure of all that was not aimed at just anyone. In the moment, with the brain still only absorbing the facts and the body busy staring at Bruce and returning his meaningful glances, it did not matter that he had confirmed what you thought true days prior. It had been a good idea to keep him busy on the day, and it paid off triple. But there was no additional dose of joy or euphoria. There was only boundless fascination.

“I’ve never met someone with a past so similar to mine,” he whispered another sentence, evidently manoeuvring between shyness and enchantment and unable to settle for one.

His eyes kept boring into yours with stark candour as if Bruce knew that it was already too late to back out. Things had been said, and neither of you was to forget them. Denial could only go as far. You made sure to show him that through another confident grin.

“Misery needs company… or something along those lines” noticing a shadow of the smile on his lips was the reward, “But I get what you mean. It’s rare, which doesn’t make it easier… But then, when you do meet someone who understands, it’s easier to talk about it” a shrug and you finally let go of his hand.

The consciousness had caught up, and you were afraid of the regrets. You meant every single word, however.

“I’m not that much of a talker” the passing disappointment in Bruce’s eyes fascinated you.

So much that you only cracked a quiet laugh at his counterpoint and quickly gave an alternative:

“Silence is alright, too,” finally meeting his eyes again and noticing a hint of returning restlessness, you nodded your head in the direction of the shelves again and added, “Go ahead, have a look,”

It was clear he was itching to move and occupy himself with something while still not ready to leave just yet. That felt familiar.

As soon as Bruce stood up from the table, you reached for the lukewarm tea and leaned back in the chair to observe him. Somehow you knew where he was heading without ever needing to ask. The family photo from twenty-two years ago caught his attention, and it was the first place he stopped. Despite the embarrassment, you allowed him to look at it, evidently scanning the idyllic scene with attention. It was a simple image: six-year-old you and your parents, beaming widely at the photographer with the backdrop of the park behind you. You barely remembered the moment the photo was taken, yet it was also the only tangible reminder of the past you lost.

Then his gaze fell on the CDs, stacked on another bookshelf without order nor sense. Before you could throw in a comment, Bruce spoke up again:

“Sometimes, when I play the guitar, I feel as though they’re still around. It brings me comfort and helps to quieten down the brain” the confession gained momentum with each word; syllables were permeated with emotions you had only begun to understand.

It made so much sense. An unbidden tear welled up in your eye and rolled down the cheek as you stood up to join him by the shelf and whispered the reply:

“Sounds lonely. To play for the ghosts” on its own accord, your gaze wandered to the photograph again, as though eager to twist the knife already stabbed into your heart.

Another tear slid down your cheek. From the corner of your eye, you could see Bruce watching you closely. There was no chance he missed it. Your hands began to shake, making you tighten them into fists, tensing your body as though anticipating a blow.

But it never came.

“Last night, it wasn’t. You were there” something unidentifiable in his voice made you face him, for once not caring about the crumbled façade and the vulnerability underneath.

The blue eyes bore into yours with strange urgency, as if Bruce needed you to understand something. Something he was not able to say in plain terms. It was not difficult to get pulled right into him, into the world hidden in those beautiful eyes. When his hand touched yours, you could not hold back the quiet gasp, watching as he relaxed your fist and brushed the pad of the thumb over the knuckles soothingly. His fingers were both soft and calloused as if demonstrating that blurred line between the Gotham prince and the Drifter. You could barely tell one from the other, raising the slightly hazed eyes to meet his gaze and find mirrored conflict. As if Bruce, too, did not know what was going on and why the air felt electric, buzzing with possibilities and with errors.

Before you could check which one it would be, Bruce let go of your palm and took a step back. The regrets in his eyes sent a flash of pain to your heart as you swallowed down the disappointment and awaited the words that were no doubt coming:

“I should go” the reluctance in his voice was almost tangible.

You felt it pass like a wave through your body, shutting down the hopes and denying the expectations. Only some of them had already been set in motion, making it impossible to pretend you did not care. Instead, you gave Bruce a weak smile and shrugged.

“If you say so” the final proposition to make tonight.

Meaning: you don’t have to; you can stay; I want you to stay.

There was no bravery left to say either. Instead, you did the only thing that did not feel terrifying or seemed like a bad idea. Ignoring Bruce’s wide-eyed stare, you crossed the space between you and threw your arms around his neck, holding on tight. Without thinking about anything beyond the here and now, you pressed your body into his, melting into the warmth and comfort. It did not matter that Bruce went rigid in your embrace as long as he did not push you away. And it did not seem like he wanted to. After a beat, you felt him return the hug, embracing you tightly and letting out a quiet sigh. It was easy to just stand like that, palms wandering up and down his back, brushing the nape of his neck and breathing in the scent. It felt familiar, like a forgotten, favourite sweater that you find at the bottom of the wardrobe. And once you put it on, you have no idea how you could have gone so long without it.

It could have been minutes or hours until Bruce let go of you, and you had to acknowledge the world around you. He sent you a final, rueful look as if apologizing for what could not be and disappeared into the corridor. You did consider acting like a proper host and following him to see him out. But he did not care about convenience, so why should you? Exactly. You waited until the door had been closed behind Bruce to let out a shuddered exhale followed by a groan.

Only six hours till the embargo is lifted… you better get going.

***

When 6 am struck, you were closing the office doors of your boss, having handed the piece breaking the news about the arrest and the investigative process leading to it. Apparently, it was everything the channel needed and more, instantly paying off with a bonus and a small bottle of prosecco handed to you by the secretary as you left the building.

Powered by coffee and anxiety, the decision making could not withstand the test of reason. The outcome? Getting on the train to the Wayne Tower without having slept or knowing what you were hoping for. But anything was better than facing the reality and having to sit in the empty apartment, staring at the family photo. And you missed him, even if that too was unspeakable. Taking out the key to the front door, you always double-checked whether there was no audience, sending a glance down the street. It would have been one hell of an explanation to make to an overeager journalist seeking sensation…

Absent-minded, you only registered that the door had already creaked open before turning the key in the lock when a familiar face smiled at you through the gap.

“Hello, Dory. Sorry, I’ve been lately slipping past you” stifling a yawn, you stepped into the foyer with a guilty smile already on your face.

“No worries, dear. Master Wayne told me you might be coming today” she waved her hand dismissively and squeezed your shoulder with reassurance.

That warmth pooling in your chest was surely just a system malfunction. Or maybe you were beyond saving.

“Great,” unwilling to take apart the reasons, you allowed the curiosity to ask the question “I can’t help but wonder… Does he- Does this often happen?” your vague gesticulation was made in the hope Dory would catch on.

And she did if that small smile was anything to go by. Locking the door behind you, she replied:

“Not at all, darling. You’re the only one coming here frequently, besides Mr Pennyworth and me,” a shrug and a look around the space complimented the answer.

Curiosity was satisfied. The heart wasn’t.

“I see” your tongue clicked thoughtfully, as you already planned an escape via the elevator, “Thank you” a throwaway remark before closing the gate and pressing the button to the study.

As soon as you were out of sight, you covered your face with your hands, sighing heavily. What the fuck. It was one thing to ask the question in the quiet of your mind, another to say it out loud. And to someone else.

Maybe you should have slept first.

When the elevator came to a standstill and you stepped into the study, doubts had fully taken over any other thought process. Which multiplied tenfold once you spotted Bruce sitting in the armchair. He raised his head as you took the first step, watching you with an enigmatic expression on his face. It did nothing to calm the nerves. So, you came closer, returning the watchful gaze and taking in the strands of hair falling into his eyes and the holes ripped in the old black shirt. The silence had stretched too long.

“Victory at last, huh?” when the unconventional greeting did nothing, you threw in a cheeky remark, “I was worried you might still be in bed this early”

Which only seemed to have impacted you, instantly flooding your head with images of what could not be.

“Did you finish the piece?” Bruce asked the question with the tone of someone who did not care about the answer.

The ache in your chest was hard to ignore much longer as you felt the familiar fear rise in your stomach. It was not the first time, after all. Trying to keep the act together, you perched on the edge of the table and nodded:

“Yeah, the boss said it’s spectacular investigative journalism, so…” faltering, you shrugged as your mind was overwhelmed with the memories from the last night spent in that room, leading to an unconvincing conclusion, “Maybe everything’s not lost,” faced with his unbothered expression, you grabbed onto another strand of sanity, slipping back into the honesty “I wanted to thank you for letting me work on the case with you, since that’s the only reason it happened” you still had his attention, helping push forward the final resort and the only thing left for you to say without risking your heart “One question. Why are you doing this?”

It was also the last thing you should have ever asked. It was evident as soon as the words left your lips, and the blank look on Bruce’s face closed off and hardened. You have crossed the line.

“I thought the deal was that there will be no questions” he raised a brow pointedly as though expecting your contrition.

Perhaps you should have offered penance. But you were rarely the one to apologise for what you did not understand. And the pain was already too prominent.

“Yes, but… It doesn’t make much sense, Bruce” you finished the sentence with another sigh, eyeing him intently, hoping to find answers in the blue gaze.

But the wall was too high, hiding everything he did not deem safe for you to see. It was like being back on square one. As if the past week never happened. As if last night did not happen.

“You don’t know me well enough to make assumptions” Bruce shrugged and stood up, making sure to keep his distance as he threw you a final look of contempt, “And the deal is over, so… I don’t even know why you’re still here” there was nothing friendly within the blue eyes, nothing familiar.

Before you could find a repartee, he started climbing up the stairs. Anger flared in your chest, but the hurt was more prominent, rendering you frozen and lacking in wits.

“Goddamn you, Wayne,” the bitter whisper was the only thing that came to mind, helping to add a final quip, “I’m not returning the keys, though”

Even if only as a manner of spiteful demonstration. Ready to pick up the pieces of your shattered pride, you did not hear company approaching until someone rapped on the door to the study, and you stood up to see the newcomer. Upon seeing the butler’s warm smile, you felt the pain lessen by a fraction. You took out the faithful bottle from the purse and waved it at him with a resigned frown:

“Fancy a glass of prosecco before noon, Alfred?”

The alternative seemed to be simple: drinking it alone back home. Followed by more alcohol, perhaps.

Maybe it was the lack of usual enthusiasm in your eyes, but Alfred nodded, instantly producing two crystal flutes from a cupboard.

“A small one” he wordlessly took the bottle and popped it open “Congratulations on the piece,” looking up as he filled the flutes, Alfred offered you another reassuring smile.

Maybe it would be alright. Slowly.

“Thanks” you accepted the glass and took a courageous sip, waiting for the alcohol to add that needed will to continue speaking “I just wish he wasn’t acting like that, but… Maybe I should stop caring” there was no need to add names, Pennyworth understood as he eyed you closely “He doesn’t give a damn and seems so much better off” a throwaway glance towards the upper levels where Bruce disappeared was unavoidable.

There was no logic to confiding your feelings like that. But logic and reason were still asleep in your bed, where you should be. Or, perhaps, not in your bed-

“What I’ll say might seem contradictory, but Bruce acting like this often means he does care. And it bothers him so much that he shuts off from everyone that’s getting too close” violently thrown out of idiotic thoughts, you looked up at Alfred with wide eyes.

There was nothing in the sympathetic gaze suggesting he lied or said anything but the truth. And it made everything worse. Why? Because now there were reasons for Bruce being an asshole. And those made it easier for you to forgive him.

“Fab. I truly know how to pick them” a resigned sigh was the way to go as you downed the glass of prosecco and searched for the keyset in the bag.

Only for Alfred to place his hand firmly on your forearm, nipping the intent in the bud.

“You don’t have to hand back the keys. Come here as often as you like” the insistence in his voice hit home as you let out another sigh and measured him with a steady look.

The meddling was not new but still made you think. And reconsider the decision not to return to the Wayne Tower ever again.

“You enjoy irritating him” it was an observation rather than a question.

But Alfred still smiled in response and replied:

“It’s not that. Only I would rather he wasn’t afraid of feelings” you did not have to ask whose feelings he meant, “Any plans for the Halloween night?” the topic change made you grin with relief as you stood up from the chair and glanced around the space for the final time.

The guitar and the amp in the corner caught your gaze as a light blush spread over your cheeks, accompanied by worrying warmth in the veins. You quickly averted your gaze as a response settled on the tip of your tongue:

“People-watching on the streets” just as you stepped inside the elevator, you sent the man a final knowing smirk, “You never know who can cross your path,”

#the batman #robert pattinson #the batman x reader #the batman x y/n #the batman x you #the batman 2022 #battinson #battinson x reader #battinson x you #bruce wayne #bruce wayne x reader #bruce wayne x you #bruce wayne x y/n #batman #batman x reader #batman x y/n #batman x you #robert pattinson x reader #robert pattinson x y/n #robert pattinson!batman x reader #robert pattinson!bruce wayne #waiting for the night

[sroop]

guided (vii) - discont.

She stands behind Din when he corners Qin and the Twi'lek thinks she could almost be a wraith or a shadow or just something not quite tangible.

A/N: ahaha i love writing abt them so much that i can't even really testify for the quality of this particular chapter. i feel like the tone is slightly different from the rest of this series, but it was one of my favorite episodes (ep. 6) in the first season so i really wanted to include it. anyway, warnings for some violence, but not much.

Summary: Old friends can be mercenary, but Reyza won't let them get away with it.

prev. | next

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Din feels his heart stutter when the door to the bunk opens with a hiss. The kid, he thinks urgently, her and the kid. He jerks to try to shield them from the crew's view, though it's too late. Reyza, but only Reyza, stares back at them. Weaponless on first glance, wide eyed.

"Well hello, little lady," Mayfeld simpers, strolling towards the door despite the way Din is staring at him. "Didn't realize you were the type to keep feminine company around, huh, Mando?" he jeers. His eyes, though, never leave the stretch of Reyza's cramped figure. "Oh, now, wait a minute." He leans back on his hips, hands splayed comfortably over his blasters while looking between Reyza and Xi'an. "Let's not get catty, ladies. Might get a bit awkward for the Mandalorian here!" The crew cheers with laughter, as Reyza lets her gaze spring from member to member with doe-eyed fright.

Din knows better than to fall for that. He'd noticed immediately that she must have hidden the child somewhere, and the way one hand was hidden under his blanket just so, concealing a blaster. Let her play the spooked doll, he thinks. It's going a game of sabacc from here, and she would hold her cards close to her own chest.

The ship lands soon after, and Mayfeld gestures at Reyza with a blaster.

"Be a good girl and stay here, with Z."

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"Mando? You hanging in there?" Reyza mutters into her commlink. Din changes from the open channel to their private one instantly.

"Right here. Is the kid ok?"

"He's in the bunk, he'll be fine. I'm in the hull with him now." She glances up the stairway, shuddering at remembering the strange, insect-like eyes that the droid has. It unnerves her, the way it'd spun around when she'd excused herself to use the fresher. "Just in case they try anything, I can take the droid out easy. I think I heard that Twi'lek say something to Mayfeld."

"You got a bad feeling?"

"You don't?" Reyza asks, and Din doesn't miss the slight cheek behind it. He imagines her grinning lopsidedly, calling him an idiot for need to ask.

"Maybe she was just saying how much she's missed me."

There's a beat a fizzled out laughter while Reyza shakes her head and rolls her eyes. Maker, he had a strange sense of comedic timing, trapped in a prison transport surrounded by enemies. Or at best, precarious allies on thin ice. 

"Let her. I'm not the jealous type," Reyza lies.

"We're headed for the target now. Listen close for anything and- " Din glances around at the crew he was beginning to regret running with. "- just be careful. The target is an ol-"

He's cut off by a pained grunt.

"Mando?" Reyza strains to hear the faint sound of blaster fire and clanking metal over her comms. Clearly, something had gone wrong, and she was willing to assume it wasn't Mando's fault. She grabs her blaster and makes for the ladder.

"Dank farrik," he growls. The back of his head still feels like an echo chamber clamoring from where he'd hit his head falling. Mando forces himself to his feet and grits out his answer. "They just threw me in a cell. Give 'em hell."

"Already on it," she says.

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Din is a soldier. A Mandalorian. Though his gods have long been reduced from reality to myth to nothing but constellations in the night, they had still forged him into the kind of warrior he is now. Something powerful and endless. All the unrefined ferocity of molten beskar contained in the austere, Creed-bound vessel of a human body in armor. A weapon in and of himself.

That is not what Reyza is.

She observes, with no small amount of pleasure, as the halls flood red and the alarms begin to scream. Her footsteps are weightless. Her breaths are silent. The poisons lined against her body and the blaster she has at her hip are all the weapons she has or needs. Hardly anything. Mere trinkets in deft hands.

But just as Din is made for the bold and the brutal, Reyza is made for this. A cat-and-mouse chase. A game of how well she commands not weapons or strength, but shadows.

Xi'an screams, kicking and flailing against the metal door separating her from her brother and her freedom. This cannot be it. This is not how this ends. She whirls around to Burg, shoving him out of the way. But for all that bravado, Reyza notes coldly, she still trembles when the lights fail, with only the prick of a needle at her neck to ease her fall to the floor. 

Faintly, Xi'an hears the same fate befall Burg, and groans into her comms.

"It's coming."

She stands behind Din when he corners Qin and the Twi'lek thinks she could almost be a wraith or a shadow or just something not quite tangible.

Something pleasant curls around her stomach, the knowledge of having won, of having finally dusted off her hunting instincts. Reyza thinks maybe Mando can feel it too, how pleased she is with herself. When she slips the honing signal, a veritable magnet of doom for those in their line of work, into the waist of Qin's pants before padding into the Crest, he gives her a pointed look. One she's come to learn is his little way of saying, really? She stops to peer up at him from behind a fringe of lashes. Yes, really.

They're well into hyperspace before Reyza feels settled enough to check on the child. She doesn't expect it, but Din rises and goes with her to the bunk. It's strange. His hand trailing behind her, just a few inches from touching the small of her back. Even just him just watching her rock a little green alien at her shoulder quietly. She smiles up at him and Din sighs too quietly for her to hear.

"It's funny," he mutters.

"What?"

Electricity runs up his spine as he meets her eyes with a hidden grin. He voices the rest of his thought loud and clear, "That you spent your first time in my bed without me."

She'd needed to pause, to blush, but then she returns his challenge head on. She grins, and says, "And next time?"

{}{}{}{}

thanks for reading!

#din djarin #the mandalorian #din djarin x reader #mandalorian oc #din djarin x female oc #din djarin x female reader #mando #mando x reader #mando x female reader #mando x f!reader #mandalorian fanfic #the book of boba fett #mandalorian x reader #mandalorian x female reader #mandalorian x oc #reyza

[junk-whunk-punk]

How did celebrimbor feel when he learned of annatar's betrayal?

Hewoow💋 Ohh asks about my fav stupidos why–

There's too many ways of courses of events. We can speak about canon and about lots of AUs where also silvergifting energy can be various.

In the canon, Celebrimbor probably felt not only the personal pain and betrayal of a "close friend" (recall that Annatar was firmly entrenched in his heart), but also guilt and shame in front of the whole world. After all, he allowed evil in a wonderful shell to pass into the very heart of the "forge of good" and destroy himself with its own forces. He certainly felt that it was his fault that Sauron had become stronger and more capable, and therefore the last thing he could do to save Middle-earth was not to reveal the secret at any cost. And he did it.

AUs are different, won't even speak about them.

(Lower will be a long text about my day dreams about stupidos)

But! Personally, I came up with a completely new plot in my head, which completely breaks the canon and will most likely make Tolkien roll in his grave and make tolkienists foam at the mouth in an attack of epilepsy eheehehslfks🤭

I LOVE!!! DARK!TYELPE AU!!! WHERE!!! THEY ARE BOTH!!! ALIVE!!! AND LIVING TOGETHER!!! IN MORDOR!!¡!¡!!¡¡! I mean, all the events before the capture of Celebrimbor were there, but... He stayed alive, or Namo just kicked him out of Mandos like 'Have thought about your behavior? Wanna leave? That's it, get away from here. And don't ever come back, please'. I tend to believe that two persons cannot be "just friends and colleagues" for a long time when one of them has a direct goal to gain the trust of the other at any cost, including seduction (I believe this was the basis of Sauron's technique).

But something went wrong, and the seduction just grew into something more. Both were forced to admit it. But the truth had to come out, since Sauron still had a purpose. In this case, Celebrimbor felt not only pain and guilt, but also felt as if he had been cheated on, that he had not just been betrayed, but simply pulverized and blown off the windowsill. He was just devastated. He also felt anger and resentment, emotions were boiling in him, but he was not sure that it was safe to show these emotions. After all, after such an event, he is unlikely to be able to trust anyone for a long time.

And the remaining love for Sauron poured salt on his wound. So, just to get over it, he switched sides. But he was not going to lose his honor and dignity (FEANOR's BLOOD FLOWS IN HIM!!!!) On top of that, Sauron also couldn't live in peace after everything his goal had forced him to do, so the option of a reunion was the greatest joy for him.

The second option (much nonsense): all the events, including the murder of Celebrimbor, took place. After the events of the Lord of the Rings and the fall of Mordor, Sauron in a near-ghostly shell remained wandering the world for unpromising purposes. After a while, he still accumulated strength for the corporeal shell, which facilitated his attempts to return to life. He began to join the societies of different kingdoms in a new guise, and no one knew about anything. (here it should be told about his depraved adventures and the continuation of the seduction of various rulers, but we all know how this happens). Just at this time, Celebrimbor was kicked out of Mandos and he finally returns to his scampish lover, they both pretend like two losers that everything has always been fine.

I love my nonsense help c:

#sirtack purrs back #silmarillion #celebrimbor #silvergifting

[martianbugsbunny]

We Are Mandalorians: Our Love Must Be Forged (An AxePaz Fic)—Chapter 9

Righty-ho, this is the chapter where things get worse for like a second but in a really fun way and then everything is gonna turn out great. It’s literally my favorite part of the entire fic tbh, except maybe the happy ending (which I promise is coming eventually!) Also, I don’t remember if I’ve used any Mando’a before in this fic, but I don’t think I have, so the rule for big phrases is Mando’a is the actual dialogue and the translation follows in italics. Singular words that are probably common knowledge among Mando fic fans are just as-is, but here is a link to the Wookieepedia page about Mando’a just in case. Anything I use can be found there. Enjoy!!!

“Paz, will you say the vows with me?” Axe asked.

Paz was weary; Axe could see it the way he nodded. And yes, it seemed futile to do it in a pit, at the end; but if not then, it would be never.

“Mhi solus tome,” Axe began. We are one when together.

“Mhi solus dar’tome.” Paz took the next line, his breathing labored and his voice hoarse with exhaustion. We are one when parted.

“Mhi me’dinui an.” We will share all. Including death.

“Mhi—ba’juri verde,” Paz said, and Axe’s heart ached when he heard how Paz’s voice stumbled on this part. We will raise warriors. He took Paz’s hand and squeezed it tight.

The footsteps in the cavern above came closer to the edge of the pit. Paz leaned his helmet against Axe’s. “I love you,” he whispered. “With all the strength of my heart.”

Axe longed to prolong the Keldabe kiss until the end, but he was tired and he was afraid and his nerves were absolutely bare. “Let me hold you,” he said, his voice trembling. “Let me die with you in my arms.”

Paz laid down with his head in Axe’s lap, his breathing slow. His right arm seemed stiff, and he curled his left around Axe’s knees. Was it the most comfortable of positions?…No, not really, but it wouldn’t matter for long anyway. Axe draped his arm across Paz’s upper body, fingers clutching at the cloth beneath his armor in hopes of feeling his pulse one last time past all the garments of war.

Just as the footfalls above reached the edge of the pit, the sound of blaster fire split the air. Bodies collapsed, beskar alloy ringing out against rock, and Axe held Paz tighter. “I love you too,” he said. He didn’t know what was happening up there, but he couldn’t let Paz die without him hearing that.

The noise died down and Axe heard a jetpack fire. Seconds later, a Mandalorian in shiny silver armor landed in front of them: the notorious redeemed apostate Din Djarin. “They’re alive!” he called up to the edge. “They need medical attention!” He knelt down in front of Axe and pulled off his helmet to make half-direct eye contact. “Are you alright?” he asked.

Axe didn’t know what to do, what to say, so he shook his head. “Take care of Paz first,” he insisted. “I can wait. He needs help.”

Din pulled Paz to his feet. The strain of the past few days had definitely caught up with him; he looked like he was about to pass out. Axe didn’t feel much better than Paz looked, but like hell was he going to let himself be attended before he knew his husband would be healed. As Din left the crater, holding Paz securely by the waist, Bo-Katan dropped down next to Axe.

“Where’s the fleet?” he asked. His tongue felt thick and clumsy in his mouth. “They were gone, or I would’ve come back with—”

“Easy. TIE bombers attacked and they were forced to flee. They’re back in orbit now, and the Imperial base has been destroyed. Gideon is dead and what remains of the Imperials are being hunted down and eliminated, including the ones who were about to shoot you like ducks in a barrel.” Bo-Katan tilted his chin up. “You rescued a Child of the Watch instead of fighting?”

Axe inhaled and took a moment to clear his mind before responding, to make sure his words would come out without being jumbled. “He’s my riduur,” he said. “I couldn’t—leave him to die.”

Then he blacked out, falling face-first into Bo-Katan’s arms.

#paz vizsla #axe woves #paxe #axepaz #axe x paz #paz x axe #the mandalorian #mandalorian season 3 #rivals to lovers #fix it #nite owls #children of the watch #mandalore #marriage vows #fic #martianbugsbunny writes fic

[coopsgirl]

Review of Rings of Power ep 1 (some spoilers)

This dude (Galadriel's "brother") could really use a comb for that severe cowlick he's got. What's even more egregious though is what he says to young Galadriel when he's trying to teach her a lesson. He says he may not always be there to help her in a very ominous foreshadowing of his death. Except he would have no reason at this time to think he would ever die as they are living in the bliss of Valinor.

I guess they didn't have the rights to use a map of Beleriand. When the elves left Valinor (end of years of the trees/beginning of the first age) the map didn't look like this. This is what it looked like at the beginning of the second age.

Sauron looks cool here but one cool shot ain't gonna save this thing.

One of the soldiers tells Galadriel that their mission was supposed to end months ago and she tells him no one wants to go home more than her but the "home" she's referring to is Valinor and she says she can't go until her mission is done (the mission is finding Sauron and avenging her "brother"). This is totally out of character for her as she did not want to go back to Valinor. She wanted to be in Middle Earth and have her own realm.

The CGI of the snow troll looked good (so that's at least where some of the money went) but the wire work (where the actress playing Galadriel would have been in a harness jumping in the air to attack it) looks very unnatural. Elves are light on their feet but they still move within the bounds/laws of physics.

The way they had the "not hobbits" hiding was clever but they are all so filthy that they just look like a bunch of old hobos and the acting amongst them is really not very good. I do wonder why they made the decision to make them sound Irish.

We meet Elrond and a couple of female elves tell him he can't go to the next council meeting because it is for lords only and he looks a bit upset. Of course that's because this version wants to be a politician (please kill me now!). At least Lindon looks pretty.

At one point Galadriel says, "Why Elrond, you really have become a politician" and he says, "You make it sound so grim". I'm dying inside here!

Gil-galad seriously chews some scenery to announce that he's rewarding some of the soldiers with a rare honor - they are going to Valinor like they just won a trip on a game show. That wasn't rare or an honor as it was a natural place for elves to go. If they wanted to go, they just went there.

Galadriel is standing amongst some statues of fallen elven soldiers including her brother and she tells Elrond that she doesn't want to leave them. That is just really dumb because the actual elves would be in Valinor alive (if their spirits have left the Halls of Mandos) and that seems a damn sight better than a statue. Then she tells Elrond that going to Valinor will not make her feel better or take away the bad memories of battle but that's exactly what it would do. Tell me you know nothing about Valinor and elves without telling me you know nothing about Valinor and elves.

They must have a Supercuts or something here for this dude to get such a fresh haircut. Seriously though, you see something like a very modern haircut that you would need electrical clippers to get in something like this and it takes you out of that world. It's like noticing zippers on costumes where they shouldn't be (they were first used in clothing in the 1930s).

One of the elves tells fresh haircut that he will return home with more than he left with including a title. There is no such thing as an elven aristocracy! This is just so dumb.

My response to seeing Celebrimbor was to burst out in a fit of laughter which I don't think is the reaction they were going for.

Then we cut to this and I'm laughing again! Why did they make him look like he has a square head?

Nice mullet there buddy!

As they get close to Valinor, Galadriel jumps off the boat which should basically mean death as they are very far from any land so that was a really dumbass thing to do. Then the meteor lands with the dude in it that I guess we're supposed to think is Sauron but will likely end up being Gandalf.

This show is just basically a big disappointment and feels like a cheesy TV show instead of the beautiful, complex world of Middle Earth.

#rings of power #rings of power sucks #middle earth must have a great barber shop #these elves looks like regular people with bad prosthetic pointed ears #none of the characters are interesting #nothing sucked me in #it just sucked #not tolkien

[pentechnics]

I completely agree with what you said about mando. I have seen all the SW movies (including the newer trio loft) but I really don’t remember anything but was able to follow mando s1-2 with no problems. I also wasn’t really watching because it was SW but rather because the relationship between Din and Grogu is so special

YES.

Let’s talk about it!!

I feel like the real magic of Mando, the thing that made it stand out so much, was that Din was just a dude. A random guy trying to live his life and help support his covert. He wasn’t part of the greater star war — no force, no jedi/sith, didn’t even live on one of the major planets — just dealing with the fact that his existence lies within the results of those bigger actions.

My introduction to Star Wars was The Force Awakens and that is still my favorite movie and is near and dear to me (that one and TLJ were the only SW things I’d seen by the time I watched Mando), but I really wasn’t sucked into the SW universe until Mando came out because I just didn’t vibe as much with the bigger picture elements, if that makes sense. There was too much going on and too many strands of the story to keep up with and too many people who just had to be right about everything—

but as we know, DIN DIDNT KNOW SHIT ABOUT STAR WARS. and therefore, WE could know no shit and we’d be right where we need to be to follow his story! What a beautiful concept!

And that doesn’t necessarily go away once Grogu enters the picture — he just has several questions. As do we. And we go with him to find the answers! And that’s where weaving in Ahsoka and Luke made perfect sense and now that Grogu has chosen to not pursue that branch of the narrative we don’t have to be as involved with it, y’know?

And here’s where I get beefy with how Jon is portraying the next arc of Din’s story. It seems — we won’t know for sure until we see the season, but it SEEMS — like they’re going full-on into him becoming the Mand’alor and reuniting Mandalorians. The second part is lovely, we know he lost his covert and needs to figure out for himself what being a Mandalorian means to him now. And finding more of his kind will definitely help him do that. Shared trauma. Group therapy. Love that for him.

I have no doubt that he’ll still be my simple guy. I just don’t wanna have to know all of TCW to be able to understand this season or ‘get the most out of it.’ I wanna not know shit and learn alongside him again.

But more than anything, knowing him as a character, I just don’t think being Mand’alor fits. And that’s just my opinion and I recognize that but listen our mans has lived his life in quiet corners and secluded alleys by his lonesome (covert and Grogu excluded) by choice. Do we really think he’d want this?

And hey, maybe my interpretations are wrong. Maybe he won’t do it. Maybe he’ll go as far as to help reunite the scattered clans into a more cohesive people and then pass off the reins to Bo-Katan or whoever else might show up (not Paz, tho. We know he would never lmao) and then go back to being a simple space dad and raising his kid. We’ll see.

I know some diehard, lifelong SW people that aren’t as into Mando because it’s not ‘classic Star Wars.’ And I know others, including myself, that love it the most for that very reason. It has a little bit of give for the classic fans, like those cameos and mentions of greater things. Those just aren’t the forefront. Which I love!

Plus, at the heart of every Star Wars story is found family, which is exactly what Din and Grogu are. Like you said, my love, their connection is just so unique and special! They and their dynamic are the driving force behind this show — it doesn’t need anything else to carry it. They are why we love it so much. Bigger SW is a pile of puzzle pieces of things that get put together to form a narrative and Mando is more like a poster. It’s all already there, created by a few key elements and has some of those in common with the puzzle, but can stand alone. You don’t need to do the puzzle to enjoy looking at the poster. (Idk if that makes sense but it’s all I can think of rn lol)

The force is just Grogu’s little quirk. The empire’s just the bitch that made Din’s life harder and made it personal when they tried to hurt his kid. He took names and kicked asses, and then he was done with them. Mandalore’s gotta just be the current thorn in Din’s ass that he needs to tweezer out.

Side characters. Assist trophies, if you will. But not the driving force. That’s them:

also I hate the whole ‘repenting for his sins’ dialogue but tbh I think they’re just using that for hype I don’t think it’ll actually be that deep and he’ll instead take the time to come into his own and explore other types of mandalorian life that feels much more like what he’d do but that’s just me. Also I’m still very much recovering from what they did to BOBF so I can’t help but be anxious in general about how this is gonna go. Wouldn’t put it past Jon to shoot himself in the foot with his best work.

Double also, after seeing that thing Jon said I am just pissed that there just seems to be no effort or forethought being put into the timeline of the narrative!!! Hire writers, Jon!! Give Din and Grogu the intent their story deserves, in every way!! Or I’ll bite your face!!

ok rant over thank you for this ask darling!! ❤️

#buckle up babes I have a RANT #the mandalorian

[tolkien-feels]

Do you think after Thingol died and Melian left Middle Earth that she decided to just live in the Halls of Mandos until Thingol gets reimbodied?

Because as a Maia live wherever she wants, including Mandos' halls (right?), and I just can't see her being happy living in Valinor, especially after losing Luthien, and still being separated from Thingol who she 1) didn't return from Middle Earth for for several thousands of years for and 2) ultimately left Middle Earth for.

Or did she pull a Luthien and bully Mandos into getting Thingol reimbodied earlier than might have been the plan so that they can live wherever they want to?

Or did she pull a Legolas and smuggle Thingol out of Mandos' halls like a contraband twizzler?

There are so many options. I need to know which one you think happened.

I'll be such a downer, but......... none of the above? I mean, I could see any of these working, but they're not my headcanon. My headcanon is.... rather long?

To begin with, I don't headcanon all the Ainur can go wherever they want, let alone permanently live there. I don't think, for instance, that Yavanna could move to Taniquetil, or that Ulmo could move to Lorien. I don't have anything to back me up here, and I'm not even systematic about who is allowed where, but that's how I headcanon it. I also think it'd be extra weird for a Maia so closely tied to themes like spring and growth to be in Mandos. It just strikes me as something that wouldn't really be allowed.

I imagine Melian could try and get Thingol out of Mandos since she can't remain in Mandos, but Mandos isn't jail. Mandos isn't punishment in any way, and I can think of no particular doom that makes it so that Thingol couldn't himself leave if he wanted to. I feel like if Thingol isn't reborn is because he simply isn't ready to be reborn. I think for Melian to try and get him out of there would be bad for him.

Melian is the person who, though we are told it hurt her unimaginably, was willing to give up Luthien (possibly forever?) because she respects her daughter, she respects fate, and she knows she has to let go sometimes. That's a kind of heroism (Elrond comes to mind as someone who also embodies that really well), and I would hate to take that strength away from her. My headcanon is that Melian simply... waits. All in all, though her pain must be terrible, ultimately, she will probably seen Thingol sooner rather than later, in the grand scheme of things. My headcanon is basically that she hangs out with Este, and probably Vana, Yavanna and (this is new for her) Nienna - and waits. (I'm also sure she had Maiar friends, but they don't get names so I can't picture them :/)

Also, Valinor is full of women who have experience similar losses. I mean, I'm sure there are also men whose wives chose Exile, but statistically, that appears to have been rarer. I would not be surprised if Melian, who lived so long as an elven queen, was actually more comforted by being surrounded by elves than by Ainur.

So as usual my headcanon is the most boring possible take. Like so many others, Melian simply waits for better days to come and that's it, nothing groundbreaking, even though she's a goddess. I don't think even the Ainur have the power to make sorrow go away from the world