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furious-rogue-stuff · 2 years

Note

♛😔💤 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 Leaving him withdrawn and taciturn.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.

_____________________________

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Taglist:

#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

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sgt-morgan · 1 year

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Working on a fat ass Din Djarin x reader x Boba Fett fic because my dumb ass can’t concentrate on anything else but the insistent need for comfort rn. God, the moment my family stops being so goddamn complicated and playing chicken with the Big Sleep™️ my life will be so good.

#din djarin au #din x reader #din djarin x ofc #din djarin x reader #din djarin #din djarin x original character #din djarin smut #boba fett #boba fett x f!reader #boba fett x reader #boba x reader #boba Fett x reader x din Djarin #din Djarin x reader x boba Fett

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ellariasand · 2 years

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Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. Let’s spread the self-love ♥️

Oh gosh, this is so sweet!! Thank you!

This took forever to put together, because tbh I’m overly critical of my own writing and it’s touch to look back on my work after I’ve written it, but I’m sure those of y’all who follow me will not be surprised to see most of this at all.

Hilariously, none of these are the pieces that are particularly beloved by readers — in fact, some of them have the lowest hit/kudos counts across my entire AO3 profile. And hilariously, only one of them is explicitly a Kastle fic, which seems like the only thing I ever write anymore, lol.

But hey, in no particular order:

language barrier — Maya Lopez & Frank Castle, gen, rated G. This spun off my excitement from the Hawkeye finale over Christmas, and is a short little piece of Maya coming to Frank for help after being injured. Frank doesn’t speak ASL, but he can’t not help a kid in need (Frank Castle, magnet for women in distress), so he does his best to learn. I just love Maya and Frank as a friendship, and I’m proud of writing a no-dialogue story while also getting Frank’s inner voice down fairly well. It’s also the first installment in what is slowly spiraling into a Thunderbolts concept I’m working on behind the scenes — which is really just an excuse to give Frank Castle a bunch of adoptive daughters, lol.

dead ringer — Boba Fett & Fennec Shand & Omega, gen, rated G. This was written for a Big Bang event for Book of Boba Fett, and is one of the few Star Wars fics I’ve written that isn’t some kind of modern day AU to allow me to avoid writing the nuances of sci-fi. It boils down to Boba searching for his fellow clone/sister, and there’s notes of Fennec/Boba in there, but it’s mostly a character piece for Boba, and I’m very proud of both my worldbuilding and the dialogue, particularly Fennec’s narration, since I’d never written for her before — I think this took me like, three days to finish despite being 7.5k.

hold on — Frank Castle/Maria Castle & Frank Castle/Karen Page, rated G. This was the brainchild of a conversation with one of my besties, and also partially out of spite because I was upset that there are virtually no Punisher fics (especially not recently) that touch on Frank’s relationship with Maria beyond just her death and the days leading up to it. The conceit is that Karen finds one of Maria’s old mixtapes that Frank had kept, and the song triggers a memory for Frank, of dancing with Maria to “Hold On” by Wilson Phillips, hence the title. There’s just something about the tone of this one that I really adore, and Maria is such a fun character to write, even though I’ve only ever done it in flashback — see also my hungry heart piece from recently. She’s so feisty and full of personality, and this fic really successfully pairs her with Karen and establishes that Frank can have two loves of his life without having to shove one to the side for the other.

a prize for rotten judgement — Oberyn Martell/Ellaria Sand, rated G. Ah yes, my other OTP. There is virtually no content for Oberyn and Ellaria as a ship on the Internet, so I took it upon myself to come up with a hitman AU for the two of them where Ellaria’s a surgeon, and this piece sees her sewing up Oberyn’s bullet wounds on her couch. I absolutely adore Ellaria in the same way that I do Maria Castle, and the dialogue and worldbuilding in this are just spot-on to me. I don’t like Game of Thrones at all, but it’s difficult to find Oberyn content that isn’t painfully oversexualized, and nigh on impossible to find Ellaria content at all, so I’m particularly proud of this corner of fandom that I’ve created.

tramps like us — Wanda Maximoff & Frank Castle, gen, rated G. My most recent piece, this was the result of me seeing Doctor Strange in the Multiverse of Madness and going “god, Wanda needs to sit down and have a talk with Frank because their trauma is so similar”. One of my favorite things to write is a good character piece where two people are able to just talk without much at all happening, and this is just that. I really nailed Frank’s voice here, and this piece feels cathartic for a lot of reasons, not least of which being the fact that I will always defend women in film going apeshit. Also possibly part of that Thunderbolts concept if I ever get around to it, lol.

Honorary sixth place goes to you look like bad news (i gotta have you), which is the first in a series of fluffy Shane Walsh/Original Character fics I wrote entirely on impulse. It was my first foray into like, real, honest-to-god rom com writing, which is not something I’m normally half-decent at. But that sucker (which was initially supposed to be one chapter and turned into 16k and three chapters, oops) was so much fun and opened up an avenue for me to write easy, no pressure stories between projects if I need to blow off some steam.

#good lord this is so many words #but hey i got to be self-indulgent #my work #maggie #ask games #frank castle x karen page #kastle #oberyn martell x ellaria sand #wanda maximoff #boba fett #shane walsh x ofc #shane walsh #frank castle

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chaoticgeminate · 2 years

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Surrender

Part of the Iridescence Fictional Universe Part of the Chasing Shadows Universe

Pairing: Daphne Aetos x Boba Fett x Emilio Velazquez Rating: Explicit Warnings: Unprotected PiV (wrap it up), anal, oral (f receiving), threesome Word Count: 2.2K Notes: This is a gift to @daddydindjarin because I couldn't for the life of me get this out of my head. Thank you for being a supporter of all my unhinged ideas Bee, and for being a really lovely friend! This smut is for you 💙 Emilio is an OC with a Pedro face claim from the Oberyn era.

“Good, I was worried you started without me.”

Gold met black as the Priestess and her Protector locked gazes, the intricate circle of silver shavings alight with magic, and the armored Daimyo of Mos Espa walked over to take his place with a very new and dangerous looking gun in hand.

“You’re never late, did you get held up?” Daphne kept her tone as light as she could but it was honestly hard not to worry about him sometimes, Boba Fett wasn’t reckless but he was a mark of interest among Se’Kvia because of his take-over of a large area of the Outer Rim in what seemed like a mere day. Ikarus landed gently in outside of the circle, his eyes on her, and Daphne glanced away from her Familiar to see Boba Fett watching her.

There was a softness on his face, one she’d learned he wasn’t keen on her ever seeing, and it vanished the moment their eyes met again.

“I did, Fennec and the Sentinels found the psychic that was attacking the deliveries of the harvests from the farmlands. He’s been… handled.” Daphne knew that life in the Outer Rim was considered ‘lawless’ in the eyes of everyone, since the Consortium and FBMI only sent people out to those areas for Federal level crime and even then it had to be a direct attack on the governing bodies themselves or a risk to the alliances. The Outer Rim policed itself and in some cases it worked okay, like in Freetown and Mos Espa, but it could be a detriment too.

The first time she’d ever been to Boba Fett’s palace in the Outer Rim she watched him execute a man who had forced himself on an unwilling partner.

Boba Fett was a hard man with a strong moral compass.

“Are you staying at my home tonight or will you take the late shuttle back?” Like every time they did this she offered him the spare room in her apartment, expecting him to refuse, but Boba surprised her.

“I’d like to stay.” Daphne felt her throat tighten a little but she nodded, the lids of her eyes drooping as she got back to her feet, and Boba Fett turned away from her completely as she removed her traveling cloak. As a Priestess she had been given her own set of robes to be worn for ceremonies and rituals, the material was like the colors of the dawn sky and sheer in a way that made her richly tanned skin glow beneath the fabric.

Against the back of her shoulder she felt the Wanderer’s constellation warming, like a hand resting against her skin, and Daphne sank to her knees as Ikarus crooned gently. Like a siren song she could feel Kassidy and Vivienne’s magics rising with her own, feel the magic of the Wanderer’s priestesses within the Summer and Winter realms, and the heady tang of the incense she burned while whispering the ancient language of their deity dropped her into a deep trance as she opened her aura fully.

Warmth engulfed her, spreading from her shoulder out, and Daphne sighed in bliss as she felt the comfort and safety of being so connected to her deity and to her fellow Priestesses. Vivienne’s magic was welcomed into the circle of power, balancing the elements now that there was another Earth nature among them.

The ritual never seemed to take long but in actuality she was in a trance for nearly an hour, her limbs stiff as she finally came back to herself, and Daphne felt her cloak land gently on her shoulders just like always. Boba Fett helped her to her feet and, realizing she’d forgone shoes, scooped her up in his arms as he began to walk to where his motorcycle sat waiting for them. Ikarus screeched and flew off, more than able to teleport to her directly if she needed him to, leaving Daphne to stare at her protector as he handed her the second helmet.

The fact that he’d planned to stay with her this time wasn’t lost on her, he had a packed bag strapped to the side of the bike seat and a helmet just for her, and before she could climb up behind him Boba Fett slung his gun into the holster attached to the bike directly and removed his ammo belt. He wrapped it around her hips, securing her cloak closed, and then helped her mount the bike.

The second he climbed in front of her, making her grip the dark rick green armor he wore, Daphne felt her heart skip. Boba Fett had told her before when she’d asked him to be more than her friend and chosen protector, before he put distance between them, that as a golem brought to life through illegal magic he saw himself as unworthy of her. Of anyone really, that he was a creation and not a person, and despite her arguments he’d been unmovable in that thinking.

The fact that he was closing the distance made her chest squeeze.

Boba Fett was not oblivious to the knowledge that Daphne had a lover, it wasn’t necessarily a fight between them but he’d used Fennec to find Emilio and drag him to Mos Espa, and while her lover said that Boba hadn’t done anything untoward aside from offer a warning it had annoyed her that the man thought her incapable of protecting herself. The ride back to her apartment was silent, just the rush of the wind and the night sky above them, and Boba maneuvered through traffic with ease.

As they reached her building Boba Fett parked just beside her car, the vehicle was small enough that he had the room to do so, and he eyed the SUV parked in her second allotted space but simply grabbed his bag and followed her up after taking the bandolier from her and grabbing his gun.

Emilio was reclined on her couch, his long form stretched deliciously against the deep brown leather, and the touch of grays in his nearly black hair shimmered light starlight as he closed his book. He waved at Boba and Daphne slipped her clock off and onto the hook as her protector went to put his bag in the guest room.

Daphne sighed against her lover’s mouth as he tipped her chin up for a kiss and she was ready to take their fun to her bedroom when Boba cleared his throat. His eyes darted between her and Emilio as Daphne felt her cheeks warm.

“You are certain that you want this? I want honesty.” His tone was warm but also stern, making Daphne’s brow furrow at the implication, and Emilio chuckled.

“I do, Lord Fett.” There was a bit of mocking in his tone but not in a way that came off as a taunt, it was a tease, and Boba locked eyes with her.

“And you, my Priestess?”

“What- what am I agreeing to?” Boba chuckled and walked over, his gloved hand pressing against the dip in her back, and his eyes were dark.

“Me joining your relationship with Emilio.” Daphne’s spine went rigid as every nerve ending on her body reacted, there was a tremor in her lip that she couldn’t quite stop and Boba pressed a kiss to her cheek.

“When you admitted to me you had a lover I was… angry. Possessive, even though you weren’t mine in that way. Emilio saw through my insecurities and has made it clear that he wants only for you to be happy, which is what I also want, and so I am here to ask forgiveness and if you’ll allow me to be part of giving you pleasure as well as safety.”

“Yes, Boba-“ He didn’t even allow her to finish speaking, tipping her head back to slot his mouth against hers in a searing kiss, and Emilio chuckled as he mouthed at her neck while he began undoing the ties of her robes. Daphne reached up to hold Boba’s face in her hands, as if letting him go would lead to his disappearance, and Emilio released her body so she could turn around and the robes could be removed.

Boba’s gloved hands wandered, the buttery soft leather felt warm against her cool skin, and she shivered as he held her against his cold armor before her whimper of his name melted into a moan as Emilio’s mouth found the back of her thighs. It was torture as Boba hooked two fingers into her mouth, the leather tasted like the night air and the faint tang of kylari oil that was used to polish and clean his weapons.

“Our little love.” Boba’s whisper against her neck was followed by his teeth sinking into the skin, suckling at her skin, and Emilio kicked her legs apart before she was moaning around Boba’s fingers as her lover’s tongue began to lap at her pussy like a man starved. The sensation of Boba’s armor against her pebbling nipples contrasted the heat of Emilio’s mouth, and Boba chuckled darkly as he let Emilio hold her in place while his free hand drifted to roll her nipples between his thumb and finger.

The fingers in her mouth stopped her from closing her lips, leading to a messy trail of spit dribbling down the corner of her lips, and Boba licked that away with his tongue and a loud moan before she felt Emilio draw away from her. Boba looked down at the man behind her and Daphne keened into the open room when her protector finally removed his fingers from her mouth only to slide them into her cunt, the sensation of the leather and the stretch of his fingers -thicker than Emilio’s were- made her tremble and she nearly buckled when Emilio spread her ass and his tongue circled her puckered hole before he moaned against her.

“That’s it, listen to you, you’re so fucking wet. Such a good girl for us, little love.” Boba’s voice was raspy with desire and Daphne couldn’t help but moan his name as he hooked his fingers inside her, one leg forced up to open her further as Emilio gripped the back of her knee and pushed before his tongue pressed into her ass. The sensation was alien since usually Emilio used his fingers and lube, it was this newness and the idea of his mouth there that made her clench and let out a wanton moan. It was making her dizzy from pleasure, her entire body vibrating on the edge of release, and her hands had not been idle. One gripped tightly in Emilio’s hair and the other shoved unceremoniously down Boba’s pants to finally feel him.

He was thick and dripping with precum, his hips rocking against her hand, and he was very determined to make her cum first if the third finger he slid into her body was a sign but Emilio’s thumb on her clit was what pushed her over the edge. Liquid heat splattered onto the hardwood floor and Emilio moaned as Boba growled, the two of them moving like men possessed as she was spun around and Emilio captured her mouth in his.

It was dirty, it was frantic, and tears formed in her eyes when Boba’s thick cock rubbed against her ass as Emilio notched himself at her entrance. Neither man was nude, both too close to their own orgasms to try, and as both of them slid home she felt overfull and cried as her muscles tried to lock down and fight them.

“Easy, little love, easy. We’ll take care of you, we’ll be patient, hush.” Emilio’s whispers and gentle words were only proven by their stillness, by Boba’s lips pressing gentle kisses to her shoulders, and one at a time they began easing into her body. The three of them shuddered in unison when both men bottomed out, Daphne couldn’t help but squirm and Emilio hooked her legs under his arms and lifted as Boba’s hands cupped just under her breasts to steady her.

It took them a few thrusts to find a rhythm but Daphne was struggling to keep her eyes open, eyelids drooping as one of her hands gripped the back of Boba’s neck and the other was squeezing Emilio’s wrist as the two men worked to ruin her. With each thrust, each wet slap of skin, their pace began to increase; with each plea of ‘harder’ ‘deeper’ and ‘more’ that she whispered they gave it to her.

“Look at you, so fucking pretty like this, do you like having two cocks to fill you? You’re going to be dripping with us, little love.” Emilio’s voice was wrecked as he watched her and she nodded eagerly before everything tightened up when he shifted her hips and ground his pubic bone against her clit. It was too much, white spots danced in her vision and the feeling of liquid warmth filling her as both men rode out their own orgasms made her weak limbed and tired.

It was hazy for her after she came down from that rush of endorphins, the way both men dutifully cleaned up her and brought her to bed, how Emilio tucked her in and Boba made her drink a half of a bottle of water. She wasn’t sure if she was dreaming when she saw them kiss, heard them whisper about reinforcing the security of the apartment, but she did see Emilio fondly Boba’s cock and her eyes drifted closed to the feeling of two bare bodies sliding under the covers right as she hovered on the edge of sleep. Their whispers were so soft she almost didn’t hear them as sleep did claim her.

“We’ll have to work on her stamina, I think.”

“It appears so, I’m more than eager to begin training.”

#chaoticwrites #ofc x boba fett x omc #iridescence fictional universe #chasing shadows

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wipbigbang · 2 years

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Round One Of The Artist’s Claims Are Up!

We have 121 exciting stories looking for artists to claim them. In round one, you can claim two separate fics to make art for (just fill out the form twice with two unique user IDs if you want two stories). Stories are on a first come, first serve basis so hurry up and get a story while you can!

List of Stories | Claim Form

#signal boost #fandom event #jango fett #boba fett #obi wan kenobi #moff gideon #jango x obi wan #rex x anakin #obikin #obi wan x anakin #obi wan x cody #reylo #ben x rey #kylo x rey #rogue one #rogue one: a star wars story #jyn x cassian x bodhi x ofc

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whatsnewalycat · 10 months

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Passenger / Chapter 4

Pairing: Trucker!Din Djarin AU x OFC Charlie Wanderlust

Chapter Four: Wyoming (Part One)

[ Previous Chapter ][ Series Masterlist ][ Next Chapter ]

Chapter Summary: Charlie and Din have a bad morning.

Rating: Explicit (18+ only)

Word Count: 4.9k+

Content / Warnings: heavy angst, suicidal thoughts, homicidal thoughts, half-hearted suicide attempt, half-hearted homicide attempt, gun, fennec shand, boba fett, yearning, do u feel the slow burn now mr krabs

Notes: Hey, hi. Please be mindful of the trigger warnings on this one. It's a little (a lot) angst-heavy at the top, but it gets lighter. Big thanks to @frannyzooey for proofreading this!! Let me know what y'all think :) letsnottalkabouthowturnedoniambydincallingherbluff

Consciousness finds you like a crack in a dam.

A trickle at first, when you register the slow, steady rhythm of the dog’s snores lifting and lowering your arm. You feel the flannel innards of your sleeping bag clinging to your sweat-drenched legs. Your ears tune into the low, constant hum of the old Peterbilt’s engine, and you blink open your eyes to see the subtle light of dawn creeping in through the windows.

Then, as you realize you’re still alive, still being held captive in this fucking truck… whoosh.

Blood rushes through your body, hot and furious, sending you upright in an instant. You find the man propped up against the passenger’s side door like a rag doll, staring at you with dull, vacant eyes. It takes him a moment to process the fact that you’re awake, then all at once, his eyes go wide and he sits up straight. Both of you freeze.

That’s when you see it. The darkened bags under his eyes. The exhaustion slumping his broad shoulders.

The gun in his hand.

Fire floods your veins and you growl, “You fucking coward.”

His eyelids flutter when the insult hits him. A nod rocks his head back slightly.

“All you had to do was pull the trigger,” you seethe, emotion cracking your voice, “How fucking hard is that?”

His jaw clenches. Head tilts to one side. Eyes flit around the cab before settling back on yours, “Do you want to see?”

You blink at him, “See what?”

The man pulls himself to his feet and shimmies between the front seats, holding the gun’s grip out to you.

You drop your gaze to your lap and grit your teeth, “Fuck you.”

He crouches beside the bed and nudges your shaking hands with the weapon, “Take it. I want you to see.”

“I fucking hate you.”

“I know,” he mutters, grabbing your left hand, your dominant hand, pressing the heavy grip into your palm, “Come on, show me how you hold a gun.”

You swallow the thickness in your throat and correct your hold to proper form. He nods in approval and searches your face, then points to his forehead, “Right here.”

No.

You shake your head. Tears distort your vision, blurring his face into an abstract mess. The gun is solid and cool in your sweaty palms. You can’t bring yourself to move it.

So he does it for you.

His hand wraps around yours and guides the aim to his forehead. A sob wracks your body and you shake your head again and again, begging him in a soggy whisper, “No no no—”

He ignores your protest, talking over the cries sounding from your throat, “If you kill me, you can leave. Take whatever you need. Flee to Canada. That was a smart plan,” he searches your face and gives a small shrug, adding, “Please take care of the dog, though.”

He’s right. You know he’s right.

Tears streaming down your cheeks, you hold the muzzle steady between his dark, unblinking eyes. Your thumb pulls back the safety with a metallic crackle. He doesn’t even flinch.

“How hard is it, Charlie?” he asks, his voice a low, daring trickle, “Hmm? How fucking hard is it to pull the trigger?”

“Fuck you,” you tell him in a pathetic sob, “You’re a piece of shit—”

“Then do something about it.”

Red blinds you. It burns you from the inside out, pulsing and furious. You flirt with the trigger, lightly stroking the hard curve of it, imagining all the potential futures branching out from this moment.

A future where you kill him, take his dog and your meager belongings, and head for Canada. Another where you give him back his gun, he delivers you to Portland, and you die in a cage.

Another option becomes clear to you. One that could make this nightmare end in an instant. Where you get just what you wanted.

The numbness of resignation dulls your senses, even as your heartbeat speeds to that of a hummingbird’s. You pull the aim away from his head and point it at your own, thinking: How much pressure would it take? Would it hurt?

His features quickly shift to panic. He holds a hand up and says, “Hey, no—”

Thinking: How hard is it, Charlie? How fucking hard is it to pull the trigger?

“Give me the gun, Charlie.”

A damp, painful knot tangles your throat. You try to swallow it down, but a sob bursts through anyway, and you hear yourself choke out, “I don’t want to die.”

“Hey, look at me,” he instructs.

You can’t. You can’t focus on anything but the barrel buried in your hair and the allure of the trigger. He touches your chin and coos, “Eyes right here, kid.”

Your gaze flicks to his.

He carefully wraps one hand around your wrist while the other tilts the barrel up and flips the safety back into place, “There we go.”

Your hand goes slack and he takes the gun away, hiding it somewhere as you collapse into yourself. When he returns, the mattress shifts under his weight. The heat of his palm presses into your back, smoothing up and down the length of your spine. It coaxes another bout of crying from deep within your chest.

For weeks, this dense, dark matter has been collecting inside you the way dust does on framed family photos. And this pitiful blubbering is just an involuntary purge. A seasonal deep clean.

You expect him to tell you to stop, or to leave, but he doesn’t. He just sits there and rubs your back. You’re not sure if he’s being supportive and patient or if he doesn’t know what else to do, but the effect is all the same. It soothes you.

Eventually, you sit up and wipe your eyes on the sleeves of your shirt, then dare to look at him.

He holds your gaze. You realize this is the first time you’ve seen him without his face covered by sunglasses or a hat or darkness. And he is… remarkable.

His deep brown eyes drop to your mouth for a fleeting moment, capsizing your stomach. Heat pulses to your face and you look away, whispering, “You don’t have to do this. You can let me go.”

He says nothing, just stands and starts disarming the cabin.

Neither of you have spoken a word.

Which is typical on your captor’s part. You’re pretty sure if you never tried to say anything to him, he wouldn’t speak at all.

But there’s something different about his silence now. It seems weighted and intentional. Like he’s actively trying not to break it.

His movements are clipped. Heavy with hard edges. When it came time for your morning bathroom break, he tossed the handcuffs next to you on the bed and waited for you to restrain yourself on the grab bar, crossing his arms and staring at you, as if that was enough explanation.

And, you suppose, it was.

After he returned from letting the dog out, he emptied your latrine, grabbed a black canvas toiletry bag and towel from the overhead compartment, and left again. The morning’s events sucked all life from you, leaving you hollowed-out and zombie-like.

You were nodding off when he returned, his dark curls dripping wet beneath his black baseball cap. The clean scent of his damp skin wafted back into the sleeper cab. Days worth of grime made your skin crawl. If you held any kind of fight in you, you would have asked to take a shower, but you found it pointless.

Why perform maintenance on a sinking ship?

Even so, after the man freed you from the handcuffs and started to prepare the rig for departure, you got ready for the day the best you could.

While he plugged in coordinates and did whatever the fuck on his dashboard tablet, you crouched down behind the driver’s seat and changed into your cleanest clothes, resigning to the fact that they will likely be the clothing your body dons when it’s discovered in some Portland alleyway within the week. You twisted your greasy hair into two long braids, then pulled out your guitar and strummed a few of your favorite songs. Songs filled with hope and freedom and adoration for this beautiful world.

But, for the first time since you left home all those years ago, they rang hollow and false. You stowed the guitar away in the overhead compartment, then strapped yourself into the passenger’s seat upfront and opened your notebook with the intention of drafting goodbye letters to your grandma and brother.

An hour later, the white space sectioned off by cornflower blue lines remains empty.

You could blame the weight of existentialism crushing your rib cage like an aluminum can, but in all honesty, the scenery keeps distracting you.

Waves of evergreen trees roll by your window as far as you can see. Every so often, a hill stretches up towards the sagging gray clouds so abruptly, it exposes the pale, stony earth beneath, cliff sides torn into the forest like ripped clothing or stretch marks. A few towns crop up here and there, tiny symbionts feeding off the lifeblood of I-80, none of them much more than a gas station, a church, and a bar.

It brings you a sense of oneness. Peace. Gratitude.

In the grand scheme of things, you don’t matter. Not to the mountains and the trees and the streams. They existed for years before you and will still for years after you. Just a speck.

But that speck was so good to me.

Regret fills you suddenly. You think about all the people you’ve met, all the things you’ve seen, all the places you’ve been. And you realize none of them will miss you.

You swear you hear your sternum crack when you realize this.

But then you hear the dashboard chime.

Both you and your captor frown at the source. He shakes his head like he doesn’t understand, but starts searching for an exit. By the time one comes along, all you can smell is burning plastic.

The man pulls over on the side of a county road, then kills the engine. When he pulls back the hood, white-blue smoke billows from the Peterbilt’s innards into the gloomy sky.

You look over at the dog, whose flat snout steams up the driver’s side window, and snort, “That doesn’t look good.”

The dog whines and scampers onto your lap, pulling his front paws up onto the dashboard. He glances between you and his caretaker, ears perked up with curiosity. Through the windshield, the two of you watch him shake his head at the machinery. He leans forward into the engine bay and touches something, then jerks back like it bit him. Tugging his gloves off, he stares down at the smoking mess, then pulls a cell phone from his pocket and makes a call.

“Din Djarin,” the velvety feminine voice answers, “How can I help you?”

“Shand,” he greets, squinting up at the glowing gray sky, “I broke down off 1-80 in Wyoming. Need someone to come take this trailer to make the deadline.”

“Drop off?”

“Provo, Utah.”

“Send me your location and the work order, I’ll get someone out there.”

“Will do, thank you.”

After hanging up, Din pings his location and sends her electronic copies of paperwork detailing the job.

He glances through the windshield every once in a while, and can see you and the dog peering over the dashboard from the passenger’s seat. The anxious creases haunting your features throughout the morning have softened. You look amused, in fact.

Looming financial devastation be damned, relief loosens his knotted shoulders just a little. He corrects himself, pushing his shoulders back, staring into the messy engine compartment.

Shit.

This is… not ideal.

Din started to get an inkling of this unfortunate bout of sympathy while waiting for you to fall asleep last night.

Actually, that’s not true.

It happened before that. The second he heard your request for a mercy killing, it started twisting in guts.

By the time he finally heard your breathing alter into that of a dreamlike state, the inhales and exhales becoming deeper and less predictable, he doubted his ability to grant your wish. He tried anyway. Stood above you, aiming straight at your temple. Just one small movement to assure him the collection of your bounty. To achieve financial stability for at least a year. To unburden himself from your presence.

A minute passed.

And another.

And a few more.

Twenty minutes went by in total with your life in his sight, then he resigned to the passenger’s seat while he tried to sort this all out in his head.

If you had just tried to escape, or tried to attack him, he could have pulled the trigger and excused his guilty conscience away. But no. He let you pull back the curtain. Something he could have stopped if he really wanted to do so.

He didn’t, though, did he?

As much as he hates to admit it, even to himself, he wanted to hear your story. It was unprofessional. He should know better. All it did was surface more questions. Make you more human.

Rookie mistake.

He is a killer. Reborn out of blood and forged into this rigid shape. He should know better than to view his target as a person with hopes and dreams and a future. But no matter what lies he tried to tell himself about self-preservation or duty or mercy, he could not fucking do it.

Which, now that he thinks about it, is much worse than “not ideal.”

No. It is downright “bad news.”

He calls the only diesel mechanic listed within a 50-mile radius to arrange for a tow and repair. He tells the gruff man on the other end of the line he’ll “need a new radiator,” then, “yes, I am sure.” The thing had been held together by glue and hope for 20,000 miles. It was inevitable. Din was just praying it would wait until after he received your bounty to fall apart.

But, as is sometimes the case, fate had different plans in store.

Fennec Shand called while he was on the phone with the mechanic. He calls her back, skipping formalities completely when she picks up by asking, “Did you find anyone?”

She doesn’t seem to mind, jumping into the conversation with, “You’re in luck. Boba Fett just finished a job in Laramie and can be there in an hour.”

Din nods, “Ok. A tow is on the way, taking us to a nearby town. I might be out of commission for a few days—”

“Us?”

His lips part, gaze flashing to the windshield as he stammers, “Me and the, uhh, the dog.”

“Hmm,” Fennec hums, “Yeah, thanks for that, by the way. I got a real earful from the owners.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry to me, it’s coming out of your pay,” she snorts.

He props a hand on his hip and glances around, “Do you know what his name is?”

“The dog?”

“Right.”

“I’ll see if I have anything in my notes, mind if I put you on hold?”

“Sure.”

Some time goes by with silence from the other end of the line. Din steps away from the engine bay and paces the gravel shoulder in front of the rig.

Eventually, she comes back with a simple, “Grogu.”

“What?”

“G-R-O-G-U,” Fennec spells it out, then enunciates, ”Grow-goo, that’s the dog’s name.”

“Oh, I see,” he smiles at the ground, then nods, “Thank you.”

“Need anything else?”

“That should do it.”

As he returns to the cab of the truck, Din repeats the name under his breath, “Grogu.”

He pulls the driver’s side door open. A robust and rhythmic strumming invades his ears. Sort of upbeat. It cuts abruptly when he closes the door and sits down.

“What’s the news, big guy?” you smirk, draping one arm over the graffitied face of your guitar, “Do I live to see another day?”

He glances into the sleeper cab at the dog, who’s napping, then back to you, “The radiator is toast. A tow is on its way from Yellow Seed. Guy on the phone said there’s a motel across the street from the shop. We can stay there until it gets fixed.”

“How long’ll that take, do you think?”

“Not sure,” he admits, “He said he might have to order parts, so it could be a day or two before he can start. We’ll know more then.”

You nod as you absorb this information, teeth struggling to clamp down your curving lips. Then, as if you cannot possibly contain it any longer, the smile explodes across your face. He notices, for the first time, that you have this little gap between your front teeth. Like he could slot a dime between them in a perfect fit.

He also notices his chest tighten and his breathing alter.

Bad, bad news.

“It’ll be in your best interest to behave when we’re around others,” he says while turning his attention to his mounted tablet and pulling up the email app.

“Or what, you’ll kill me?” you snort, dropping your gaze to the guitar in your lap.

“I’m sending the coordinates of the motel to the guild. If anything happens—if I end up in jail, or if you run—the next person who finds you might not be as accommodating as I am.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t call the cops. Rule number four,” you raise an eyebrow and pluck a melody into the strings of your guitar, “Fuck the police.”

He rolls his eyes, “Still—”

“Yeah yeah yeah,” you pause your plucking to wave him off, “I’ll be a good girl for you, is that what you wanna hear?”

A wave of arousal flips his stomach and sends his heart racing.

His mouth gapes open and his throat croaks before a wide, pleased smile creeps across your face, “Oh, I got you a little flustered with that one, didn’t I, uhh—hey, what’s your name anyways?”

He shakes his head without answering your question, furrowing his brow at the tablet while typing out the email to Karga. Trying to ignore the heat coiling in the middle of him. Trying to think about anything other than “I’ll be a good girl for you, is that what you wanna hear?”

With a little huff of annoyance, you go back to playing your guitar.

When the tow truck arrives, your captor sets up some little orange traffic cones in a curve along the left side of the rig.

Out of the tow comes a bearded mechanic, outfitted in a navy blue jumpsuit with a name patch that reads Paul. He approaches your captor and shakes his hand. They exchange a few words before Paul moves on to inspect the engine compartment, squinting into the exposed guts of the truck.

Another semi-truck pulls over ahead of the tow only a minute or two later. It’s an odd green-ish gray color with rusty red accents. Your captor goes to greet the other truck driver, a bald, barrel-chested man. They exchange a polite nod and stand side-by-side behind the mechanic, arms crossed as they talk. The bald trucker seems to be more talkative, his lips moving intermittently, while your captor’s stay mostly resigned to a firm frown.

A pang of loneliness shoots through your heart. You realize you’re just staring at them, aching to socialize. The sparse, one-sided conversations you’ve had in the past few days have left much to be desired. No offense to your road companions.

Well, maybe a little offense when it comes to your human road companion.

You set the pup down in the driver’s seat and go to open the door, using rule #10 as your rationalization: Be a stand up tramp.

It’s only polite, after all, to go introduce yourself and be friendly. And, yeah, maybe you desperately want to chit-chat a little, too. So what?

The second the passenger’s door cracks open, your captor is there, blocking your exit.

“Get back in the truck.”

“I wanna say hi.”

“You don’t need to do that.”

You roll your eyes and push on the door. He grabs it and pushes back. The only thing stopping him from slamming it shut are your legs dangling out the bottom.

“Oh my god, seriously?” You blink at him and gesture to the vast, desolated hills outside the rig, “What am I gonna do, big guy, run away? I already told you, I won’t spill your beans, I swear.”

He stays frozen in place, holding the door a quarter of the way open, jaw clenched, broad shoulders squared, like he thinks he can intimidate you. Although you can’t see his eyes through his mirrored sunglasses, you can feel them burning into yours.

So you stare him down. Give him your best “do not fuck with me” face. The space between your bodies becomes so thick and ripe with challenge, you wonder what ever happened when that unstoppable force met the immovable object.

From the driver’s seat, the dog starts to whine in discomfort. This tiny noise pulls the lens back just enough for your brain to formulate a sentence you think could break him.

“You can stare at me all you want, brown eyes, I’m not gonna kiss you.”

His lips part and his head jerks back, “I—I’m—what? No—”

Victory.

A smile spreads across your face.

“I promise I’ll behave,” you tell him, holding your hand out to him, pinkie finger erect, “Pinky promise.”

He looks towards the mechanic, then his trucker comrade, jaw working from side-to-side, weight shifting to one hip. So close to giving in.

“Please, I’m so bored.”

When he turns back to you, he studies you for a moment, then sighs and releases the door.

“You gotta do the thing or it doesn’t count,” you insist, holding your pinky out to him.

“I’m not doing that.”

“Figures,” you scoff. He ignores the retort, stepping aside so you can climb down.

You start around the truck’s unhinged jaw of a hood, waving to the bald trucker when he comes into view, “Hey there!”

“Ahh,” he grins, revealing a set of big, porcelain white teeth, and glances between you and the man hovering over your shoulder, “What’ve we here?”

His accent is interesting. Probably a Kiwi.

You return his bright smile with your own and extend your hand, “I’m Charlie.”

“Boba. Pleasure to meet you,” he nods, giving you a firm and brief handshake, then looks to your captor, “You’re collecting all kinds of stowaways, aren’t you?”

“It’s temporary,” he responds mildly.

Boba’s eyes seem to sparkle at this as he steps back and tucks a hand under each armpit, giving you a wink, “That’s what they all say.”

You laugh and shake your head, jerking a thumb over your shoulder, “Trust me, he can’t wait to get rid of me.”

The mechanic’s head pops out from the inner workings of the truck when he hears your laughter, and you wave to him, “Hi there!”

“Howdy howdy,” he nods in greeting as he approaches, wiping his hands on his jumper.

“I’m Charlie,” you smile and point to his name tag, “Paul, I’m guessing?”

“Yes ma’am, that’s me,” he props his hands up on his hips, jerking his head towards the truck, “Y’all got any more in there, or is it just the two of you?”

“We got a dog. Other than that, just the two of us. We gonna be able to fit in the tow?”

Paul frowns and shrugs, “Might be tight, but I think we can squeeze everyone in.”

You nod, then step around the upright hood, “What’s it lookin’ like?”

“Lookin’ like your, uhh,” he pauses here, glancing between you and your captor, probably trying to assess what the relation between you is, finally settling on, “Din here was right. Radiator’s busted wide open. She’ll need a total replacement.”

Din.

That has to be his name.

Another victorious smile spreads across your face. And to think, just a few hours ago, you were longing for death. Things are looking up.

You clear your throat and attempt to stifle your obvious excitement, “What’s that run?”

Din sighs from behind you, and you hear Boba chuckle to him, “Just temporary, eh?”

“Top of my head, I’d say about three grand. Don’t hold me to that, though. I’ll know more when I can call around for parts and take a better look.”

“Right on,” you cross your arms and glance over your shoulder at Din, whose mouth is flattened into an unamused line, then back to Paul, “Anyway, sorry for interrupting, I’ll get out of your hair. Just wanted to introduce myself.”

“Hey, ain’t no problem,” Paul smiles, hiking a thumb towards the tow, “If you and the dog wanna hop into the truck, we should be able to get this bad boy all hooked up in a few minutes.”

“Sounds like a plan. Thank you, Paul!”

Paul returns his attention to the truck, heaving the tarnished chrome hood shut. You turn to Boba, squinting into the sun, and give him another courteous wave, “Hey, it was really nice meeting you, Boba. Good luck in your travels!”

“Same to you, Miss Charlie,” he nods, his smile stretching wide as he looks between you and Din, “You keep him out of trouble, now.”

“This guy? Trouble? No way,” you snort as you turn and walk around Din, shooting him a smirk on your way back to the passenger’s side.

He follows hot on your trail, practically hissing, “Are you satisfied?”

“I sure am,” you grin back at him as you pull the door open, “Hey, do you want me to let the dog go do his business before we take off?”

He halts, holding the door open, staring up at you. You raise your eyebrows in question.

“Sure—Uhh, yes,” he shakes his head, “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome… Din,” you beam, and your glee only grows when a disgruntled sigh heaves his chest.

To your credit, you did not tip off the tow truck driver on the ride to Yellow Seed, just as you promised.

You did, however, charm him. Which is almost as much of a problem as him suspecting the truth.

Din sat between you and Paul, hoping it would act as a deterrent for conversation, but neither of you let that get in the way. You just talked around him. The situation took him by surprise, though. He found himself being more perplexed than he was irritated by the back-and-forth.

It was almost effortless, the way you seemed to control the conversation, keeping the topic centered around Paul and Yellow Seed. This left little space for him to attempt small talk by asking about who you and Din are, and the circumstances surrounding your travel.

People love talking about themselves. You clearly know this and use it to your advantage. It solidifies something Din has been realizing the past few days: You are very clever. Cunning, even.

When a sign goes by, marking Yellow Seed’s city limits, you read the population out loud, “One-thousand, nine hundred, and eighty-six. Dang, that is a small town.”

You hug Grogu to your chest as you lean forward and look at Paul, “Din said there’s a motel here, is that right?”

“Yep,” he nods, “Right across the road from the shop. If you want, I can show y’all around town after unloading the truck.”

“No,” Din says.

You smack him in the shoulder and chuckle, “We can walk. It’ll give us a chance to stretch our legs. Thank you so much for offering, though.”

“No problem,” Paul squints, flipping on his turn signal, “Here we are.”

The big wooden sign out front is barely legible, its paint chipped and faded by at least a decade of neglect. Beyond it, a big gravel lot crowded with cars and trucks and rigs in different states of disarray. Some have weeds growing up into the wheel wells like the vehicles haven’t been moved in weeks.

The garage itself is a simple, box-like structure with aluminum siding. Three two-story garage doors take up most of the road-facing side of the building.

Paul puts the tow in park and kills the engine, then swings the driver’s door open to climb down. You don’t move, and instead, regard Din with a smug smile while scratching Grogu between the ears, “How’d I do?”

He gives you a nod, “Good,” and after a beat adds, “Thank you.”

Your smile stretches and warms. It curls around inside him, beckoning a gentle, hungry hope that feels intrusive in his body. Inwardly, he chides himself.

Such soft things are not made for him. They are a luxury he cannot afford and does not deserve.

You pass him the dog and crack the passenger’s door open, then turn to him, “Ready?”

The ambiguity with which he interprets this question makes his mind whir. Is he ready for the next leg of this journey, and the uncertainty it brings? Can he rebuild the carefully constructed walls you’ve been dismantling? Or is it a fruitless endeavor? Is he ready to face you without the distraction of the open highway stretching out in front of him?

Not at all.

But he nods, “Ready,” and follows you into the crisp October air, letting his feet touch down in Yellow Seed.

#pedro pascal characters #din djarin #din djarin fic #din djarin fanfiction #din djarin x ofc #din djarin x you #the mandalorian fanfic #the mandalorian fanfiction #the mandalorian fic #the mandalorian #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal character #pedro pascal character fanfic #pedro pascal #passenger #god please let this be the last tag

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wild-karrde · 2 years

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Hey Karrde! Thank you for hosting Fandom Fridays! It's such a cool idea 💙 I have two recommendations.

The first is this piece by @reluctant-mandalore about Boba and their oc, Ann. Cy puts so much emotion into a simple scene of Boba and Ann dancing. I'm still swooning over it.

And the second is your Howzer ficlet! You are so right about the clones loving when their s/o says their name. I also adore how you write Howzer. We don't see a lot of him in TBB, but the way you right him seems so similar to canon.

VEE!!! Thanks so much for the kind words and these recs! I'm going to have to check out the Boba fic because there's something so soft about simple acts like just slow dancing with the one you love. And dancing together by yourselves? YES PLEASE. I'm a big softie, I admit it.

Also, THANK YOU SO MUCH for recommending my Howzer ficlet! That means so much! I've really enjoyed writing him more recently, and you saying that he seems similar to canon is just the highest compliment. Seriously, thank you! 🥹💙

Participate in Fandom Friday to show your favorite creators from this week some love! :)

#FANDOM FRIDAY #creator appreciation #fic rec #fanfiction #fan fic #star wars #boba fett #boba fett x ofc #boba fett x oc #boba fett x original female character #fluff #oc: ann #captain howzer #captain howzer x reader #captain howzer x you #THANKS FOR RECOMMENDING ME VEE #SERIOUSLY ALL UP IN MY FEELINGS ABOUT IT

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imabeautifulbutterfly · 2 months

Text

Once Upon a Time on the Razor Crest

Summary: First steps to friendship

A/N: Hello lovelies,

I hope everyone had a good week. I just want to put this out there as someone who works in the medical field, please be kind to doctors, nurses, technicians, receptions, and cleaning crews.

Just be kind in general. I had a rough week with a very rude patient. It might not seem like much but after a while it takes a toll. So to everyone and anyone who needs to hear this, thank you for all the hard work you do.

Love oo

Due to the past history of the OC there will be discussions alluding to past domestic abuse, please note that as it could be a trigger for some.

Warnings: discussions of lunch, trying to avoid isolation, mentions of past trauma (blink and you'll miss it), discussions of being dirty (physically), possible mud (use your imagination). If I miss any warnings, please let me know.

AO3 Link | Words: 909 | Previous -> Next

Main Master List | Once Upon a Time on the Razor Crest

THE CRESTWORLD

CHAPTER NINE

As we watched Taika and Misty munching away, it made me remember we needed to eat too, “Din, what do you want for lunch? There’s some leftovers from last night’s dinner or I could make us a sandwich and salad …”

“You know…” he cut her off, realizing he needed to make more of an effort with her.

Sure she was his employee, but he was also the only person she knew out here. Cobb and Fennec were always busy in town and the surrounding areas, and Fennec had even less time than Cobb, being Boba’s right hand. Then there was Grogu, and as fun and enjoyable he was for a little kid, it wasn’t the same as having someone around her own age to hang out with.

He nodded to himself, resolving he needed to do better, “You did a really good job today, Ann. Looking after Bessie, milking her, noticing there was something off about her. You could’ve easily brushed it off, or not even bothered to tell me about it. But you did, and because you did, I can tell you there will be a new addition to the ranch. Nerfs have a faster gestation than most quadrupeds. We should have a new addition in a month or two depending on if it’s a bull or calf. Not to mention you fed the nunas and collected the eggs, even though I know it freaks you out a little. I even noticed that you stamped the eggs with the date, and put them away. Cleaned out the pens as best you could … before I got here.” He smirked.

I tilted my head to look at him, resting my head on my arms that were propped on the railing of the corral. I didn’t say much, simply looking at him as I narrowed my eyes at Din, “I can’t tell if you’re making fun of me, or if you’re being genuine”

He chuckled, as he glanced over to her, shaking his head. “Genuine, I’m being genuine,” he turned back to look at Taika and Misty, “plus, I owe you for this morning.”

I smirked, focusing back on the horses, “So … does this mean, I’ll get a pay bump?”

“Ha! No.” He stood stretching, “However, I do believe, your good work today, and for my …”

“Assery?”

“That’s not even a word.”

“Words aren’t words, until you start using them more often”

Din shook his head laughing, “Anyway, I do believe this entitles you to lunch on me. How about we go into town for lunch? I know a good restaurant.”

“Oh, um … yeah, I guess…”

He hadn’t expected that reaction, “Do you not want to?” Din glanced over to her.

A thousand scenarios ran through my mind, my biggest concern was bringing danger to this small town, but … Fennec went through a lot to cover my tracks so I could make it here. I couldn’t keep hiding on the ranch like I was. I needed to stop letting my ex dictate terms. I needed to start living again.

I closed my eyes, and reminded myself, I wasn’t that same weak girl, he initially married.

“No. No.” I focused on the landscape before, taking in the beautiful mountains, the crisp air. I was far away from him. “I’m up for going into town. After all, I need to see more of this area, get to know the town and people. As beautiful as this ranch is, I can’t exactly be holed up here forever.”

“No. You can’t” he smiled.

I smirked, as my eyes glanced down, looking over my dirty outfit, “Maybe I should change? Take a shower at least?” My hand subconsciously went to my forehead and hair, wiping away some of the sweat and dirt.

Din shrugged, “You can if you want to but there’s no need, we’re going to a diner, not some fancy five-star high-end Coruscant restaurant. Plus this is a farming town, we’re all used to being a little dirty.”

“Hmmm … Well, I guess, if you’re going like that” I motioned to his shirt, “then I guess I can go like this” I motioned to my less than stellar outfit.

“What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?” He looked down, sure there was dirt, hay, dust, some grass strains, and something … he hoped but wasn’t entirely sure was mud. The more he thought about it, the more he changed his opinion, “You know, now that you mention it, maybe a change of shirt wouldn’t be the worst thing.”

I chuckled, nodding in agreement, as he tried to flick a nondescript dark matter off his shirt towards me. I squealed, flinching away from him, increasing the distance between us. “Hey …” I held up my finger as I moved further away, “I’ll have you know, I have enough of my own questionable dark matter on me, I don’t need to take on yours, too.” I shouted over to him, when I was far enough away and headed back into the house.

Din watched as she headed back to the house, slipping off her boots before she went in.

He stood in the open glancing over to the pens, the horses grazing, and Bessie chewing away as she stood there looking at him, and he couldn’t remember a time he felt this content from cleaning the pens and grooming Taika and Misty. He shook his head, pushing his thoughts aside as he headed into the house to change.

AO3 Link | Words: 909 | Previous -> Next

Main Master List | Once Upon a Time on the Razor Crest

@littlemisspascal @sprout-fics @liadamerondjarin @badbatch-simp24 @spicymcnuggies @lady-ren @firstofficerwiggles @darkangel4121 @discofern @kavecika @monako-jinn-stories @ladykatakuri @avathebestx @theroguesully @furyhellfire66 @carodealmeida @ciramaris @twinkofthedink @dindjarin-mandalorian @tortor-mcgee @sarcasmismyonlydefense24 @chiyo13

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awholelottayeehaw · 2 years

Text

Post The Mandalorian season 2, Pre-Book of Boba Fett: Din Djarin x Reader

Summary: The universe had a habit of pushing you and the Mandalorian together and tearing you apart at inconvenient times. With the Crest and Grogu gone and how expensive a new ship is, the universe forces the both of you to take on jobs that require you both to be away from each one other for long periods of time. To keep the love you have for one another strong in lonely stretches of space travel and planet-hopping, a compromise is made that tests your relationship.

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Open relationships, smut, rough sex, romantic sex, F/F/M threesome (sort of), hook-ups, make-up sex, porn with plot, angst and fluff and smut, porn with feelings, unsafe sex, brief Din/OFC and reader/OMC. If I miss anything let me know!

This is the most romantic, filthiest thing I've ever written and probably not the most romantic filthiest thing I'm capable of writing, so enjoy the ride! The ending is worth it I promise!

Word Count: 7,197

The complication of the present is that there’s always an after. And where there’s an After, there’s a Before. A Before time, a Before moment, a Before person. Before choices affecting the After in ways one couldn’t begin to comprehend, and a cycle that tends to repeat itself.

Before there was Grogu, there was you. You, who took on more odd jobs than Din even knew existed. You, who went into every opportunity and job with enthusiasm that made Din’s reckless choices look like logical plans. You, who grated on his nerves when it was always you who could provide him with what he needed when no one else could. It was like the universe had created your very existence just to be his personal annoyance and greatest confidant.

It wasn’t until After Grogu that Din was able to truly appreciate your spirit and tenacity. What he once believed to be a nuisance to his very existence was now as comforting as a child’s blanket. Over the years, just like the jobs in your life, things just fell into place not when he wanted them to, but when he needed them to. As if the universe and you were conspiring together to make him miserable and happy all at once.

It was Before the Razor Crest was destroyed and Grogu had been taken by Moff Gideon when the line between friend and partner started to blend with lover. Underneath dark skies with the vast amount of stars twinkling down on them. Underneath the canopy of trees protecting you from the rain of whichever planet you met up. Underneath galaxies and supernovas and unforgiving suns on desert planets.

The best job that fell into place after all that time wasn’t working as a translator for some noble or speech writer for a corrupt politician. It was being his missing piece, the very thing that filled the black hole in his heart right next to the one that Grogu filled. He thought when he got the kid back, the After would be you and him and the green bean finding a new ship and traveling off into the great, wide void, happily ever after. Wherever the universe took them, they’d go willingly.

He hadn’t expected such a different After.

Din hadn’t expected Grogu to be taken from him the moment he got him back. Din hadn’t expected to inherit a dead planet. Din hadn’t expected to be broke with no son and no covert to go back to and no Creed. If the universe worked so hard and for so long for his clan of three to be together, then why was it working so hard to keep them apart again?

That’s how you went back to the original Before. The Before where you took on more odd jobs than Din knew existed. The Before where he was nothing but a cold bounty hunter, married to his Creed. The Before where the universe was cruel and annoyed him and put everything it possibly could in his path to make him absolutely miserable.

But it wasn’t as bad as the original Before. Sort of. He still had you.

After Grogu was reunited with the Jedi, after Din inherited a dead planet, after the Crest was blown up and everything he knew crumbled in his hands; he begrudgingly agreed to buy a small property on whatever planet you both could afford. It would serve as a home base while you found work and saved enough to buy a ship and finally have that After you both originally thought you'd have. The After you both deserved.

Din reinstated his membership with the Guild and you hustled for whatever job landed in front of you, regardless if it was dangerous or demeaning. It was what started your first major fight, when he found out you had pimped out your body to some rich senator while finishing a different job in Coruscant for enough credits to both feed you for a month and also make a dent in your ship funds.

Din knew you hadn’t slept with the man out of infidelity, he just wished you had at least talked to him about that option before acting on it. But he also knew it was your body and your choice and he respected it. But that didn’t stop the hurt from taking root in his chest. Or the damage his pride took, knowing that you had to resort to that when he could barely afford public transportation to and from the Guild with a quarry.

Din knew he was being irrational and cruel. But with the pain from everything the universe had thrown at him in the Aftermath of losing it all, Din took up a job through the guild that would pay almost as much as pimping yourself out had but would also keep him away from you for a number of months. Something he had agreed not to do, the both of you coming to the conclusion that no amount of money was worth being too far from one another for too long.

But the Aftermath left him hurt and hollow and prideful, and with very little communication, he took off one morning while you were still asleep for the bounty that would keep him away from you for a few months.

He watched Jakku, the only fucking planet he could afford to even buy you a house on, grew smaller and smaller and his heart ached worse and worse with every mile wedged between you two. Din regretted the way he left instantly, knowing you’d wake up cold in your shared bed to an empty house with half the armory gone. No goodbye, no lingering hugs or Keldabe kisses…

When the first month crept around the corner, Din was miserable. He missed you so much. He missed your gentle touches and laughter and the way you made the morning caf better than him. He missed the Crest and his son and his independence. He hated every transport ship he had to take, but he’d remember how you sold your body and the hurt and anger had him suck up the discomfort and pain and the yearning he had for you.

That was what might’ve led him to nearly make a horrible mistake.

He had finally caught the quarry after two months of playing cat and mouse. Din had cut off the man’s head, as he had done with other quarries, and stuffed it in a burlap bag. His adrenaline was high, chest heaving from the kill, and that was when he ran into her.

She was a random woman on some random planet but god, she looked so much like you. Same hair length and color, same face shape and lips… but the eyes were all wrong. They didn't have the same comfort and soul yours did, regardless if the color was close.

She had come on to him and Din had been so close to bending her over and fucking her on a crate in an alleyway at the transportation hub waiting for his ship to Nevarro. He had his hand on her back, pressing her into the crate, other hand going for his zipper.

Din had abruptly left like a phantom before he could go any further, shame washing over him. The trip to the Guild felt like it was mocking him with how slow it was, almost as if it purposefully was making him have to think about how badly he almost fucked up and how badly he had fucked up leaving you behind without saying goodbye and only checking in here and there. And it was equally slow going home.

Getting off the transport ship when he got back to Jakku was a blur. A blur of racing off the ship before everyone else and grabbing his weapons from the cargo hold and racing home as the sun was setting.

You had been folding laundry when Din more or less kicked the door open. You promptly dropped the clothes, hand going to the blaster you keep at your hip at all times, but he was there before you could touch the weapon.

Din crushed you to him, all the pain being replaced with a yearning he only had for you.

He didn’t bother waiting. He took you right there, pressed against the wall. Then he had you bent over the couch, on top of the table, in the shower with the lights off, and in your shared bed. Din couldn’t get enough of you, your smell, your taste. He fucked and whispered his apologies into your body all night long, your gasps and moans your only response.

He was finally home in every sense of the word, but the guilt sat heavily on his shoulder.

“I almost made a horrible mistake,” he whispered into the night, flat on his back with you curled under his arm and splayed over his bare chest. Din blankly stared up at the ceiling, fruitless with the pitch darkness of the room. You drew circles into his skin with your fingers, quietly waiting for him to elaborate.

Din swallowed the lump in his throat and told you about his trip, his frustrations, how sorry he was for leaving the way he had. That he understood now you did what you had to do for both of your well beings. He told you about the quarry and the adrenaline rush and how it almost lead to his infidelity.

Your hand stopped its movement and Din could’ve cried. He wanted to snatch your hand as you drew it away and place it on his heart instead and keep it there forever. But he let you retract your hand and felt you sit up in the darkness.

The years Before and After let him know that you were looking at him, even if you couldn’t see him, and he with you. But he didn’t feel judgment nor pain, just empathy and melancholy. Din felt you straddle his waist and his hands immediately rested on the dips in your hips, stroking the naked skin there.

It was then, in the After of his mistake and your fight, you proposed a proposition. One he never thought you or he would ever consider, especially not with a shaky voice.

“I think we need to reconsider the long distant jobs. I know we don’t want to be apart, but with the money you brought in and how much more we could if we both did…”

Now it was Din’s turn to trace circles into your skin, listening with a patience he didn’t know he had.

“I’m sorry I hurt you by selling myself. I didn’t think… I didn’t…”

Din sat up and captured you in a kiss that he hoped conveyed just how much he loved and forgave you. When he pulled away, he gently placed his forehead against yours as your voice drops to a whisper.

“I think we should consider taking on longer jobs. Just until we can save up for maybe a small ship, then a bigger one. Just work our way up. What we have now isn’t working as fast as we want and I don’t want that to hurt us... our relationship... our future..."

You splayed your hand on his chest, basking in the warmth of his breath tickling your face.

“And…I think until we can have the same stability we had on the Crest… and as long as you’re comfortable with it... maybe it might be best for us to have an open relationship?”

You had waited for his response and Din let the idea buzz around in his head in silence. He didn’t really want anyone else, just you. But the months away and the loneliness of the job and space… He thought back to the woman who looked like you but wasn’t you and imagined himself fucking her with no guilt. It made him hard thinking about it and he felt you giggle and wiggle around in his lap. Din slapped your ass to keep you still.

Din didn’t want anyone but you, but if he could have guilt free relief when he needed it, he would be okay with it. But the idea of you with another man made his blood boil. And as if sensing that, you pulled him into a long kiss and grinned into his lap.

“It doesn’t have to be forever, just for now. Until we get a ship, until we can settle somewhere else without worrying about money... just for now, okay?”

“Okay, but I think we should establish some rules.”

“Agreed.”

The rules were simple: Don’t fuck friends and don’t fuck people the both of you know. Check in regularly regardless if either of you take on a partner, and whoever warms your bed comes second to your relationship. If anything changes, everything needs to be put on hold until a conversation could be held, and always have implants checked and yourselves tested for STDs if going in raw. Unplanned pregnancies or health issues will be dealt with accordingly, together, regardless of the outcome.

It was easy enough, but Din knew he only wanted you. That anyone he bedded would never replace you, and he knew you felt the same way.

It wasn’t long before you both took on jobs that kept you away from each other for about a month, then two months. Din had been good, not really feeling the need to have a partner.

But a new rule was added when he got home and found out in those two months you had bedded a partner and his jealousy got the better of him: don’t talk about your partners without being prompted. It wasn’t your fault, you were excited to show Din a new thing you had learned in the bedroom, but his jealousy spoiled the first evening home you two had together in months and he regretted it. The self-loathing alone kept him up all night, "sleeping" on the couch.

The tension was still there when you both left for your next jobs, and he held onto the guilt when he found a partner himself after being gone again for two months. He made it up to you with the new oral technique his fling had taught him, you not asking where he learned it, but taking the knowledge better than he would've. Better than he had reacted previously.

That’s how you found yourself eight months after the original agreement, four months into your own job with two more months to go, squeezed into a tiny corner of an alleyway in broad daylight with an absolutely gorgeous Mirialan fucking into you like you’re the last lay he’ll have in his lifetime. With only his fly open and your pants pulled down enough for him to get the job done, but otherwise fully clothed.

The man was technically your employer, but you couldn’t find it in you to care. Was it ethical? No, but you couldn't care less. He had hired you on as a bookkeeper for the historic collection he was transporting from one planet's museum to the next in the same galaxy. You had maybe three more planets to hop on your trip, and lately, all you could think of was Din. You were lonely, horny, and wanted your tin can man. But after the first month, and noticing the Mirialan show interest in you, you risked it all to hop into bed with him.

You had just talked to Din that morning, the both of you catching up on your regular weekly calls. A month ago Peli had called with the promise of a ship for cheap. It hadn’t been a Razor Crest like Din had hoped when he went to check it out without you, but it was something. And after a long talk, it was agreed upon that the N1 Starfire was a good enough ship for either of you to use when the other can take a transport ship.

It would bring in more credits and opportunities, things you couldn’t afford to lose out on. Especially when you were so close to being able to get the fuck off of Jakku and sell your house for something hopefully far better on a planet that wasn't riddled with thieves and scum. And you wouldn’t have to worry about being apart any longer. The After you both craved and wanted. But before you could achieve that, the Mirialan's cock ramming into you reminded you that you’re still in the Before part of that plan.

A shift behind you had Fas’s large cock hit a more vulnerable spot within you and you couldn’t stop the gasp and moan from escaping your lips. Fas put his hand over your mouth, bending both of your knees farther as he fucked up into you relentlessly. You tried your hardest to keep standing, knees weak, but grateful that the Mirialan had one hand on your hip and the other on your left breast. You clung to his arms, the only anchors keeping you from completely collapsing.

You wished he had bent you over something or let you lean against the wall, but there was something extremely erotic about being fucked standing doggy style and your guts rearranged in a position you couldn’t do with Din due to his height. Not this easily, at least. And especially not standing up.

Fas groaned himself as your walls tightened around him and you were dunked into an intense orgasm that made your vision go white. As if he felt your body give, Fas wrapped his arms around you in a tight embrace as he pistons into you for another minute then grunts, slapping his hips one last time against you as his hot seed filled you. The warm thickness from it triggered a weaker orgasm that you groaned out, grinding back against him, letting the haze of it drift through you. Mirialan's cum, for whatever reason, was far thicker and hotter than a human's cum. You learned that the first time you slept with him, and the shock of it made you go right into a second intense orgasm that had your limbs trembling for half an hour after.

“Fuck.”

Fas hissed as he pulled out from you and immediately spread your ass cheeks to get a full view of your pussy. His thumb circled your asshole while he patiently waited for the thickness of his species' cum to reach your entrance and threaten to spill out of you. When he sees the hint of white at your entrance, he sighs and tucks himself back into his pants before he pulls your own back up, gently. He kisses your shoulder, patting you on the bottom, then cupping your clothed cunt as if willing his cum to stay inside of you.

“I won’t lie, I’ll miss your humor, skills, and this sweet pussy.” He rubbed the fabric over your mound and your body jolted from overstimulation, his grin only widening upon seeing and feeling your pants gain a new wet spot.

You roll your eyes and turn around to face him, leaning against the wall for support. When you had explained to Fas your arrangement with Din the first month you considered sleeping with him, Fas had been hesitant in a way that made you swoon at how much of a gentleman the man was to everyone. He reluctantly caved and that’s how you ended up fucking like rabbits whenever the chance arose and loneliness hit, whether it was in the showers of the ship or in an Employees Only portion of the museum, or in a brightly lit corner of an alleyway barely hidden by boxes and a sheet.

“I still can’t believe your Mandalorian is okay with this,” he mumbles to himself as he traces the shape of your cheek, unable to hide the yearning he had for you from his blue eyes. You give him a small smile.

“Unless you want your arm broken, I wouldn't tell him you’re one of my hookups.” Your smile widens at his chuckle, thankful you found someone so charming to shackle up with when the itch needed to be scratched. But it just made you long for Din even more.

“You really miss him, don’t you?”

“Is it that obvious?”

When Fas took your hand, at first you assumed he wanted another round, but instead he slipped a bag of credits into your hand. It was the rest of what you were owed for the next two months. You stared at him in bafflement and it was his turn to grin at you.

“I’ve accidentally overheard a few of your calls with him," he shrugged. "And never not talk about him, regardless if we’re working or fucking.” His words make you blush. “I’ve got the next two planets, you should be with your Mando.”

“Are you sure?” the shock tightened your chest, filling it with concern and excitable yearning. You reached to give the bag back, but Fas just pushed it back towards you.

“I can tell you miss him, and you’ve been a great asset on the team the last four months, but I've got this. I’m twice divorced and I’d give anything to have someone like you in my life. But I know your heart belongs to this mysterious warrior and I can’t find it in me to keep you apart.” He shrugs, sheepishly. “And I'll admit if you stick out your employment I may find it harder and harder to let you go. So it’s best for you to find your way back to your Mando and let a man wish he had found you first before the warrior had.”

You couldn’t help dragging him into a hug, pouring your gratitude into your squeeze. Before he or you could change your mind, you let him go and ran back to the ship you had called home the last few months to collect your things. And before you could blink, you were on the next flight back to Jakku, giddy knowing you’d be surprising your Mandalorian with your presence for the first time in three months.

And that’s how you found yourself walking in on Din balls deep in an absolutely stunning Pantoran. Her indigo skin shone in the dim lighting, head yanked back as Din gripped her lavender hair tightly in his fist. She was still mostly clothed, pants shoved down enough to get the job done, shirt pushed up and bra band down to expose perk breasts that bounced with each hard thrust Din gave her.

He took her from behind like a wild animal, pressing her into the wall in front of them, the rhythmic wet slaps of their bodies connecting honestly impressive. Din hadn’t noticed you come in, his head thrown back, completely lost in the pleasure the Pantoran’s pussy gave him. The high-pitched breathy noises caught in her throat made you wet and you couldn't help clench your thighs together at the sight and sounds.

Din tilted his head a fraction, barely noticeable to anyone else, and froze mid-thrust when the darkness of his visor lands on you. His head fully snaps in your direction and you could’ve laughed at the image before you: a moment of passion frozen in time like a high-quality porno.

The Pantoran caught her breath and did her best to look in your direction with how tightly Din still held her hair, and you could feel both of their nerves radiating off of them from your presence. It wasn’t like you caught him cheating, this was part of the arrangement, but it also had been a rule to not meet those you slept with while away. But for whatever reason, that broken rule and the scene before you didn’t bother you as much as you thought it would. You could almost sense Din torn on continuing or pulling out of her and ending his affair right then and there, so you made the choice for them.

You closed the door behind you to keep out peeping eyes, despite the fact that you and Din lived on the outskirts of whatever civilization Jakku claimed to have. You let your eyes drag over them hungrily, licking your lips.

“Well, Din? Don’t stop on my account, you promised this pretty thing a good time and I hope you intend to keep that.”

Without breaking eye contact with his visor, you slipped off each clothing item you had as you sultrily sauntered over to the couch, until you were just in your panties. Din’s helmet followed your movements and only stopped when you plopped down on the couch. You widened your legs and placed one foot on the chest you use as a makeshift coffee table to reveal the wet patch forming in your underwear.

“And when you’re done, I want you to fuck me. Understood?”

Din let out a guttural moan, hips involuntarily jerking, causing the Pantoran to moan as well. As if he had never stopped, Din immediately went back to pistoning his hips into her, harder than he had before, causing her to let out a shriek.

You spread your other leg still rooted to the floor, wetting your fingers and dragging them down your body until they land on your clit. Din might be railing this woman three ways to next week, but his helmet was glued to you. He groaned at the sight and reached around to roughly grasp the woman’s breasts, each movement precise and graceful as if he was putting on a show just for you. And maybe he was? The idea of it was hot as is, let alone seeing it unfold.

Din pulled the woman away from the wall and, while still inside of her, guided her to put her hands on the crate you'd been using as an accent table. Din knocked the lamp to the ground, not bothered when it smashed in pieces as it hit the ground. His choice had given you a better view of the show and the woman could now see your own actions. When her honey-glazed eyes rested on you as you fingered your sex, they rolled back in her head as she let out a whine.

Din’s hips stuttered and he swore, grasping her hips and spreading his legs to slap into her at a different angle.

“Her pussy clenched watching you play with yourself, cyare.”

“Good. Finish her Din, I’m waiting.”

Din shoved the girl’s feet together and widened his own stance, ramming into her even harder and faster than he had before. Her voice was caught in her throat, tears streaming down her cheeks and she finally came, hard and spazzing on Din’s cock. Her knees gave out and Din gently laid her on the floor, never taking his gaze off of you. When she was fully on the ground and comfortable, Din pointed a gloved finger at you.

“Get on your hands and fucking knees,” he growled in a tone you hadn’t heard before. A voice that made you drip and immediately flip over with your knees on the chest and hands on the couch, looking at him over your shoulder in a sultry manner.

He was behind you before you could blink and shoved his cock into you with urgency, still glistening and pearly white from the Pantoran’s hot pussy. The dirtiness of that fact alone made you groan and clench around him, sweat beading at your brow.

Din immediately jackhammered into you, hands cupping your tits, body curling around yours. He fucked you like a loth cat in heat, shoving himself into you as if he couldn’t be any closer. His dick glided against your walls, the speed causing the heaviness of his balls to slap against your clit with little to no mercy with how he’s putting his full weight into each thrust. The wetness from your own arousal and the Pantoran’s caused a lewd wet slapping sound as his balls found a rhythm against your pussy and the both of your and the Pantoran's slick drenched whatever exposed skin Din had displayed.

Din muttered filthy words into your ear loud enough for his fling to hear, but only muttered words of love and affection and how happy he was to have you home quietly enough for only you to hear. It was the missing ingredient needed for you to groan and cum, your whole body growing tight then spasming with Din’s continued relentless pace.

The Mandalorian, without stopping, placed one boot on the chest next to your hands and, like the Pantoran, gripped your hair and pulled it tightly as he fucked into you, finding his own high.

You glanced over your shoulder to find the Pantoran was watching intently, fingering herself, and just like it had been enough for her to orgasm from when you touched yourself, it was all you needed to have one more surprise orgasm that milked one out of Din.

He slammed his hips into yours, grinding into your pelvis, and filled you with spurt after spurt of hot cum with nothing but a satisfied grunt and tight limbs. When he was done, Din sighed and held you to him, flipping you over to sit on his lap on the chest, his cock still nestled in you.

“God, I missed you.”

Din ran his hands over your body, your face, and nuzzled your cheek with his helmet. As much you wanted to melt into his embrace and never let go, you couldn't conveniently forget about the woman he had brought home that was still propped up against your wall.

Din whined as you slipped off of his softening cock and slid on your panties before his spend could drip down your thighs. You pulled on your shirt and reluctantly tugged on your pants as well before wandering into the fresher, wetting a clean washcloth, and coming to the Pantoran’s side. You gently opened her legs and washed away the evidence of her and Din’s affair, then helped her back onto her wobbly feet.

Pulling her pants up the rest of the way and buttoning them for her, you then took her hand and lead her to the front door. She glanced back at Din and awkwardly waved, but he just nodded at her in stoic acknowledgment that made you chuckle. As if he hadn’t just given the poor thing arguably the best lay of her life.

The walk down the path from your home to the road was slow, but not awkward. The Pantoran rang her fingers together, glancing at you shyly as you walked her out.

“Thank you for keeping him company.”

The Pantoran gave you a shy smile, fiddling with her hair. Now that you have better light and aren't distracted by their coupling, you realized the Pantoran was around the same height as you with a similar build and hair length. It was almost like looking at yourself if you hadn’t been born human.

“He and I ran into each other when we both arrived to Jakku. I’m only in town visiting my brother for a few days, and we ran into each other when I was heading home from the cantina. He told me about your arrangement and at first I wasn’t sure if he was just saying that to get into my pants guilt free for the both of us, but figured if Mandalorians are an honorable people, he had to be telling the truth.”

“He was,” you confirmed with a soft smile, grateful that you and Din had both found at least one good person to sleep with that were kind and genuine. It made your heart flutter. “One of our rules was to not meet or talk about our flings, so I'm sorry if I almost ruined that for you. And I’m sorry I didn’t ask for consent before jumping in, I should have. I got caught up in the heat of the moment.”

You bit your lip when you realized how badly that could have turned out if the Pantoran hadn’t been okay with your choice to stay and watch let alone participate. She stopped in her tracks as you arrived at your property's gate and spun around, eyes wide.

“Are you kidding me? That was really fucking hot! But I appreciate that sentiment, you’re a good woman. I get why he loves you so much.”

You could feel your face burn, caught off guard with the confession.

“What do you mean?”

The Pantoran sighed wistfully, leaning against the fence and staring off into space. “He talked about you briefly when we first ran into each other at the transport hub, then outside of the cantina, and even before he absolutely fucked my brains out. He wouldn’t stop talking about you. Wouldn't shut up about how much he missed you and even apologized that this couldn’t be anything reoccurring or serious. He just talked about you like he couldn’t stop himself from letting the world know you existed. It’s how I knew he wasn’t sleeping with me to cheat or be disloyal, a man with that much yearning doesn’t talk about his partner like that and then goes behind their backs and cheats on them." She shrugs. “At least I hope not.” She sighs wistfully again. “But you’re so lucky to have a man like that. Does he have a brother?” she joked.

You laughed, unable to stop the grin from spreading across your face and you leaned against the fence next to her. “Not that I’m aware of, but thank you for telling me that. It’s been really hard being away from him for so long, and knowing he feels that way makes me feel… strangely better about our situation? I guess I was worried that one of us may drift apart or find someone else with how unideal this arrangement has been work-wise.”

The Pantoran put her hand on your shoulder and gave it a friendly squeeze. “Look, I may be just a random hook-up, but even I can tell this only brought you guys closer together. And I’m really happy for the both of you.” She opened the gate and let herself out, closing it behind her. She turned to face you with a grin that matches your own. “Thank you for being a good host, and I am sorry again you walked in on us either way. I’m glad it ended the way it did, it gives me something to look forward to one day knowing that someone out there who can give me the same love and sex you two have is out there waiting for me.”

You shrug and lean closer, your grin turning sultry. “I’m not sure how long we’ll be on Jakku for, but next time you’re in town and we're still around, feel free to give us a knock.” You winked and her indigo skin flushed purple, honey eyes drowned out by the blacks of her blown-out pupils. She gives you a shy smile regardless.

“I’ll keep that in mind.” She blew you a kiss and turned on her heels to leave. You watched her walk down the street until you couldn’t see her anymore, the sun setting and casting long shadows. You took a deep breath in, savoring the love blooming in your chest with this newfound knowledge, then turned to return to the love of your life waiting for you on the other side.

You barely had the front door shut and locked before Din was on you, smothering you in his now armorless embrace. He had darkened the room while you were gone and his lips kissed any part of you he could reach while crushing you to his body with the desperation of a man trapped in a desert and had just found an oasis.

You didn’t complain when he stripped the both of you down, swatting your hands away from taking your own clothes off. You didn’t complain when he lead you to your room and made love to you for hours into the night, hours After the Pantoran had left.

Where the raw desperation that had been there earlier was now replaced with deep but slow thrusts and grinding that left you panting and sweating and moaning into his mouth. Din rested his weight on top of you, not leaving an inch of you untouched. His mouth consistently stayed hovering over your mouth and sucked hickies into your skin as if he was afraid you’d disappear again.

In the After, you basked in each other’s presence. Chest to chest, legs entangled, lips grazing, and noses lightly bumping lazily into each other.

“God I missed you so much,” he mumbled into your lips. “I’m sorry you had to come home to that, if I had known-“

You kissed him and he sighed, leaning into the action. You pulled away and pecked his nose. “Don’t, I wanted to surprise you. Fas realized how much I missed you and gave me the rest of my pay. Told me to go home.”

Din paused at this and abruptly sat up. Even in the darkness, you could tell he was looking at you.

“Are you serious?” his shocked excitement made you grin. “Runi, that’s fantastic! I’m so proud of you, that was really generous of him.” Din’s hand found your stomach and gave it a gentle rub, thick fingers grazing the underside of your breasts.

Despite the happiness in his tone, you could sense hesitation in the slight tremble of his fingers. You placed your hands on top of his, your own digits rubbing into his skin.

“Din, what’s wrong?”

You allowed the silence to linger, content with the feeling of his skin on yours. Finally, he laid back down and draped his arm over your waist, nuzzling his face back into the crook of your neck.

“The bounty ended up being worth way more than was promised alive. The man who put the bounty on the quarry hadn’t expected him in any way other than dead.”

You furrowed your brows, not sure where this was going. “Din, isn’t that a good thing?”

Din took a deep breath and exhaled your name. “It means not only can we sell the house, but we can go elsewhere and not worry about money. At least not for a little while.”

You opened your mouth, a million questions running through your mind. But Din propped himself up on his other arm and cradled your face, his touch distracting you.

“Cyar’ika, you deserve better than Jakku. If you’re okay with it, I was thinking we could settle on Nevarro. Karga and Cara have turned it into a paradise since we last visited, wee wouldn’t have to worry about either of us needing to sleep with a blaster under our pillows or wonder if someone will steal our things while we're away on a job.”

Din swallowed, hands trembling. “We’d have the protection of the Guild right in town and be able to afford a nice place. I could work nearby with Karga which doesn’t require me to be away for more than a few hours most at a time, maybe a week if something is needed off planet. A house on Nevarro means we might not be able to get a ship just yet, but I figured it was a start. More credits, less time away from each other, and we'd be surrounded by people who we can trust. People we call friends. What do you think?”

Your shocked silence filled the room but it wasn’t long before you flew into Din’s arms like he had before and he held you close, nose buried in your neck.

“When can we move?”

Din chuckled, rubbing your back. “In a month? Is that okay? We still need to find a place and transfer everything over. One of us will need to fly the N1, but I’m sure Cara or Karga can give the other a lift to Nevarro.”

“What, you have a problem with public transport, Mr. Djarin??” He laughed and pinched your hip.

“No, but why make one of us wait to be together any longer than we have to?”

You rested your chin on his shoulder, his body a furnace, but a welcome heat despite the scorching warmth the planet radiated being suffocating as is.

“And our arrangement?” you whispered, unsure of where that would stand. You felt Din sigh.

“Honestly, as much as it had its moments of being fun, I just want you. You’re the person I want to take home, the person I want to wake up to, the person whose body I want to get lost in. I know Nevarro may not offer long-term jobs to keep you as close as I’d like, and until we get a proper ship, I’m aware you may still need to travel to bring in credits. So I’m okay if you need to scratch any itch you get while you’re gone, but once we settle in on Nevarro, I was hoping we could go back to it just being us. Like before. But I understand if it’s not what you want.”

“Din, like you said, as much as this has been fun, you’re all I want. I appreciate you wanting me to be fulfilled in every way possible if you can't do it yourself, so I’ll need to think about it. But I’m absolutely okay with things going back to just us when we're ready.”

You pulled away reluctantly, his grip tight around you but gave you enough room to cup his face in your hands.

“I love you, Din Djarin. And no matter what the universe throws at us, I’ll always find my way home to you. I hope you know that.” The deep kiss he pulled you into told you he felt the same, and the hardness of his cock pocking your thigh solidified that fact.

Before there was Grogu, there was you. And After Grogu, here is where you’ll be.

After you sell the house on Jakku and make the move, things do fall into place just like the jobs you once had in the years you’ve known the Mandalorian. Din was given a well-paying job along Karga’s side that didn’t require him to hunt down bounties across the galaxy. And not once has he had to step on a public transport since.

After a few more months of accepting jobs that took you away from home for a few weeks at a time, you settled in yourself with a job at the local school as a language teacher. The house you bought with Din was bigger than anything you thought you’d ever be able to own, yet despite its size, it was still humble and homey. A place one could maybe grow a family one day.

When Din got the emergency message from Boba needing his help on Tattooine, you didn’t think twice and encouraged him to go. After all, you were here in the Before, and you’ll be here in the After, no matter what the universe throws at you.

AUTHOR'S NOTE

I had come up with this idea a while back ago that was partially inspired by @thestrangestinthisstrangeland 's really hot fic "Can You Kiss Me More" and the destain I have for the lack of F/F/M fics in the Mando fandom. Or healthy portrayals of open relationships. Had to fix that fact.

I also came up with this fic to explore open relationships more. I consider myself to be queer leaning on the ace side, like not sex repulsed or anything, but the idea of having one partner is more than enough and the idea of dating overwhelms me. So I've been fascinated with how people can have open relationships or be in poly relationships with ease. It's really admirable.

The Mando fandom made me realize I may be a little bit of the jealous type and the idea of my partner sleeping with other people while I'm gone bothers me a little. But I think being able to write how Din and the reader both feel for each other is what helped me understand that my insecurity comes from not wanting to be cast aside for someone better. I don't think people realize how much trust goes into making open relationships and poly relationships work, and writing this fic made me appreciate that fact even more.

If you're polyamorous or in an open relationship and find this to not portray either or appropriately, please do let me know and I'll do my best to be as inclusive and correct as possible! All are welcome here and I want everyone to be able to feel at home in the reader inserts I've made available to them!

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

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all-the-things-2020 · 7 months

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Deeds Not Less Valiant - Chapter Six

Pairing: Din Djarin x OFC (Tala Pavan)

Rating: PG

Summary: Din and Tala attend a soirée at Greef’s palace.

Word count: 3800+

Notes: Slowly but surely, these two are realizing they have feelings for each other. Din is awkward but he tries. Grogu gets to hang out with IG-11.

It was two weeks before Din and Grogu got back to Tala’s place. First came a call from Carson Teva asking for help tracking down a former Imperial officer who had “disappeared” from his post on Dantooine after completing rehabilitation. Din found him in the Hada Spaceport on Vina where he was helping former Imperials infiltrate a variety of New Republic locations by forging IDs and credentials. After delivering him to Teva, they were on their way back to Nevarro when a random encounter with a small pirate craft resulted in some minor damage to the Krayt that required a detour to Tatooine to visit Peli’s maintenance facility. This led to an invitation from Boba Fett to join him at a meeting to remind the Hutts that he was — and would remain — the daimyo of Mos Espa. By the time they returned to Nevarro, it was long past Benduday.

“It’s fine,” Tala had said when Din commed her from Tattooine. It was voice-only, not holographic, so he had only her tone to judge by, but she seemed to understand. “You have to work. I’ll see you next week.”

“Do you really think she’s okay?,” he asked Grogu when the comm link ended.

“Ya.”

“Are you sure?”

“Ya,” Grogu said firmly, reaching over from the co-pilot’s seat to pat Din’s arm.

It helped, but the idea that Tala might be upset still nagged at him like a sore tooth. Objectively, he knew he couldn’t do anything about it, at least until they got back to Nevarro, but that didn’t stop him from worrying. He didn’t want to lose this friendship, or whatever it was. Tala had become too important to him.

When he dropped Grogu off, he noticed that Tala was wearing a new shirt. It was a very flattering shade of blue and had embroidered details along the hem and neckline. She also had her hair done in a loose braid that flowed softly but neatly along the left side of her neck.

She smiled at him and Din felt the knot of uneasiness inside of him loosen a little. Grogu squirmed out of his carry bag and bounced into Tala’s arms, babbling away. “Sorry we missed last week,” Din said. “I’m sure Grogu is already telling you all about it.”

“He is,” she said. “And you’d better get to your meeting. There will be plenty of time to chat afterward.”

Din nodded. “Yes. And … I like your new shirt.”

As he walked away from Tala’s door, he shook his head. I like your shirt? Maybe he was in over his head. Maybe he should talk to Greef.

************************************

“You seem distracted, Mando,” Greef said after he’d gone over the minor points of business that made up their weekly “briefing.” It really wasn’t necessary but it was an excuse for Greef to sit back and enjoy the company of a friend who wasn’t on the take. The moment he’d taken on the mantle of High Magistrate, folks had started coming out of the woodwork, asking for favors and offering their services (at a good price). Mando wasn’t like that. He was willing to help if Greef needed it but never asked for anything in return. Which was why Greef wanted to keep him around. It was good to have an ally who was simply that: an ally.

Mando sat back in his chair. “I am … having some personal difficulties,” he said slowly.

“What’s her name?”

Mando’s helmet swiveled in surprise. “How …?”

Greef laughed. “It’s always a woman,” he said. “Or a man, as the case may be. Look, friend, I know you are a great warrior and an excellent tactician but the battlefield of the heart is something else entirely. You can’t rely on blasters or flamethrowers and fancy armor to protect you. So tell me … who is she and what’s the problem?”

“Her name is Tala,” Mando said. “She watches Grogu for me. She can talk to him telepathically, but I don’t know how to talk to her. We talk about Grogu, of course, that’s easy. But … for example, today she was wearing a new shirt. And her hair was different. So I said ‘I like your shirt.’” He shook his head. “I felt like an idiot. I’m not even sure I want to be more than friends with her, but I do know that ‘I like your shirt’ isn’t the right thing to say.”

Greef leaned back. “Women like to be appreciated,” he said. “So do men, of course, but women more so. Compliments will go a long way and they don’t have to be extravagant. Next time, say something about the shirt. Maybe how the color brings out her eyes. Notice the little details. And bring her a small gift. Nothing fancy. Just a little something: a food she’s mentioned she likes, an accessory in a color she wears often, anything that you can say ‘I saw this and thought of you’.”

He could tell the gears were working inside Mando’s helmet. This was an entirely new side of him and Greef was amused by it. He’d thought perhaps there was something between Mando and that Bo-Katan woman, but clearly he’d been wrong. Who would have thought Mando was the type to fall for the babysitter?

“Look, I’m having a little gathering this week, to welcome the delegation from Drosi. They just might sign a trade agreement and I want to show them that Nevarro isn’t some backwater skug hole. Why don’t you bring your lady friend? I’ll see if IG-11 can watch the kid.”

“I’m not much for parties,” Mando said.

“It’s a work function,” Greef said. “We need to show these folks that we are a respectable community where they can do business without worrying about the more sordid element.”

Mando tipped his head to the side. “Like bounty hunters?”

Greef held up his hands. “You’re legit now, working for the New Republic and the government of Mandalore. We just won’t mention your ties to Boba Fett. Come on, Mando, you help me out by shmoozing with the Drosi delegation a little, and I’ll help you out with your lady. Deal?”

Mando sat very still for a moment. “Deal,” he said.

********************************************

“Did you have a good meeting with the High Magistrate?” Din seemed slightly off balance when he returned. Tala hoped nothing was wrong.

“Yes,” he replied. “We, um, discussed an upcoming event. A … cocktail party for the Drosi delegation.”

Grogu’s ears pricked up and Tala suppressed a smile. “That doesn’t sound like your kind of thing, if you don’t mind me saying so.”

“It’s not,” Din said. “I’m … not comfortable in social situations like that. Which is why … well, I thought, maybe … if you’re available …”

“Yes, I can watch Grogu,” she said. “You don’t need to be keeping track of him and worrying about making a good impression.”

“No, I meant … would you go with me? IG-11 can watch Grogu while we’re at the party and I’d … I’d be more comfortable if I had someone with me that I know and trust. Greef will be busy and …”

“I’d love to go,” she said. Din was adorably awkward but she felt she had to put him out of his misery quickly. “I don’t have much of a social life here on Nevarro, mostly just work and Neeli and you two. I don’t go out much. Which is fine, but …” Now who’s rambling awkwardly?

“Good,” Din said. “I mean, good that you’ll go, not good that you don’t have a social life … I don’t have one either.”

Grogu had been watching the conversation, his head swiveling back and forth like a spectator at a flimball match. :I like IG-11. Maybe we can ride a speeder bike!:

“Grogu likes the idea,” Tala said. “He likes IG-11 and wants to ride a speeder bike.”

Din tilted his head. “No speeder bikes,” he said firmly. “You’ll stay in Greef’s palace the whole time.” Grogu’s ears drooped. “But maybe we can take a bike out later in the week.”

:Yes! I like to go fast.: The ears went back up.

“So, when is this party and what should I wear?”

Even with the helmet on, Tala could tell Din wore the same expression as a womp rat caught in the headlights of a speeder. “Um, I didn’t ask about a dress code,” he stammered.

Tala ran her eyes up and down his armor. “Obviously it doesn’t apply to you,” she said. “I know what you’ll be wearing. But I need to know if I have to buy a new dress.”

Din’s hand clenched and unclenched. “I — I don’t know,” he said, miserably.

Tala laid her hand on his arm. “It’s okay,” she said. “I’ll wear my green dress. It’s nice enough to pass for formal wear but not too fancy, in case the vibe is more informal. Besides, no one will be looking at me if you’re next to me in that shiny armor.” She smiled at him and she felt him relax a bit, the tension in his muscles uncoiling beneath her hand.

“Thank you,” he said quietly. “I’m not good at all this.”

“You’re doing fine,” she assured him.

“Ya,” said Grogu. :Dad says he doesn’t like people but he does:

:I understand. People are tricky sometimes. Unless you know them and like them:

:Dad likes you. I’m not supposed to tell you.:

:I like him, too.:

There was something about Din that appealed to her. She hadn’t felt this way about anyone since Rix, and she wasn’t sure if she was ready to go down that road again, but dank farrik, she liked him. Even if they were destined to just remain friends, she was going to see it through.

******************************************************

The High Magistrate’s palace was the largest building in town. Tala had seen it many times but had never set foot inside. As she walked beside Din, Grogu informed her of everything they passed along the way, gesturing from his carry bag. :That’s the school. I had cookies there! Greef lives in the big place. He has a spinny chair. And snacks on the desk. Once, the little guys were trying to fix IG-11 and his head wasn’t working and they made it so I could drive him and I could say YES and NO in a big voice.:

“Grogu has a lot of good memories in this town,” she said. Din’s step slowed a bit.

“I’m glad of that,” he said. “I hope they outweigh the bad ones.”

Grogu’s ears drooped. :I don’t like to think about the Bad Men. There was a fire. And Dad got hurt. But IG made him better. Before he blew up.:

“We’ll make some more good memories tonight,” Tala said. “You’ll have to tell us all about what you and IG-11 get up to, and we’ll tell you about all the people at the party.”

Grogu’s ears rose a bit. :And save me some snacks?:

“Definitely save you some snacks,” Tala laughed, patting her bag. It was a slim crossbody but surprisingly capacious. Perhaps not exactly appropriate for a cocktail party, but she had promised Grogu she would get him some samples of the food, once he’d realized he was not going to have access to all the snacks at the party.

They arrived at the doors and were greeted by a protocol droid. “Welcome, Master Djarin,” it said. “IG-11 is waiting in the guard room to take charge of Master Grogu. And then you and your guest can proceed upstairs to the ballroom.”

“Thank you,” Din said. He turned down a narrow hallway and tapped the lock pad of the first door on the right. It slid open to reveal Marshall IG-11, a repurposed assassin droid who Tala had seen patrolling the town many times, but had never met.

“Good evening,” IG said. Grogu scrambled out of his bag and jumped into IG’s hands. “You seem to have grown a bit, Grogu. I detect slightly more weight.”

“That’s because he eats like a bantha,” Din said. He handed IG a pouch. “Here are some snacks in case he decides he’s starving, but he’s had his dinner already, so he should be fine.” He tilted his head at Grogu. “Listen to IG and behave yourself. Tala and I will be back down in a couple of hours.”

“Ya,” Grogu nodded.

“Enjoy your evening,” IG said. “Grogu is in good hands.”

“Bye!” Grogu said, waving his hand.

Tala and Din looked at each other.

“Did he …?”

“Yeah.”

*********************************************

The ballroom was brightly lit and Din adjusted the filter on his helmet. Poor Tala could only squint as her eyes adjusted to the glare.

“Mando!” Greef came sweeping across the room, his red robes trailing majestically behind him, arms wide. “And this must be Tala.” He took Tala’s hand and bowed over it, kissing the back lightly. “I’ve heard so much about you. You look lovely, my dear.”

It was true. When she’d opened her door, Din had been at a loss for words. Her green dress was simple but elegant, and fitted her very, very well. He’d had some thoughts that were not exactly appropriate to have about a friend. And her hair … she usually kept it braided or tied back, but tonight it fell in loose waves around her face.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, High Magistrate.”

“Please, call me Greef. Any friend of Mando’s is a friend of mine.”

Din knew he should say something, but his mouth wouldn’t work. Tala was so pretty, and Greef was so charming … what could he add to the conversation? Nothing.

Tala smiled at Greef. “It’s good to have friends in high places.”

“Oh, Mando only moves in the highest circles,” Greef said. “New Republic officers, queen of Mandalore … me.”

“Lady Bo-Katan isn’t our queen,” Din blurted out. “She’s the leader of our people, but …” Greef gave a little shake of his head and a look that clearly said Shut Up, Mando.

“I’m sorry, we’re not here to talk about Mandalore. We’re here to support Greef and the future of Nevarro.”

“Well said, my friend,” Greef said, clapping him on the back. Din hated when people did that, but he’d learned to tolerate it from Greef, who was as demonstrative as Din was reserved. “And on that note, I should continue to mingle. Please, enjoy yourselves!”

“He seems nice,” Tala said after Greef had moved on. “A bit over the top, but I suppose you have to be if you’re in politics.” She tucked her arm in the crook of his elbow. “Well, shall we make the rounds?”

All Din could do was nod.

**********************************************************

Tala could feel the smile plastered on her face starting to crack. The party was one of those smile-and-nod affairs, where she didn’t know anyone but needed to look happy to be there. She was the ornament dangling off the arm of the person who needed to be there, a position she was familiar with after all those faculty soirées she’d gone to with Rix. Only this time, she didn’t feel superfluous. Din needed her, to help him over the awkward moments when someone said it was rude of him not to remove his helmet; when a pompous Drosi man wondered aloud why the High Magistrate’s bodyguard was allowed to act like a guest; when a dubious comment about Mandalore made Din involuntarily reach for his blaster.

“I hate this,” he muttered when Tala steered him toward the edge of the ballroom.

“I know,” she said. “But it’s for Greef, and Nevarro. Just keep telling yourself that.”

“They’re rude,” Din said. “Three different men have leered at you, that one woman said your dress was ‘quaint’ and every single one of them has been laughing at Greef behind his back.”

“I’m sure Greef knows it,” she said. “He’s played this game before.”

“So have you,” Din said. “I’m impressed.”

“I used to have to go to things like this a lot,” she said. “Remember I told you I knew a linguist? He was a student at the university on my planet. He wanted to work there after he completed his degrees, so he went to a lot of parties and mixers. Boring as hell, but he needed to do it, and I learned how to make small talk and look pretty and inoffensive so he could shine.”

“You deserved better than that,” Din said.

Tala shrugged. “I didn’t mind. Rix knew it was all a load of bantha crap, and we made fun of everyone on our way home. It was a part we both had to play. He was the brilliant young scholar, I was the pretty young thing who was awed by the intellectuals around me … he knew I was just as smart as any of them.” She smiled a little. Rix had been a good guy. He hadn’t deserved what he’d gotten.

Din laid his hand on her arm. “You miss him,” he said softly.

“I miss a lot of people.” She shook her head to rid it of the past. “Like Grogu. Do you think we’ve been here long enough?”

“Definitely,” Din said. He scanned the room. “It looks like Greef is unoccupied at the moment. Let’s say our goodbyes.”

********************************************

I am never attending one of these again, Din thought as they left the ballroom. It had been nice at first, to have Tala on his arm, a comforting presence by his side. After the first few conversations, though, he wanted to scream. Mandalorians were so much more straightforward. If you disagreed with someone, you told them. You argued, you fought, and then it was over. Or not. But it wasn’t disguised behind fake smiles and backhanded compliments. There were no whispers and judgmental looks. Of course, there was always the risk of bloodshed, but physical wounds healed a lot faster than emotional ones, Din had learned.

“That was fun,” Tala said, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

“No, it wasn’t,” Din. “I’m sorry I asked you to go. You could have had a much more pleasant evening at home with Neeli.”

“I’m not sorry. It was good to spend some time with you in another setting. I’m very fond of Grogu, but grown-up time is nice.” She leaned into him a little more than was necessary.

“Yes, grown-up time is nice.” He wracked his brain for something clever to say, but her proximity was distracting. “We should do this more often. I mean, not this exactly but … grown-up time.”

“I’d like that,” Tala said. “I’d like to get to know you better, Din. Not just as Grogu’s dad.” He was starting to wonder how strong the punch had been. Tala had only had one cup but she was …

“You’re supposed to flirt back, you know,” she said with a little laugh. “Stars, I know I’m rusty at this, but you’re in need of a full oil bath.”

“I’m not good at droid jokes,” Din replied. “Or flirting. It’s … not in my programming.”

Tala laughed for real. “And you said you weren’t good at droid jokes.” She cocked her head to the side and smiled up at him. “I’ll bet you’re good at flirting, too, if you give yourself the chance.”

“I’ll need to practice. A lot.”

“Fortunately, I’m patient.”

They had reached the guard room and the conversation ended when Grogu tumbled out of the door. “Da! Ta!”

“Hey, kiddo, did you have fun?” Din scooped him up in his arms.

“Ya!”

“He consumed all the snacks and we played X-Wing Fighter until he regurgitated the snacks,” IG-11 said.

“Then it’s a good thing I swiped some goodies from the party,” Tala said, patting her bag. “You and your dad can share them when you get home. I felt guilty eating in front of him, but I had to taste test everything.” She winked at Grogu, who giggled. Din smiled. It felt good when people were kind to Grogu. And it felt even better when Grogu responded to their kindness. There had been a time when the child was reserved and hesitant; it made Din’s heart swell with pride to see how far Grogu had come in the time they’d been together.

“Sorry about the mess,” Din said to IG-11. “I should have warned you he can get motion sick if he’s eaten too much.”

“I will be better prepared next time,” the droid said. “At the very least, I will put down a tarp.” His head swiveled toward a damp patch of floor that had been recently mopped.

Grogu hiccuped, then yawned.

“Let’s get you home to bed, kiddo,” Din said.

****************************************

Grogu was dozing off by the time they reached Tala’s place. “I’d ask you in but …”

Din nodded. “It’s past his bedtime,” he said softly. “Thank you again for coming with me. Next time we’ll do something more enjoyable.”

Tala leaned against the wall. “Tonight was enjoyable,” she said. “Because I was with you.” She slipped the bag off her shoulder. “Here. You can bring the bag back later. Enjoy the food. Have a little party of your own with Grogu.”

As Din reached out for the bag with his free hand, she couldn’t resist letting her fingers linger on his. Even through the leather gloves, she could feel his warmth and strength. Slow down, Tala. He’s going to take a lot longer to get there than you are. Don’t push him.

“Th-thank you,” Din said. “For everything. And we’ll see you on Benduday.”

“Good night, Din. Good night, Grogu.” She touched the child lightly on the head and he snuggled a bit closer to Din.

“Good night,” Din said. There was a hint of wistfulness in his voice. He’s lonely, she realized. He had Grogu but otherwise, he was alone, the only Mandlalorian on the planet, trapped behind the walls of his armor and his Creed. Whoa, that punch must have been strong. Or maybe her abilities were growing stronger from being around Grogu. Some folks in her home valley were empaths as well as telepaths, able to sense the emotions of others, even if they weren’t Force-sensitive.

She laid her hand on Din’s arm before he turned away. “You don’t have to wait until Benduday to stop by,” she said. “You’re both welcome any time.”

Din covered her hand briefly with his. “I know,” he said.

Tala watched him walk away, her bag swinging from his shoulder and Grogu nestled in the crook of his arm. Then she took a deep breath and went inside, where Neeli demanded a treat and some pets. “Am I making a mistake?” The tooka purred and flicked an ear in her direction. “I don’t want to get hurt again. But I sense something in him. He’s worth it, don’t you think?”

Neeli slowly blinked her golden eyes. “I’ll take that as a yes,” Tala said.

#the mandalorian #star wars #grogu #fanfic #din djarin #din djarin fanfiction #din djarin x original female character #baby yoda #deeds not less valiant #tooka cat

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