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thefanbasewhore · 3 years

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Accidentally Bare - Preference #2

Summary: A preference/snippet of pedro characters accidently seeing the reader in their underwear. Honestly, ignore the title I suck at them lmao. I also have no idea why I kept mentioning showers.

Warnings/Content: A little suggestive, dirty thoughts. 18+ please.

Paring: Din Djarin, Javier Peña, Agent Whiskey, and Frankie Morales/Female reader

I am also taking requests for head cannons and more preferences at this moment if anyone has any ideas!

Din Djarin

Nothing could stop the deep chill that created goosebumps that made your body shiver despite the thick wool of Din’s cape that was pulled tight around your chest. The walk back to the crest was freezing, clothes heavy and weighing you down with every squish your boots made underneath you, the temperature of the stupid desert planet plummeting at night into single degree temps, falling into the lake was definitely not on your to do list.

Water still dripping from your sleeves, fingers shaking where the fabric bundles in the middle of your chest to support the heaviness of the cape as the crushing on dense sand from heavy boots behind you let you know the Mandalorian is still there. He’s silent as ever, mad at himself for letting you even step on the ice but as soon as he saw you fall into the deep pit of water he dived right in after, forgetting the bounty, making the choice to let him escape.

The first step on the Crest is a relief, familiarity and warmness welcome you but it’s not enough to calm the numbing that took over all your senses, voiding any sensation in your trembling fingers. The breeze that falls over the crest as the ramp closes with a gush of wind but you don’t seem to care as the cape wrapped around you falls to the floor. The Mandalorian walks past you silently, which you guess retiring for the night because at the last second before the he climbs the ladder of the cockpit by the way his fingers start to peel of the beskar not caring as it trails and clanks against the floor of the ship, fingers rim the edge of his helmet lifting it just enough to see the ends of his hair curl and stick against the nape of his neck as it drips to his tunic before the cockpit swallows him.

If it wasn’t for how freezing you were there is no doubt you would be taken back by his openness, even wet you weren’t expecting it to so wavy, a little messy but it touches the collar of the tunic and you honestly couldn’t move as the realization dawned on you. Eyes running over the length of the ladder that rattles due to deep hum of the engine, the imagine burning behind into them.

The cool shiver reminds you of the current predicament, fingers burning and toes numb at the verge of turning purple. A frustrated huff falls from your lips as you pull at the laces of your boots, fingers too stiff to move but eventually get them off, not caring where they fall. Only functional thought is to feel the warm water of the fresher to regain feeling in your appendages.

Hands grasp the hem of your shirt, lifting it despite the cool air that nipped the skin of your stomach. With only one goal in mind and a stubborn button that just won’t latch from your pants, you don’t notice as the ladder shakes with the weight of the Mandalorian as he gains entrance back into the belly of the ship. He’s out of his armor, but the helmet had seem to find it’s way back onto his head but his upper body in a white, thin shirt, his pants hand dangerously low on his hips, they offer his body more warmth with no doubt lined with some kind of fleece, gray in color and a pair of socks. The wet pants stick to you, with your back turned toward Din who freezes the moment he notices you shimmy them down your legs, revealing the black pair of underwear the hugs your ass in the most delicious way.

He’s red, blushing, no doubt you can see the way his chest spots pink through the white shirt, hands forming fist next to his side as you turn to make a b-line for the fresher but the mass of the man catches your eyes, pausing.

Eyes never leave you, he just freezes up, unable to move as the situation seems to do the same to you. He tries, really tries not to look but can’t help it as he notices how thin the bra is, a pretty pastel pink, cute but the way your nipples harden against it is anything but, he’s speechless, mouth drying as eyes take in the smoothness of curves, drops down to the thinness of underwear, they leave little to the imagination, sticking against skin letting him see every inch and suddenly he wants nothing more than to rub his own -

His eyes lift back up to your own, the embarrassment that paints your cheeks makes him realize just how wrong it is. “I-I’m sorry.” He stutters, eyes casting down to the cotton that covers his toes, ashamed with red cheeks, horrified that it has even happened. “Just came down to use the shower -.”

Desire sirs deep inside his stomach, makes him awkwardly shift his hips as he turns to leave but the smooth hands that catch his fingers makes him pause, turning to face you once again. “We can both use it.”

Javier Peña

Nothing can still your pounding heart, it’s racing, taking up all the space in your chest that it barely allows room for your lungs to expand, to take one good breath to sustain your frantic body needs, instead it’s broken up into patchy, erratic breaths that make you dizzy, vision blurring as a result.

It’s a blur but there’s no mistaking the metallic taste of blood, it’s not yours but it seems like it should be by the way it covers every part of you. It dots your face, coats your hands with such thickness, soaks through the shirt to stain your chest pink. There’s so much of it, it takes over and fills all your senses. All you see is red, all you feel is hands rub your face to talk yourself out of this moment of weakness but the way it smears even worse across your skin, fills the pores of your skin, makes bile raise but swallow it down.

It’s been an hour but fear still makes you shake, not bothering to even talk to anyone the moment you pull the trigger just driving home without a single word, not even to your partner Javi. The door of your apartment is even left open in your own wake, trying to yank the soaked clothes, not caring as your bloody shirt falls from shoulders staining the white carpet of your apartment.

Finger fumble with pants as well, too shaky but none the less slowly shimmer them down flushed thighs. You suddenly can’t move, no matter how bad the shower calls you from the other room, shaky fingers press to the floor under you for support as you lower yourself to the ground until the rough carpet scratches the back of thighs but your thankful to feel something other then pure terror, relish in the scratch the spreads to the back of your knees as you bring them to your chest, lean against the couch for support with a shaky chest.

“I’m sorry.” You don’t realize how much time passes as the low baritone breaks through the sound waves, Javi averts his eyes, realizing the vulnerability on the situation. “The door was open, I just let myself in.”

“I-It’s okay.” Chest moves with the stutter, unable to realize your in nothing but a thin bra, that leaves little to the imagination and a matching black thong, that shows just how much the carpet irritates the skin of inner thighs, leaves a big rash just on the underside of your cheeks.

It’s not the way he intended seeing you like this the first time, beautiful doe eyes filled with tears that slip past beautiful, full eyelashes. It makes his heart stop, the low light of the lamp in the corner contour the dark shadows of your face, show the sharpness of cheek bones, outlines the shape of your jaw. He hates the way he can’t look away from your heaving chest, flushed breast barely fill the cups of the lacy bra, down the smoothness of skin, still stained a dark red from all the blood, down to the edges of inner thighs.

You watch as his gaze falls between your legs but when they meet up at your face again, his lips fall, a deep sigh as a thick layer of tension fills the room. There’s nothing you want more then to forget this feeling, distract yourself with Javi.

Suddenly, he’s all that’s on your mind. The way his tongue runs over those perfect lips, wanting to feel the sensation of his moustache against your upper lip, the burns between your thighs. It’s what you think you’re getting as he lowers to his knees, finally give into the temptation of each other but the blanket that falls to your shoulders surprises you. His fist wraps around each end to ball it against your chest as his other hand reaches for a small piece of hair that frames your face, pushing it behind your ear as his lips ghost over it. “Let’s get you in the bath, cariño, yeah?”

Unsure eyes meet his, not trusting your own legs but his gentle fingers that fill the gaps between your own reinsuring. It’s a soft whine of surprise that makes you look up at him, a thankful sad smile that makes Javier return one that shows every scar of his soul, the feeling all too known to him. “I got you, honey.”

Agent Whiskey

It’s a mix up, an annoying one but none the less it’s not like you can kick Whiskey out of the hotel room and besides you’re both functioning adults, staying together in the room should be no problem but it’s a little difficult to feel comfortable with a stranger especially with one as pushy and touchy as the cowboy.

He’s nice, very polite but smug. There’s always a tight smirk across his face, sexy eyes that test your every move as you bring the rim of the glass to your lips with a soft sigh. The bar of the hotel is loud, a thick cloud of smoke from the passerby's tickles your nose. You try to ignore it, but turn abruptly even catching Whiskey off guard as he adverts his gaze but he’s not as sneaky as he thinks.

It’s hard to remember exactly why you turned when he offered a sweet smile, elbow against the bar while his hand wrapped around his own glass, other hand spraying over the thickness of his thighs, sitting to face you with that dumb smirk. You really can’t help it as your eyes fall between his legs, “What’s up, sugar?”

It’s either he chooses not question why or is just so used to women checking him out but your throat dries at his peering gaze, the way he wraps his lips around the glass after his tongue pokes out to wet them. It makes your face hot, averting his intimating eyes. “Nothing, thought I saw something is all.”

“Mmmm.” It’s a small hum, hesitant like he wants to ask more but settles with the answer. It’s quiet, not awkward but the tension is heavy, clouding the space between you both. Scooting to the end of the seat, eyes nervously looking at him as you shift onto your feet, standing and muttering. “I’m going to head back to the room.”

“Alright sweetheart. I’m gonna have a few more drinks, head up without me. If you need me.” Two fingers press against the shell of his ear, his way of saying I’ll hear ya. You try not to let it affect you but the heat that crawls up your skin makes you huff, closing the door of the hotel room tightly.

A shower, to sooth the burning desire for your new partner, it was embarrassing, feeling like a teenage girl for a man that you barely know, all hot and bothered by him simply spreading his legs but it felt like an open invitation just for you. Hands reach for your shirt, pulling it up with little hesitation except for when it catches the onto the ear piece, stepping forward with a yelp as your foot comes in contact with the large bed frame. Pulling the ear piece off with not much thought, throwing it and the shirt onto the bed, fingers pop the metal from the buttonhole also discarding your pants.

It all happens so fast, the door crashes open, hitting the wall. Pure instinct takes over, despite only being in a very, very revealing bralette and a matching lacy thong fumbling for the gun on the night stand next to you, pointing it towards the mass of a man but let out a sigh of relief. “What is wrong with you? barging in like that, I could have shot you.”

It goes to deaf ears, smooth lines of your collarbones catching him off guard, dropping to the soft curves of your breast. He steps closer, shutting you up immediately as his fingers spread out across the hem of your underwear, warmness erupting to the lazy trail of his fingers.

The cocky smirk that overpowers your own confused one as a tick falls from his lips, sucking his bottom lip between his teeth, eyes peering under that stupid cowboy hat, “Now If you wanted me to see you naked you didn’t have to pretend you’re in trouble, darlin’.”

Frankie Morales

There was never a day Frankie thought he’d be in the deep end of the forest again. The memories are still fresh, the sun doesn’t quite sting his skin like the one in Brazil but it’s a close second, the aching memories still squeeze his heart but it’s a silent burn, one he’ll take to his grave and a life he thought he left behind forever.

Frankie is a man haunted by his past, the memories never let him forget that life he used to lead. He is anything but soft, he’s kind, caring, smart, passionate but a sucker for a pretty face. It’s shown in the way he shameless answers too quickly for his liking at your proposition. To rescue your father, a man that owed a bunch of narcos too much money but you had nothing to offer except to help a single father who seemed to be struggling.

Maybe it was the way your sad eyes looked at him with an exaggerated expression, tiredness sag your face, large purple bags that crinkle with every sigh. There was no hope, and even if your father was alive, he kissed that life away a long time also, but then again here he is.

Deep in the jungle of Argentina, sun beating down and burning his skin, sweat beading on his forehead, between the valley of his chest as he swings the bottle of water back, the coolness soothing his raw throat. Your stance matches his own, shoulders dropped, heavy breaths but slower, the heaviness of the gun wrapped around your shoulders.

You were slowing him down, it was no lie. He told you multiple times he would do it but specifically didn’t want you to come with him, he would handle it all but sending a man alone to do something like this, despite how experienced he may be it didn’t seem right.

“Go.” You huff, fingers pushing against his shoulder. It had been the third time he stopped for you in ten minutes, clearly frustrated with a crinkle of his forehead, annoyed eyes looking for any sign of danger, even with the thick trunks of trees that camouflage into the color of face paint that decorates both yours and Frankie’s faces. “I’ll be right behind you.”

He looks unsure but nods lowly, turning as his feet to walk up the ledge of the tree as you take a deep breath, fingers trembling as you try to catch your breath, ass hitting the dirt harder then you intend to but it’s a relief to aching feet. It’s a blur of blackness, hand reaching up to pull yourself up but instead pull at something squishy?

Before you could react, big, black bugs by the hundreds run up your legs, crawl under your vest and shirt. The yell that echoes the forest is what catches Frankie’s attention, turning from his short distance ahead to find you. Face hot, fearing the worst as his heart pounds against his chest. Arms flaring frantic through the thick ropes and vines as he slips skillfully past above ground roots of trees.

You are no where in sight but the peaks of dark green clothes along the brush catch his eye, picking the fabric up, clutching your shirt between fingers. With one more look around he notices another piece of clothing, but the sound of splashing catches his attention. It’s not too far, just over a large tree that separates his view from you. It’s not what he expects, practically naked except for the nude bra and matching underwear that makes his eyes widen. If it wasn’t for the panic on your face he would have taken a second to appreciate the beauty in front of him, let desire burn deep on his skin but the way you frantically try to rub the bugs off makes him take action, hands catch your own, comforting eyes meeting your own. “Relax, relax, I’ll get them off.”

“It’s burns.” It’s a soft whine, as his fingers fall to your own, pressing them against his warm skin as he flattens his other hand down the skin of your arm, down your stomach with a delicious sting from the heat of his.

“I got you, honey.” The words are low, sugary as the realty of the situation makes your own cheeks flush. The bugs are gone, scattering at feet but his gaze never leaves your own. Only inches away from your face, lips so, so close but what really makes you dizzy is the way his hand cups your waist, squeezing so gently as his hot breath fans your face, fingertips trail to the wire of your bra, something in him snaps, giving into the desire as his lips press against yours with urgency.

tags: @victias @altarsw @coonflix @mudhornchronicles @buckysalefty @capsheadquarters @godohammers @ilikemymendarkandfictional @rogertaylorsfalsettogivemehives @maileecabudol @itsfangirlmendes @mermaidbrina @nikkixostan @moonlightnumbsthepainifeel @dinsbeskar @est19xxshit @owloveyounever @engie115 @impala1967666 @akatasukilove @nerdalert-andi @mailee420 @you-and-i-deserve-the-world @thatonedindjarinfan @winter_rxn @Sporadicshoebailifffish

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pascalpanic · 3 years

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Fooled Around and Fell in Love (Javier Peña x f!Reader)

@carstwirs: hello lovie I dunno if u still taking but could u do "can u hold my hand" & "I like the way your hands fit in mine" with javier peña please very fluffy and kissy kissy

Inspo: Fooled Around and Fell In Love by Elvin Bishop

Summary: You and Javier, unsurprisingly, are friends with benefits. Javier has a bigger heart than he lets on.

W/C: 2.4K

Warnings: language, nondescript sexual content, lots of fluff and a dash of angst for flavor

A/N: hi!! This was also a combination of my song prompt for @din-damn-djarin’s celebration! I chose Fooled Around And Fell In Love as my song for it, and it fit perfectly with this request! I hope y’all like it bc soft Javi is my JAM!

Sneaking around was key with Javier Peña. The two of you were field agents during the hunt for Escobar; discretion was key in both your work and your love life.

Could you even call it a love life, you wondered? It was starting to feel more and more like love to you, but you and Javier only had each other during the off hours of work, the spare moments in the evidence room. Those were the only times that you could wrap your arms around him, that you could pull him to you by the belt and press your lips firmly to his.

Javier was strong and handsome, gorgeous brown eyes and thick biceps and tight shirts. You’d started fooling around with him late one night at the office, when the two of you were the last ones working. Steve was long gone, you were both frustrated with the paperwork, and Javier looked so goddamn good that you walked closer and stared into his eyes. He looked up at you and put out his cigarette, asked what you were looking at.

You knew his reputation. You knew what he did with women, and you wanted it for yourself. You responded that you were looking at that godawful mustache, I wonder how any girl lets you go down on her with that thing, and he pulled you down to him by the shirt and asked you if you wanted a trial. And you kissed him hard, with tongue and teeth and it led to you riding Javier right there in his office chair. It was so good that you kept going, sneaking around the office and his apartment and yours and anywhere you could get him.

The sex was fantastic, even better with the idea that it was forbidden and discreet and could never see the light of day. The nights you’d spend in Javier’s bed, on his couch, in his shower. Wherever he could get you, he’d take you, and you were more than willing to oblige.

After you ravaged each other, after you’d thoroughly marked the easier-covered patches of skin on each other’s bodies, after your lips were reddened and swollen and bruised, that was when the moments of truth came. Your head would rest on Javier’s chest while he’d stroke your hair, murmur sweet nothings to you. And they were truly that: nothings. Words that didn’t mean or promise shit when these excursions had to be confined to closed bedrooms and locked supply closets in the embassy.

No matter how secretive Javier could keep himself, Steve could always read through his screen. He knew the man like he knew his wife, maybe even better since he was a man like him. He could see each little cog turn and tick inside of his brain. He could notice the way his fingers would tap against his desk in a different rhythm when he was craving a cigarette from when he had to go piss from when he was anxious.

So even though you two had smirks on your faces as you went your separate ways, Javier sneaking from the evidence room three minutes before you would, Steve had always known. He’d noticed the way your legs were a little more wobbly than they were before in your heels, the way Javier was in a better mood for the rest of the day.

Steve had also noticed the moment where Javier had fallen in love. He’d returned to his desk with a smudge of your signature lipstick under his jaw that he’d missed. Steve didn’t comment. Javier’s smile looked smitten, not smug. His pen tapped a different rhythm against his desk. It was a new one, one Steve had yet to learn and file away. He learned it as the rhythm he’d tap out when he was in love.

You’d entered this situation with Javier with an understanding that this would be like anything else he’s ever done, that he’d continue this as a casual dalliance and that he’d move on soon. You were friends at work, and that came first and foremost. The sex would end eventually, and you’d both have to move on. Neither of you expected to fall for the other.

Javier is a creature of habit, despite the fact that he likes to think he’s unpredictable. He comes home from work at some godforsaken hour late at night, he drinks a glass of whiskey. If he has any energy, he calls up his latest plaything. If he doesn’t, he downs a second glass and passes out in his bed.

Tonight, Javier is in a melancholy mood. His glass of whiskey sinks him lower into this dark hole, and when you answer your ringing phone, he is not flirty or sexy or suggestive. “Hey, dulzura. Wanna come over?” He asks, his voice exhausted.

You frown a little. “What’s wrong?” You ask through the phone, wedging the receiver between your ear and your shoulder.

Javier sighs. “Nothing. Just… could use a little something to make it feel better. Or someone.”

A small smile forms on your face from his weak effort to be flirtatious. “I’ll come right over, Javi,” you inform him, and he has an equally small smile on his face.

A few minutes later, you knock on his door. Two stoic faces turn to smiles as you see each other. It isn’t typical of your relationship to be affectionate. You’re either fucking or you’re professionals at work. But Javier needs it, you rationalize, as you throw your arms around and hug him tight. Little does he know that it’s equally as much for you as it is for him. It takes him a second, but he wraps his arms around you too and pulls you to his chest. “Bad day?” You murmur and nuzzle your nose into his neck.

Javier sighs. “Yeah.”

You press a soft kiss to his skin and look up at him with a smile. You brush his dark hair back from his forehead as you look into his eyes. “What do you need, hm?” You ask in a quiet voice, tilting your head as you look at him.

He can’t say what he really wants, what he needs. He needs you to hold him for the rest of the night, to talk to him softly in your beautiful voice that soothes all of his nerves, to kiss his skin just like you did earlier but do it over and over, all over his body, not even in a sexual way. “You,” he mumbles just as quietly.

You chuckle a little. “I don’t think we should fuck tonight, Javi,” you admit, a hand on his chest.

“That’s not what I meant,” he says and shakes his head. You’re confused, and your brow furrows lightly in confusion in a way that looks so goddamn adorable that Javier wants to scream and shout. “Just… stay here with me?”

You nod, your eyes still confused but your heart softening. This is going to spell trouble, especially with your recent realization of how painfully in love with him you are. “Of course, Javi. Can… how about I make us dinner?” You offer.

He shakes his head. “We can make it together,” he says, leading you to the kitchen. He opens the fridge, which is embarrassingly bare. You go to a cupboard and pull out a box of pasta and a can of sauce. He sees it and smiles. “That’s perfect,” he nods, filling a pot with water and putting it on the stove.

All of your words are somewhat hushed and quiet, as if either of you is afraid to break the calm of the moment. The domesticity of it all. Javier turns on the burner on the stove and you find his cassette player, popping in the first tape you find. The smooth music starts playing and you dance around his kitchen, scooting up behind him and wrapping your arms around him. “Come dance with me,” you murmur and press a kiss into his shoulder blade.

“What has gotten into you?” He asks you teasingly but turns in your arms, wrapping an arm around you. He takes one of your hands in his, holding it out to the side and starting to dance with you.

You hum along to the song and shrug. “You need some love,” you tell him with a soft smile, and it cracks his hardened expression.

You rest your head on his chest and he relaxes, swaying you along. You’re both quiet for a moment. You wonder if you overstepped it with the word love, but he seems to enjoy it. “I like the way your hand fits in mine,” he murmurs to you and presses a kiss to your forehead.

The utter tenderness of the moment is unlike anything you and Javier have ever shared before. Things between you have always been rough and fast, about pleasure and not feelings. This is uncharted territory. You’re holding each other, slow dancing in his kitchen. His arms are warm and strong around you. “I like it too,” you tell him genuinely in a soft voice. The lyrics of the song ring out through the kitchen, and you can’t help but feel your throat go dry at the words.

I must have been through about a million girls

I'd love 'em then I'd leave 'em alone

I didn't care how much they cried, no sir

Their tears left me cold as a stone

But then I fooled around and fell in love

I fooled around and fell in love, yes I did

I fooled around and fell in love

Javier’s breath hitches. You can feel it, his chest fluttering beneath your head. His face is still pressed into your hair. “Can I admit something to you, dulzura?” He mumbles.

Your eyes are watering, and you bury your face in his neck. You pray that it’s the words you want to hear. You squeak out an ‘mhm’ into his skin.

“I think this song was meant for us. Because we’ve been fooling around… but I think I fell in love with you,” he chokes out nervously, stopping his feet and planting the two of you in the middle of the kitchen.

You lift your head and look at him, the tears beginning to fall from your eyes. “Javi,” you coo, your lower lip quivering.

His eyes go wide in fear. This is why he doesn’t show emotions, he tells himself, because it never fucking works, it always ends wrong. He gets his desperate heart broken and that’s why he hides it, locks it and swallows the key. “But if you don’t feel the same, I understand,” he says quietly. His lower lip sticks out slightly.

You laugh through the tears, looking at him with wet eyes. “Javi. I have thought the same about you for so long. I am so in love with you, and I was so worried you wouldn’t feel the same. I can’t believe, I just-“

He cuts you off by cupping your face in his hands and pressing your lips to his, sighing at the feeling. It’s everything you’ve wanted, warm and slow and everything about it is a release of tension. You’ve kissed him before, sure, but it’s been hot and sloppy and hurried, for the sole point of removing each other’s pants. This is because he wants to, because he wants you for you and not the warmth between your legs.

You break away, and Javier looks down at you. “Why are you crying?” He asks with a soft smile.

Looking up at him, there are tears on your face but not an ounce of sadness. “Because I love you so much. And I thought eventually you’d get tired of me and move on to another woman and I’d still have to be friends with you even though I’m so in love with you.”

Javier frowns softly. “Do you really think I would?”

You shrug. “I mean… it’s kind of your track record, Javi,” you say, and he nods.

“I suppose that’s somewhat true,” he admits. “But it’s you. How could I ever change my mind about someone like you?” He asks, and you answer his question by kissing him again, deeply.

It’s pure bliss, his warm hand on your face, the other around your waist and pulling you tighter against him. You break away and your eyes hold a question. “What now?” He asks sarcastically.

You giggle. “The water is boiling,” you tell him and nod your head toward the stove.

“Oh, shit,” he nods and breaks away from you, pouring the pasta in.

You sneak up behind him again and wrap your arms around him, kissing his neck. “Javi?”

“Is this a game show? Am I being interrogated?” He chuckles lovingly.

“Jesus, you just admitted you love me and now you’re being so mean to me,” you tease. “No. Does this mean… are we a thing? Can we be in public now?”

He thinks about it for a second and nods, stirring the water. “I think we should. And I think you should stay the night, so I can finally tell you how much I love you in bed.”

You giggle softly. “I’d like that.”

In the morning, you ride to work with Javier. You straighten your blazer as you get out of the car, smiling at him and pulling your purse over your shoulder.

He looks back at you and he can’t help but smile. “Dulzura?”

“Yes, Javi?”

He walks alongside you as you head into the building. “Can you hold my hand?” He asks, grinning ear to ear.

You beam and nod, taking his hand. He opens the door and the two of you walk in together, for the first time, holding hands. You draw stares as you walk to his desk, but you don’t care. Neither does he. Both of you walk with your head held high.

Finally you see Steve and he slowly claps as the two of you approach. “Ah, I see we’re finally public,” he nods and gestures to your hands with a cigarette between two fingers.

You look at Javier in confusion, and he looks back at you with the same eyes. “I’ve known about you two this whole time,” the blonde man laughs, kicking his legs up on the desk. “How does that song go? Fooled around and fell in love,” he sings, and you laugh as you look up at Javi.

“I guess that’s our song now,” he shrugs and looks down at you.

“I guess it is,” you nod, and Javier kisses you softly.

taglist:

@remmysbounty @mishasminion360 @softly-sad @blo0dangel @luxurybeskar @binarydanvvers @sleep-tight1 @apascalrascal @randomness501 @spideysimpossiblegirl @notabotiswear @pedro-pastel @sanchosammy

#javier peña #javier peña x reader #javi peña x reader #javi peña #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal x reader #jose pedro balmaceda pascal #narcos fanfic #narcos #javier peña fanfiction

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gaiuswrites · 3 years

Text

King of Cups || Chapter 5

Chapter 5: The Moon

Archive: ao3 | masterlist | four

Pairing: Din Djarin x fem!Reader

Summary: All relationships are about give and take.

Word count: 7k~

Rating: Explicit (Mature until the last few paragraphs)

Warnings/tags: nightmares, trauma, drinking, fluff and pining, drugs/being drugged (medicinal), wound care, blood, shots/needles, mature themes/language, emo shit, masturbation (f)

Notes: Hi friends. This is broken up in two portions: the first, being in Nevarro, and the second taking place some time later (hopefully that becomes clear when you read it heh). I'm hoping I captured the varying, distinct tones in each of the sections. Please feel free to reach out to me. :) Enjoy x (gif credit: @skyshipper)

They come at night.

The visions.

Your legs are rock, crumbling - eroding - with each weighted step, trudging through the city you once knew, laid bare to waste all around you. The air is grey brown, chalked with dust—with ash. There are bodies lining the road like trimmed hedges, floating by their ankles—ugly, corporal zeppelins. They’re pale. Their eyes are burned to coal and their tongues hang dead and waxy from their mouths.

They begin the same, choreographed like this; you follow the paths your mind has carved out for you, time and time again.

You spot him, plated in silver at the end of the row. Your feet stop. You see him, and he sees you. You feel his eyes - hawkish, piercing - under the murk of his visor. A predator’s gaze. He’s got a man in his fist—you think you recognize him, you might not—held by the scruff of his neck.

Sometimes it’s X’elo, bending to break in his gloved grasp. Other times, a stranger—a half remembered photograph—a memory of a memory of another dream entirely.

And sometimes, it’s you.

You hear the howl of wind scream through your bones—through the bones of the ruins there—but you don’t feel it. There’s only heat—the kind that’s unavoidable and omnipresent, as heavy as guilt. The hunter brings his hands to frame the man’s temples—yours too, sometimes— pebbles and slate trembling off you as you move towards them. You’re running, you realize, immobile but running and you’re not sure how or why—you never get there in time to find out.

He snaps his neck. You hear the crunch in your own ear—inside your own head.

It becomes night—blood moons drip wet from the sky. They splash onto the dirt. It turns to mud, caking the underside of your boots, squelching as you walk. You round a corner and—

You don’t recognize this. This is new. This— no, this is wrong.

A door. Rutted, freestanding—a dark monolith.

You stutter in your sleep, a crease in your brow.

It’s just a door.

No, not here—

A door. Black wood, a brass handle. Just a door, and you’re sweating. Just a door, and you’re suffocating—you’re being smothered—like your outsides are clawing to get back in through your throat and it’s sucking you in—this door, it’s just a door, it’s just a—closer, nearer, looming taller overhead—

You gasp awake, clutching at the scratchy blanket drenched cold with your sweat. Your rasps echo against the hull, sharp pants scraping the hollow metal, and you bring a hand to your chest—steadying, steadying, the fear of your racing heart.

You sit up, throwing your legs over the edge of the cot, and rake a shaky hand through your hair—the damp of the strands sticking to the nape of your neck. Your breathing evens out, tampering, with your forearms braced on the plats of your thighs; the rise and fall of your breasts against your sleep shirt quiet until you’ve stilled.

You roll off the bed, the aluminum frame whining with the shift, and you knock a knee into one of the carbonite pods as you stumble out of the storage room—your bedroom, now.

You couldn’t handle much more of it. You bought a bedroll the first planet you stopped to refuel at after Bajic, hermitting yourself away into the bowels of his ship. It was the only smidgen of untapped real estate left in the Crest, and it was far be it from you to complain about location. You were just thankful to be out of that copilot’s chair—no amount of bacta could unwind the knots in your neck after sleeping there night after restless night.

So you bunked with the bounties Mando had brought in, like one big macabre slumber party—the chrome slabs slotted up - watchful - in their chambers.

You try not to spare it much thought.

Padding through the Crest, soft bare feet leaving crescents on the steel deck, you step into the fresher to splash water on your face, jolting you back into the present and out of the nightmare, out of—

Just a door.

No—

You towel off, patting yourself dry. Inhaling, your lungs expand with the massive rush of air, and you hold it there until it hurts, until it prickles the corners of your eyes, and finally - deliberately - you release.

You look into the mirror.

You blink. She blinks back.

///

You make breakfast now.

It’s not something you both agreed to, it’s just something you do. Funny, how quickly you adapt to new normals, to new routines. You have rituals now—you two. You make breakfast, and you leave a bowl for him out on the counter before you slip into the shower. When you get out, the bowl is empty and the dishes are washed clean, drying face down on a rag. You smile. You never speak of it. Like ivy crawling up cobbled walls towards the sun, it happens— without prompt or feed, it simply is.

///

Nevarro reminds you of Dallenor—the craggy blandness of it, the endless black sands—and you fight the urge to hate it solely based on this principal alone.

You stay on the ship with the little one while Mando goes into town, meeting with some Greef Karga character to sew up Guild business. You have no idea how he ever managed to get any hunting done with the kid always acting up, pulling hijinks and inciting anarchy. He’s nearly torn the whole place to shreds. How such a tiny body can produce such a massive wake of damage is a mystery you will never solve.

You make yourself watch.

You force your jaw, set and held, as Karga’s men haul the quarries out of the ship, hovering eerily down the ramp.

X’elo, the smuggler from Vohai, some two-bit thief, and a woman Mando caught before you met, all parading single file out of the Crest like a funeral procession. They’re criminals, each and every one—they’re violent and they’ve done terrible, irredeemable things—but they’re people, too.

And isn’t that what makes it all so cruel. So sad.

The least you can do is give them an ounce of dignity before they’re subjected to their fate— however harsh, however fair.

So, you watch.

Maybe they don’t deserve it—they’re here by their own hand, after all, a bed of their own making— and maybe they haven’t earned it back any. But perhaps it’s less about what you can offer them and more about what you refuse to let the galaxy take. Because don’t you deserve to stay unfragmented? Complete? Would you rather be robbed of this humanity, your sense of decency—have it stolen from you?

Doesn’t it cost you nothing to be kind?

You pray neither sound nor fury will strip you of this—this open-eyed tenderness. You beg that you remain, undistilled, despite despite despite.

///

You’re so much more relaxed now then when you first came on board. You were as quiet as a church mouse then, tip toeing around the ship like you were afraid you’d ruin her.

Din will never admit it, but you even managed to get the jump on him once or twice—appearing exactly when and where he least expected. And he didn’t - couldn’t have - he didn’t expect you.

This.

And he looks at you now: lit by lamplight—the kerosene filament flickering warm in the dark hull— slotted back and humming to yourself as you swipe a finger over a holopad, feet propped up on a crate by the table, and it all looks organic. Right.

The drink in your hand, sloshing against the amber jug, no doubt eases your mood. You’re drinking it right from the bottle. He thinks it’s fucking charming.

“Enjoying yourself?”

“Maker above,” you hiss, startling a foot out of your seat. You shoot him an accusatory glare, but there’s no malice in it—there’s laughter ringing around your eyes.

Honestly, that man needs a bell on him.

“Don’t let me interrupt you,” he comments dryly, stepping past.

You move your legs from their perch and sit a little straighter. “You- you could join me,” you chime, “if you want.”

His feet slow until he’s stopped completely and he pans over his shoulder to you. You can’t read his expression—it’s steel all the way through— but you think you feel the air around you both quiver - shudder - with something unspoken, something kinetic.

The scrape of the chair as he pulls it out from the table is deafening, the thunk of his metal body sinking into it even louder.

“What are you reading?” Mando asks.

You cast him a sheepish smile. “CoreWorld News.”

“Anything good?”

Your mouth twists, biting the inside of your cheek. “Never.”

He huffs a breathy chuckle.

There didn’t seem to be any good news anymore. You forage for it—scouring the net for just a whiff of it, of something pure. There is plenty of greatness left in the world, but you find that what it lacks most is goodness— humble and precious. More often than not, you come up empty and disappointed—but never so dissuaded that you do not search again the next day, and the day after that, and after that and after that again.

“How’d it go with Karga?” you ask, setting the holopad down and switching off the display.

“Fine. Good.”

“Good,” you smile. He’s terse—sparse. You think it’s endearing now—vexing too, without a doubt, but the two aren’t mutually exclusive anymore.

“Nothing close to Coruscant yet. More outer rim chaavla,” he grits out, swallowing. “I’m sorry.”

There’s a tickle of bemusement in your voice and a quirk to your chin. “What are you apologizing for?”

“I know you want to get back.”

You hope the glow from the lantern in the galley is dim enough to camouflage the tinge sprung on your cheeks. The truth is becoming more and more clear to you, whether you like it or not: with each passing day, you want to go back to Coruscant less and less. You have to—you know you have to. You have your career, your whole life, waiting for you. But—

But.

“You told me it would take a while—longer than I’d like.”

“I know.”

“I’m happy to be here— I-I’m grateful,” you catch yourself.

He clenches his fist under the table, beyond your line of sight, gnarled tight into a ball. It tethers him down, anchoring him in place—because if he weren’t, fuck, he’d fly out of his seat so fast—

“Alright,” he chokes out.

“Alright,” you smile, glassy.

There’s a kind of mist encircling you two, an incense of a sort, intoxicating and sinewy and lulling you into a hushed calm. It’s thick around you - lush - and you can feel it settle like lead behind your eyes.

“Can I pour you a drink—for later?”

It’s late into the evening, well beyond the hour where the lines of decorum blur. You’ve crossed into the Other—that tarred, limber undertow. Dangerously weightless and free. The liminality between here and there— that twilight place.

Shadows bounce along the walls. Your outline—his too.

“I’d like that.”

///

You’re not as tipsy as you could be, but you’re less sober than you’d like.

Subconsciously, buried somewhere deep, you’re aware that Mando is humoring you and that you should let him get on with his night—but you don’t.

You’ll be annoyed at yourself later for this.

“Okay okay, what are your hobbies?”

A deadpan tilt of his helmet. “I—I don’t understand the question.”

You gape at him, your bottom lip glossed as it parts, plush and wet, and you laugh. “Hobbies,” you reiterate. “You know, stuff you like to do? For fun?”

You see the gears under that helm wheel and spin. It shouldn’t take anyone this long. The question is basic and the answer should be relatively immediate—but Mando has to mull it over. In all of his cycles, as hardened as they’ve been, he hasn’t been gifted the luxury of leisure - fun - and he hasn’t been afforded the time to dwell on the lack of it.

Selfless, without a moment of ownership to himself. This is the way.

“I-,” he pauses, mouth clamping shut. “Skip.”

“Fine, fine,” you tut. “What is... your favorite planet?”

Din stretches back, his beskar groaning against the chair.

All the planets he’d visited were out of necessity—out of demand and credit, never because he wanted to be there and certainly never out of favor. They were tainted—made insipid and unremarkable by the quarries he chased to them.

But there is one in particular that stands out; he remembers a planet the kid seemed to like—how he babbled the whole time, slung in the satchel at his hip, entranced and enthralled. He was on his best behavior, too—the little womp rat didn’t even try to stuff his tiny, wrinkled face with anything. Not once.

“Adega.”

“Adega,” you repeat, testing the name. “I don’t think I’ve heard of it. What’s it like?”

He draws in a long breath, his ribs yawning against the corset of his armor.

He should’ve gotten up by now—fuck, he shouldn’t have ever sat down in the first place. It’s not like he didn’t have anything to do; he needs to downshift the Crest’s power converters, switch off the shield projectors, chart a course to his next job, get some damn sleep if he’s lucky…

But you’re here before him. You’re here and he can’t deny you—not when you’re looking at him like that, like the sun shines out from his fucking face—far softer, far kinder than he deserves. Not when you’re here now, and you won’t be for much longer.

He’s racing against the clock—the swinging inevitability of it. Each moment he shares with you, is a moment that brings him closer to taking you back.

Din is a fool. He knows he’ll lose. He races anyways.

“It’s a water planet—mostly ocean,” he begins.

You allow your eyes to dip close, savoring the description, and you tuck your legs up to fold over themselves.

“But there are islands. Some are small, private—with red trees that go all the way to the sand. Others have whole cities on them.”

You remain quiet - patient - like marble, chiseled and sanded as thin as chiffon, veiling over your face in fine, cascading sheets. Transparent - ethereal - you listen to him blind, letting his words guide your sight.

“The kid-"

Your tongue darts out over your lip and he stutters. Din has to shift his hips, relieving the growing heat that’s tightening below his waist.

“T-The uh, the kid loved it. I’d never seen him like that. The bogwing didn’t want to leave,” he chuckles. He conjures the details he thinks you want—the details he thinks you might like most. “The people are honest—generous. The days are long, and the nights are warm.”

He’s no poet, but it doesn’t bother you.

“I can see it,” you say, before blinking your eyes open. "I'll have to go some time." There’s pink on your cheeks, seeping past your jaw and below the neckline of your shirt to the swallow of your breasts.

You look at him— he looks at you.

A noise hums from somewhere inside the ship.

“Are you scared of anything?” you murmur.

Mando lets a beat pass.

“I don’t think so. Not yet.” You smile at that—small, wistful. You’re not even sure why. “You?” he asks.

Your chest rises with a deep inhale. “I used to be scared of dying. I thought I was gonna die young. I was convinced—I had dreams about it all the time as a kid.”

But maybe that’s not it entirely. Maybe it’s not the fear of dying itself, but the dread of living and dying alone. And isn’t that at the heart of it—at all of this?

I just don’t want to do this all on my own.

He’s never been privy to this version of you—this sloping tone, the liquor buzzing through your speech, churning your words to treacle. You sound nonchalant in way that’s jarring, as if you aren’t talking about death— the fear of your own tenuous mortality.

“But I bet everyone does,” you continue dismissively, “just one of those things.”

He’s almost cautious when he replies. “I’m not sure they do.”

Your expression contorts, knotting for an agonizing moment—until the tension all but disappears. “Huh,” you shrug flippantly, and take a swig. That heaviness, that fog, dissipates nearly as soon as it arrived. “Anyways, favorite color?”

He rolls his eyes; you can see it in the way he tilts his head to you. Really, he seems to say, how old are we?

“You’re right, you’re right— that’s low brow. I can do better…” You melodramatically tap your chin, eyeing him pensively.

“Okay. What’s that?”

“What’s what?”

“That,” you nod to his pauldron, “that symbol on your shoulder.”

Tawny fingertips trace absentmindedly over the emblem. “It’s a Mudhorn. It’s-” Mando hesitates, before his hand returns to his lap. “It’s the sigil of my clan.”

You arch your brow. “I didn’t realize you had a clan— is it- is it like, big?” Stars, you sound dumb—and there’s no excuse. You’re not even that drunk. “How- what is a clan, exactly?”

“In Mandalorian culture, your clan is your family. Aliit. Mine, it’s—it’s a clan of two.”

Something in the pit of you stirs, a sickly warmth, pulling at your gut like a rope. You glance over to where the child sleeps, snuggled away in his pram and your lips curl into a smile, hidden behind the bottle you bring to them.

“You’re lucky to have each other,” you say gently, taking another sip.

“We almost didn’t—shouldn’t have.”

His hands tense into his legs—the creak of leather against his thigh plates is audible even from where you sit.

You narrow your eyes curiously. He heaves.

“He was a bounty and I did my job. I turned him in. I went back for him, but—the kid, he saved my life, and I could’ve left him there—I would’ve, before.”

It all comes out like tires grinding through gravel, bruised and roughened. It’s regret, you realize—this is the sound of guilt, frigid and rued, pushing through his modulator. It makes you want to reach out to him, put your hand on his, comfort him, reassure him—something. But you can’t. He’s too far away. He’s on his own sea—untouchable.

You decide it right then and there: you can’t bare that sound, the wracked timbre of it. You hate it. You think you’d do anything to rid the way in constricts his throat—makes him hoarse and clipped, even through the guise of his helmet. It pains you, a visceral stabbing, right to your core. You could go a lifetime without hearing it, and it still wouldn’t be long enough.

“But you didn’t,” you offer.

“No,” he utters. “No, I didn’t.”

Mando gives you these tortuous, beautiful previews of himself. Like light passing through stained glass, you sneak brief glimpses of the paintings there, the stories and fables and the lessons they teach, until some great cloud drifts past, blotting out the sun, and all goes dark again.

You know this is rare. You know you’ll be home soon. You know to cherish it—to relish what he gives, when he gives it, if he gives it at all.

But—you want more. You’re a simple woman, at the end of all things: all you want is to hold him.

“I think you’re a better man than you let on, Mando.” There’s a knowing twinkle in your eye, a coy lilt to your loosened tongue. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think you were flirting.

“You don’t know that,” he huffs, crossing his arms over his chest.

“I have my suspicions." You're smirking something awful - deadly - as it sears into him.

He grunts, flames licking up his chest. Din has to bite back his grin, making careful it doesn’t shape the sound of his vowels; grateful for the helmet that buffers him, the mask that seals him away into anonymity, into apathy.

If he can convince you, maybe he can convince himself too. Maybe.

“Next question, dala.”

If he didn’t know any better, he’d think you were flirting.

///

Your eyes are blown wide, gawking at him.

“I’m not a medic, Mando—I’m not a fucking surgeon!”

Mando crashes through the Razor Crest, red dollops trailing in pools behind him. He grunts, hand pressed to his side, blood pushing out of the gash that’s torn into him— a canyon down his unplated body, spewing angry and insistent with each spasm of his heart.

With a broad stroke, he sweeps the clutter off the table and onto the floor, spraying across the deck.

“Medkit,” he barks, hoisting himself up to lie, hulking and pained, out on the slab. You scamper to it, ripping it off the wall, and return to his lumbering body. His breathing is labored—he’s forcing it, seething it out.

Mando’s legs bend off the table at an uncomfortable angle and he rasps when you crane them up by his booted ankles – fuck, he’s heavy – to situate a small crate under his feet. They drop with a dulled thud— without muscle, without resistance. The languid weight of a dying man.

You’re stationed beside him, medkit spilled open. “W-What now, what do you need?”

“I need you,” you heard him say, deep and bassy, as he ascended the ramp. With a colossal drum of your heart, you spun around - I need you - a blush stippling your jaw. The pregnant expectation built behind weeks and weeks of stalemates and stolen glances - I need you - all rearing to a head here and now and finally, finally something—until you saw him, doubled over, bracing himself on the wall, a line of blood smearing behind his palm.

“Bacta-“ Mando wheezes, “bacta shot.”

You rifle through the supplies, littering them as you dig through the box.

Sure, you had gotten your first aid certification with the Movement—it was required, and you retook the courses every few cycles. But that was gauze wrappings and mouth-to-mouth and anti-inflammatory tablets—that was not this, and this is fucking surgery. You’re out of your depth—and Mando must be out of his damn mind.

“I nee-“ He inhales sharply, and his body spasms, gripping the ledge of the table like a vice. “My chest plate—take it off.”

He’s told you bits and parcels of the Mandalorian way—of his Creed— and you aren’t under the impression that this would be strictly sanctioned.

“M-Mando, I thought— are you sure?”

“Yes I’m kriffing sure—do it. Just do it,” he snaps. He hates this—he fucking hates this. Soft. Weak—weak weak weak, he’s so fucking weak. Laandur.

You fumble over the armor, uncoordinated as you unclasp it from his cuirass and Mando strangles out a sigh as soon as it leaves him. At last, you fish the shot from the medkit and hold it up to the light, the medicine like venom as it whirls in the tube. It’s uncomfortably large—simply holding it makes you squirm.

“W-What is that?”

Your eyes flit over the needle and then back to the bounty hunter. “What do you mean ‘what is that’? It’s a shot.”

“That’s a lance,” he growls.

“It’s ebacta-”

“It’s green!” he hisses out incredulously.

“It’s all they had!” you bite back, panic skipping through your veins.

You’re practically yelling at each other, the tension winding and coiling tighter and higher as the seconds tick by. You feel each one, tapping along your vertebra like a metronome, keeping time, keeping time, wasting time—all this back and forth is a waste of time and—

You’re nervous—you’re fucking terrified—and Mando doesn’t frequent this position either—this vulnerability. He doesn’t know what to do with it, where he belongs in it. I need you, he said. He hadn’t needed anyone before and now look at him, bare breasted before you, wounded and mewling like roadkill.

You rap the needle with a knuckle, banishing the air pocket, and test the plunger. Droplets of liquid spurt from the tip, and he begins to rile.

“Dala,” he warns.

“Mando,” you mimic.

“Nu draar-”

“Do you want my help or not?” you spit out, and he shrinks, visor trained on the jab, that unnatural chartreuse swirling inside the glass vial. “Okay. Okay, on three.”

“Wait, wait-"

“One..." You try to sound firm - competent - but you’re a fucking mess. Your breathing is erratic, tunic soiled with sweat, and you’re trembling.

“You don’t-“

“Two...”

Mando huffs exasperatedly, “Ah, fuck it-”

“Three.”

You drive the syringe down, stabbing into him. His body seizes—flexing rigid—as soon as the viscous gel is injected, oozing oozing oozing until it’s pumped empty and spent.

And then— nothing.

All that whirlwinded frenzy, that raging tempest, and now silence— dead silence. He lays there motionless, fidgeting ceased, that ungodly needle pitched like a flag pole from his chest.

… Shit.

“Hey,” you touch a hand to his shoulder.

The smug bastard could be having a laugh under that helmet and you’d have no idea. That’s what you tell yourself—that’s what you’d prefer to believe anyways; it’s better than the alternative, better than—than than than fuck—

“Hey, this isn’t funny...” A little rougher now, you jostle him. He doesn’t react.

“… Mando?”

His head lolls to the side.

With a whistle, the room goes mute. Sound and oxygen alike, it all gets vacuumed out, and your senses invert. You can hear every tick of your body: the bone of your jaw as your teeth mash together, the pulse at your wrist, your stammering heart beating beating beating in your inner ear, the bob of your trachea as it grates against your neck.

Kriff. You killed him—you killed the Mandalorian.

Oh Maker, oh shit-

You press down around the puncture site with a wide palm before yanking the syringe out, flinging it away. You’re shaking him now, wrestling with his limp body, and you’re shouting—croaked with worry, with fear.

“Fuck, Mando—Mando!"

The sound is like glass shattering.

He gasps wildly, gulping down air as if he’d been drowned, writhing like the undead from your operating table. You buckle over him, fatigued and slumped, and cry out in blessed relief.

Your instincts, those poor frail nerves, tell you to smack him—but given that he’s bleeding out, you refrain.

“Don’t do that to me!” you exclaim, breathy and strained.

“Don’t do that to you?” Mando retorts, panting. You let out a weak crackle of laughter and he moans. It’s like he’s been hit by a speeder - twice - forward and then reversed over again.

“Maker, what did you give to me?”

“I got it on Vohai. They uhm- they said it was good quality-“

“And you believed them?”

Your mouth twists shyly. “I-I wanted to believe them,” you correct him.

It’s his turn to laugh now, tired and raw. Oh, you sweet little thing.

You swallow, saliva coating your ragged windpipe. “I’m sorry—Maker, I’m so sorry, a-are you alright?”

“Yeah,” he scoffs, gargled, “but remind me never to have you save my life again.”

That earns him a light slap to his arm. If he’s well enough to dole cheap shots, you figure he’s fit enough to take yours too. He’s spliced open, whole chunks of him missing, and he still has the wherewithal to be an ass.

“Well, you’re not out of the woods just yet.”

///

Regrettably, Mando might have been spot on about the bacta—in fact, you’re starting to question whether it’s really bacta at all.

A delirious grunt ripples through the bounty hunter’s modulator as you cut open his ripped flight suit, careful not to slice him with the vibroblade. His black undershirt is matted to his gaping wound, the blood bubbled over and through the rough material, and you have to peel the fibers out of his coagulating flesh to get to it. You toss the fabric into the bucket next to you with a sloppy, wet plop.

It didn’t even occur to you. You were so swept away by the state of him—by the dizzying carnival of it all as soon as Mando breached the Crest—you didn’t consider the fact that you’d be seeing him. Touching him.

You have to mask your expression when you meet his skin for the first time. He’s golden—he’s golden everywhere—like desert sand dunes sizzling under ripe, afternoon suns—dappled with memories of violence, branded into him.

You’ve never heard him like this. He keeps noising these feverish little nothings— gasping, moaning in a language you don’t recognize—and you do your best to distract him. It’s one of the tenets you recall from your aid training: keep them talking, keep them sharp—engaged.

“Do each of these have a story?” you ask, eyeing the marks that riddle and pucker him.

“Some of them.”

“What about this one here?” You touch a faded ribbon of scarring. It’s older than the others—paler. Your fingertips are cool and he blazes beneath them.

He tries not to twitch. You try not to notice.

“Fell out of a tree when I was a kid—haven’t thought about that in a while,” Mando pants. “B-Broke my wrist, got scraped to shit— my buir, m-my mother, she chewed my ear off.”

“Mm, I bet she did,” you smirk—you can relate to the feeling.

“I-I remember the lines around her eyes. H-Her eyes— they were green, bright green— jade.”

He lets out a wince as you swipe a disinfectant soaked rag over him. You cringe and flash him an apologetic look.

“Sounds beautiful,” you muse, a quiet smile pulling at you as your deft fingers work. “Did you get her pretty eyes too, Mando?”

Something is caught in his throat— a chuckle, or a cough more likely. “No, they’re brown. Just brown.”

Your whole body locks.

Just brown.

Two words - just brown - and suddenly you’re rich— full to the brim with him.

And fuck, if it doesn't feels like a gift. Like he gathered something precious and laid it in your arms and said here, you can have this now. We can share. Sometimes you forget that there’s a man under all those layers; a man— a warm blooded, tanned skin, brown eyed man. You hadn’t often wondered what the Mandalorian was hiding under his armor—he was so finite, so unmovable, the mask he wore became him. He was beskar - indistinguishably - through and through.

But that was before. And now you’re blinded with him— with all the details you cannot unsee.

“S-She was the last person to take care of me—like this.”

It comes over you so suddenly, you’re taken aback by it: that knee-jerking gut wrench. And not because there’s heartbreak in his voice, but because there isn’t. Because he’s had to be so invulnerable—so unyielding and invincible for so long—that he doesn’t even realize what he’s without.

And you, if only for a silly, naïve moment, wish you could give it back to him. Every little ounce of goodness that he’s been deprived of—to dip into his time stream, and rewrite.

To plant but a seed of it there, even if you don’t stay long enough to see it’s harvest.

“Tell me more about her,” you say.

And beyond expectation, beyond reason, he does.

///|||///

This—this is wrong.

He feels pulpy - soggy - wrong. He’s more liquid than he should be—there’s nothing solid about him now. He’s swept away in the tide of it—this green current charging through him and he let’s go - what is there to hold onto anyways? - floating belly up on his back.

Din spills—like the aperture split into his side, he gushes. Whatever dam he’s forged around himself, the beskar and duracrete there, cracks.

The stream trickles until he floods and like any good story, he starts from the beginning.

He tells you of home—his first home. Aq Vetina.

You’re plucking spikes and nettle from his side, and he barely feels it—all he has is this sinking, unending wet—and they hit the tray with dull plunks, punctuated and staccatoed.

He tells you of the adobe dwellings and the domes and columns. Marketplace canopies and caravan bazaars.

plunk

The oak trees, the willow bark, the spires he’d climb until the sun set.

plunk

The tall mountains and the dry, rubbled earth. Of the nameless neighbor children he played with, kicking a ball through the dirt. Red robes trailing, fraying.

plunk

His mother. The shawl she wore. The copper of his father’s ring. The herbs she grew by the light from their kitchen window. How he held her hand while they sat by the fire.

plunk

His tongue doesn’t belong to him—it wags numb and supple. He’s lost his sense of direction, unbound by north or south, and these words are simply happening to him. They keep happening and happening and escaping and—

It’s not just the off-bacta speaking for him, making him pliant. He wants this. He wants to bend—he wants to bend for you.

And now there’s no stopping it—there’s no breaking this, no halting it's downhill momentum. Din describes the attack, the heat of the fire as his town - his world - burned down, of his parents concealing him—a child, abandoned and bunkered away in a cellar to live or die with or without them— being rescued by the Death Watch and raised as a Mandalorian himself.

Your bandaging has long since finished, but you remain, hovering over him as you listen—listen as the jigsawed shards of his life stitch themselves together. Like a moth to a flame, you are drawn in and in and in, until you’re butted against the wick of it. Inseparable.

When the well of his words runs dry, neither of you go to move. Pin-drop silence envelops you. Your hands still on his chest, palms like a weighted quilt—warming him, securing him. He feels-

He feels safe.

“Mando,” you murmur, and the epithet has never sounded so fucking sacred, whispered from you like a prayer. You cripple him; the web of concern along your brow, the sheen in your eyes, the breathy part of your lips.

His throat has gone dry and he shakes his head left right, beskar grating against the makeshift gurney. Mando. No. No, that’s not right—that’s not who he is, that’s not who he wants you to know.

He draws his hand up—it’s so fucking heavy, he can barely lift it—but he tries, he tries, he wants to. You’re right here, you’re touching his chest and you’re healing his body—his mind too, if he’d only let you—and if he could just get to you. If he could just lace his fingers with yours—would you let him? Should you?

“M-My name-"

A warbled wail from the kid’s alcove rips through the cradling hush, and you both react immediately, lurching up to tend to the child. Din forgets—he hears his foundling and his reason leaves him—and he flinches with a grimace. You urge him down, steadying him with a pointed look.

“Rest.”

It’s a command, there’s no question to it, and it’s teeming with all of these unrecognizable concepts— care and assurance, worry and compassion. So impossible to disobey in the way that gentle things are—too soft and too right to say no to. He relents - gives - helmet thudding when it connects back with the table.

Din, he pleads, desperate for you to read his mind. Like a mantra, his subconscious rambles it on a drug addled figure-eight, coming around only to repeat itself again, infinite and wanting. Din Din Din-

Only when the child’s cries muffle into hiccups and his hiccups slur into coos does he let his exhaustion get the better of him. There was too much—it was an assault from all fronts. The blood loss, the drugs, his life like a monsoon as it crushed him open. And all it took was a wound, a brush with his mortality, for him to surrender it to you.

He turns his head, searching for you through the blur of his vision. You’re there in the doorway, rocking his boy in your arms, haloed with light.

I need you, he said. I need you I need you I need you I need-

Din’s eyes shut.

He doesn’t dream. He sleeps like the dead, blissful and undisturbed.

///

You spend hours scrubbing the deck on all fours, spine hunched and aching, cleaning scarlet off silver steel. It got everywhere, the splatter of it—even on the surfaces Mando didn’t come in contact with. The smell of blood, that nickel musk, it lingers long after its welcome—long after the stain of it, the stain of him, has vanished from the Crest. From your skin.

At some point during the night you nod off next to him, curled over a crate, and when you wake Mando is gone—presumably back to his quarters but gone all the same. All traces of him gone - expunged - and the ship feels hollow and gaping— a sterile Mando shaped hole in his absence. You follow his lead, retreating to your bed for a few more hours of sleep.

The next morning doesn’t go as you’d like.

You weren’t sure if he would remember any of it—of what he confided, of what he almost confessed— but by the way the tension ferments between you, you can only assume he does.

They go through their routines, stilted as they are.

He’s up early— unnecessarily early. Mando goes to the cockpit to rouse the ship, plugging in the coordinates from his tracking fob to chase after the escaped bounty. Thrusters set. Repulorlifts and auxiliary engines engaged. Deflector shield generator on. Weapons check. Atmospheric pressure regulator switched.

He’s slower, you note— his movements are crawled—with only half the feline agility he typically possesses and you want to tell him to sit, to take a break—to get off his damn feet and to let you help him—that it’s okay if he rests. That he can take time for himself. That it doesn’t make him any less of a Mandalorian—any less of a man.

But, you can’t.

And so the day is pulled taut like this—a bowed string ready to snap, chalked full of false starts and tinny stoicism. A sharp, intentional air of avoidance with every action. They were out of step, out of sync, and it reminds you of the first days you’d spent on the Razor Crest, orbiting each other—planets apart.

Because he’s shared too much. You knocked, Din answered. He opened the door and he let you past and now he has nowhere left to go but inwards. He’s cornered with no exit strategy - no option - but to close back up again and furl in on himself like a fern in the dark. Curling - evaporating - until he’s nothing but armor—nothing but mirrored edges and metal plates.

But—

you still made his breakfast and he still washed your dishes—and maybe that is enough.

///

You pass each other in the corridor, as you have done before.

You smile gently—soft as sin— and it breaks him, like it always does.

You have a hand on the rung of the ladder when he calls your name, and you turn to him, bright eyed.

“Thank you,” he rasps, “I never thanked you.”

He’s so strikingly sincere— standing there, arms dangling stiff by his sides. He looks different now, somehow— different, but the same. Fuller, bigger—smaller, too.

Human, you realize.

Your heart flutters in your chest. “Of course, Mando-“

“Din.”

You forget to breath. Time forgets to move.

“My name is Din.”

///

Din. Din Djarin.

It takes you almost a week to say it—to even utter the syllable aloud—and you only ever risk it when he’s gone on a hunt and you know you’re alone.

“You like it when I touch you like this?” you hear him say, the fabricated echo of his voice in your skull. He’s got two fingers in you—you can envision them now, clear and potent, the golden hide of them—and he moves slow as he takes you right to the edge, dancing dastardly along that cliff side before retracting himself and backing off. You can’t see his face, but you know he’s smirking; you can feel it in his fingertips, how they mock you—how they scorch into you and leer.

Even in your fantasy, he’s a prick.

“You like it when I make you cum on this filthy fucking cot?”

You keen into your hand, whimpering into your bitten raw lips. The scene is playing on without you now, writing itself. All you can do is lay here and take it, succumb to it, starved and desperate and vile as you thrash on your bedroll.

You rove your palm over your chest—

He snakes up your shirt, twisting your nipple until it’s peaked and perked under him, until you yelp with that muddled jolt of pleasure and pain. He’s lazy and fitfully unhurried, each movement sauntered and proud. He’s coaxing it out of you, this orgasm, as he kneels over you, your vision flooded with the cold menace of his beskar. Finally, tortuously, he traces his thumb over your clit, toying with you in small circles until you’re shaking—vibrating, every molecule of you—like you’re going to burst, incinerate there in your bed. He’s urgent now, demanding, and thrusting into your swollen cunt and the pressure mounting in your heat swells until, until, oh my st-

You fuck your fingers until they prune, drenched with the thought of him teasing you, stuffing you full with anything he’ll give you; his hands, his cock—Maker, his tongue. You let it roll around your mouth when you touch yourself like this in the dark belly of the ship—heels digging into your thin mattress, knees steepled together—and you’re panting, wanton and velvet, before a fist shoots up to muffle the moaned name wafting from your lips like smoke.

“Din”

@girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @pedros-mustache @miranhas-art @djarrex @djarinsbeskar @bookloverfilmoholic @keeper0fthestars @misguidedandbeguiled

#din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin #mando x female oc #mando x you #mando x reader #mandalorian smut #the mandalorian #the mandalorian x female oc #din djarin x female oc #din djarin smut #King of Cups #pedro pascal #fanfic #mandalorian fanfic #slow burn #smut

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justanotherblonde23 · 3 years

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I Want You - A Din Djarin Story

Author’s Note: Hey there, internet friends. So I had an ask from my friend @hdlynnslibrary that I can’ find to save my life. Luckily, I wrote it down! “Hi Kat! My darling! I must admit to feeling #horny okay? Soooo what about a prompt for my fav space man Din? Like maybe with an #inexperienced reader?” Oh Heather, my love, ask and you shall receive! What started out as a little somethin became 14 pages, double spaced, 12 point Times New Roman font. So my darling, I hope you enjoy this Din x reader fic, it was made with LOTS of love <3

Warnings: SMUT, there is definately sexy times going on over here, all aboard the horny train, leaving the station as we speak. Choo-fuckin-choo! Also, language because I am me and since I was born and raised in Boston and I have been swearing like a goddamn sailor since, well, ever lol. Oh, and there’s a slight breeding kink, just an FYI. I’m sorry, it just all came out and I couldn’t help it and Din Djarin wants his clan to expand, okay?

Thank you to all who read, like, comment, reblog, etc. It warms my heart that you all are enjoying my work. Please let me know what you think of this one :-)

You had been traveling with Din on the Razor Crest for the past year or so. He found you on Arvala-7, working alongside Kuiil. You were good with your hands, fast with a blaster, and most importantly, you connected with the Child. From the second that kid saw you, he decided that you were his. He was the largest reason that you were here right now. How anyone could resist those big eyes, his floppy ears, and that cute baby smile. He turned your heart to putty.

Your days were spent mostly on the Crest, keeping an eye on the little one and tending to the ship the best you could. The baby required a fair bit of effort, but you didn’t mind; he had become like your own child without you even realizing it.

Somewhere along the way, you had become closer with the Mandalorian that you traveled with. Clipped sentences became more extended conversations as you gently urged him out of his shell. Soon, he became curious about you, asking all sorts of unimportant questions, ranging from where you grew up to what your favorite color was. Dinners alone with the kid turned into Mando joining you, lifting his helmet ever so slightly so that he could take a sip of the broth you made or a bite of the ration pack you heated up. Every time he did this, you made sure to keep your eyes on your plate, never wanting to disrespect his Creed in any way.

As the months progressed, your feelings for one stoic Mandalorian grew. You caught yourself lingering in the cockpit more when after you put the little one down at night. You also caught yourself staring on more than one occasion, and you knew for a fact that Mando saw you, too. How could you not stare at that imposing figure that you shared a home with? The duality of the man was awe-inspiring, to be sure. He was a fearsome warrior, and you had witnessed his prowess first hand many a time. He brought bounties in nonstop, always jetting off to the next one before the last quarry had been frozen away in carbonite for a day. And then there was the gentleness that he had with the baby. You could tell that this was his first time taking care of another person by himself. Sometimes he was a bit rough around the edges, but he did try his best. He was learning how to be the best parent he could for the kid, and watching that play out warmed your heart.

Often times, when he took the kid up to the cockpit so that you could use the refresher and wash the day away, you could hear him up there talking to the kid gently. Sometimes he speaks in Basic; other times, he speaks in what you assume is Mando’a. Every once in a while, you hear him sing the baby a lullaby on those restless nights where nothing seems to calm that sweet baby down. The first time you heard him sing softly to the kid, you knew that you loved him.

You never felt right acting on your feelings; you didn’t know how he thought about you. Also, you were terrified of making a fool of yourself. Truth be told, you have never been in a man’s bed before. The life of a refugee of the Empire didn’t leave much time for amorous encounters. By the time you found Kuiil, all you wanted was to keep your head down and do your work. If you happened to meet someone along the way, fantastic, but you had more pressing matters to attend to, like surviving in the desert.

That all changed one night when you least expected it. Mando had taken the kid to soothe him and put him to sleep, so you took the opportunity to use the fresher. You had been working hard that day, repairing areas of the Crest that needed maintenance while juggling an inquisitive little one. You took your time, relishing the way that the water felt against your bare skin, the warmth seeping into your muscles and soothing your bones. You wouldn’t tell anyone, but you viewed water as a gift from the Maker itself. For the first time in your life, you didn’t have to scrounge and save every last drop. You’d never had the luxury of using actual water the bathe daily; you’d never been in the financial position to have such a thing. For the Galaxy working class, a sonic was the best you could hope for most of the time. It cleansed the body of dirt and grime just fine, but it wasn’t pleasant like water was.

In all honesty, your idea of a luxuriously long shower was well under ten minutes, but it was a dream come true for you. After you were clean and smelling of the fresh soap that you used, it was time for you to get out. You grabbed the small towel, drying your body, and then reached for your clothes. Your hands floundered around a bit until you realized that you had inadvertently forgotten to bring a new pair of clothes or your sleep shirt in with you. You had been in too much of a rush to hand off the baby and get just a few moments to yourself.

You groaned at your flightiness. Kriff, that only left you with two options: you could either put your dirty clothes back on, or you could try to make your way back to your sleeping quarters wrapped in this tiny ass towel. Neither option particularly appealed to you, but your desire for cleanliness finally won out.

You gathered up your belongings and quietly opened the refresher door, careful not to be too loud. It usually took a bit of time to calm the baby down enough for him to go to sleep, and you didn’t want to interrupt that process. The lights in the hold were dimmed, leaving you with the ability only to see a few steps in front of you.

Unfortunately, your quest to be stealthy was in vain. You had forgotten that you had moved a particular toolbox during your work project this morning. Said toolbox ended up being placed right where you could smack your little toe on it. You yelped in pain, dropping everything in your arms in favor of hopping up and down on one foot and clutching the other in your hands. This caused the towel to also fall to the ground, leaving you bare. A noise drew your attention up, and your eyes met a helmet, staring right back. Mando was standing right in front of you, apparently drawn by the noise.

You dropped your foot, standing up straight, eyes wide in shock. You didn’t move; you barely breathed. Your mind was short-circuiting, and you didn’t even have the sense to pick up your towel off the ground. Your body was overflowing with embarrassment, horror, and- was that arousal? Stars, you were standing here, completely bare, across from the Mandalorian who has every inch of himself covered.

Ever so slowly, he reached down and grabbed the towel you had dropped, carefully wrapping it back around you. His hand accidentally brushed your breast, causing you to suck in a breath of surprise. He murmured his apologies, beginning to withdraw his hands, but you were faster. You reached out, stilling his retreating hands and placing them back on your body. You wanted this, you wanted him, and you wanted to make sure that he knew it.

He tilted his helmet curiously, waiting for you to give him a prompt. He took in your labored breathing, your increased heart rate, the way you bit your lip. Your eyes met his visor, and he could barely even see your eye color because your pupils were so blown with lust and desire. He groaned a deep, low sound in his chest at your obvious reaction to his presence.

“What do you want, sweet girl?” he ground out, trying to keep himself in check.

You moved your hands, gently cradling his helmet where his cheeks would be, breathing in his scent swirling so close to you. You could smell the blaster residue, the leather, the metal of his beskar, the soap you both used in the shower, and that smell that was uniquely his. You’d never get tired of it, not in this life or the next.

“I want you,” was your reply. “Touch me, Mando, please.”

“Din,” came his reply, almost in a whisper, as if it was something sacred.

You frowned, your nose scrunched up in confusion. You studied this helmet, eyes searching for answers.

“My name, it’s Din. Din Djarin.”

Your mouth dropped open in shock, eyes wide with confusion. You knew the sacredness of a name in this Galaxy. Stars, you hadn’t even told him your own name for a solid three months. The only reason he had found out was because he overheard you talking to the kid one day. A name was even more sacred to a Mandalorian. It was precious, something to be guarded with the utmost care. You’d never even wagered that he’d give it to you, ever.

“You can use it, but with just me and the kid around. No one else gets to know it, no one but you.”

You nodded, understanding just how much it had taken for him to tell you. His name was a gift, something that you would keep close and cherish.

“Din,” you spoke the Mandalorian’s name for the first time, testing it on your tongue, relishing the taste of it in your mouth. It was a good name, a solid name, a name fitting for the warrior before you. “Din Djarin, a beautiful name.”

Hearing his name in your mouth set Din’s soul on fire. The way you spoke it, the way you had considered it and acknowledged the importance of what he had just given you, it made him want to hear it again and again. He wanted to listen to you moan his name in ecstasy, begging him for more, begging him for pleasure. He wanted to hear you yell it, mutter it, say it in everyday conversation. He wanted to hear his name drip from your lips for the rest of his life.

That night was the first time he took you and gave you pleasure. You had come on his tongue and fingers three times before you were strung out and exhausted. You fell asleep in his bunk wrapped tightly in his arms. That was two months ago.

You still had yet to take him fully, to allow him to be inside of you. You had admitted that you were nervous, that you had no experience to work off of. Din had been nothing but patient and kind, never pressuring you into anything that you weren’t comfortable with. He had told you that, “We have all the time in the world, sweet girl. There’s no need to rush.” You believed him wholeheartedly, but in the past weeks, you had found yourself wanting more. Sure, you were still frightened, you didn’t know what you were doing, but that burn and ache inside of you kept getting more intense as the days went by. You know that Din would take care of you.

It’s been a rough day, and that’s an understatement. You helped with the bounty this time because the information you were given indicated that this quarry was heavily guarded. Mando couldn’t say no to an extra blaster covering his ass. Thankfully, this mission was on Tatooine, meaning that you could leave the little one with Peli. Maker knows that woman loves your little green bean; how could she not? Green bean loves her right back and seems to be particularly fond of the pit droids. You think it has something to do with the fact that he can bonk their noses to make them spring to life, but you can’t be sure.

Unfortunately, it turns out that this asshole was much more protected than you had been led to believe. You would have some choice words for Greef Karga to pass along to whoever had commissioned this kriffing bounty. You both had more or less emerged unscathed, but there would most certainly be bruises covering you two from head to toe.

Once the bounty was frozen away in carbonite, you could breathe a little better. He wouldn’t be giving you any trouble now. When Peli saw that state you were in, she insisted that she keep the little one for the night, which was a relief. As much as you loved that sweet little boy, you needed a breather. Hopefully, you’d be able to spend some much needed time with just you and your Mandalorian.

You found yourself on Din’s lap with a blindfold covering your eyes so he could kiss you. You would rather not see anything at all and have his lips on yours than have your sight with his helmet on. You both were in your underclothes, your legs straddling him.

That’s when the kisses began. There was something about kissing Din Djarin that was otherworldly. The way he poured all his love and care into a kiss never ceases to blow you away. He always started so gently, building you up and setting you on fire. How could anything be that good, that pleasurable? He licked into your mouth, moaning at your taste. Your Mandalorian loved to kiss you. He nipped at your bottom lip, causing you to gasp, pleasure shooting straight down to your core.

He moved his kisses to your jaw and down the column of your neck, leaving bruising in his wake. Din whispered in your ear, telling you how beautiful you were, how good you tasted, how you were just for him. The thought that you were his, that this fearsome warrior had opened himself up enough to let you in, it urged you forward.

You began to rock back and forth on his thigh, chasing that feeling of bliss. He stopped you for a moment, helping you wiggle out of your panties, before urging you to start once more. This felt even better, your slick dripping out onto his thigh, helping you create beautiful friction. By the sounds he was making, Din was enjoying it, too. The feeling of his muscles hard beneath you, your clit rubbing deliciously against him, was heavenly. You could feel the sparks in your tummy, the clench of your cunt around nothing; you were so close.

Din urged you on, his hands at your hips, moving you. He muttered about how gorgeous you were as you took your pleasure on his thigh, how he wanted to see you cum on him, how he wanted to taste your sweet pussy after you came. His words were what finally did you in, the dam bursting and your orgasm hitting you full force. Your hips began to stutter, but your Mandalorian kept you moving, riding the waves of pleasure, extending your bliss. Finally, your whines led him to stop; you were far too sensitive to continue. You panted, trying to catch your breath.

As you sat there, your head on Din’s shoulder, centering yourself once more, you realized what exactly was pressing against your thigh. You could feel his rock hard, dripping cock, just within reach. The thought of it made your pussy clench and your mouth water. You wanted Din Djarin, all of him, in every way possible. You wanted to feel him inside of you, wrecking you and making you see stars.

“Din,” you murmured, “I want you.”

He nuzzled his nose into your hair, breathing you in. “You have me, Mesh’la, any way you want me.”

You sat up straight on his lap, facing him. If you didn’t have a blindfold on, you’re sure you’d be looking him directly in the eye. “No, I want you. I want you inside of me; I want your cock, Din.”

Your Mandalorian groaned at your admission. There was nothing he wanted more. He took in the earnest expression on your face, looking for any sign of hesitance or anxiety. He never wanted you to feel pressured into doing anything that you didn’t want to do. He didn’t want you to feel as if you needed to do something to please him. He wanted you to explore sex at your own pace, never another’s.

“Cyare, are you sure? There is no rush for us. My satisfaction comes from the fact that I can satisfy you and that you trust me enough to allow me to be the first to touch you in this way. There is no timetable besides your wants, needs, and desires, mesh’la. I don’t want you to pressure yourself.”

You smiled at his words, his voice so soft and sweet for you. He was always so considerate, never rushing you or telling you that you were going too slowly. The kindness and care this great warrior continuously showed you reminded you of this complicated man’s duality. You felt safe with him, and you wanted all of him.

“Din, baby, no, I don’t feel pressured. I’ve been thinking about it for weeks now. I want to feel you inside of me; I want you to make love to me, please.”

He cradled your face in his palms for a moment, his thumbs gliding over your cheeks. Then, he kissed you. It wasn’t a gentle kiss; it was full of passion, sinking you deeper into arousal. He kissed you like you were the only thing in the world that he loved, and maybe he did. Perhaps you and the kid were his whole heart. His tongue expertly explored your mouth, causing you to mewl and moan. He knew just what would get you going.

He pulled away, sucking in precious oxygen as you did the same. Carefully, he turned the both of you around and laid you down on his cot. It wasn’t the most comfortable thing in the galaxy, not by a long shot. It was designed more for efficiency than comfort. The thing was, though, you didn’t care. It was Din’s, and he was willing to share it with you. You could feel him hovering over you, his breath warm against your face.

“Let me taste you, sweet girl. Let me get you ready to take my cock.”

You gasped, feeling his cock rock back and forth, covering himself in your slick. You were at a loss for words, so many sensations happening all at once. All you could manage was a nod, and a whimpered, “Please, Din.”

Your Mandalorian kissed his way down your body, leaving behind bite marks and bruises where he wanted to cause heightened sensations. Before he even made it to your pussy, you were already painfully wet for him. You could feel his breath ghosting over the place where you wanted him the most. You lifted your hips in an attempt to spur him on, but all it got you was a muscular arm forcing your hips back down to the cot.

“Patience, cyar’ika, I want you to feel every ounce of pleasure that I can wring out of you. Enjoy the moment, feel the suspense, don’t simply rush to the finish line, little one.”

You yelped as you felt him bite into the juncture of your hip and thigh, sucking in hard to leave a mark. He soothed the skin with his tongue, so close to where you needed him, but not close enough. He repeated the process on the other side, marking you in a place only the two of you would ever see, like a secret that you both would share.

Unexpectedly, his tongue licked a broad stripe from the bottom of your slit to your clit. You sighed; that was the feeling you so desperately wanted. He lapped at your cunt like a man starved, and you were the best thing on the menu. He knew how to work you into a frenzy, and quickly, he played your body like an instrument that he had been practicing on for a lifetime. You quaked and shook as your second orgasm of the night took hold, bursting and pulling you ever forward into the bliss you so desperately craved.

Even after you had ridden out your orgasm, Din didn’t stop. He worked you over, inserting one finger and then another inside of you, hitting that one spot inside you that made you see stars over and over. His mouth never stopped, his tongue lazily drawing loose circles around your clit, never slowing down, but keeping a steady pace. Your hips fought to lift off the cot, simultaneously fighting and chasing that feeling of ecstasy. When he scissored his fingers inside of you and twisted his wrist just so, you lost it once more. A scream that sounded something like his name tore out of your throat as the stars exploded behind your eyes.

You felt like you were floating in space, freely and without a care in the world. You reached a new height of pleasure that you’d never even imagined before. You could touch the sky and would never ever come down. You thought every encounter with your Mandalorian was pure rapture, but this was beyond anything you had ever felt before. You were panting, gasping for the oxygen your body so desperately needed, and you felt better than you ever had before. As your head left the clouds, you realized you had a dopey smile on your face, and your lover was covering you with kisses everywhere he could reach.

Vaguely, you heard his whispers in the dark. You were so good for me, mesh’la. You looked so beautiful cumming on my fingers and tongue. You taste divine, starshine. Those words went straight to your heart and to your pussy, flooding you with more arousal than you had ever thought possible. A deep kiss on your lips finally brought you back to the present, the warm body on top of you centering your mind.

“Are you ready for my cock, sweet girl? Do you still want to feel me inside of you? I promise I’ll go slow.”

You nodded in response, your words failing you.

“I need to hear you say it, cyare. I need to hear you tell me that you want this, that you’re sure.”

Your head lolled a bit as you processed his words, still feeling slightly hazy.

“Din Djarin, I want you inside of me. Please, please, I want you more than I’ve ever wanted anything before.”

He chuckled at your pleas, a smile pressed into the crook of your neck.

“I’ll be most delighted to give you what you want, sweet girl. Whatever you want, it’s yours. Are you ready for me?”

You breathed out a yes as you felt him coat himself in your slick, making sure he could ease into you. You knew he was quite large. You had curiously wondered aloud one day if all men were built like that. Even though his size intimidated you, you wanted everything he could give you. The excitement fizzled in your belly; you were getting wetter by the second.

Ever so slowly, your Mandalorian lined himself up with you and began to press in. You gasped at the feeling of just the head of his cock inside of you, the blunt tip spearing into you. He paused before he began to move again. Slowly, inch by inch, he pressed himself into you, stopping ever so often to make sure that you had time to adjust to him. It didn’t hurt nearly as much as the girls in your hometown had made it seem. Maybe they hadn’t been with the proper lovers, or perhaps the boys they were sleeping with were just inexperienced and too young. All you knew was that there was a pinch of pain, yes, but the pleasure outweighed any discomfort you may have felt.

You could feel every delicious inch of him inside you, splitting you open and filling you up like nothing ever had before. You could feel every ridge and vein as he inched his way into you. You couldn’t even put a name to this feeling, but you wanted more. Eventually, he was fully seated inside of you; your hips flush against his own. You felt so full, stuffed to the brim, and Maker, you loved it. He waited for a minute or two, allowing you to adjust to him and have a chance to take in all these new sensations. You had thought his fingers were terrific, but they were nothing compared to the feel of his cock deep inside of you.

He kissed you. It was all teeth, tongue, and lips, and stars; it was perfect. He devoured your mouth, taking what was his. You couldn’t help the little sounds that sprung up from your throat when he did that. He answered you with guttural groans of his own. You could feel the way those sounds made his chest rumble; you could feel it in your chest pressed against him.

He grabbed your leg, propping it up on his hip, and he began to move. He never went too fast for you or too hard, keeping a steady pace that kept you comfortable but still dragged you forward to a fourth orgasm. You didn’t even know you had it in you until Din used two of his fingers to assault your clit, encouraging that bundle of nerves to give you one more burst of pleasure. The combination of his cock deep inside you and his fingers on your clit was enough to send you toppling over the edge once more. This orgasm was more intense than the others, blazing white-hot through your veins and setting your soul on fire. If you thought you had been screaming before, you were mistaken. You writhed and squirmed under your lover, your pleasure causing your body to shake like a leaf. You sobbed his name over and over, tears spilling out of your eyes from sheer ecstasy.

Your Mandalorian groaned deeply at the feel of your pussy clamping down on him like a vice. You were so tight, to begin with, and your orgasm grabbed him and shoved him into his orgasm. As he emptied himself deep within you, he couldn’t help but mumble praises. “Oh Mesh’la, you’re so tight for me, so beautiful laid bare just for me. You’re such a good girl, a sweet girl, my girl. I’ll give you whatever you want, baby. Adventure, new experiences, my love- fuck if you want it, I’ll give you warriors, children of our own.”

You both laid there for a while afterward, basking in the glow of post-sex haze. You carded your fingers through his curls, gently scratching his scalp as he pressed sweet kisses into your skin. He was still inside you; neither of you could bear the thought of being parted just yet. You could stay like this forever, caught in this in-between time, not yet floating back into reality.

“I would like that,” you murmured, never stopping your movements in his hair.

“Like what, cyare?”

“For you to give me warriors of our own, Din.”

You could feel him twitch inside you, clearly interested. His head shot up, studying yours closely, looking for any falsehood or hesitance in your blindfolded face.

“You mean it?” He breathed out.

You grinned, feeling around for his face. You traced his sharp jawline, the proud cure of his nose, the pout of his plump lips. This was the face of the man you loved, the man you wanted to spend the rest of your life with. Wherever he was in the Galaxy, that was home.

“Yes, my love, I mean it. We have our little green bean, and eventually, he’s going to need some friends to play with. We wouldn’t want him to be lonely. And besides, there’s no one I’d rather raise warriors with than you.”

You heard a faint sniffle before his lips were on yours once more. You had a family, but there was always room to add more to this clan of three.

Please let me know if you want to be added/removed from the tags list xo

Tags: @hdlynnslibrary @autumnleaves1991-blog @steeeeeeeviebb @cinewhore @f0rever15elf @pascalispunkie-deactivated20210 @frannyzooey @jollyrancher87 @mrschiltoncat @cyaredindjarin @randomness501 @twomoonstwosuns @rosiesimone819 @hillarymurray4 @qhbr2013 @phoenixhalliwell @ahopelessromanticwritersworld @theoutsidelandhere @maharani-radha @maybege @revolution-starter @paniclana @flightlessangelwings @bisexual-space-slut @thewayofthemandalorian @stressed-the-fudge-out @evans-dejong @supernaturalcat7 @salty-sith-bitch @poguesvixen @cheesehead0622-blog @impala1967666 @the-purity-pen @lydiascottage @themarcusmoreno @inodorosalchicha @sarahjkl82-blog @general-latino @rae-gar-targaryen @agirllovespancakes @plants-are-better-than-humans @omggiannarosa @theocatkov @roseuchiha69

#the mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian x y/n #the mandalorian x fem!reader #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin x y/n #din djarin x female reader #the madalorian fic #din djarin fic #star wars fic #requested #pedro pascal character #pedro pascal character fic

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raiseyourcups · 3 years

Text

Dance

Pairing: Din Djarin x Reader Warnings: unabashed fluff, Din being an awkward turtle, Reader being just as awkward, the baby being his cute self (this is just further proof that I am better at writing angst or angsty fluff) Word Count: 1.6k

Summary: You know you love the Mandalorian despite never seeing his face but you don’t know if the feeling is mutual. So in order to not ruin what you have, you’ll just keep it to yourself. At least you planned to, until you went to a planet having a festival.

Being on the same ship with the Mandalorian was both a blessing and a curse. You loved everything about being on the Razor Crest, except when the water heater gave out midway through a shower, but there was one other thing that was making it hard to act like everything was okay. See despite your best efforts, it seemed like you had fallen in love with the Mandalorian and you didn’t even know when it had happened.

Was it when you saw how he treated the Child like his own son or when he looked you over for wounds when another bounty hunter got too close to taking the Child and you protected him? You weren’t sure. You just knew that you had fallen and you had idea if he felt the same way.

But right now, on some planet with a name you already forgot, you stood watching in amusement as the Mandalorian stood stiffly before an older woman who was trying to sell him something. You looked down at the Child in your arms with a smile which he returned. “Wanna go save your dad from the scary lady?”

The Child let out a coo in agreement and you walked over to where Mando was. An amused smile crossed your face when you heard him tell the woman that he didn’t want what she was selling. You glanced at the item she was holding and had to bring a hand up to your mouth to cover a laugh. The sound caught both Mando and the woman’s attention. She said something in the native language of the planet which wasn’t one that you knew and, it seemed, neither did Mando.

“Just take it, I don’t think she’s trying to get you to buy it.” You had noticed that everyone who didn’t appear local had one so it was probably something to do with the festival going on.

“I don’t know what kind of flowers they are.”

You let out a sigh,“They’re flowers, Mando. No harm ever came from wearing a flower necklace.”

“You don’t know that.” Something about his tone made him sound like he was pouting and being difficult for no reason.

“Mando.”

“Fine.”

You turned to the woman and gestured for two necklaces and her face lit up as she picked out another one for you. She hurriedly placed one over your head followed by placing another over the Mandalorian's head. Yours was mostly white flowers but with pink and red ones peppered in spots. The one she gave to Mando was simple, consisting of blue and yellow flowers weaved together.

"Was that so hard?" You asked him, giving the woman another smile. She made a few more gestures towards other booths that were selling local treats. You knew that you’d have to buy at least two for the Child at some point. Hopefully he wouldn’t get sick from the unknown foods but then again he ate frogs.

“We still don’t know what this festival is for.” Mando said as you walked past all of the booths. You had a hand placed on the inside of his elbow in order to not get separated and the Child was being held on your other side.

“Well I doubt it’s one where they make you sacrifice yourself because of a flower necklace.”

“We don’t know--”

“Mando, take a break. Even if we were followed here, they’d have a hard time getting through these crowds without making a scene,” you explained. You knew you were right and you hoped that would make the tension in his shoulders go away. You were rewarded when you saw his fist unclench. “Now, let’s go see what this festival has to offer.”

Your odd trio went into the fray of the festival, accepting the free samples of food and sweets for the child. Finally you came across an open area where there were no booths, only people dancing. There was music being played and you wondered what exactly this festival was for but you appreciated the local hospitality. Part of you wanted to join in the dancing but you knew Mando wouldn’t let himself get dragged out there, you weren’t crazy.

So you settled for clapping along to the rhythm and watching with a large smile on your face. As the sun went down you knew it was time to go back to the ship. Being out in the light of day was one thing but at night was a different story even with the festivities still going on. So with one last wistful glance at the dancing, people now coupled up and swaying together, your trio made the trip back to the Crest.

Mando headed up to the cockpit almost immediately which made the small smile that had been on your face fall. The Child made a cooing sound and you put a smile back on, not as happy as the one before but he hopefully couldn’t tell the difference. You watched as his eyes started to droop and you let out a small laugh before rocking from side to side to help him fall asleep.

You felt the small jolt of going into hyperspace and wondered if the Mandalorian would come back down or not. Your silent question was answered when you heard his boots on the ladder coming down to the hangar. You waited until he was closer to speak up.

“Poor kid must have tuckered himself out with all of that food,” you laughed quietly as you laid the Child down into his hammock. You closed the door to the cot and let out a surprised gasp when you saw how close Mando was to you. “Oh uh, sorry, were you going to lay down too?”

“No, I...do you want to dance?”

“Wh-what?” You had to have misheard him. Your brain must still be fixated the dumb idea you had planet-side. There was no way he had asked you to dance with him.

“I, um, noticed earlier that you wanted to go dance but...you never asked so I’m asking now.” He held a hand out.

“I didn’t think you would want to,” you said but you still put your hand into his, a confused smile on your face.

The dance was slower than the one back on the planet, you never had remembered the name, but it was a dance nonetheless. Even if it was just the two of you swaying back and forth, hand in hand. It was the closest you two had been aside from patching up wounds.

“They teach you to dance during your training?” You asked to break up the silence that had fallen over you two.

“No, picked it up while watching a bounty.”

“Really?” You hoped you sounded as incredulous as you felt. What kind of bounty spent their time dancing when they knew they had a bounty out on them?

“They frequented dance bars instead of cantinas.”

“Huh, must not have been a very smart bounty.”

“Not at all. Asked me to dance when I went to take them in,” Mando paused, his helmet tilting to the side before he continued. “And then they tried to stab me.”

“Ah, that sounds more like it,” you laughed, leaning forward into him without thinking. “Only you Mando, only you.”

“Din.”

Your head shot up in surprise. “What?”

“My name, it’s Din Djarin.”

You stared up at Mando, no Din Djarin, eyes wide and you stopped swaying with him in your surprise. You don’t know what made you do it, if it was the dancing or him finally sharing his name with you but you opened your mouth to say thank you or something and what came out was, “I love you.”

You pulled away from him just as quickly as you spoke and covered your mouth in shock. “I didn’t mean to say that, please pretend I didn’t say that.”

You kept rambling to yourself, now covering your face from him as if that would make you invisible, you missed the chuckle that came from Din between all of this. All you could think was that you had just ruined everything, you really hadn’t meant to say that. You had meant to say...something, anything other than that. Din came up to you, still chuckling as he gently placed his hands on your wrists to bring them away from your face.

“Cyar’ika, it’s okay.”

“I don’t know what that word means.” You refused to look up at him, focusing your gaze on your feet.

“It means I love you too.”

“You don’t have to be nice to me,” you said, finally looking at him straight on. “Please don’t say that just to be nice.”

He stared at you for a long moment and you took that as your answer, trying to move away from him. His grasp on your wrists tightened just a little, still loose enough that you could get away if you wanted to. “Close your eyes.”

“Why?”

“Just, just do it, please.”

You did as he asked, confused and cheeks still burning hot from your unintentional confession. You didn’t know what you were expecting when there was suddenly a pair of lips against your own. You squeezed your eyes shut even tighter before responding.

“Does that answer your question?” Din questioned when he finally pulled away. He sounded just as out of breath as you felt.

“Um, yeah I think it does,” you replied, your eyes still closed and already wanting more. “Just out of curiosity, we can do that more often right?”

Din let out another chuckle and you were sure you would never get used to the sound of his voice outside of his helmet. “We can as long as you keep your eyes closed or the lights are off.”

“Deal.” you said, nodding your head before you realized something. “Hey Din.”

“Yes, cyar’ika?”

A smile crossed your face as you spoke, “My eyes are still closed.”

“So they are.”

#din djarin x reader #din djarin imagine #din djarin imagines #the mandalorian x reader #mandalorian imagine

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honey-dewey · 3 years

Text

Soulmate Imagines

Another short not drabbles but not full stories either! I was completely inspired by a post made by @absurdthirst and really really wanted to write the boys in these scenarios! So I completely ignored both of my active WIPS and wrote this instead. Oops? Enjoy these long and indulgent soulmate imagines!

Total Word Count: 5,179

Permanent Taglist: @phoenixhalliwell @star-wars-hell

Din Djarin:

Soul Tattoo AU

“Shit!”

You hummed, turning your head over, vision fuzzy. Din was rushing around the Crest, and you could see red painting his beskar. Was he hurt? You tried to stand, and then it hit you. Oh. You were hurt.

“Din,” you rasped out, blinking as his fuzzy image came into more clarity.

Din looked at you, helmet trained on your face. “Cyar’ika,” he said, taking your cold hands. “How do you feel?”

“Like I got run over by a herd of Banthas,” you said, shifting and wincing. “What happened?”

“Bomb,” Din explained, gesturing to your torso, where you were wearing a thin robe and nothing else. “Hit your side. Patched you up best I could.”

You nodded, swallowing thickly. “Did it scar?”

Din hesitated. “Some of it will. Nothing on your back though.”

Relief flooded you. You had no idea why you were so worried about your soul tattoo, but you were. The beautiful star map to Aq Ventina spanned your entire back, from shoulders to tailbone, the sides creeping over your waist. You’d done research about Aq Ventina years ago, when the curiosity had finally peaked. You’d read up on the history and knew that it no longer existed, decimated by a droid attack decades before you’d even known it existed.

“It’s a beautiful tattoo,” Din said softly, out of nowhere.

“Thank you,” you said, looking at his helmet. “It’s my soul tattoo.”

Din nodded. “I figured.”

And that was the last it was spoken of for almost five months. The next time it was relevant was during a two day long bounty hunt, when Din left to shower and you sat in your shared inn room, cooing at Grogu.

The shower water turned off, and you heard Din drying off. Then he called your name.

“Yeah?”

“Come here.”

Worried, you stood and headed to the bathroom. “Din?”

“Come here.” His voice bordered on urgent, and you immediately shoved the door open.

You were met with Din, completely shirtless yet still wearing the helmet, in the bathroom, no urgent problem in sight. However, instead of being mad, you were focused entirely on the tattoo that spread across Din’s back.

It was identical to yours.

“Din?” Your voice was tiny, so apprehensive.

He sighed, looking at you and taking your hands. “I’m sorry I didn’t say anything earlier,” he said. “But Aq Ventina was my home, so you have to understand that it was odd and a bit painful seeing the star map on your back.”

You nodded. “We’re soulmates,” you breathed. “I didn’t even know you had a soul tattoo.”

Din chuckled. “It’s not like I expose much skin,” he reasoned.

That drew a laugh out of you. “Yeah. But still.” Your fingers danced over the exposed edge of the star map that crept over Din’s side. “Soulmates.”

Din nodded, resting his forehead against your head. “Soulmates,” he agreed. “But only if you’ll have me.”

You smiled. “As if I could ever say no.”

Marcus Moreno:

Color Soulmate AU

To say you were stressed was an understatement. A huge project for Heroics was cradled in your arms, all sorts of papers and binders and information you were carrying to the filing room to be sorted. The stack was tall, which was probably why you didn’t see your boss until you ran directly into him.

“Fuck!” You shouted as you fell on your back, folders going everywhere. Marcus Moreno, your boss, was toppled next to you, also swearing.

“I am so sorry!” You said hurriedly, scrambling to gather the papers, eyes focused on your task. “I really should’ve looked where I was going and-“ you looked up, shock killing your words.

Marcus’s eyes were brown. Very very brown.

You gasped, your task entirely forgotten. “Oh.”

Marcus was staring at you with just as much shock as you were staring at him with. “Oh,” he echoed.

Your fragile moment was shattered by the click of heels and another employee coming over to check on you, her voice frantic.

“We’re fine,” Marcus reassured, standing and dusting himself off. Without saying anything else, he walked quickly away.

Once all the files were secure, you headed back to your desk and pulled out a small box of crayons. You’d never seen color, not ever, so this would be interesting. At least it would be if your hands would stop shaking.

One of your coworkers, Matt, came up to you as you used a teal crayon, marveling at the color. “Oh? You met your soulmate?”

You nodded, looking up and noticing the vibrant purple color to Matt’s tie. “Yeah. Bumped into him in the hall. Literally.”

Matt grinned. “Who is it?”

You cringed, the embarrassment setting in. “Mr. Moreno.”

“Mr. Moreno?” Matt practically yelled. “He’s our boss!”

“Yeah, I know!” You retaliated, checking your clock and scrambling up. “Fuck! I gotta go, that huge meeting is in ten.”

Matt smiled. “Good luck!”

Despite Matt’s wishes, you were fairly certain the presentation was a disaster. Marcus was missing, which was odd, and you ended up tripping over your words and getting a huge migraine halfway through the presentation. After sheepishly explaining the scenario, you were told to go home and adjust, you could redo the presentation tomorrow.

Of course, tomorrow was just as bad. Marcus was actually present, wearing a yellow tie that kept distracting you and forcing your words out in a jumble.

After the train wreck of a presentation, you decided this was a situation that called for a large hot chocolate. Getting one and settling in the cafeteria, you sighed, swirling your drink with a spoon. You were a certifiable mess.

The creaking of the chair brought your attention back to planet earth, and you looked up, nearly choking on your spit. “Mr. Moreno!”

“Please, I think we should be on a first name basis,” Marcus said. “So.”

“So.”

Marcus tapped the table. “I’m sorry I ran off yesterday. I just, well, I haven’t seen color since my- Since Clara died.”

You nodded. “I understand if you don’t want this,” you murmured, looking back down at your drink. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry?” Marcus asked. “No! I’m, well, a little excited.”

That shocked you. “Excited?”

“Yeah.” Marcus nodded. “Excited. Missy’s over the moon, of course.”

You grinned. “Thanks. Sorry I’m so nervous. I’ve never seen any of this before.”

“Really?” Marcus said. “Oh I definitely know what we’re doing first.”

“What?”

Marcus smiled, taking your hands. “You’re going to love sunsets.”

Max Phillips:

Black Mark Soulmate AU

“Oh no.”

You stared at your boss with nothing short of mild fear. Max fucking Phillips. There was no goddamn way. You’d known him very briefly in college, but this, this was unexpected.

He smiled at the employees, shaking hands as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

As if his right palm wasn’t the color of fresh stained ink.

He walked up to you, holding out his ink stained hand. You were hesitant to accept. After all, your right hand was equally black. But handshakes were common, very common among soulmate meets. Max Phillips was not your soulmate.

You were able to tell yourself that until the moment your hands touched, the blackness turning into a beautiful swirl of bright colors.

Max’s eyes widened as he looked at you. “Your hand.”

“Yours too,” you said, letting go of Max’s hand and letting him examine the watercolor of reds and purples that spread across his skin.

Max took a nervous breath. “No. Something must be wrong.”

You were shocked. “Max. Is it really that bad?”

“You don’t understand!” Max snapped, scaring you a tiny bit. He leaned closer, so you could see the devilish gleam in his eyes. “I have no soul.”

Your blood chilled as you saw the overly sharp teeth and the hint of red behind the deep brown in Max’s eyes. “Max.”

But he was gone, disappeared from right in front of you. Blinking a few times, you turned to your computer, determined to uncover the truth about your mysterious boss and the still tingling rainbow of colors on your palm.

Frankie ‘Catfish’ Morales:

Countdown Soulmate AU

The countdown timer was surprisingly unnerving.

Actually, was it really that surprising? It was counting down to the most important day pretty much ever. Yours had always had years and years, much longer than any of your friends, but you didn’t mind. That was just more time to prepare.

Of course, when you woke up one day to find that the timer that had read seven months suddenly read twelve hours, you freaked the hell out. Taking deep breaths, you calmed yourself and got dressed, texting your best friend and asking him when he wanted you over for movie night. He responded with eight, and promised that you’d love his friends.

With one last deep breath and a glance around your apartment, you left for the day.

And ended up with a popped tire on the side of the road ten minutes before eight.

Screaming your frustration into the night darkened woods and frightening some poor birds, you sighed and called roadside service. An hour, at least, before they could get to you.

Your next call went to Benny, who you apologized to and told him you’d make it up to him.

Your final call was to no one. You simply sat back in your car and waited for roadside service while you tapped away at some mind numbing game you’d downloaded on a whim.

Headlights were visible in the distance not even ten minutes later, which shocked you and then worried you. Who the hell was out on this road this late at night? Were you about to be murdered? Who would find your body? Would Benny still hold true to his promise and wear a lime green tutu to your funeral?

The car stopped when it saw you, and your anxiety skyrocketed. You quickly texted Benny one last time and locked your car.

“Hey!” A few sharp knocks and a face in the window. “Do you need help?”

You were trembling, trying to keep a brave face. “Tire popped.”

“Oh.” The voice sounded genuinely worried. “That sucks. Where are you headed?”

“A friend’s house.”

“Did you call roadside?”

“An hour.”

“Oof. Hungry?”

“What?” You looked over, seeing the dimly lit silhouette of a man holding up what was probably a granola bar. “Yeah actually, I am.”

The man’s cheeks lit up, and you assumed he was smiling. “Well you’re gonna have to open up if you want it.”

You hesitantly cracked the door and watched the man step back. The car lights illuminated him fully, revealing a very attractive man holding a slightly squished granola bar.

Turning in the seat so that your legs were hanging out the car, you took the offered food, smiling as you ate. “Lord this is good! Thank you!”

The man shrugged. “No problem. I’m Frankie.”

You mumbled your name around the granola bar, and then froze as your wrist burned warm and then cold, a clattering alerting you to the fact that your timer had fallen off.

And from the look on Frankie’s face, so had his.

He looked back up at you, seemingly nervous. “So can I get in the car now? I promise I’m not a creep.”

You nodded, still slightly shocked as Frankie got into your car, sitting in the passenger seat. It was silent for a minute before you spoke. “So. Soulmates.”

“Soulmates,” Frankie agreed. “I’m glad I shared that granola bar with you.”

Your phone pinged, and you swore softly, answering Benny’s text and then rereading it. “Do you, by any chance, know a Benny Miller?”

“Yeah,” Frankie said. “I was headed to his place when I saw you.”

“Me too.” You showed him the text, which read ‘Dude! Be careful! My buddy Frankie’s coming along, so if you get attacked, he’ll totally protect you. Also, totally not wearing that tutu because you’re not dying first.’

Frankie smiled. “You’re in on the tutu thing too?”

You laughed. “Oh god! Not you too!”

“Yeah!” Frankie said, laughing along with you. “Benny totally already has it, y’know.”

You sighed. “Damn. That’s wild.”

The hour until roadside service arrived was filled with stories and bonding. After your car was towed, you got in Frankie’s truck and headed to Benny’s, arm in arm.

“Hey, Frankie found the murder victim!” Benny said happily, opening the door. “Oh shit, dudes I was starting to get worried about you.”

Frankie shook his head. “Actually, it couldn’t have played out better.”

Jack ‘Whiskey’ Daniels:

First Words Soulmate AU

You sighed, taking a breath. Today you were meeting your baby brother’s coworkers at a work party. It wasn’t supposed to be so damn nerve wracking, but your stomach was a ball of anxiety. “Danny, are you sure about this?”

Danny, or as he was better known at work, Tequila, nodded. “Hell yeah, it’ll be fun.”

You tugged your bracelet, trying to cover the words winding across your wrist.

What’s a pretty little thing like you doing in a place like this?

The Statesman Fourth of July party was apparently a big deal. There were sure as hell a lot of people. You stuck by Danny’s side, smiling at his coworkers and eventually sitting with a woman named Ginger. She was nice, and when Danny wandered off to flirt with someone, she stayed with you, giving you names to attach to faces.

“Oh, and that’s Jack,” she said, pointing to someone talking to Champ. “One of the longest lasting agents we have.”

You eyed Jack. He was handsome, especially with that cowboy hat. He must’ve noticed your staring, because he wandered over and sat down at the table.

“So, what’s a pretty little thing like you doing in a place like this?”

You took a breath, gripping the hem of your shorts and trying to think without looking awkward. A thousand responses rushed through your head, and you finally picked one you hoped wasn’t weird. “I dunno cowboy, why do you ask?”

Jack recoiled as if he’d just had ice water poured on his head. Ginger stood, shocked as Jack ran away. “What just happened?”

You were nearly speechless, tears starting to well up. “I think my soulmate just ran away from me.”

After a good long crying session in which you sobbed openly into Danny’s jacket and he vowed to absolutely murder Jack, Ginger gently explained Jack’s past with his previous soulmate. Which sent you into another round of crying and made Danny even more pissed.

He ended up taking you home early to watch shitty movies and eat tons of ice cream, comforting you as you numbly ate half a pint of Ben and Jerry’s on the couch.

When he left for work the next day, you made him swear not to hurt Jack.

You got a call from Ginger two hours later telling you to come pick Danny up.

Marching into Statesman again, you found Ginger at the entrance, lips pressed tight. She led you to the infirmary, where Danny was proudly sporting a black eye and a split lip. Jack was laying in a bed next to him, pressing ice to his cheek.

“Control your fucking brother!” He yelled as soon as he saw you, sitting up in the bed. “He nearly killed me!”

“Oh shut the fuck up!” You snapped back. “You best be glad I’m not petty, or else I’d have let him kill you.”

Jack was, wisely, silent as you helped Danny up and out of the building. Danny was also silent, but was definitely smug about it.

“Y’know I totally won that fight,” he said as you exited the building.

You sighed. “Sure. Whatever. Let’s go home.”

The next day, you got a call from an unknown number.

“This is Jack,” the voice on the other end said when you picked up. “I’m calling to apologize for beating your brother up.”

“Apparently he won the fight.”

Jack snorted. “Sure he did. Look, I’m sorry.”

“Apology accepted.”

A pause. “Cool. See you around.”

“Yeah. See you.”

He hung up first, leaving you with a dead hole in your chest. When you would see that cowboy again, you didn’t know, but when you did, oh boy was he in for it from you.

Ezra:

Pain Sharing Soulmate AU

You were screaming.

Well, screaming may not have been the word to describe the feeling. No, the agony in your right arm was numbing pain, the kind of pain that brought out animalistic noises and made spots dance across your vision. You writhed on the floor, clutching your upper arm and begging someone, anyone, to make the pain stop. A few nurses you worked with tried to dose you with painkillers, but nothing could touch soulmate pain.

Finally, after what seemed like hours, the pain began to fade. You’d had some aches in that arm after a stab that was really painful and you’d assumed some kind of injury that your soulmate had sustained was being treated. But that, that harsh, indescribable pain that had you sweating and panting on the floor with your head spinning, you had no explanation for that.

After that, the nurses set you up in the break room with fluids and a light snack. Your right arm still hurt like hell, but it was manageable now. As time passed, the pain passed, until it was no more than a dull ache once more, with some odd numbness that lingered in your fingertips.

Of course, on the day you decided to try working for a few hours, your soulmate went and got himself fatally injured again.

Gasping and falling sideways, you gritted your teeth through a scream as your gut lit on fire, as if someone had driven a knife into your belly. It was the second time in three days that your soulmate had put you through this. What the hell was he doing?

Yet again, you were put in a room to wait out the pain, probably scaring patients with your sobs and pleads for any merciful god to put you out of your misery. This pain refused to fade, and you completely missed the wail of emergency sirens as a new patient in critical condition arrived.

Eventually, finally, the pain forced you unconscious.

You woke a few days later, breathing deeply as you realized you weren’t in any pain. The faint voice of a doctor met your ears as you slowly regained your senses.

“We’re all shocked they survived. With pain like that, I surely wouldn’t have been as strong as they were. First it was their arm, and then their stomach. We still don’t really know what happened.”

The doctor turned to you, and smiled when he noticed your open eyes. “Finally, you’re awake. We have someone who wants to talk to you.”

You grumbled, trying to string together the past few days. “What?”

The doctor gestured to a man sitting in the other bed in the room. “This is Ezra, our critical patient from a few days ago.”

“I was too busy being stabbed in the stomach to notice any crit patients,” you pointed out.

“Yes, well,” the doctor said with a smile. “He may have some answers for you.”

You sat up, rubbing your aching head and facing the other man in the room.

He looked like hell, face sunken and shining with post injury sweat. You reasoned that you probably didn’t look much better. But the interesting thing about the man was his bandage wrapped right arm. Or more accurately, his lack of an arm that was wrapped in bandages.

“Hi Ezra,” you said slowly, rubbing your temples. “Is this my headache or yours?”

Ezra chuckled. “I think it’s yours,” he said. “I can’t feel any of my own pain right now.”

You sighed. “Doc, can I get some painkillers? I got a headache.”

The doctor nodded, grabbing a few pills, but you shook your head. “The good shit, please.”

Smiling, the doctor picked up a syringe and lifted your left arm, considering your right still felt a bit numb. “Countdown?”

“Nah.”

The doctor gave you the painkillers, and you watched Ezra wince at the pinch from the needle as it hit your skin. Laying back as the painkillers took effect, you sighed, looking at Ezra. “I’d love to stay and chat,” you murmured sleepily. “But this stuff works fast.”

Ezra smiled. “Don’t worry songbird,” he said. “I’ll be here when you wake.”

Javier Peña:

Soulmate’s Name on Wrist AU

“Get up! New client!”

You groaned, adjusting your top and trotting into the hall, standing with the group of women waving and giggling at the new client. He looked up at your group, a light grin on his face.

“He’s cute,” you said to the woman next to you.

She nodded. “He’s a regular at places like this,” she said. “Says his name’s Javier.”

You froze, the small name tattooed on the inside of your wrist practically burning. “Javier? He got a last name?”

“Not that he’ll share.”

In the end, you were Javier’s lucky victim, mostly because when he asked your name and you responded, his watch-covered wrist twitched. So he was your soulmate. Or at least you were his. He showed you bliss, paid you handsomely, and left without a word but with a spark.

Two weeks later, you ran into him again. You’d been in touch with a man at the US embassy about cartel stuff, mostly that the cartels had been reaching out to people like you and you wanted to stay safe, and the man had invited you to come over and give a statement. You were hesitant, of course, but the man looked kind enough, and the other employees knew him well enough that you felt secure.

“This is my partner, agent Peña,” the man said as he gestured you into a room. “But,” he said slowly, eyeing the bare name on your wrist. “I think you knew that already.”

“I did.”

Javier took a breath. “Can we get this done with?” He said, trying to sound annoyed but only succeeding at stressed.

Your statement was quiet and precise, and before you knew it, Javier was walking you out.

“Javier,” you tried.

“Don’t,” Javier growled. “Just go, forget you ever met me.”

“I can’t!” You all but yelled, grabbing his wrist so he couldn’t walk off. “I’ve been wearing your name since the day I was born, you think I can just forget all of that?”

Javier was quiet. “You think I want a soulmate?” He asked quietly, and you froze.

“I’m sorry?”

“No!” Javier growled, shaking his head. “I mean, fuck. This job, if they find out you’re connected to me, they’ll kill you.”

Your blood went cold, but you kept your composure. “Hate to break it to you,” you said, shoving Javier’s sleeve up and exposing your name written on his wrist. “But we’re already connected.”

From that day forward, you were under protection. You quit your job, moved reluctantly to an apartment that was secured by the embassy, and barely left the brand new apartment for anything. The war on drugs dragged on, and every so often, Javier would shuffle across the hall and find solace in your arms, always leaving before dawn.

One night, after a particularly hard day, you and him were tangled together on the couch, name wrists pressed against each other. Your skin burned and prickled at the intimate contact, but Javier was so lost he didn’t even notice.

“Javi?”

“Hm?”

You smoothed through his hair. “Will we ever be safe enough to be soulmates?”

Javier was quiet. “I don’t know.”

You sighed. “One day, I hope we will.”

Another long silence, and then Javier spoke up. “Me too.”

That morning, you woke up in his arms instead of in an empty bed, wondering exactly how life would shake out now that you had fallen in love with your soulmate.

Maxwell Lord:

Dream Sharing Soulmate AU

“I’m going to cry,” you groaned, pressing your head to the table. “He hasn’t slept in days.”

Your coworker, Ellie, sighed. “Hon, you just gotta keep trying. Go home, rest up. Get some sleep.”

You stood. Ellie was right. Just because Max wasn’t sleeping didn’t mean you had to punish yourself. You’d been going rounds with him for months, and it was really starting to weigh on your own sleep schedule. All you needed, all you wanted was to go home and sleep for days to correct your broken internal clock.

Your apartment was cold when you got back, and you quickly fiddled with the thermostat before stripping and falling into bed, cuddling up with the blankets and falling asleep almost immediately.

Just as with every night your soulmate didn’t sleep, you didn’t have a soul dream. Instead, you had your regular dreams, all nonsensical and silly. You woke up at one point to eat before falling back into bed, still exhausted.

This time, your dreams were different. You were in a soul dream, which meant he was finally sleeping.

“Max!”

No response as you ran around the elementary school, but you quickly skidded to a stop, seeing bullies mock a young boy for his lunch. That was your Max as a child, and you immediately rushed to his aide.

“Max.”

The real Max, the one who was asleep right now, looked at you with worry, finally tearing his eyes off the bullies. “You.”

“Me,” you said softly. “You need more sleep.”

Max shrugged. You knew who he was, after all, who didn’t? But the suave businessman you knew on TV was very different from the scared man you knew from your dreams. “Wasn’t tired.”

“For three days?” You asked. “Max, that isn’t healthy.” You felt a tug on your gut, a signal that your dream was starting. “C’mon.” You held a hand out, offering Max a reprieve. “My dreams are kind.”

He accepted, taking your hand as you led him to your dreams. In your subconscious reality, you were a child again, laughing and ice skating with your parents.

“Can you skate?” You asked Max, still holding his hand. He shook his head.

You smiled. “That’s okay, you can learn.” You snapped your fingers and skates appeared on both of your feet. “C’mon!”

Turned out, Max was an abysmal skater, but he was laughing by the time your bodies were ready to wake up.

“I don’t wanna go,” he admitted, and you grinned, squeezing his hands tight. “Can we do this again?”

“Tomorrow night,” you promised. “I’ll find you.”

For almost a month, you rescued Max from embarrassing or painful dreams, taking him to your more comforting dreams. Occasionally, he’d do the opposite for you when you had a nightmare, but you mostly spent the nights in your dreams, watching fireworks or going swimming. His darkest secrets were no longer secret, and he trusted you with everything.

“Y’know,” he said softly as you and him watched a Fourth of July fireworks show from when you were seven. “We could do this in real life.”

“We could,” you murmured, leaning closer to him. “The fourth is, what, next week? Doesn’t DC do a beautiful fireworks show?”

Max nodded. “We could make our first shared memory.”

You smiled. “We could,” you agreed. “We will. I’m not too far from DC, I can totally drive down on the fourth. I’ll pick you up from work, how’s that sound?”

“Sounds perfect,” Max murmured softly. “Dreamlike even.”

You laughed. “Dork.”

“Hey, you fell in love with me!”

“Yeah,” you said, looking at Max’s firework illuminated face. “I did.”

Pero Tovar:

Color Soulmate AU

You pressed the leaf between your fingers, trying to gauge how sick the plant was. The grey color didn’t worry you, because you were fairly certain it was still green. “It just needs more water,” you determined, standing and brushing yourself off. “Try watering these plants daily instead of every other.”

The woman you were helping nodded, and you smiled at her as you walked back to your own garden. Rolling your sleeves up, you got to work tending to your plants.

It was hours before you looked up, alerted by the sound of hooves on the ground. A mysterious man was sitting atop a horse, his hair long and greasy, his face creased from what you imagined was a grueling ride. He jumped off the horse and stumbled in your direction, leaning against the fence. You stood, abandoning the plants in favor of helping the man.

He shook off your help, but stopped the second his hand connected with yours and both your worlds exploded with color.

You stumbled back, the sudden colors shocking you as the man reeled from you, his sun battered face full of shock.

“I’m sorry!” You said quickly, steadying yourself and reaching out to the man. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” the man said firmly, right before he passed out.

Two days later, the man woke up, his partner by his side. The blond man had showed up yesterday, introducing himself as William and the mystery man as Pero Tovar.

Pero looked around, nervous as he saw you in the corner, slowly and methodically mending his shirt. “William, quien es este.”

William shrugged. “I don’t know. Not a nurse, from what I can tell.”

“Diles que se vayan.”

“I’m not leaving,” you said, without looking up. “And please continue to talk about me in a language you assume I don’t understand.”

Pero blinked a few times. “You’re smart.”

“I pick up on languages fast,” you said, setting down the mended shirt. “Who are you, Pero Tovar?”

William looked between you two before finally speaking up. “Should I leave?”

“Please,” you said.

William left, and you crossed your legs. “So, who are you?”

“No one you should know,” Pero growled, getting up and grabbing his shirt. “Just forget you ever met me. You have your colors, go live a happy life.”

You frantically tried to keep him in the village, but he left with William as soon as the local medic deemed him okay.

For the next week, you slowly learned colors, finding your favorites with much trial and error. Some of the village women who had lost their soulmates in battles consoled you as you grieved for a man you barely knew, a man who had given you a universe of change and then left as if it had been nothing.

Almost exactly one week later, the sound of hooves rang out again, and this time, you didn’t look up from your gardening. At least, not until the visitor entered your garden, standing in front of your vegetables.

You looked up at him, taking in a much neater and more groomed Pero. He seemed nervous, shuffling from foot to foot.

Standing, you raised an eyebrow. “Can I help you?”

Pero nodded, handing you his dagger.

You took the weapon. “What’s this?”

“In my culture,” Pero began. “When a man is ready to settle with his soulmate, he must give them his most prized weapon as a way of showing he is ready to stop fighting and raise a family.”

The dagger gleamed in the sunlight, and you smiled. “Well then, I guess I should make dinner for two, shouldn’t I?”

Pero grinned. “Yes, that would be nice. I’m hungry.”

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fandom-blackhole · 3 years

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Sinful Sunday THOTS

So I'm starting this so this more so for myself. I was thinking, I take everyone else THOTS, but why not share my own? So on Sundays from now on I am going to post a list of THOTS I had during the week that I wrote down!

This weeks in shorter because I just got the idea last night and wrote them all up delirious with no sleep, so sorry for mistakes, but other words enjoy!

Thank you @fuckyeahbeskar for talking about two of these THOTS with me, and for telling me I should post one of them because that is what gave me this idea 😘

Sinful Sunday Masterlist

Pairings: Paz Vizsla x Reader, Priest!Din Djarin x Reader, Ezra (Prospect) x Reader

Paz Vizsla x Reader

So I love sweet Paz and all but what about enemies to lovers Paz?

I've thought about this one for awhile...

So you are part of the mandalorian tribe that Paz and the remains of his tribe had joined. Immediately you and Paz started fighting, you weren't sure why, but just something about him rubbed at you. It wasn't uncommon for others to walk into a room and find you and Paz butting heads, literally. The two of you had been separated multiple times by the leader of your tribe and the armorer, just to keep you both from killing eachother. Eventually you decide to just start avoiding him and ignoring his presence, tired of fighting over stupid things. Unfortunately that lasted only a month before your leader called you into the armory for an assignment. He told you that you were being sent on a supply mission along with one of the warriors from the other tribe. You nodded and didn't think much of it until you were preparing the ship and Paz came strutting towards you. All you could do was clench your teeth and cross your arms asking him why he was here. He had only stared at you for a minute before saying, "I've been assigned to the supply mission." After that he finished loading the ship before heading to set up the controls. You just growled and sent a comm to your leader saying that if you survived this mission you were going to kill him.

The supply mission was to take two weeks, one to the planet where the supplies were stored and another to get back. The first two days the two of you stayed away from eachother. But on the third day the two of you started butting heads and arguing. On the 5th day Paz had managed to corner of of the ship and pin you to the wall, and in that moment you hated how flushed and hot you felt. You had to end up taking a cold shower to calm down.

When the two of you finally reached the planet and loaded the ship with supplies you were glad to be able to take some time away from Paz as you wandered the market while he was off bartering with the merchants. You made sure to take your time before walking back to the ship to find Paz FUMING. You just shrugged past him and onto the ship, totally ignoring his angry words about you being late and being an idiot and so on.

The first day back in hyperspace was spent avoiding eachother again, but that night you were over come with the need to touch yourself. You hated it but as you played with your clit all you could imagine was Paz’s body pressed against yours, pinning you in place, how he would feel slamming into you. Much to your frustration you came with a long groan of his name.

The next day found you and Paz fighting again unsurprisingly, but this time was different. This time, Paz once again pinned you to the wall before leaning down and whispering in your ear, "You know the walls of this ship are thin, and I could hear every moan last night. Was I mistaken when I heard my name as well?"

Could you only reply breathlessly as he moved his thigh between you legs, "You fucking wish Vizsla." And he leaned down close, bumping his helmet with your own as he pushed his thigh against you and whispering something quietly under his breath before saying, "Mmm maybe you need to be punished for lying." He immediately spanked you, and you couldn't help but moan and you could feel his smirk as he did it again. Before grabbing your ass roughing and saying that you were going to be sore tomorrow, he was going to make sure of it. Paz took no time at all before pulling you pants down and turning you around to face the wall. You angrily started to protest, but was immediately shut up with another smack to the ass, with which you could only moan brokenly. You heard Paz chuckle,, before spanking you again, before rubbing a hand over your flesh. Then he harshly pulled you back into his chest and kicked you feet apart before immediately pressing his glove covered finger tips to you clit. Paz then told you, "Im gonna make this pussy weep for me until you are begging for my cock." And he kept his promise. Paz brought you orgasm after orgasm and by your fifth you were already starting to beg him. He only growled in your ear and slapped you pussy saying, "You can do better than that. Beg. Me." You tried again, but it also result in another harsh slap. This time you let out a broken sob and whined out, "Please, fucking please pleasepleaseplease, Paz give your cock... I need to feel it inside of me so badly. Fuck me pleaaaassseeee."

And before you could even take a breath you felt him slam his enormous cock into you. You could only whimper at the stretch and curse Paz. He only chuckled and wait a few seconds, detailing everything he wanted to do to you before he started pounding into you so hard you could barely stand or think straight. Paz didn't let up and railed you through several more orgasms before he came deep inside you himself. Afterwards he carried you to bed and mockingly said, "Goodnight cyare."

The rest of the trip was spent with petty fights ending in fucking eachother senseless and by the time you arrived at the covert you found yourself somewhat disappointed that this was all going to end. But you were shocked when Paz turned to you after he had landed the ship and asked, "Marry me?"

You only smirked and said back, "Give me a good reason too, di'kut."

You heard him growl, before he pulled you onto his lap and said, "So I can look you in the eye as I fuck the life out of you, so I can finally shut that mouth of yours up with my cock down your thoat."

Let's just say that the other mandalorians avoided the ship for a few hours as they heard moans coming quite loudly from inside. The Armorer and the tribe leader both nodded to eachother and let out a sigh glad that they wouldn't have to deal with your shit anymore.

(In this THOT i also imagine Paz being absolutely infatuated with you from day one, and those feelings that rub at you is just intense attraction that you don't want to acknowledge. The Armorer and tribe leader set the trip up to try and push the two of you together so they didn't have to deal with the sexual tension so thick it could kill anyone that walked past. In the end the are fucking relieved it worked, though a little too well lmao)

Din Djarin x Reader

So Priest!Din thot....

After Sunday service one week you ask him innocently if he would like help cleaning up the chapel. Din smiles and says yes thank you. You wave your family to go ahead and wait for Din to finish speaking and saying goodbye to the parishioners. When the last woman leaves, little old Mrs. Taylor, he waves you inside. The two of you work in relative silence as you put away all the hymnals and bibles, the only noise being your movements and your own humming of one of the hymns from that day's service. By the time the two of you made it to the front of the chapel, you turn to eachother and pause looking at eachother before you both lean forward for a sweet kiss. When you pull back you smile at Din, before biting your lip and saying, "That was a beautiful service today, Father Djarin."

You could see Din's eyes dark the second you uttered his title. The look he gave you sent a warm shiver down to your lower belly. Then he reached forward and pulled you close whispering, "Only the best for my flock, my child." You couldn't suppress the small gasp that passed your lips as his hand moved to your hip backing you up until you felt your back hit the altar. You were shocked even more when Din suddenly lifted you and put you on the altar and immediately rolled you dress up your thighs whispering about how much he has been aching to feel you again. Din stops suddenly when he finds you missing your panties and he moans before grunting out, "A sinful temptress who just continues to seduce me with her wicked ways..." Then he's crashing his mouth on yours as he works to open his belt and pull out his aching cock. You can only meal against him he slowly slips into you. He stays fully seated inside of you for a minute, breathing harshly into you neck before pulling back to meet your eyes.

"You have no idea what you do to me, sweet girl. You.....you have consumed my every waking moment, and I cannot stop these sinful thoughts of you." Then he dives back down into the kiss as he starts pounding into you, muffins your moans and whines with his mouth. The two of you fuck passionately and full of forbidden love as you desecrate the altar of the most holy. Din praises and worships you and your body as if you were the diety he pledged his life too. When the two of you were thrown into the ultimate pleasure you met eachother's gaze and spoke the words you both wish you could say aloud.

Ezra (Prospect) x Reader

My Ezra THOT of the week....

Just a preface, Ezra has a prosthetic arm in this THOT...

You were a rather skilled prospector. You had almost a sixth sense for good dig spots and that made you raise through the ranks rather quickly. Even though you were valuable, you still were never able to hit a dig that allowed you to be payed enough to finally settle down. You were hoping this dig would be different. You'd been hired by a bigger company, and was going down to the planet with a crew of roughly 15. The way your employers had explained it, you all would be split into groups of three and whatever your group mined would be split into four, parts for the three of you, and one for the company. It was the best deal you had gotten, ever. The day you were to go to the moon you climbed aboard the shuttle and took a seat next to a man with a charming smile and a unique blonde patch. While waiting to leave the two of you became acquainted and learned his name was Ezra.

As it turned out, Ezra and you had been paired up in a group, along with a woman named Shelby. You also learned that Ezra was very much a talker and loved to please. Shelby got annoyed with his constant chatter, but you found yourself smiling softly and occasionally responding to his poetic words with sentences as graceful as you could make them. Loving the smile Ezra would shoot your way when you did. You also came to realize that Ezra would give nicknames to those that he latched onto and you learned quickly that he had dubbed you to be sunflower. At night the two of you would speak, sharing stories until Shelby would forcefully shut the lantern light out on you both telling you to shut the fuck up.

As grumpy as Shelby was, you were still hurt when one afternoon she disappeared for hours. Worried Ezra had gone to look for her only to come back with a grim look and a shake of the head. The two of you didn't speak the rest of the night, paranoid and not wanting to leave the other alone for a second. A few days later found you waking from sleep in a could sweat and with Ezra holding your face softly whispering reassuring words. That was the first night the two of you shared a cot, and after that it became a nightly occurrence. Eventually two of your three and a half month stay had passed and you found yourself looking up as Ezra walked into the shared tent after his shower in the communal space, he was shirtless and you watched as water dripped from his hair down his chest. He had immediately met your gaze and you blushed and turned back to your book quickly. You were shocked when you ft a finger trace you cheek, not having heard him approach. Then he spoke up and said, "Sunflower, I want you to promise me that if I cross a line, you will tell me. I in no way want to make you uncomfortable." You had only looked up at him confused. He responded by gently taking your book and setting it aside, before turning back to you and leaning in slowly, giving you plenty of time to pull away, before he softly brushed his lips against your own. Whwn you didn't pull away, Ezra dived in and pushed the kiss further. Soon you found yourself sitting in Ezra’s lap, stipped of everything but your under clothes, and makeout passionately with the man who has haunted your thoughts since you heard his voice. You instinctively started grinding against Ezra as you started to feel a pressure in you belly, that resulted in him groaning and grabbing your waist before pulling back slightly and looking you in the eye. He traced your skin for a second, causing goosebumps to erupt everywhere before he whispered, "May I ask a favor, my bright sunflower," you only nodded in response before he rushed out quickly and not as poetic as you are sure he would have liked, "Sunflower, please, for the love of Kevva, climb over me and place those sweet lips above mine." You sat there confused for a second before it clicked and you shyly asked him, "You want me to sit on your face?" You say his eyes dilated as he nodded shakily and whispered out a singular, please. You could only nod and he gave you the prettiest smile as he flopped back onto the bed before just completely rippling you panties off of you. You could only whine as he pulled your hips up. Ezra made sure you were making eye contact with him when he picked a broad striped along you slit with a groan and several muttered words. Ezra repeated that a few times before he stopped at your clit one pass and sucked it into his mouth. You could only choke out his name roughly before he just started eating you out like there was no tomorrow. At one point he as you were getting closer he pulled back long enough to tell you not to hold back anything, to tell you to grind against his face. You only moaned in response before he pulled you down onto his mouth and dipped into you again. It didn't take you long to start gasping out his name, and when Ezra reached up and grabbed your breasts, pinching your nipples, you felt your eyes roll back as you came all over his face as he continued his ministrations dragging out your orgasm as long as you let him. When you finally came back to your body you found yourself laying on the bed and Ezra naked next to you already dozing, having cum from his own touches while he was tasting you.

#my thots #paz vizsla x reader #paz x reader #din djarin x reader #din x reader #priest au #priest!din #ezra x reader #ezra prospect x reader #ezra x female reader

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hearts-hunger · 3 years

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ciryc ca'tra (cold night sky): chapter three || din djarin x reader

Read on AO3 | Masterlist

chapter one | chapter two

Series Summary: When you crash-land on a frozen planet on your way to Trask, you and Din work together to keep the Crest afloat and keep your little family safe under the cold night sky. || Part One of Jate’kara (Lucky Stars)

Chapter Summary: You panic when the baby goes missing, only to find him trying to help his daddy fix the ship. You panic when the frog lady goes missing, only to find her trying to warm her eggs. You panic when there’s suddenly spiders all over the place. You’re really not having a good time on this frozen planet.

Pairings: Din Djarin x Wife!Reader

Genre: Hurt/comfort, fluff, angst | Word Count: 3.3k

Warnings: Maybe old fashioned ideas about marriage? Idk, I’m an old-fashioned kind of girl. Let me know if there’s anything you need me to tag!

A/N: I’ve been writing this fic nonstop for the past few days and it’s the most fun I’ve had in a long time. I’m thoroughly enjoying it, and I hope you are too! Also, I think it’s actually very sexy of me to post each chapter less than 24 hours apart. Enjoy! ♡

You couldn’t get back to sleep.

You tried - your whole body ached with exhaustion, and you knew you should rest - but you were too rattled by the scare with the droid and too worried about Din out in the cold. You tried to find something more productive to do than fret, but the baby had slept through everything, and there was very little to do when you weren’t chasing him around the ship. You’d already organized and cleaned everything you could; there really was nothing to do but wait.

For the sake of your sanity - and Din’s, as you knew an anxious wife was absolutely the last thing he needed right now - you decided on a shower. The refresher was outfitted with a regular shower as well as a sonic; you’d be using the latter, considering the fact that there was no heat on the Crest at the moment. Neatly folding Din’s spare cloak and putting the rest of your clothes in the laundry basket in the refresher, you stepped into the sonic and let the thing work its magic.

The state of the refresher when you’d first come aboard the Crest was... abysmal, to put it honestly. It told you all you needed to know about the Mandalorian bounty hunter you’d met when he arrived in your small town deep in the hills of Naboo: he was used to being alone, and very unfamiliar with a woman’s company. When you started working for him and living on the ship - he’d needed your help finding a man who used to live in your town - you’d asked if there was any way to at least have a door on the blasted thing. He readily complied, and with the help of a few of the handyman types in your community, the Crest’s refresher was sorted out in no time, and more elaborately than you’d hoped for.

The sonic was made to be used with or without water, and warm lights adorned the new mirror above the sink. Best of all, there was a sliding door - much like the one on the bunk, which had been expanded slightly in all the renovation. Until you were married - only a short while after you came to work for him, as you’d both fallen head over heels in a matter of weeks - Din had slept on the reclining passenger seat in the cockpit. You’d always considered that likely miserable sleeping arrangement and the new refresher his very first love-gifts to you, and you knew you would always cherish his selflessness and generosity.

Clean and a little less wired after the sonic, you quickly put on new clothes and wrapped yourself back in Din’s cloak. You went to check on the baby, sure he was still sleeping; to your dismay and instant panic, your little foundling was nowhere to be found among the blankets you’d nestled him in earlier.

“Ad’ika!” you called, searching through the ship like Din had earlier. Your little one was an escape artist, that much you’d known from the very beginning. Usually it was of little consequence - there were only so many places he could go on the ship, and you or Din found him contentedly playing with his silver ball or some other toy he’d fashioned. But here, with the temperature dropping and the wreckage everywhere and only the tarp between the ship and the icy world outside - you had to find him.

Your panic grew to a fever pitch as you searched the ship high and low, calling for him with an increasingly desperate tone. Finally, positive he wasn’t anywhere on the Crest, you ventured outside; snowdrifts piled across the rocky ground, and the air was bitterly cold. Heedless of your own safety, you searched around the wreckage of the ship, calling for him as you felt the sting of tears.

“Cyar’ika!”

You heard Din’s voice calling you from the other side of the ship, and you made your way to him as quickly as you could. Surely Din would know where your baby was, and if he didn’t, he would know where to look. As you rounded the corner, you almost couldn’t make him out as tears blurred your vision. You tried to collect yourself before you told him - what, that you’d lost your son? That you’d had one job and couldn’t even keep your toddler safe?

Your distress must have shown on your face, because Din reached a consoling hand out to you and met you halfway as you walked through the snow towards him. You prepared to tell him, to beg for his forgiveness and help -

Then, wrapped in the corner of Din’s cloak and nestled snugly in the crook of his arm, your baby peeked out at you and gave a babble of greeting.

“Oh, Maker,” you gasped, the words coming out like a sob. You reached out for him and Din gave him to you; you held him tight as tears streamed down your face.

“Don’t ever do that to me again,” you said, shoulders shaking as you tried to get a hold of yourself. You felt Din’s hand on your back, drawing you close against him; you let him hold you, the baby pressed safely between you.

“It’s ok, cyare,” Din soothed, running his hand up and down your back.

You gave a hitching breath. “It’s not ok, Din,” you insisted. “I thought he was - ”

You couldn’t make yourself say it, and felt a flash of anger at your husband that you knew was misdirected, but you didn’t know what to do with the guilt and fear that still ran through you.

“You knew where he was this whole time?” you snapped, looking up at his visor. Your tears were cold on your cheeks, and you angrily brushed them away. “How long was he out here with you, while I was worried sick looking for him?”

Din held up a hand in a conciliatory gesture. “No, I didn’t know he was out here,” he said, determinedly calm and patient. “I only just found him, and I’d just finished getting onto him when I heard you calling for him. I was coming to take him to you, cyare.”

You knew he was telling you the truth - he’d never do something like that to you. You didn’t know what to say, ashamed that you’d accused him of letting you worry needlessly when he’d actually been doing all he could to prevent that.

“S-sorry,” you managed brokenly. You could see your vague reflection in the planes of his helmet, tearful and small and overrun with emotion.

He sighed and drew you close to him again. “I know,” he said gently. “You don’t have to apologize. I know that scared you.”

You shook your head as you leaned against his chest. “He was asleep,” you tried to explain. “I closed the door on the bunk and I just went to take a shower - I didn’t mean to - ”

“It’s not your fault,” he said, giving your shoulder a comforting squeeze. “He knew better than to wander off like that, especially outside.”

Din looked down at the small bundle in your arms, wrapped now in the cloak you wore.

“It was very naughty to make your mama worry like that,” Din said firmly, raising a finger for emphasis. “Don’t do that again.”

The baby gave a babble that sounded somewhat affirmative and apologetic, looking up at you with those big eyes for good measure. You were so relieved that he was alright that you couldn’t stay upset with him; you covered his ears with your cloak and held him close.

“You ought to get back inside, cyar’ika,” Din said. “Try and get warmed up.”

You looked up at him, intending to say that he should come in as well, and felt a wave of guilt that you’d only just realized how his beskar was completely frosted over. The usually shiny metal was dull and white, and you knew he had to be freezing.

“Oh, Din,” you said, reached a hand up to touch the icy side of his helmet. He took your hand in a gentle grip before you could, saving you from touching the cold metal and warming your fingers with his touch.

“Please come inside,” you said, already trying to think of ways to warm him up without any heat on the ship. ��You must be freezing.”

“I’m alright,” he soothed, though you knew he was probably more uncomfortable than he let on. “I need to keep working on the repairs. You and the baby shouldn’t be out in this.”

“Neither should you,” you said. “You’re - I mean, you’re covered in frost.”

He nodded. “Beskar clouds pretty quickly in the cold. It’s nothing to worry about.”

You sighed, realizing you weren’t going to get anywhere with him, but you weren’t annoyed. Since the frog lady had urged him to begin repairs sooner, he’d been single-mindedly working on the major parts of the ship that were damaged; he was going to work until he couldn’t feel his fingers any more, and then probably a little bit longer before he came inside. You admired his determination and hard work as much as you worried for him, and you wouldn't have had him any other way.

You were hesitant to leave him, but knew you should get the baby inside.

“At least kiss me before I go,” you said, knowing it was a lot to ask. “That way I can see for myself if you’re turning into an ice block under that helmet.”

He chuckled and lifted the bottom of his helmet just enough to oblige you, giving you a gentle, chaste kiss.

“There,” he said, once his helmet had been replaced. “Warm enough for you?”

You hummed in agreement. “For now.” You lightly tapped your boot against his. “Don’t stay out too long, my love.”

He shook his head. “Ne baatir, cyare.” He’d said that to you enough times over the years that you didn’t have to ask what it meant: don’t worry, beloved.

You gave him one last smile before heading back around the ship, bundling the baby close against the temperature that had started to drop steadily as the sun went down. Minding your steps lest you stumble over a snow-covered rock or bit of debris, you noticed something odd; it looked like there were another set of footprints in the snow, bigger than either yours or Din’s. You stopped and followed them with your gaze, trying not to let fear get the better of you; they led away from the ship towards the jagged side of the cavern, around a corner that seemed to lead into a different cave.

The baby started to babble excitedly, his little clawed hand pointing in the direction of the cave. Goodness, had he followed something out here? Come to think of it, where was your passenger?

You looked back over your shoulder and saw your husband diligently working on a smoking part near the back of the ship.

“Din!” you called. You tried to make your voice carry without any indication of panic, but he looked up and zeroed in on you all the same.

He cocked his head in question, as you weren’t in any obvious danger, and you waved him over. He set his tools aside and started towards you, and you hoped you hadn’t annoyed him by interrupting his work.

“What is it?” he asked, not unkindly, and you knew he hadn’t minded coming over. You gestured to the footprints.

“Do you think it’s the frog lady?” you asked.

He studied the path of the footprints, most likely through his HUD, and sighed.

“She’s not in the ship?” he asked.

“No,” you answered. Recalling your frantic search for the baby, you realized that you hadn’t seen her anywhere. “Why would she leave?”

He shook his head. “I don’t know, but I need to go find her. There’s no telling what’s in those caves.”

You suppressed a shudder at the thought. “Should we go with you?”

He considered that, looking over you and the baby for a moment. “I guess. I don’t feel comfortable leaving you here alone, but - do you think you’ll be warm enough?”

You drew his cloak closer around you and your baby. “I think so. I’d feel better going with you.”

He put a hand on your back as you followed the path of the footprints, his touch steadying and safe. “Just stick close to me, cyare. Don’t wander.”

“Din,” you said, affectionate and a little exasperated. You’d been married to a bounty hunter long enough to know that right by his side was the safest place to be. “When have you ever known me to wander?”

He chuckled. “I know, I know. You’re very good about it.” He looked around as you walked through the mouth of the cave, and you knew he was making himself aware of every possible danger.

“I don’t have any idea what to look out for,” he said honestly. You could tell how much he hated not knowing what you were up against, not being as prepared to protect you as he would have liked.

You had never made a habit of questioning his authority - he knew much better than you how to keep you safe, and if he gave you an order in a dangerous situation, you complied. It was the least you could do, considering how often he was called on to protect his wife and child. With your marriage vows, Din had sworn to kar'taylir bal cabuor, to hold you in his heart and to protect you; you had vowed your love and trust in return.

You reached out to put a hand on his arm. “I trust you, Din,” you said simply.

He nodded. “I know, cyare. Thank you.”

You stayed close to your husband's side as the cave darkened and threaded through the columns of ice that loomed on every side; it was eerily quiet except for the sound of your footsteps through the snow. Din scanned the area constantly through his HUD; you trusted him to lead you, as you couldn’t make out the footprints in the dim light. He paused for a moment at a fork in the path.

“There’s a heat signature through there,” he said, nodding to the leftmost path. You held onto the edge of his cloak, hoping to settle both of you a little, and followed as he cautiously made his way down the path.

After a bit of a tricky slope that Din offered his hand to help you over, the path opened up into a cavern that was noticeably warmer than the rest of the cave had been. Steam rose from a wide, shallow pool in the middle of the space that you guessed came from a hot spring. The frog lady was swimming in the pool, her eggs spread out around her like little jewels on the water’s surface.

“There you are,” Din said, his voice echoing around the cavern as he walked over to her. He sounded understandably frustrated; you watched as he got a sense of his surroundings and assessed any threats, undoubtedly coming to the conclusion more quickly than you had that it was too big of a space with too many shadowed corners for him to be at any sort of defensive advantage if the need arose.

“You can’t leave the ship,” he told her, rounding the pool to the side where the egg chamber sat full of liquid but without any of the eggs. “It’s not safe out here.”

You followed and knelt with him beside the pool, putting the baby between you.

“Let’s gather these up,” Din said, gesturing to the eggs bobbing in the warm water. The frog lady croaked in dismay as she cradled a few.

“I know it’s warm,” Din said, a gentle sympathy coloring his voice. He scooped up a handful of the eggs, paying no mind to wetting his gloves, and put them back in the chamber. “But night’s coming fast, and I can’t protect you out here.”

You helped take the eggs out of the water, careful of their seemingly thin protective skin; the water was delightfully warm, and you couldn’t help a fleeting wish to be swimming in it too. You handed the eggs to Din to put back into the chamber.

In your periphery, you saw your baby’s little hand inching towards an egg floating close to the edge of the pool; you and Din both noticed it at the same time, and both of you held an admonishing finger between your son and the tempting egg.

“No,” you said at the same time, in the tone you reserved for scolding. The baby looked from you to Din with a pleading expression, but Din wasn’t fazed.

“No,” he repeated firmly. He went back to gathering the eggs as the baby gave a squeak of protest, and you made a mental note to find your son something to eat when you got back to the ship.

The eggs were more slippery than you’d expected, and rounding them up took all three of you working together. You knew Din was trying to be careful and quick at the same time; being away from the ship made him wary, and there were a lot of you to protect in such a large space. You helped as best you could, holding out handfuls of eggs for him to put back into the chamber and quickly going back to gather more.

From behind you, you heard the distinctive, fearful cry of your baby; you whirled around, looking everywhere for him, and found him running over from between rows of little white eggs that seemed to be twisting in a sickly, grotesque sort of way.

You felt an icy wash of uncanny terror and needlessly called your husband’s name, abandoning the pool to rush over to your son and pick him up. You saw with a sudden wave of nauseated horror that things were coming from the eggs, chittering things with long, spindly legs. You stumbled backwards and would have lost your footing if Din hadn’t caught you, immediately pulling you back towards the pool.

You couldn't have spurred yourself to move, so horrifically entranced were you by the loathsome creatures as they swarmed over the far side of the cavern floor, but you wondered why your husband didn’t seem any more inclined to action. You felt a little faint.

“Din,” you said uncertainly. You vaguely wondered how often you called your husband’s name like a plea for help, and if it ever wore on him.

“Right here,” he said, and it sounded so unlike him, so dreamy and faint, that it snapped you back to awareness like a slap in the face.

“Din,” you said again, more firmly. You turned and looked at him; he was watching the spider-like creatures start to climb the walls, his posture slack. That alone scared you badly enough to smack a hand against his chestplate in panic.

“Din!” you said again, sharp and loud. The spiders were inching closer, their chittering growing louder with each passing second -

Your hand on his chest and the sound of your voice seemed to snap him out of it, and his whole body tensed up immediately.

“Kriff,” he bit out, anger and panic tightening his voice even through the vocoder. He shut the canister of eggs and slung it onto his shoulder, taking your upper arm in a firm grip with his free hand.

“Go,” he ordered, and you couldn’t have disobeyed him if you wanted to. He released you and you started to run towards the cave entrance you’d come through earlier, your baby pressed close to your chest -

You only made it a few feet from the pool when a terrible roar shook the cavern, stopping you dead in your tracks. A giant, eldritch spider was crawling from behind the outcropping at the far side of the cavern, and it was all you could do to hold onto consciousness as you saw it take another step towards you.

Read chapter four!

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clanoffetts · 3 years

Text

someday. | paz vizsla x fem!reader

Chapter III

masterlist

synopsis: Paz Vizsla finds himself stuck on Dantooine with a broken ship and no credits. Luckily, he finds you, a mechanic that will fix his ship for passage to Hosnian Prime. Over the course of your time together, a courtship blossoms.

warnings/things to note: swearing; reader has hints of PTSD that will be expanded on in further chapters (and those will be tagged with stronger warnings); no use of ‘Y/N’; my fc for Paz is Winston Duke, I don’t describe Paz too much at the moment, but just know that’s who I picture!

word count: 6.4k

karyai - main living room of the covert - a big chamber for talking, resting, and even the last secure stronghold when under attack.

ba’vodu - uncle/aunt

The birds of Yavin IV’s song was calming as you came into full consciousness. The sleep from the night before was much needed, and very refreshing. You opened your eyes and looked to where Paz had been before you’d fallen asleep. He wasn’t there. Neither was your sleep mask. “Kriff!” You flung your body onto your right side, looking away from Paz’s side of the bed.

Shit. Shit. Shit. You’d told him you wouldn't look. Hell, you told him it was impossible for you to look. And here you are, no mask over your eyes. What if he’d been there? After all the time you’d spent convincing him to share the bed with you, that it’d be safe. Sure, you hadn’t actually seen him, but the possibility frightened you. You couldn’t violate him like that, even if it was an accident. You couldn’t live with yourself.

A few minutes of deep breathing later, you got out of bed, and headed into the ‘fresher. You wanted so badly to take another shower, to relax under the water, but you knew it was important to save water, not sure if the covert had water to spare for your journey. You’d have to be content with washing your face and pretending.

You stared in the mirror, into your own eyes. You replayed the night before: the vibroblade that now sat with your stuff, the idea of Paz taking you to his home and meeting his family, learning his traditions. The pure bliss you were in as you fell asleep, and then the violent jerk of the morning’s close call. Your eyes were no longer as tired as they had been when you’d looked at yourself last night.

You threw on jeans and a shirt, and finally left the safety of the ‘fresher. Would Paz be mad about the mask coming off? He was so hesitant as it was, you were terrified that this would push him away, make him realize that there’s too much risk in a relationship with a non-Mando.

“Kebiin’ika?” Paz called as he heard the door to the bedroom open.

“Yeah?”

He stood up and met you halfway between the room and the common area. “How’d you sleep?” He wrapped an arm around you, pulling you into a half hug before leading you to the table you’d sat at the night before.

“Pretty good,” you said, taking a seat. “Paz?” He hummed and sat down a bowl of some type of porridge in front of you. “Are you mad at me?”

The helmet snapped up to look at you. “Why would I be mad? If you think you broke the towel rack in the ‘fresher, you haven’t. It’s always been like that.”

“No, Paz,” you said. “About the sleep mask. It came off last night. I’m so sorry, I thought it would stay on. I’m not really a wild sleeper so I don’t know how it happened, but I understand if you’re mad at me-”

“Kebiin’ika,” he says, cutting you off. You suck in a big breath, not realizing how long you’d been rambling. “It’s not that big of a deal to me, it was an accident. You didn’t see my face, right?”

You nodded. “Right.”

“See? No creeds broken,” he says. He can tell you’re still a little shaken up, and moves to lay his large, gloved hand over your small one. “If I didn’t trust you, mesh’la, I would’ve slept on the cot. I knew the mask came off when I woke up this morning, but I trust you enough that I know you wouldn’t use the opportunity of me being asleep to look, even on accident.”

You couldn’t see his face, but you swear you could hear a smile on his face. “Are you sure? I know I didn’t see anything this time, but I would understand if you want me to take the cot from now on.” He ushered you closer to him, his arm around you. It was a bit awkward with all his armor and clothes, but the heart was there. “Kebiin’ika,” he said. “I’m comfortable with sleeping the way we did last night as long as you are. I’m not worried.”

You sighed, leaning into him. The beskar was cold and you just wanted to feel him, his warm skin. “Ok,” you say. “If you’re comfortable, I’m comfortable.”

“Good,” he replies. “Now, why don’t you finish eating while I call the covert. Tell them that I’ll be there shortly to pick up some of our supplies, ok?”

You nodded, and he let you out of his embrace. While spooning the food into your mouth, you watched him at the hull, punching some numbers into his gauntlet and then speaking in what you assumed was Mando’a. It was such a beautiful language, especially coming from Paz’s mouth. And he spoke it with a pride in his voice that he didn’t have when speaking Basic.

“Alright, mesh’la,” he said as you got to the bottom of the bowl. “I’ll be back soon, no more than two hours.”

“Two hours?”

“Yes, two hours,” he laughed. “It may be sooner, but you never know. Mandalorians take a long time to say goodbye.”

You smiled at him. “Alright, have fun,” you say.

“Oh, I will,” he replies. You watched as the mountain of blue beskar exited the ship and mounted the speeder the two of you rode the day before. A lot has changed since then, you thought. Before you knew it, Paz Vizsla was gone and a dirt cloud took his place.

Paz’s ride back to his home didn’t take too long at all. And when he arrived, he spotted Din and Grogu on some rocks outside the entrance.

“C’mon, Grogu,” Din is saying. “You can do it.” Grogu sat on a rock opposite Din, with his eyes closed. In Din’s hand was Grogu’s beskar ball. Grogu and his ball were inseparable.

As Paz dismounted and began walking towards the hangar, Grogu’s eyes shot open and he let out an excited shriek. Paz didn’t speak fifty-year-old-toddler, but he figured it was something along the lines of “ba’vodu!”.

Din turned around, too, and stood. He picked up his little foundling and greeted Paz half way. “How was your evening?”

“Nice,” Paz says. “Yours?”

Din nods. “Mine was ok, but I don’t have a pretty mechanic in my room like you do.”

Paz rolled his eyes. “Din, it’s not like that.”

Grogu made a sound of protest. “Hm,” Din said. “My Jedi son seems to think differently. He’s never wrong about these things…” Din teases.

Paz stops just as they’re about to open the blast doors. “Din, Grogu,” Paz says. “Just between us?”

“Just between us,” Din says, and Grogu babbles.

Paz sighed, was he really doing this? He was. “We’re courting.”

“I knew it!” Din exclaims, and Grogu laughs. “I knew it, Paz. So what’d you give her?”

Paz patted the empty sheath. “Vibroblade.”

“Classic,” Din says. “What will you propose marriage with? Something of her homeworld’s tradition? Or wait and exchange blades that Armorer makes?”

Paz shakes his head, and he’s smiling beneath his bucket. “Maker, Din, I haven’t thought that far ahead.” Though he figured it’d be blades. You didn’t seem too fond of being reminded of Alderaan. “But I’ll put your name in if we need a wedding planner.”

“You better,” Din replies. “Armorer will want to know, too.”

Paz nodded. “I know. I’m not sure I’ll tell her this time. I don’t want word getting out.”

“She won’t tell anyone, you know that.”

“I know, but still,” Paz said, finally punching in the code and opening the doors. “But we’ve got a covert of eavesdroppers.”

There was a child tending to one of his chores just inside, and as soon as he spotted Paz, he practically lunged at him. “Paz!”

“Hey, ad’ika,” Paz says, taking the young kid up onto one of his arms. “I didn’t get to see you yesterday!”

“I know,” he said. “My buir had me at home practicing math. Math! Can you believe it?”

Paz laughed. “Knowing your buir? Yes, yes I can.”

The group walked further inside the winding the halls of the covert, adding new people to their crew as they saw them. Eventually they reached the karyai, and everyone got comfortable on the many cushions, chairs, and sofas littered about the room.

Paz stayed standing. “Sorry, everyone,” he said when he noticed their disappointment that he wasn’t going to be there long. “But I’ve got my end of a deal to hold up, and I don’t want to keep her waiting.” Paz noticed that at the mention of a her, helmets turned to the side, looking at each other, silently gossiping.

“Then come in here, Paz,” Armorer says, at the doorway to her forge. “And we’ll discuss what you need.”

Paz obeyed, making his way through all the Mandalorians relaxing in the karyai. He closed the door behind him, and sat at Armorer’s table. “We’ve compiled some things for your journey,” she says. “It’s not much, but it’s what we have. It’s in the hangar, I’m sure Clan Djarin would be happy to assist you in taking it back to your ship.”

“I’m sure it’s more than enough,” Paz replies. “Thank you, Armorer.”

She nodded. “Now, how happy was your mechanic at being left on the ship for so long yesterday?”

Paz could hear her smirk. “She got bored. Wasn’t there when I got back,” he said. “I almost lost my mind, but she was just in the little town, shopping.”

Armorer let out a soft chuckle. “And you’re trying to tell everyone you aren’t smitten? Maker, Vizsla, I’d think you’d be better with convincing by now.”

Paz sighed. “You’d think.”

Armorer’s stare bore into him. For Mandalorians, it usually wasn’t intimidating when another looked at you through their visor. It was normal. But Armorer’s presence was different, she was intimidating. “Where is your vibroblade?”

Kriff. “It’s right here,” he said, patting the sheath on his left side, where his second vibroblade sat.

“No, not that one,” she said. “The one I forged for you when you donned your helmet. I swear you had it yesterday.”

Well, he might as well tell her at this point. She wouldn’t believe that he’d lost it, this blade had Mandalorian and Vizsla carvings in it, he rarely used it in combat. “Don’t tell anyone this,” Paz said. “I want it to be a secret for now, ok?”

She nodded.

“I gave it to her. The mechanic.”

Armorer sucked in a breath so sharp that her vocoder picked it up. “As a courtship proposal?” Paz nodded. “I wish you both many blessings, many warriors,” she said. Paz didn’t know if you wanted warriors, but Armorer’s blessings were traditional, and carried a lot of weight.

“Thank you, Armorer,” he replies. “I will pass along the message.”

“If you two are courting, then why didn’t you bring her here? Are you still going on your journey?”

Paz nodded. “She has unfinished business in the Hosnian system,” he didn’t tell her what business. It wasn’t his place, and Armorer understood. “We’ll be back, though I’m not sure when.”

“Long hyperspace travel will be good for your relationship.” Armorer entered counselor mode. “Building trust and love.”

Paz always felt a bit awkward when she became a psychologist. So he just nodded. “Anyways, you said the supplies were in the hangar?”

She nodded. “Take care of her, Paz,” she said. They both stood. “This is the Way.”

“This is the Way,” Paz repeated.

Paz exited the Armorer’s workshop. Back in the karyai, some people had gone back to their rooms or to tend to their duties, but many still sat around. “Din?” Paz said to his friend.

“Yeah?”

“You don’t happen to know where Bezza is, do you?”

Din nodded. “Last I saw she was in one of the sparring rooms.” Paz thanked him and headed off down one of the long corridors towards the training rooms.

All the sparring room doors were open except one. Paz opened it gently, and looked inside. Bezza wielded the beskar staff Din had brought back with him. She was sparring with a reprogrammed droid, the only one in the covert. Paz watched with pride as she jabbed at the droid, careful not to hurt it too much. There were still children that would need to learn from sparring with the machine.

As she landed a final blow, the droid declared her the winner, and she backed off. Paz clapped from his place at the door. “That was very impressive,” he said. “You’ve gotten used to the armor quite well.”

“Paz!” She dropped the staff and walked towards her friend. “No one told me you were here.”

“That’s probably best,” Paz said. “I need to tell you something, and I need you to not repeat it, ok?”

Bezza nodded. “Ok. But if you tried to bring a Loth-cat in again, I’m not making any promises.”

Paz laughed. “It’s not a Loth-cat. It’s about my girl.”

“Your girl?”

Paz nodded. “We’re courting.”

Bezza threw her arms around her ba’vodu. “Paz that’s wonderful!” Their beskar sang as he patted Bezza on the back. When she finally let go she said, “Are you guys staying here? When do you think you’ll marry? I know Mandalorian courtships tend to not last long, but she’s not a Mandalorian so-”

Paz cut off her rambling by saying, “I don’t know. Like I told Din, I haven’t thought that far ahead yet.”

Bezza laughed. “Of course you haven’t. How many people have you told, Paz? You know if you tell the wrong person, your courtship will be the topic at many dinner tables tonight.”

“I know,” Paz replied. “Only you, Din, and Armorer know.”

“Ok,” she said. “So I take it you’re not going to stay here?”

Paz shook his head. “We’re off to Hosnian Prime as soon as I get back with the supplies.” Somehow, Paz could sense Bezza’s disappointment. He wanted so badly to be there for her, help her through her losses, but he’d made a promise to you. A Mandalorian’s honor was their everything. “I’m not sure how long we’ll be there, but we’ll be coming back here. Maybe even to stay.”

“What’s even on Hosnian Prime?”

Paz sighed. He wanted to tell her, to give her a detailed reason so maybe she felt better. But, again, it wasn’t his place. “She has some business to take care of, Bez.”

She nodded, somewhat satisfied. “Can I walk with you to the hangar?” Paz nodded and they left the sparring room. All the way there, Bezza asked questions in typical teenage fashion. What’s her name? What’s she like? What color is her hair? And Paz answered them all. He figured you wouldn’t mind, and they weren’t too personal. All her questions reminded Paz of just how young she was. Other Mandalorians would understand not to ask those questions, just as Bezza would, in time.

In the hangar were Din and Grogu and that kriffing ball. Din had already loaded the speeder bikes with the fuel and food, and was now just killing time with his son. “Din!” Paz called. “I’m just about ready.”

Paz turned to Bezza. “When I get back we’ll start a plan for your training. There’s still a lot to get used to in the armor, especially with the jetpack.”

“Ok,” she said. “Hurry back, alright? And be safe!” Paz and Bezza exchanged a few more goodbyes, and he promised to pass on her hello to you.

Finally, Paz and Din had mounted the speeder bikes. Grogu sat in a carrier on Din’s chest, obviously excited to feel the wind whip around his long ears. The men had unspokenly made it a race, revving their engines and attempting to pass each other without knocking their cargo loose.

You sat outside the ship, taking in the fresh air as the Mandalorians arrived in a cloud of dust, Mando’a, and a baby’s shriek. A baby? You thought.

You got on your feet and approached the speeders. To your surprise, the Mandalorian in unpainted beskar greeted you by name. Quite a lot kinder than the stare he’d met you with when you’d first arrived. “Hello,” you said. “It’s nice to meet you.” Then your eyes finally dropped from the helmet to the carrier on his chest. “Who’s this?”

“My son,” the Mando said. “His name is Grogu.”

You smiled at the baby. “Hello, Grogu,” you said, and introduced yourself to him. Grogu’s tiny little arms reached out for you, and with Mando's permission, you picked him up. “You’re a tiny little thing, aren’t you, Grogu?” He babbled excitedly.

The two of you stood back as Din and Paz began loading the supplies onto the ship. “Your dad is very strong, Grogu,” you tell him as Din lifts a large crate off the bike and into the cargo hold. “Are you going to be strong like him?” Grogu gives you a strong response. This kid has to be a handful, you thought. Grogu stayed gripped onto you, his three little fingers wrapped around your one, gurgling and babbling like he made all the sense in the world. You, of course, humored him, and had a deep conversation about the inflation of credits as the shift from Imperial credits to New Republic credits took place.

Eventually, the men were done, the ship was loaded and refueled. “Alright, Grogu,” you say. “I think your dad will be wanting you back.” You placed a kiss to the top of his odd green head, and attempted to hand him over to the Mando. Grogu had other ideas. His fingers stayed gripped on the back of your t-shirt.

“Grogu,” Din said. “We have to go. Come on.”

You laughed at the little baby, amazed at how he’d become so attached to you in such little time. “Go on, hon,” you coax. “Your uncle and I will be back soon, I promise.” His big, dark eyes looked up at you, and then he allowed you to pass his little body to his father, who fastened him into the carrier.

“Safe travels, you two,” Mando said, and attached the bike Paz rode to his own, and him and Grogu were off.

Finally, you were able to give Paz a hug. “Ready, kebiin’ika?” he asked.

“Yeah. Let me call Leia before we go,” you say. “I forgot to this morning.”

“Ok, I’ll be waiting in the cockpit whenever you’re ready.” He turned around and disappeared onto the ship.

You held the holoprojector in front of you, anxious. Surely Leia would want to see you, right? After all your time together…

You sat the projector on a rock and sat down in front of it. You punched in the numbers Leia had sent you a while ago, and waited. Finally, a young girl answered. “May I ask who is calling?” You told her your name. “And who are you calling for?”

“Leia,” you said, and then cringed. “Uh, her royal highness.” You’d never really grasped the royal protocol.

The girl looked closely. “Is the princess expecting you?”

“Uh, not really,” you said. “But we fought in the Rebellion together. She gave me this number, told me to call if I needed her.”

The girl nodded, and walked out of frame. Hopefully, she’d return with Leia. She did return, but no princess in sight. “Her royal highness will meet with you shortly.” And then she was gone again.

You sat looking around at the trees, taking in your last minutes on a planet for some time. And even when you got to Hosnian Prime, it would be way different. Hosnian Prime was busy, unlike Dantooine and Yavin IV.

“Finally!” said a voice. Leia’s. She stood in holo form on the rock, an elegant white dress covered her form and her hair was in two braids down her shoulders. “I’ve been wondering when I’d hear from you.”

“Leia!” you exclaimed. “I’ve wanted to call, but you know how I felt when the war was won…I wasn’t sure you’d want to hear from me.”

She frowned. “Oh, stop that,” she said. “I’ll always want to hear from you. I’m sorry it took me so long to get on the line, Korrie is quite protective of me.”

“I understand,” you smiled. “You are a very important person, your royal highness.”

Leia laughed. “Now, what did I tell you back on Alderaan about formal titles?”

“Yeah, yeah, you’re a normal person when you’re with me,” you said, rolling your eyes. “I take it you’re a bit exhausted with decorum at the moment?”

She nodded. “And it doesn’t help that Threepio is the decorum police, either.” The two of you shared a laugh at the droid’s expense. You didn’t know how Leia could stand C-3PO all the time. “Enough with my complaining, are you ok? Is there something you need?”

“Well, I was calling to see if you’d receive me on Hosnian?” you asked. “I want to catch up with you, maybe even a few friends from the old days?”

Leia smiled. “Of course I’ll receive you! When are you leaving? And where from?”

“Yavin IV,” you say. “And hopefully as soon as I hang up with you, if that’s ok?”

She nodded. “That’d be great. I’ll have Korrie send you the coordinates. I can’t wait to see you!” Leia had a way of making anyone feel comfortable, and you couldn’t wait to be in her full presence again. You exchanged goodbyes, and Leia disappeared from the rock.

Back on the ship, you grabbed a fruit bar from the kitchen and sat in the cockpit. “How was your princess?” Paz asked as he copied the coordinates from your holopad.

“Good,” you replied. “I had no reason to be anxious, really.”

Paz put a gloved hand over yours on the armrest. “I’m glad it’s working out, mesh’la.”

“What’s that word mean? You’ve been calling me that all day.”

His thumb rubbed circles on the back of your hand. “It means ‘beautiful’,” he says.

“Mesh’la,” you repeat. “It’s a beautiful word, no wonder it means beautiful.” Paz chuckled a little at your awe.

His hand left yours and landed on the controls. “Ready to head out?” You nodded, mouth too full to properly respond, and the take off sequence was activated. The ship rose out of the clearing, and you watched as Yavin IV grew smaller beneath you. You saw a building off in the distance, it looked half underground, with a large hangar at the front.

“Is that your home?” you ask, pointing out at the structure.

Paz nodded. “Indeed it is,” he says.

“That was part of the Rebel base once,” you say, remembering your time here. “I didn’t spend too much time on that part, though. There was a main hangar a little farther down, but after the war Leia had a lot of it removed, so the wildlife could return to normal,” you say. “Guess not all of it was taken.”

The ship finally reached the atmosphere and Paz guided the ship through it with grace. The jump to hyperspace was made, and the ship was on autopilot for the next three days.

Paz turned to you in his chair. “We live in a rebel base now?”

“Indeed you do,” you say. “I think a lot of that building was quarters for officers and stuff. I’ll bet Leia can tell you when we arrive.”

“You want me to come with you to meet her?”

You looked at him, a little confused. “Of course I do,” you tell him. “I don’t know how long I’ll be there and I’m sure that a princess has room to spare. Besides, it’ll do you some good to sleep on a proper bed for a few nights.”

“Are you sure, kebiin’ika? Mandalorians aren’t greeted too kindly.”

“Maybe not in the Outer Rim,” you say. “But that far into the Core? And a guest of Princess Leia’s? I’m sure it'll be ok.”

He nodded. “Ok, then. I’ll come with you.” You smiled at him, wishing so badly to smile at his face and not his helmet. You took his hand in yours, stood up, and led him to the little common area. There was a small sofa pushed against one of the walls, and you motioned for him to sit.

“I’ll be right back,” you say, and retreat back to the cockpit. When you return, Paz is sat on the sofa, still as can be. It was still a little creepy, how he could just sit there. You held up your holopad. “First thing to know about dating me is I need designated snuggle and holodrama time.”

He laughed. “Is this a common thing or just a kebiin’ika thing?”

You sat down next to him, a little confused that he was wondering if cuddling and watching holos was common. “Am I your first girlfriend, Paz?”

“If I say yes will you think I’m weird?”

“No, I won’t think you’re weird.”

“Then yes,” he said. You looked at him, feeling a wave of sadness. Had this man been cuddled ever? Hugged? Loved? You cared for him so much already, and you wanted him to feel those things.

“Well, I’m not sure if it’s a me thing, but it’s an important thing,” you laugh, setting the holopad up to project against the blank wall of the ship. A show about a Jedi and a Twi’lek healer’s unrequited love played on the wall, a slight silver hue brought by the metal of the ship. You moved to cuddle against him, but the armor was stubborn.

“Could you, like, take some of this off?” You say, gesturing at the metal.

He feigned surprise. “You haven’t even taken me out, mesh’la, and you expect me to strip?”

You rolled your eyes. “Just lose some of it so I can cuddle you.” He obeyed, the cuirass and pauldrons going first, and then the gauntlets and gloves. He was left in his fly suit, made of a coarse weave fabric. It wasn’t the most comfortable, but it would do. You moved his arm around you as you settled into his chest. You could tell he wasn’t too sure what to do. “You’re warm,” you sigh.

“Sorry, mesh’la,” he says.

“Why are you sorry? It’s nice. Hyperspace gets cold,” you tell him. He was a little tense at first, he wasn’t used to this, he really hadn’t been properly cuddled since before he lost his buire so long ago.

Paz looked down at you, your head resting against him as you took in the predictable plot of the show. You were relaxed, almost like earlier that morning when he’d woken up. The mask had been gone, and your eyes had gently fluttered in your sleep. Paz felt a tightness in his chest, a feeling he’d been having a lot since you’ve been around. It’s gotten more and more intense, especially as you curled yourself into him. Your touch was burning into his skin in an amazing way, and he knew he’d be able to feel it long after you’d get up. He repeated your it’s nice in his head. No one had ever told him that touching him was nice. In fact, most people hated the touch of a Mandalorian. If they even lived to hate it.

As the drama went to an ad for some kind of Bantha milk, Paz felt you move to look up at him. “Paz?”

“Hmm?”

“I know you can’t tell me what your Mando friend looks like under his helmet,” you say. “But can you tell me how he fits his ears in the helmet?”

Paz laughed. “What?”

“Well, if his ears are anything like his son’s, I’d imagine it’s hard.”

He threw his head back in a bellow of laughter. “Mesh’la, my friend and his son aren’t the same species. Grogu is a foundling.”

“A foundling?”

He finally recovered from his laughter, and his breath steadied. “Yeah, Mandalorians take in children who’ve lost their parents. My friend was a foundling once, and his son is a foundling.”

“Oh,” you said. “Well that explains the ears, I guess. You weren’t a foundling were you?” You remembered him saying something about Vizslas being important on Mandalore.

He shakes his head. “No,” he says. “The Vizsla line goes as far back into Mandalorian history as I can trace. But most importantly, Tarre Vizsla, who was a Jedi, created the Darksaber. Whoever wields the dark saber is the Mand’alor, our ruler.”

“Who is the Mand’alor now?” you ask.

He shakes his head. “There isn’t one. Mandalore isn’t the same as it was, it hasn’t been in a very long time. Before I was born, even.”

“Well, you’re a Vizsla aren’t you? Shouldn’t you wield it?”

He laughs a little. “That’s not exactly how it works, mesh’la. Well, it worked like that for a while, but now you must win the saber in combat. Except no one knows where the saber is.” His voice had gotten sad, and he was running his right hand over his left while they sat on your back, some kind of self-soothing. “Besides,” he says, “There’s a lot of Vizslas out there I’m sure, and I don’t want to be a king. That is not the path that I follow.”

“I understand. It all becomes...a bit much,” you agree. Leia had offered you multiple positions on multiple committees in the new Senate, all dealing with labor laws and droids with a bunch of political nonsense you didn’t care to wade through. Not to mention having to represent the voice of mechanics all over the galaxy. No. Too much stress.

“Kebiin’ika,” Paz says. “As much as I like this old, lumpy sofa, don’t you think we’d be more comfy laying in bed?”

“I’m starting to think you’re a mind reader, Vizsla,” you say. The two of you awkwardly untangle in a mess of limbs and beskar clangs as you accidentally collide with his cuirass that lay on the floor. “Sorry,” you say, moving his armor up onto the sofa and off of the floor.

“Don’t be,” he reassured. “Beskar is practically invincible.”

The two of you made it into the bedroom, you set your holopad up properly to project onto the blank white wall ahead of the bed, there for this reason exactly. The show was brighter now, and clearer. It was technically late afternoon by Yavin IV time, but in hyperspace it was hard to tell. Paz got rid of the armor on his lower body, the codpiece, thighs and knees, and shins. He also kicked off his boots.

He looked so beautifully mundane. Doing something that he’d done a million times at this point, probably, and he was an expert. Could do with his eyes closed. And you loved it, you wondered if his brow furrowed under the helmet when he had to prod a clasp a little harder, or if he let out a soft huff when a piece was finally removed.

He climbed onto the bed and motioned for you to sit between his legs. Kriff, his legs were big.

You settled between his legs, back against his chest. His hands sat awkwardly on his thighs. “You know you can touch me, right?” you say, moving his hands to lay around your middle.

“I have to remind myself, mesh’la,” he says. “You’re not a quick fuck. You’re someone I want to be slow with, I’m just not sure how to go about it.” You were a bit surprised at how blunt he was, but honestly? You appreciated it. He wouldn’t be playing games with you.

You squeezed his hand. “We will go however slow as you want, alright? And don’t be afraid of me, ok? You can ask me anything.”

“I know, cyare, and I’m grateful for that,” he says softly. He wanted to kiss the top of your head so bad. He’d seen it in holos before, but never really understood the appeal until now.

At some point, you’d fallen asleep in the Mandalorian’s arms. It wasn’t until an hour later that he woke you up. “Kebiin’ika?” He’s whispering as much as the vocoder will let him. His voice is deep in your ear, and briefly becomes a part of your dream until you finally wake up.

“How long was I out?” You ask, sitting up and stretching your arms out in front of you.

He stood up, stretching his arms, too. “About an hour, I think. I dozed a bit, too.”

“I’m hungry,” you complain. He agrees, and you’re off to the kitchen. You start making sandwiches with a few of the vegetables you knew he’d bought back on Dantooine. You smiled at them, filled with a bit of nostalgia. That greenhouse of Aliria’s was always a peaceful place.

Paz is doing the same, though he’s making two sandwiches. You presume it’s because he’s such a large man, and such a strong man too. When you had relaxed into his chest, he was comfortable, a layer of fat that told you he took care of himself, and underneath you knew were strong, hardened muscles.

“Paz?”

“Hmm?”

“Do you want to sit with our backs to each other?” you ask. “So we can eat together instead of in shifts?” He nods, finishing up his sandwiches. You grab your plates and make your way to the sofa. He moves his armor back onto the floor a bit clumsily, and has to remind you that beskar is strong. He’s facing to the right, you to the left, backs together.

“You can lean back on me, cyare,” he says, and you smile at the switch of the nickname. It was kind of nice, not knowing which endearment would envelop you when he opened his mouth. You hear a click and hiss, sounds you’d heard the night before, and then the clunk of his helmet on the ship’s floor.

“I forgot to tell you earlier,” he says between bites. “Armorer and Bezza said to tell you hello.”

You remembered who Armorer was, but your brow furrowed, trying to recall where you’d heard the second name. “Bezza is the girl who you bought the journal for, yeah?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he says. “I hope you don’t mind my telling her about us. I’m the closest thing she has to family at the moment.”

You smile. “Of course it’s alright, Paz,” you say. “I’d love to meet her. She sounds very sweet.”

Paz felt a wave of joy rush over him. Bezza was very special to him, even more so now. And now you were special to him, too, and he wanted nothing more than for you two to get along. “If I would’ve known I would’ve brought her with me to the ship instead of my friend,” he said. He had to catch himself before saying Din’s name, knowing that Din was very particular about his name. Bezza, on the other hand, was a more modern Mando. “Maybe once I teach you to use that vibroblade, I can teach you how to wield a staff. Then you two could spar.”

“I don’t know, Paz,” you say. “I’m sure you’re a fantastic teacher, but I don’t see myself holding my own against a Mandalorian in combat.”

He laughed a little. “I’ll train you the Mandalorian way. One day, mesh’la, you will hold your own.”

A silence followed, you could hear the crunch of the chips he’d put in his sandwich as he bit.

“Is Bezza your foundling now?”

Paz swallowed his bite. “Maybe if she was younger I’d take her in, but she’s practically an adult. I wouldn’t want to insult her by insinuating she still needs caring for.”

“Everyone needs caring for,” you say, leaning your head back against him. “I’m twenty-six and I need caring for, emotionally anyways. I’m not sure how old you are, but I’m sure you do, too.”

He wasn’t at all shocked that you were twenty-six. He was, however, shocked that his age didn’t ever come up. “I’m forty-three,” he said, hoping that wouldn’t scare you. It didn’t seem to, so he continued. “And I guess you’re right, but still, I can care for her without taking her in.”

“I guess,” you said, and decided to let the topic of Bezza rest for a bit. “Do you think you’ll ever take in a foundling?”

“Yes,” he said. “I’d like to father some kids as well, but also take in foundlings. Not only is it important to the Tribe, but I love kids. That’s why I’m their teacher whenever I’m not out hunting.”

“That’s sweet, Paz,” you tell him. “I’d like a kid, too, I think. Though, it scares me. Making a person inside my body for almost a year.”

“Mandalorians say to train your sons to be strong but your daughters to be stronger,” he says. “I’m sure you can see why. Having children is important, it’s even in the Mandalorian wedding vows: ‘we will raise warriors’.”

You smile up at the ceiling, picturing you and Paz having a wedding. Some weird mix of Mandalorian and Alderaanian culture, exchanging Mandalorian vows. Maybe it was a bit early to be thinking about this, but you didn’t care.

You watched as Paz cleaned the plates from lunch. He volunteered to take your plate, and now he stood at the sink, scrubbing away the residue of the condiments and components of your lunches. Again, he looked so beautifully mundane, gloves gone, revealing his dark skin to you. Through the bubbles of soap you saw small pink scars littering the top of his hands. He scrubbed away with the brush, working diligently. Again you wondered what kind of face he makes when he concentrates. Does he stick his tongue out a little? Bite on the inside of his lip?

You thought back to the wedding you’d put together in your mind. You thought about how after those vows were exchanged you’d get to see the face he makes not only when he concentrates, but when he’s happy or frustrated, too.

He was such a mystery, but also easy to read. It confused you in the best way possible, and all you wanted was to read chapter after chapter of Paz Vizsla until you got to the part where you’d get to see his face, kiss his face, talk to his eyes rather than a visor. Someday, you told yourself. Someday.

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oloreaa · 4 years

Text

Orbit - Battle Scars

Part 1 ▪ Part 2 ▪ Part 3

Pairing: The Mandalorian/Din Djarin x gn!Reader

Summary: Mandalorian? Injured. Hurt/Comfort with a lot of fluff? This got you covered. Cuddling again? You betcha. Set before Din finds the Child.

Words: 2.1k

Warnings: description of blood/injuries, otherwise domestic interaction

You were immediately on high alert when you heard the Mandalorian near the ship, the wiring you were trying to fix completely forgotten.

He appeared on the ramp of the Razor Crest, dragging a quarry behind him, a Kiffar with electric blue markings, who had a recently broken nose and blood on his lips that were curled into a snarl. Carefully, you stood up, and positioned yourself further away so that you’re not in the line of vision for the quarry. It went without saying that the Mandalorian didn’t want people to know that he picked up someone, making you a target. It wasn’t as if you were defenseless, but it was still easier to deal with some discretion here and there than with rumours and assumptions from the Guild. You didn’t particularly mind as well, just silently acting upon the cues the Mandalorian gave you.

The snap and hiss of the carbonite freezer let you know that you could appear again. “He was a quiet quarry,” you remarked as you came into view of the Mandalorian.

Immediately, you saw something was wrong. He was standing with slumped shoulders, swaying slightly, holding his side and putting his weight on one leg only. You couldn’t see blood, but that didn’t mean anything.

“Sitrep,” you demanded, voice sharper than you intended.

He gave a low wheeze as if he was struggling to breathe. You couldn’t help the worry for him that was starting to build in your chest, and the longer he took to respond, the more you begin to become anxious.

“Modified gauntlet,” the Mandalorian finally rasped, breathing in deeply, “stabs as it punches.”

You were at his side in seconds, ignoring the flinch he gave when you got too close too fast.

“Where?”

He grunted and patted his side, helmet hanging low. You ran your fingers along the edge of the cuisse, and felt sticky warmth hanging on the fabric underneath.

“Get this off,” you told him, “I’ll get the bacta.” Turning around, and going to the little storage room for the med kit, you could faintly hear him taking off the necessary parts, a loud clang on the durasteel floor making you flinch. It must have got him pretty bad if he couldn’t show the control you knew that he had.

Gathering the med kit, you briskly went back, the dim orange light reflecting on the beskar helmet, the man underneath having removed enough for you to get to the wound.

It was a ugly, jagged stab, blood oozing out slowly as you stared in horror.

“Maker, Mando—” you whispered, and he just gave a grunt that was quiet but pained.

Switching on the light for a clearer view, you quickly got to work and cleaned the wound, stitching him up as efficiently as possible, putting bacta on it afterwards. Even if you’re trying to be careful and not apply too much pressure on the wound, he still gasped occasionally, so softly that you would have never caught it if you weren’t so close to his body.

It was not the first time you patched him up.

It would most likely not be the last time either.

You finished in silence, only heavy breathing between you, his entire body tense as his fingers curled into fists.

“Any other?” you asked, dreading the answer.

“Nothing I can’t take of myself,” he told you, voice surprisingly steady, “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome," you replied with a frown, "Mando, please be more careful.”

You’re too occupied with studying the beskar helmet to feel embarrassed by the pleading note in your request. The blank slate of steel and dark visor only offered one expression, but somehow, you thought, you could see how he was looking at you.

Thinking back on how he had let you trace his features late at night, you could almost picture him. Almost.

Being under his scrutiny was both terrifying and exhilarating, and with how close you both were, you couldn’t help the flush coming to your face, warming your ears as well. “If you need anything else,” you offered, sounding more shy than you had hoped, “just tell me.”

He just nodded, and then started to push himself up, the patch of skin around the wound tensing and rippling, an angry red from the inflammation. You helped him get in an upright position, and checked the wound again.

“Easy,” you scolded him, knowing that he wouldn’t listen, that he would simply cauterize it if the wound started to bleed again. You hated that thing with a passion, but it had come in handy more often than not, so everytime you considered just simply throwing it away, you knew that it would be foolish. He would get another one after having some words with you.

He sighed deeply, and then started to stand up. Staggering towards the fresher, his steps were loud and forceful as if he was trying to convince the world and himself that he was strong enough to withstand everything.

You watched him go, and hauled yourself up into the cockpit as soon as the door to the fresher closed with a ‘click’. The Razor Crest was travelling at light speed, towards some nameless system the Mandalorian hadn’t told you about yet. The next quarry awaited, the next job would need to be finished. There were already three slabs of carbonite in the belly of the Crest. The next one would be the last before you head back to Nevarro.

The blue streaks were mesmerising to watch no matter how often you had seen it already. Checking over the stats that were displayed on a screen, and with everything in order, you took out your holopad that had some music saved and played it.

The song that came out was tinny and the speaker of low quality, but listening to it helped passing the time some more. You could hear the shower was on, and hoped that he was careful with the water on his wound.

Relaxing into the pilot’s seat, you just listened to the music and stared into the warp of the hyperdrive, the space around you folding and moving faster than the ship itself does. You felt yourself getting sleepy, your eyes starting to droop. You had no idea how many hours you have been awake now, but the sleep you got last night was not restful at all.

How many times have you tried to suppress yawns today?

Too many.

Telling yourself that it was alright to just doze off a bit, you closed your eyes and just rested with them closed, breathing in the cool recycled air of the ship.

You weren’t sleeping, at least not yet, but the rest was… much needed.

After a while, the shower turned off, and you could hear the Mandalorian stepping out shortly after. Following him in your mind, cataloguing the sounds you heard and cross-referencing it with your knowledge of the ship, he was checking up on his weapons and taking care of his armour. He knew that you were up in the cockpit and wouldn’t come down for some time yet.

Meaning that he probably was not wearing a helmet right now.

He came up when you were almost asleep, making you jerk up, blinking sluggishly at the man. He only wore dark trousers and a brown long-sleeved shirt, the shirt so washed out and worn that it was a bit loose, showing his collarbones.

You knew that you could only see this, see him because of how long you have been his crewmember, and he trusted you to continue your arrangement with him in a way that doesn’t let him disrespect his creed.

To have a Mandalorian’s trust is a heavy thing.

And for you, especially the trust of this Mandalorian threatened to crush you some days.

From what little of skin you could actually see, his body was littered in scars. Some of them were blaster shots, puckered and light, like a constellation of the night sky. Some from knives, small ones, big ones, dozens of small nicks that left their mark on his body.

The newest one on his side was probably relatively tame in comparison to those that have already scarred over, those he had survived long before you met him.

“Hey,” he greeted you with crossed arms, leaning against the door of the cockpit in a manner that seemed almost lazy. Nonetheless, you could see that he was curling protectively around the newest wound in a way that was almost imperceptible.

“Hey yourself,” you replied, leaning back against the pilot’s seat, mimicking his stance playfully.

Noticing his fingers tightened slightly around his biceps, and the shuffle of his stance, you hid your smile, already guessing what he wanted to ask.

And he did. “Do you wanna—?”

There was only one possible conclusion to come to when he willingly showed up without his armour, even if he didn’t take off his helmet. He told you once that as long as long no one sees his face, his creed is not broken. Since you were willing to take anything he would give you, starved for his affection, you did not even mind that this was the only way you could have him. Even incompletely.

But having him in your arms, or his around you? There wasn’t one single place in the galaxy you would rather be. That feeling? It was worth all the pain and heartache that comes with falling for a Mandalorian.

You did not hesitate in telling him yes.

He nodded, looking a bit awkward and you had to suppress a smile. Getting up, and following him into the small captain’s quarters, the light inside was on. He didn’t turn these off, but carefully lowered himself on the cot while you blinked, taken aback.

“Blindfolds?” you ask, confused.

He hummed low. “Not yet.”

With your heart fluttering in your chest, you lowered yourself on the cot as well, careful to avoid his wound. Both of you shuffled around a bit until you were both comfortable, settled into each other, the motions familiar through many times of practice.

“How was your day?” he asked after a few minutes of the two of you just breathing with each other, sharing body warmth.

“Hm,” you replied, sleepy once more, “it was fine. Quiet.”

He hummed in reply.

You continued, eyes slipping closed, “We need to stock up on food soon. Fuel should cover us for a few jumps yet, I’m keeping an eye on it.”

“That’s good.”

You both fell into comfortable silence, and you were so close to him that you could hear his breath from the source instead of through his modulator.

You traced a finger across his skin with your eyes still closed, drifting dangerously into sleep territory again.

One scar that you were scrutinizing with your fingertips spanned across his collarbone, curling down to his shoulder. You followed it carefully, hesitantly, blinking your eyes open to look at it.

It must have been some kind of knife or a small dagger. The Mandalorian didn’t tense under your fingers as you expected him to, either too tired to care or trusting you with your touch.

Maybe it was both.

“I wish I could heal these,” you told him softly, voice on the verge of being too quiet even for a whisper. I wish I could take the pain you felt away.

“They don’t hurt,” he said, sounding far off.

“Not anymore?” you asked into his skin, pressing the slightest kiss on the scar, light as a butterfly’s wings.

He didn’t respond to that, but you didn’t expect him to. He didn’t need to bare his soul to you, or put on some kind of show to tell you that it’s all right.

Snuggling into him, you took him in, admiring the contrast between the dark shirt he wore and his tan skin. Looking at him, you saw his helmet tilted towards you, and you could almost imagine the features you had traced with your fingertips on him.

Soft scruff. Shaggy hair.

You would probably let him do anything he wanted, tell you anything, show you anything; you weren’t picky. You didn’t owe each other, but at the same time you would give everything you had.

At least you would, for him.

This was an unspoken agreement, similar to the one that had you wrapped up in each other almost every night: Simply just two lonely souls enjoying each other's company.

Brown hair. Brown eyes.

The scars on his body showed the battles he had been in, what he had survived and endured. You could only guess at the scars in his heart when your limbs were tangled together, breaths were shared, and fleeting thoughts were spoken out loud.

“Stop thinking so loud,” the Mandalorian told you, voice slightly slurred from sleep. He grasped at your hand and laced your fingers together. You squeezed his hand back.

“Sorry,” you whispered back, and smiled at the huff he gave in response. “Didn’t mean to.”

He just pulled you closer and hummed deep in his chest.

Thank you so much for reading!

Tags: @binggrae-banana-milk @b0n-chann @pisss-offf-ghostt @chibi-liz05 @din-damn-djarin @soldade @chaotic-noceur @ezrasarm

#the mandalorian #star wars #the child #din djarin #pedro pascal #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #the mandalorian x reader #the Mandalorian x you #fluff #yearning #soft feelings #oloreaa writes #orbit

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snarwor · 3 years

Text

moon and old stars - chapter 1

I blame @badwolfbadwolf for every single word of this. Din Djarin/Boba Fett Daddy Kink with a side of Emotional Hurt/Comfort? I’m fuckin AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA damn it I’m writing Star Wars fic again. What’s this ship name? Link to AO3 at the bottom. No warnings so far. Also: this is my first time posting a fic on Tumblr so if there’s formatting issues yolo

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He wasn’t going to do it. He wasn’t. He was practically forty cycles old and he knew better. Here he was, without a damn starship, without the kid, bereft of enough credits to make a difference, and he was spiraling out of control due to the residual guilt and shame which had come with taking his helmet off at the refinery on Morak. He’d compromised himself, his Creed, his people.

And the damn Fett wasn’t talking to him, to top it off. That’s just great.

It wasn’t much of a Way if you kept meandering vaguely off course, listing on just this side of heresy.

Cara and Fennec had gone off in search of food on some outpost near the Outer Rim, a few days’ travel behind Gideon, and therefore Grogu. Din was left alone in Slave I with Boba Fett, and he was practically crawling out of his skin.

He’d rehearsed the bad idea so many times in his head, but somewhere between his mind and his mouth the words changed from “Wanna go shoot something?” to “I need a distraction.”

The old bounty hunter was sitting at the console near the hyperdrive, sans helmet, as he was used to. Din’s hands were shaking in their gloves, but the gloves and his armor were sturdy enough to hide it from the common man’s eye.

Boba Fett was not a common man. He was a Mandalorian, if not by Creed then by race, and he knew exactly the deadly mix of poisons which had led Din to this point better than... kriff, better than anyone else in this blasted galaxy.

His eyes, so level and sure, so calculating and sharp it felt like there wasn’t any beskar between them, regarded him and his request. Din hadn’t asked, he was past the point of asking. He was desperate to get his mind off of the vicious circle of imagining what the kid was going through. Fett stood and straightened his back.

Din wasn’t a slight man, by anyone’s definition. He was strong enough to wield and wear the armor, to make it this long as a guild bounty hunter, to survive the training and the trauma that came from just living in the wild galaxy. But Boba Fett was a clone, he was created to be the most powerful kriffing bastard this side of the stars, and he was engineered smarter, faster, and stronger. He had a hand’s length on him in height, and Din was eager to know what that would feel like, without the armor, without the boots, without—

But Fett hadn’t spoken yet, he hadn’t even given anything away that Din could overthink about. He was sweating all over the inside of his helmet, worse than when he first put one on as a teenager. He swallowed roughly, and the vocoder picked it up, a soft crackle putting his nervousness on display.

“Come with me.”

It was three words, which were more than enough of an order for Din’s head to swim, and he followed like Fett had said to. He was led to a berthing at the far edge of the ship. The matter of fact way Fett had interpreted his request for a distraction as “I’m taking you to bed” made him swoon a little on his feet. “I don’t lay with armor. You’ll have to take it off.”

“But—”

“If I wanted to lay with a droid, I’d lay with a droid. It comes off.”

Again, Din was brought to heel by three short words. And really, what was there left of himself that he could hold tight to and pretend was honorable? How much of himself had he given up in just the last few months? What part of him actually still fit, hidden behind buckles and clasps and plates and signets?

He forced himself not to think about it. His need was great. Back on Morak, he’d felt the same need take control, blurring the line in his head that was at one point, uncrossable. Now, his whole mind was blurred, and he felt the air in his helmet was hot and stifling. Piece by piece, the armor around him came off, and with it, his cares and self-respect. He was willing to debase himself for one petty distraction.

In for a credit, and all.

The chest plate acted as sort of a holding dish for the rest, keeping it nice and tidy and out of Fett’s way as he bared every part of himself. Fett watched with an unreadable expression as pale skin was uncovered, as cloth-covered elbows and socked feet revealed itself to the room. The door was shut, there was some semblance of safety here, but the recklessness with which Din stripped himself gave the old man something to worry about.

Finally, in just his soft skin-layer clothes, all that was left was the damned helmet. Din felt his lips wobbling beneath it, and set his jaw. It’s just a distraction. It’s just enough to get me by. Then I can bottle the shame and find a way to repent for my actions. This is the Way.

The light in the room was dim, like Fett had known Din’s eyes needed to adjust. The helmet sat atop the rest of the armor with a soft thud, finality in its tone. Din let out a shuddering breath, and his eyes went to the floor, his head with it. He’s worn the helmet so long that he was unused to peripheral vision when he had it.

“Look at me.” Three-word sentences were a favorite of Fett’s, so it seemed. “You are not of a Creed you can disappoint while in here. The only truth is that you are mine.”

Din’s eyes flashed up, and his jaw dropped. That strange cadence to his voice, the accent, it was unfamiliar enough to his ears that it set the stage for what came next. “Yours?” he croaked, almost flinching at the new acoustic quality his voice had.

“Mine.” Fett sat on the edge of his bed, and made no motion for Din to follow, so he remained standing. “You are unfamiliar with this kind of activity. Good. There’s nothing you can do, or have done, that will change how I treat you here. We will start small. You will follow my orders. If you are confused about something, you will ask. If something is wrong, you will say ‘beskar’ and we will stop. No one else is allowed to know about this. I will not speak of it, and neither will you. This will not follow outside of here unless we speak of it. Do you have any questions?”

Millions.

“No.”

“Kneel here.” Fett pointed with a single, gnarled finger to a point on the ground by his feet. Din made a soft noise of resistance, but a firm look reminded him that he was to follow Fett’s orders. He slowly went to his knees, and walked forward on them, closer, to Fett’s side. He thought they were going to do this on the bed. “Get comfortable.”

He spoke like he’d rather be talking in a different language, but for Din he’d keep speaking in Common. Din adjusted his kneeling stance so his back wasn’t slouched. They often meditated in the cloister and learned to stay very still despite discomfort, but Fett had told him to get comfortable, so he did, though once he’d found it, he began to fidget.

“Put your head here.” Fett patted his lap. Surely there was an easier way for him to do this…? Din wasn’t sure he’d be able to reach Fett’s cock in this position. “Your mind is jumping several steps ahead. We are not moving past this now. Relax your mind.”

“I asked for a distraction, not a guided meditation,” Din grumbled, resisting and testing the waters a little. Fett seemed quick to temper despite his glacial expressions, but in here, he took the little barb like Din hadn’t even said anything.

“You will get what you need, and nothing more unless you follow what it is I’m saying. Put your head here. I won’t repeat myself again.”

Din gently rested his head against Fett’s thigh. It was a strange sensation, to feel warmth there not brought by engine heat or the flash-burn of a sonic shower, or his own body heat trapped in the helmet. The fabric over his thigh was a rough canvas, but not too thick that it hid the warmth from the man wearing them.

“Good. That’s good.”

He nearly jumped out of his skin when Fett put a hand on his head, not grabbing, just resting. He took deep breaths and calmed his heart down.

He’d spent so many months taking a sharp blade to his hair, thinning it down as soon as it was long enough to curl. He didn’t like to meet his own eyes in the mirror as he worked, only looked at his face enough to do a cursory, impersonal shave and haircut, and only when absolutely necessary. He felt he owed it to the Creed that he didn’t indulge in time spent out of the helmet, in things like vanity and pride.

But now, with Fett’s hand on his head, and his head on his thigh, kneeling at his feet because he’d been told to, he wished he’d spent a bit more time making sure it was at least even. Insecurity and shame bubbled inside of him, and it made damn sure Din knew how unworthy he was of a signet, of the helmet, of the gifts given by his people. Through many years and lonely nights, even after he met the kid, he’d found himself in moments of physical pain, but never enough to make him cry like a child.

This simple act, it seemed, was enough.

It started slow, a prickling spark behind his eyes, a flash of radiant embarrassment on his cheeks. He swallowed past a lump in his throat. His vision blurred with tears, and they fell, uninhibited, from his eyes. If Fett noticed, he didn’t speak about it, and didn’t move his hand back. His thigh and his hand were the only two points in the galaxy that could tether Din back to himself, and he was holding on tightly to that sensation.

Those fingers curled into unevenly-cut hair, a gentle scritch against a sensitive scalp, and Din cried harder. Under the sounds of his gasps and silent, shuddering sobs, he heard humming. It wasn’t a song he recognized, but the tune became familiar the more Fett repeated it, in a deep register that matched his entire demeanor.

Din’s hands came to wrap around Fett’s calf, holding on hesitantly, but tighter once the song interrupted with a “Hm,” of assent. Now he had four points of tethering, and it was easier for Din to let the tears carry away his shame and injuries to his pride.

He didn’t know how long he was down there, knelt by Fett’s feet, but when he felt fine enough to look up, he was surprised to meet Fett’s eyes. He somehow knew Fett hadn’t looked away even once in the whole time Din had knelt. “You were very good for me,” Fett said, a soft quality to his voice that made Din’s breath catch. The hand on his head shifted and cupped the back of his neck, and Din’s eyes fluttered shut. How long had it been…? Never, his mind said. You’ve never felt like this.

“What was that song?” Din asked, his voice terribly hoarse and small.

“It’s an old one, so old time forgot the words but not the sound and story. It told a tale about an old star shooting across the galaxy, and when it sailed past a moon made of crystals so clear it looked like starlight, it stopped, pulled into orbit by a thing so beautiful it was helpless against the laws of the universe. My father used to sing it to me, and now I sing it to you.”

Din didn’t know what to make of that, but said, “That sounds like a nice story. Will you teach me the song?”

“I will. But not now. The others will be back soon. You may want to clean up.”

Din noticed the uncomfortable feeling of tears dried on his face, and felt the wave of self-consciousness return, though it was greatly subdued.

“There’s a shower on board.”

“Thank you.” Din kept his eyes down, gathering up his things again, his pieces.

“You’re welcome, any time you need it.”

“What if I don’t need it?” Din said, trying to cover his vulnerability with...something else.

“Then you don’t need it,” Fett said, calm as anything. He stood.

Sure enough, those five inches Fett had on him were made starkly apparent when Din stood in none of his armor. Certain men carried a metaphorical weight with them when they walked, and others carried an imagined height that let them look down on others. Boba Fett was bigger in both senses, but did not use his power to belittle or condescend at Din. He exuded a presence of comfort and safety, a peace that Din had thought inaccessible for himself for so very long.

He felt held, though they stood apart.

“I’ll just. Shower.” Din said, awkwardness filling his lungs.

As soon as he was in the small ‘fresher, he closed the hatch and wondered what in the kriff just happened.

Read on AO3.

Chapter two.

#star wars fanfiction #din djarin/boba fett #mandalorian fanfiction #if past me saw now me she would be very disappointed #my writing #moon and old stars

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curiosi-tea-writes · 3 years

Text

Loved Ones Visit (One Survivor pt. 5)

Pairing: Din Djarin / Cobb Vanth

Setting: Survivor AU / Modern AU

(Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4)

Summary: Cobb is given a chance to rewrite his history in the game. But playing a second season without Din proves to be much more difficult both physically and emotionally. A certain reward challenge proves to both hurt and help Cobb in its own way.

Content Warning: Blood / Injured!Cobb

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Cobb knew playing the game a second time after three years was going to be difficult. He knew having Din with him last time was a huge encouragement. But this time he was alone. Well, he had nineteen other players, but he felt incredibly alone.

He could imagine Din and Grogu sitting on the sofa every evening. He could almost hear Din’s laughter at Grogu’s attempts to list dinosaur facts he had learned from Cobb. But he knew he was alone. Worse than that, he was alone with almost everything reminding him of Din and their original season.

When Cobb got the offer to come back for an all-star season, he told the crew he had to discuss it with his family first. His family. It still surprised him to no end that that’s what they were.

Cobb moved across two states only a year after they had returned home from the game. A year of so many miles keeping them apart when they both knew all they wanted was to be together. Din’s apartment was bigger and his job was more secure than Cobb’s so it made more sense for Cobb to move. They lived comfortably, Cobb’s photography studio still wasn’t open, but he was making progress. He had never been happier than being there with Din and his son. Their son. It had taken them all a while, but Grogu was as much Cobb’s kid as he was Din’s. They were a happy little family.

Din, of course, had supported him. “Do you want to do it?” he had asked that evening as Cobb cooked.

Cobb had been weighing the options all day. He sighed heavily and nodded. “I think I do. I hate the idea of being away from here, from you two, but I would really like a second chance at this.”

“Then you need to do it.” There was no further debate on the matter.

That day that Cobb said goodbye to his boyfriend and their son was one of the worst of Cobb’s life. He couldn’t get the image of Grogu’s worried eyes out of his mind.

“What if you get hurt again?” Grogu had mumbled out as Cobb knelt to give him a hug.

“I’m gonna try real’ hard not to,” Cobb promised.

Grogu looked up at him with tears in his eyes. “Can’t you just promise that you won’t?”

Cobb took a shaky breath and looked up at Din for some sort of support, only to be met with the same look of pain and anxiety that Grogu had.

Din placed his hand on Grogu’s shoulder and took a shaky breath of his own. “He’ll be fine.”

‘Don’t tell him that,’ Cobb thought as he narrowed his eyes at his boyfriend. ‘You don’t know that for sure.’

Most nights he laid out on the beach, staring up at the stars. It had taken him some time, but he finally loved the stars as much as Din did. Although, not for the same reason. Din loved the stars for the vastness and uncertainty of it all. The fact that there could be, and probably were, millions of life forms out there. He loved the stories behind the constellations and how they came about. Cobb loved all these things as well, but he also loved the comfort he now found in the stars. Before Din, they were just stars. Now, he knew, given what time of night it was and what time of year, where the constellations would be. His eyes could fall on his constellation of choice within seconds of laying down on the sand. They reminded him of late nights where Din explained to him everything he knew and Cobb would listen intently. He felt slightly less alone because he had the stars.

Although he didn’t have Din this time around, he wasn’t as alone as he often felt. Although they had been on different tribes despite all switch-ups and hadn’t gotten to meet up until the merge, Fennec had been brought back for the season as well. Cobb and Din had kept in touch with a few players from their season - Fennec, Boba, and Migs. He was happy knowing that he had a genuine friend on the island. Sometimes she’d sit with him on the beach, just to silently keep him company. Cobb always appreciated that. It didn’t last very long, however. After winning three individual immunities, she was seen as a threat and promptly voted out by everyone but Cobb and his one other ally.

And then Cobb was back to feeling completely alone. Only the stars were his true allies at that point.

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“Come on in, guys!” Jeff called as the ten merged members walked single file onto the beach and took a spot on the yellow mat. Jeff had that look in his eye that told any fan of the show something big was about to happen. “Before I tell you the challenge, how about I tell you what you’re playing for.” The Survivors nodded. “I’m sure you’re all hungry and missing home. So for today’s challenge, you’ll get a little taste of it. Burgers, fries, and soda on a boat. Ice cream for dessert. You’ll eat, you can shower, have a change of clothes, spend the night, return to camp in the morning.” The Survivors groaned, knowing this was a reward everybody wanted desperately. “One more catch.”

“Of course,” Cobb sighed and the player sitting next to him laughed.

Jeff gave Cobb a slight glare before smiling. “Burgers and fries are a nice taste of home. But what would be better than a loved one to share it with?”

Everyone cheered and gasped as Jeff began going down the list of Survivors. With each person called, Cobb’s heart broke a little more. He knew he couldn’t get his hopes up too high, it was the middle of the school year. It was highly unlikely that Din was able to get time off to come to the island.

“Alright, now that everyone’s here-”

“Jeff,” Omera, the one person Cobb considered an ally, spoke up. Cobb turned around to begin to explain to her that it was alright, but she continued anyways, “You forgot Cobb.”

Jeff began to give him a look of pity, much like his did a couple of seasons ago with the letters before he smiled brightly. “I’m just messing, Cowboy. Not the first time this has happened, but we have a loved one coming to visit who was actually on the show before.”

Tears formed as Jeff called out Din’s name and Cobb was off the mat faster than any of his tribemates had been when he saw his boyfriend jog around the corner. Cobb nearly knocked him over as he ran into his embrace. Din’s arms were tight around Cobb’s waist as he lifted him up slightly off of the sand.

“I missed you so much,” Cobb whispered in Din’s ear.

“I missed you too,” he whispered back, his voice muffled by Cobb’s shoulder, feeling his warm skin against his face. They broke apart and shared a soft and quick kiss, fearing that if they let it go any longer, they wouldn’t be able to stop.

“How’s Grogu?” Cobb asked quickly, so much of his focus on Din that he hardly realized his tears still streamed steadily down his face.

Din chuckled, his smile bright. He loved how much Cobb adored and worried for the boy. “He’s fine, we’re both fine.”

“Now, Din,” Jeff spoke, bringing their attention to him, “you know what it’s like to be out here, you’ve played this game. It’s incredibly taxing- I mean, you know. Cobb got sick last time he was out here. What is that like knowing he’s out here again?”

Din let out a half laugh, turning to face him. “Honestly, Jeff,” he sighed out, pulling Cobb tighter to him, “it terrifies me. I think he’s absolutely insane to be out here a second time. I’ve been going crazy sitting at home not knowing anything. But I would also never discourage him from something he really wanted to do.”

Cobb lowered his face to Din’s shoulder, his heart aching from the love and support he knew he had in Din.

Jeff smiled brightly and gave a nod. “I know I normally only ask one question. But, Din, you didn’t see Cobb’s face before you came out here.” His words were cut off by Cobb groaning half-heartedly into Din’s shirt. Jeff laughed and continued, “Cobb, you didn’t even have a letter last time you played. Did you not expect him to come?”

“I had hoped, but I didn’t assume,” Cobb answered honestly, lifting his head. “There was no guarantee Din would be able to get time off. I knew if he could, he would have come, but-”

“I actually called in a family emergency,” Din muttered. Cobb snapped his attention to Din, his jaw dropping. He didn’t know when he had stopped crying and had begun laughing.

Jeff laughed hard. “You really did?”

“There was no way I was missing this visit, Jeff,” Din stated seriously.

New tears formed in Cobb’s eyes. He pulled Din close again and reveled in the feeling of Din’s hands rubbing his back.

Jeff cleared his throat and laughed. “Alright, Cowboy, head back over-”

“Actually, Jeff,” Din interrupted. He laughed as Jeff gave him a look that seemed to only be saved for when all-stars decided to sass him. “Sorry,” he said hurriedly, “it’s just that I don’t know if we’re going to win this and it may be my only time to do it. So if it’s alright, I have something I’d like to say to Cobb.”

Jeff nodded and waved his hand for Din to continue.

Turning back to Cobb, Din laughed lightly at his confused expression. “Cobb,” he spoke softly. “You can’t predict anything out here, it’s not possible. I didn’t come into this game three years ago thinking I’d come out of it with someone as amazing as you in my life. Our story started on an island much like this, on Survivor. I felt it was only right for it to continue on Survivor. So,” Din reached into his pocket and pulled out a small red box. He kept his eyes on Cobb’s as he slowly sank down to kneel in the hot sand. He opened the box to reveal a ring; half wooden, half clear resin with a small cut of a woven weed stem inside it, one that Cobb recognised all too well. “Cobb Vanth, will you marry me?”

Cobb fell to his knees, wincing slightly at the pain, pulling Din into a crushing kiss. At this point, he didn’t care if it was going to hurt to stop. He pulled back, brushing their noses against each other. “Yes,” he whispered only loud enough for Din to hear, tears forming in his eyes. “Yes, of course I will.” He placed another small kiss on Din’s lips. “I love you so much.”

“I love you too,” Din spoke against Cobb’s lips.

Jeff cleared his throat, bringing both men back to the reality of the game. “So, let’s get this clear,” Jeff laughed out. “You said ‘yes’ right?”

Cobb laughed pressing his cheek against Din’s head, enjoying the feeling of the softness of his hair ticking his ear. “Yes, I said ‘yes.’”

Din took the ring out of the box and reached behind him to pull Cobb’s arm off of his shoulder. He smiled brightly as he slid it onto Cobb’s finger, remembering when he watched the part of their season where Cobb slid the woven ring into the same place.

“Alright you two,” Jeff said. “Sorry to break this up, but we have a challenge to get to.”

They exchanged one last kiss before parting and they each moved away to take their places. The father of one of Cobb’s tribemates shook Din’s hand with a smile as he joined the loved ones. Cobb’s tribe patted him on the back, Omera taking Cobb’s hand to get a better look at the ring.

“Aright,” Jeff called, clapping his hands together. “Unless anyone has any other pressing questions to ask.” Everyone laughed. “Let’s get to the challenge, then.” All the players stood up a little straighter. “Today, the challenge will involve both you and your loved one. We’re going to see how good you can communicate. You will be blindfolded and your loved one is going to guide you through a maze, over and under obstacles. You’ll have to race to collect five necklaces with the help of your loved one. First person to have all the necklaces collected and be back on your mat with your loved one wins reward. Sounds simple but if you fail to communicate, it will prove extremely difficult. Let’s get started.”

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Cobb felt on top of the world. To him, he felt like he was back at home, recreating challenges for Grogu to take part in. Din had the louder voice between them, so that was also a plus in his books. He adored every direction Din called, utterly in love with hearing his voice. He had collected two of the necklaces and truly felt they would win the challenge.

Din tried to call out his name but it was too late. Cobb hadn’t ducked far enough down and managed to bang the side of his head on the bar he had meant to go under.

“Cowboy, are you okay?” Jeff called.

Cobb laughed and gave a thumbs up in Jeff’s general direction. He turned himself around a few times, attempting to regain his bearings when Din spotted the growing patch of dark red soaking into the yellow buff around Cobb’s eyes.

“Jeff, he’s not alright,” Din called quickly, already getting in the position to hop off of the tower he stood on as soon as Jeff gave him the go.

Jeff snapped his gaze to Cobb. “Everybody stop!” He called. “Stay where you are. Din, come down here. Medical!”

Cobb reached up and touched his temple. He couldn’t see still but he could feel the warmth and the wetness on his fingers and knew he must have hit his head much harder than he had thought. Din met Cobb down in the maze and guided Cobb to take a seat on the ground.

The medic rushed to them and lowered Cobb’s blindfold just enough to see the gash.

“What’s happening?” Cobb asked quickly. He felt fine, maybe a little sting. If it weren’t for the warmth against his face, he wouldn’t have even known he was really injured. He leaned into Din’s touch as he sat behind him, lightly rubbing his back.

The medic spoke up, “Just a bit of a gash, Cobb. You hit your head pretty hard back there. You’re fine.”

Cobb sat as still as he could, trying not to wince too harshly at the pain when his temple was touched with something cold. He still couldn’t see but he was grateful that Din was there. This would have been much scarier if he was alone with strangers.

“Can you tell us, mostly Cobb because he still can’t even see,” Jeff said softly, “what the diagnosis is? Is he okay to continue the challenge or is he done?”

The tone in his voice reminded Cobb just a little too much of when Jeff had to explain to him that he was being pulled from the game so close to the end. The wave of anxiety that washed over him made his ears ring and a tear was running down his face before he even had a chance to fight it. He reached blindly for Din’s hand, only realizing once he had it how badly his hands were shaking, Din’s tight grip attempting to steady him. “I don’t want to be evaced again,” he whispered, his voice trembling. He felt Din’s arm wrap tightly around him and he held his hand a little tighter, the one thing grounding him in the moment.

“You’re not getting evaced,” the medic explained. “It’s a pretty nasty gash, not deep, just long.” The medic traced lightly above the wound to let Cobb know exactly where it was. “It doesn’t need stitches. The blood made it seem a lot worse than it is but now that it’s mostly clean, I can say that so long as it’s kept clean and bandaged up, the worst case is you’ll have a pretty wicked scar on your temple to show off.”

Everyone gave a sigh of relief, even the players who had stopped in their tracks near them. Cobb was thankful that people understood how badly he didn’t want to leave the game again.

“So, in that case,” Jeff said, his voice a little lighter now that the weight of that question had been answered. “What about the challenge?”

The medic sighed and paused for a moment. “Well, I suppose that’s up to Cobb. I don’t see any reason why he can’t continue. I can easily patch this up and he can go about the challenge, I’d just want to patch it up better once he’s done. But Cobb, that’s unless you’re in pain or feeling lightheaded, it’s entirely up to you.”

“I’m finishing the challenge,” Cobb stated quickly. He wasn’t going to let something like this keep him from seeing Din.

“If you start to feel at all lightheaded, you let us know,” Jeff said sternly. “Really, Cowboy, we’ll stop the challenge if you do, it’s not a problem. I’d rather stop then have you push yourself too hard.” Cobb nodded. “Okay. Din, go back up to the stand. Cowboy, medic will patch you up. Let’s get back to it.”

Din squeezed his hand one last time, placing a soft kiss to Cobb’s hair before standing and making his way back to the stand. He was determined now more than ever to win this challenge.

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

“Cobb, wins reward!” Jeff called.

Cobb pulled the blood soaked buff and blind fold off from over his eyes and tossed them on the ground. He let his eyes adjust to the light as Din wrapped his arms around him tightly, kissing his cheek. As Cobb’s vision came back into focus, the first thing he saw was Din’s eyes as he smiled at him and for a moment, he was no longer in the game. For a moment it was just them in the entire universe. Cobb wondered if this is how it would feel on their wedding day. He was almost certain it would be.

The two men made their way next to Jeff as he recounted what they won. Cobb was looking forward to a night not only away from camp but with Din. He took Din’s hand and held it tightly, almost attempting to convince himself that he was real and there.

“Cowboy, I want medical to take another look at that gash and then you two can head on over to the boat.” Jeff clapped his hands together and smiled. “As for the rest of you, say bye to your loved ones and head back to camp.”

Cobb watched sadly as everyone said their goodbyes. He wished he had been given the option of taking someone. He would have taken Omera, he had already known that. But he wasn’t going to complain that it was only him and Din. He needed to just be with him.

The medics finished cleaning his injury and gave him instructions of how to handle it after he showered on the boat. Din gave them his promise that he would help with it which seemed to make them happy. With a final question about how Cobb was feeling, the newly engaged couple were sent off on a motorboat to be taken to the ship they were staying on.

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

Cobb wiped the mirror of steam in the bathroom after his shower. He turned his head a little to get a better look at his wound. It was already on its way to healing but the pain of it had finally set in. He had been as careful as he could to not disturb it while washing his hair, even having Din lend a hand when he realized it was much harder to shampoo and rinse around a cut than he had thought. Now looking at it in the mirror without the dirt from his hair making it darker, he could see that it wasn’t deep, just a long cut running from just above his ear to his temple.

He left the bathroom after treating and wrapping his wound and smiled at the sight of Din stretched out on the bed reading a book. Cobb let his body fall a little to the side, resting his shoulder against the door frame. He had missed just observing him so much.

Din looked up from the book and smiled brightly. “How are you feeling?”

Cobb laughed little. “My head hurts but I’m excited to have a pretty awesome scar.”

“You are the only person in the world who would be excited to have a scar,” Din laughed out with a soft scoff.

Cobb took the few steps to the bed and sat next to Din’s legs. “Imagine how cool it’ll be when someone asks where I got the scar from and I get to tell them I got it on Survivor!” He sounded far too excited even to his own ears but he really didn’t care. He was incredibly happy. Happy that he wasn’t pulled from the game. Happy that he was with Din. Despite the anxiety caused from the injury, he could easily state that it was one of his favorite days to date.

Din sat up and took Cobb’s hand, lightly pulling him to lay down beside him. They settled down with Cobb’s head resting on Din’s chest, just like they would back home. Din ran his fingers softly through Cobb’s hair, careful not to touch the injury by mistake. “How’s the game been so far?”

Cobb knew it was an innocent question. It was a question that made sense to ask, especially given that Din knew the game personally. But Cobb wished he hadn’t asked. He tilted his face into Din’s shirt, trying to memorize the scent he already knew so well. He couldn’t answer. He knew the answer would be negative. He didn’t want Din to worry about him more than he knew he already was. He was too exhausted physically and mentally to stop his tears from falling. He held them back for so long at camp - through every fight with a tribemate, every frustrating day they didn't catch any fish, every injury. But now he was with Din and he knew he didn’t have to hold them back.

As soon as Din heard a sniffle and the coolness of his shirt against his chest, his heart shattered. He pulled Cobb up so they could lay next to each other. He wiped a few stray tears away from Cobb’s face with his thumbs. “What’s wrong?” Din’s voice was soft, barely above a whisper.

“I just-” Cobb’s voice broke. “Last game went so well and this one is just-” He closed his eyes, causing more tears to fall. He took a shaky breath. “It’s been rough,” he finally got out. “Everything out here reminds me of you and it drives me crazy. Fennec came back,” he chuckled lightly as Din perked up a little hearing their friend’s name, “so at least I had her after the merge but she got voted off three Tribals ago.” He leaned forward and rested their foreheads together. “I can’t wait to go home.”

Din pulled him closer, allowing Cobb to let his emotions out. He understood. Not even in the terms of knowing the game. He had spent most nights after Grogu fell asleep holding Cobb’s pillow. He tried to stay strong for Grogu, he was worried enough about Cobb without having to know Din was as well. So Din spent his days keeping them both busy to keep their minds off of it and at night he would let his own emotions out as quietly as he could, trying to take in the little bit of Cobb’s scent left on the pillow.

When Cobb had run out of tears to cry he took a shaky breath and pulled away just enough to wipe his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “It’s just a game. I need to keep telling myself that, it’s just a game.”

Din shook his head quickly and placed a soft kiss to Cobb’s forehead. “I’m so proud of you.” When Cobb scoffed he placed his hand gently under Cobb’s chin to bring his face up towards his. “Seriously. Playing this game once is hard enough. Playing it a second time- I can’t even imagine. I am so incredibly proud of you.”

Cobb smiled brightly. He thought how strange it was to smile genuinely. He had missed it.

“Come on,” Din said with a nudge to Cobb’s arm. “Let’s go eat and get you some water. Don’t want you to get dehydrated.”

Cobb scoffed out a laugh as he got off the bed to follow Din out of the suite. “Yeah, don’t want to do that again.”

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

Dinner on the deck of the boat was perfect. They were able to watch the sunset over a nearby island and the way Din’s eyes lit up as the stars began to appear was priceless to Cobb. He was thankful that Din had played the game. He might be away from camp and unable to strategize with his alliance, but running ideas past Din made up for it. He was able to see situations from a different point of view, letting Cobb see better ways to go about them.

At dessert, they both fell silent. Cobb lowered his gaze and spun the ring around on his finger.

“Do you like it?” Din asked as he set his bowl of ice cream aside and rested his arms on the table. “I knew for a while I wanted to use the ring I made you but I didn’t know how to do it without you noticing it was gone. Then you decided to come back on the show and it gave me an opportunity I didn’t know if I’d get again.” He spoke fast, his hands fidgeting, suddenly nervous.

Cobb looked up and chuckled, loving when Din rambled. “I love it.” He reached across the table and took Din’s hand. He liked the way the ring pressed into his knuckle and Din interlocked their fingers, reminding him that it was there. ”I love you.”

“I love you too,” Din whispered, his voice threatening to break.

Cobb tilted his head a little, his eyes turning quickly from soft to worried. “What’s wrong, Darlin’?”

Din sighed heavily. He knew Cobb didn’t need him breaking down right now. He needed him to be strong. He needed to not feel guilty for leaving. “I miss you,” he decided on simply. He shook his head lightly and took his hands away from Cobb’s to bring them up to hold his face. He needed to be strong, Cobb needed him to be.

Standing from his seat, Cobb made his way around the table. He placed his hand lightly on Din’s arm, causing him to drop his hand from his face and bring his teary gaze up to Cobb. “Let’s go to bed,” Cobb whispered, tugging a little.

Neither spoke as they made their way to the bedroom. They moved around each other easily, as they would if they were back at home. It wasn’t until they were under the covers, their arms tightly around each other that the silence was finally broken.

“You really scared me today,” Din spoke, his voice barely audible.

“I was pretty scared today,” Cobb admitted. He pulled away just enough to look up at Din but the other man refused to meet his eyes. “It wasn’t your fault that I got hurt.” He knew where Din’s mind was, the same place it was three years ago. He knew Din had some overwhelming need to protect those he cared about and while Cobb appreciated his concern, he wished he didn’t have to endure the guilt anxiety he always faced when he was unable to do so.

Din sighed deeply, tears returning to his eyes, no longer trying to keep them away. He opened his mouth to reply but nothing came out. He just sighed again and closed his eyes.

“Darlin’,” Cobb said in what was a normal volume but in the quiet of the room sounded loud. It served its purpose in bringing Din’s gaze back to his, Cobb’s heart aching as he saw Din’s tears. He mirrored the action of wiping them as Din had done for him earlier. “It was not your fault.”

“I should have been paying more attention,” Din defended. “I should have warned you, I-”

Cobb crashed their lips together, silencing his mind more importantly than his words. Din hummed into the kiss and pulled Cobb closer. His hand out of habit found its way to Cobb’s hair, earning a hiss of pain as his fingers brushed over Cobb’s bandage, causing them to pull away. They took a moment to just stare at each other, the love evident in both their eyes. Both felt, for at least that moment, the weight of the day and the last few weeks lift off of them.

“Thank you,” Cobb sighed, nestling his head to Din’s chest.

Din pressed a kiss to Cobb’s hair. “For what?”

Cobb gave a soft laugh. “For coming out here.” He tightened his arms around Din. “I needed this.”

“Of course,” Din whispered. “I would miss it for anything, Starshine.”

Cobb smiled brightly, always adoring the rare times Din used that name for him. He always saved it for the softest and calmest moments between them.

They settled in for sleep but just laid in silence for a long time, neither really wanting to sleep. They just wanted to hold each other for as long as they could, not worrying about the game or the other players. They both thought about when Cobb had been evaced and they had found themselves in a no-so-different situation than the one they were in now. Just two people calming each other’s anxieties with a simple embrace.

Cobb eventually couldn’t tell if Din was asleep or not. His breathing was calm enough that he could have been, but Din very rarely fell asleep before him. Cobb always thought it was a habit from watching over Grogu, but he was never really certain.

“Darlin’?” he whispered as gently as he could. If Din was asleep, there was no chance it would disturb him.

“Yes, Starshine?”

He sighed happily and lifted his head a little. “What do you think about a beach wedding?”

Din hummed. “Seems appropriate. Is Grogu going to be our ring bearer?”

“I think he’d be pretty upset if he wasn’t,” Cobb laughed.

“Alright,” Din whispered with a nod. “How’s purple for our main color?”

“Purple?” Cobb asked. When Din nodded he shifted a little to look up at him better. “Why purple?”

Din smiled brightly, his eyes so full of love it made Cobb’s heart skip. “It was our merging color. We finally got to be together at the merge.”

Cobb closed the short distance and pressed their lips together in a soft kiss. He pulled away quickly, laughing as Din leaned in to follow his lips. “Purple sounds amazing, Darlin’.” He laid back down and held Din tightly. “I can’t wait to marry you.”

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

The morning went by far too quickly for either of their liking. After a quick cup of coffee they were put on a motor boat and on their way back to camp. Din held Cobb’s hand the entire morning, not wanting to let any space pass between them, fearing they might not get the chance to reconnect.

As the camp came into sight, Cobb could see Omera waving at them from the beach. Cobb smiled and waved back, the ring catching his eye as he lifted his hand. He spun it with his thumb as he brought his hand back down and smiled brightly. At least after Din left he would still have this reminder of him. It felt the same as when Din left him the original stem ring last time.

Din walked him up to the shore and gave him a deep but short kiss. “You stop getting hurt,” he mumbled against his lips.

Cobb let out a soft laugh. “I’ll try my best. This game likes seeing me get hurt.” He wrapped his arms tightly around Din. “Tell Grogu I love him so much. I miss him.”

“He misses you too,” Din admitted. He had tried not to tell Cobb how worried the boy was for him. “We’ll both be there at the airport when you come home, okay?”

Cobb nodded and took a deep breath. “Just a little bit longer.” He smiled despite his heart breaking at the idea of having to let Din go. “And then we can start properly planning our wedding.”

With one final kiss they finally let go. Din waved once he was back on the motor boat, and then he was disappearing into the distance.

Cobb took a deep shaky breath and nodded. He turned on his heel and smiled as best he could at Omera. “So,” he spoke as steadily as he could, “what’d I miss?”

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

Nineteen days later, Cobb got off the plane, a bounce in his step that he had been missing last time he left the game. This time he wasn’t heading back to an empty apartment. This time he was headed home to family.

“Dad!”

Cobb looked down to see a blur of Grogu’s green hat as he ran to him, throwing his arms around Cobb’s legs. His eyes flicked up to Din quickly who was smiling brightly. Cobb felt the happiest of tears fill his eyes. While Cobb had long considered the boy to be his son, it was the first time Grogu had ever called him “Dad.” Cobb knelt down and pulled the boy into a tight hug, not ever wanting to let him go.

“How was the game?” Grogu asked excitedly, seemingly not realizing the impact that his single word had on both his fathers.

“Honestly?” Cobb looked between the two people he loved most in the universe. “I think I won.”

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

Note: This fic was honestly very self-indulgent and nothing else. I really started this as a one-shot that I assumed nobody else would enjoy, I just wanted to put it out into the universe because I wanted to read it and knew nobody else would write it. So the fact that people have actually enjoyed this and let me have fun with it means the world to me.

I left things open so I have the opportunity to go back and make a collection out of it, maybe add some random one-shots about Cobb and Boba's alliance or Fennec and Din's. Maybe I'll even add some proper Migs/Boba stuff in there. I'm not sure yet.

Thank you all for going on this fun little journey with me! And if you're wondering, yes, Cobb did win.

#dincobb #din x cobb #marshalorian #marshmando #din djarin #cobb vanth #survivor au #modern au #Han writes

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damnedparker · 4 years

Text

mother tongue

pairing: din djarin x reader (no y/n, gender neutral)

warnings: none really, just fluff. hurt/comfort. mention of death, like one swear word

summary: din is exhausted. you try to help him heal after the events on nevarro.

also posted on ao3

title inspired by this song which i heavily associate with din for mando’a reasons.

i’ve never posted my fics to tumblr before so be gentle with me.

“When’s the last time you slept?” You broke the silence you and your Mandalorian currently piloting the Razor Crest were sitting in after finally putting the Child down for the night; or, at least, the night on Nevarro, which you had just left. “Din.” You nudged his arm with your foot, as you were currently stretched out lazily in the co-pilot’s seat. The bounty hunter continued to stay silent, his visor staring straight ahead. You repeated his name a few times over the next few minutes that passed before finally chucking the stylus you were fiddling with at the side of his helmet, resulting in a loud clank. No response. You heaved out a sigh and stood up, walking right up to his side. “Din. Mando. Asshole. Respond to me.” You flicked his helmet again. This time it was a quiet thunk that resounded off the beskar.

“What?” Came a gruff, audibly tired voice.

“I asked you when the last time you slept was.” You reiterated, now resting your hand in the space between his neck and his pauldron. Even through the thicker, practical fabric of his undershirt, the heat from his skin warmed your hand. You felt his shoulders relax at your touch, his head tilting to the side slightly as if your hand had simply deflated him.

“I don’t know.” His words were genuine; he had no idea when the last time he got some real rest was. He was quick to follow up before you could even open your mouth to reply. “I’m fine. I had some caf before we left.”

“You’re not fine,” you narrowed your eyes at him. “Get up. I can fly the next few klicks we have until we jump to hyperspace.” Din shook his head. You held in another annoyed huff. Sometimes he was as stubborn as a child. You stood and observed him for a moment, noticing the stiff posture that had returned, as well as the slight swaying his body had taken on, probably from being drowsy while still sitting up. If you didn’t get him out of the pilot’s chair soon, you would both end up crash-landing on some random planet neither of you were familiar with. “Din,” you began, your voice gentle as ever. His attention returned from the foggy limbo that only days-upon-days of no sleep caused. “It’s okay to be tired, you know.” Especially with everything that happened today.

“I know.” He whispered, voice breaking. “Can you… sit with me? While you fly?” One of his hands left the controls to grasp your wrist. You nodded, ecstatic that he’d actually agreed to let you take over, and even more so to be able to spend the time resting with him.

He shifted back in his seat before gently pulling you down on his lap, not letting go of the controls until you were comfortably settled against him and you replaced where his hands had been tightly gripping, hoping not to drift off while flying the Crest. You didn’t have that much longer before you could jump into hyperspace, switching to autopilot for a while before you would reach the first planet Din had the tiniest hunch might lead to the Child’s species. It had been in the back of his mind for a while, and now that the Child was officially part of his clan, he figured it was time to jump on whatever small chance he had to find his right home.

Din didn’t say much as you focused on flying, both because of his tired state and because he didn’t really know what to say. He had almost lost you today, as well as the Child. You had almost lost him. To some kriffing Imps. If IG-11 wasn’t there, who knows what would have happened. He didn’t really want to think about it. You were here now, real and warm, sitting with him and taking over the controls just because he was tired. You were really a gift to him. Sometimes the bounty hunter questioned what in the universe decided that he was deserving to have someone in his life as good as you. You, his cyar’ika, his partner. At this point, the Child’s parent just as he was its father.

He was terrified. Terrified of loving you, terrified of losing you. Stars, he loved you. He hadn’t loved anything before you and the Child. A heartless, lonely bounty hunter on the run from his own emotions until he stumbled into you one day, a bored former rebel pilot drinking the days away in a cantina. You had accepted his offer of partnership in helping with a particularly grueling bounty job without hesitation. It was something new. You had ended up being a breath of fresh air for him, too.

One thing led to another and you were traveling the galaxy with him before the Child fell into your lives and threw a wonderful, green wrench into it all. It was the last straw that opened up the tension that had been building between the two of you, pushing your relationship into new territory, romantic territory, which was something completely foreign and unexpected for Din. And, oh, how he adored it.

And today he had almost lost it all.

Nevarro was a disaster. The losses of Kuiil and IG had dug themselves hard into his brain, and he felt so guilty, and so absolutely devastated. Kuiil was a good-hearted being, he had helped Din without question, multiple times and had given his life for the Child. IG had done much the same. He couldn’t help thinking how he could have lost you as well.

“Fallen asleep yet, shiny?” Your voice tugged him out of his thoughts, and he wrapped his arms tighter around your middle, shifting to sit up more. He refused to fall asleep while he had the ability to hold you, to make sure you were still there with him.

“I’m still awake.” He rubbed his thumb over the skin that had become exposed from your shirt riding up a bit when you leaned forward to flick a switch, preparing to make the jump into hyperspace. “Just thinking."

“What about?” You hummed, easing the ship into the jump before switching into autopilot. You didn’t get up from your spot in Din’s lap, only leaning backwards into his chest to get comfortable.

“Us,” he paused, voice becoming quieter. “Everything that happened today.” You nodded, taking one of his hands from its place at your hip and beginning to remove his glove.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“I… I don’t know,” he told you truthfully. You moved on to remove his other glove. “Not particularly. Not right now.”

“That’s okay,” you set his gloves aside, taking one of your hands in his and reveling at the warmth of his rough skin against yours. “Whenever you’re ready, I’m here.”

“I know,” he leant his helmet against your forehead affectionately. “Thank you.” You pressed a soft kiss to his knuckles in reply before you stood, tugging him with you.

“Come on,” you led him out of the cockpit, down into the sad, tiny excuse the Crest had for living quarters. “Let me help you get cleaned up. And then we can sleep. We have a long commute, so we have plenty of time.” You began to remove the armor from his body, beskar dropping on the metal floor of the ship minute by minute before he was in his underclothes. You neatly piled up the armor and scooted it against the wall, to avoid tripping on it like the both of you often did when you actually did get to sleep. Then you left to retrieve a clean set of clothes for him to wear to bed, as well as a towel so he could use the ‘fresher. While you were gone, he removed his helmet, quickly peeling off his dirty clothes from the day, leaving him in his underwear. He stood there for a moment, staring at the beskar helmet in his hands before deciding not to put it back on. He called your name to signal you back in the room. “We should really get you some new clothes, these are—” You cut yourself off with a gasp when you saw the back of his head, immediately turning and squeezing your eyes shut. “I’m sorry, I-I didn’t see anything, you-you called so I thought—”

“It’s okay, cyar’ika,” Din said softly, setting his hands on your hips and turning you towards him. He let out a chuckle when your eyes were still screwed shut. “I know. I wanted you to see.” He slipped his arms further around you, pulling you against him. “I love you. I want to be open with this part of myself with you. You deserve it.”

“Din, I-I,” you swallowed around the lump in your throat. “Don’t we have to be married for this not to break your creed?”

“Yes,” you felt his forehead gently make contact with yours, his breath fanning over your lips. “But only if that’s something you want.”

“It is. Of course it is.” You were surprised at the steadiness of your voice. Din was quiet, leaving you to put the pieces together in your head. Oh. “Right now?”

“I mean, if you want… we don’t have to, I was just—” You cut him off with a whisper of reassurance, nodding enthusiastically.

You had never been surer of anything else in your life as Din began to recite the Mandalorian wedding vows to you, and you repeated them almost too perfectly right after. Once it was done, you were both silent for a moment, when Din pressed his lips to yours in a chaste, passionate kiss.

“Open your eyes.” You finally gave in and obliged, taking in his face for the first time. You couldn’t get enough, bringing your hands up to hold his face and trace over his features. His beautiful hawkish nose that suited him incredibly well, his pouty lips framed by just the right amount of scruff. His brown eyes that shone with affection for you and his messy hair, flattened by his helmet and the amount of sweat and blood that had soaked it after today’s events. You brushed your thumbs over his cheeks and pressed another kiss to his lips, then the bridge of his nose.

“You need a shower.” Somehow that was the only thing you could get out of your mouth without crying.

“Thanks,” he replied with heavy sarcasm, but the smile that had overtaken his lips ruined every bit of his tone of voice. He pressed another soft kiss to your lips, nudging his nose against yours sweetly. “Join me?”

You nodded, following him into the refresher, hand held safely in his. Din helped you remove your equally dirty clothes, and him shedding his underwear, before you stepped under the hot shower. You wordlessly began to wash Din’s hair, loosening and rinsing away all the blood, sweat, and dirt while being careful around the back of his head. You parted the hair around the area you knew he’d been hit in, checking to see how the wound looked. It was healing, that was for certain thanks to the bacta spray, but stars, did it look absolutely awful. No wonder it had almost killed him. You took in a sharp breath before continuing to rinse his hair. Once you finished, Din stilled you from going for the soap next, taking one of your hands in his and caressing your chin with his free hand.

“Hey, look at me,” he tilted your face to his, holding your gaze intently. “I’m sorry I made you leave me. That’s a horrible responsibility to put on someone, and I know I wouldn’t have listened if the positions were swapped.”

“Don’t apologize, Din, you put the Child first,” you swallowed thickly, tears stinging your eyes. The all-too fresh memories flashed through your head; desperately looking over your shoulder at Din lying motionless, the heavy rise and fall of his chest the only thing signifying that he was still alive. The only parts of him with you as you were forced to leave had been the Child and the mythosaur necklace he had pressed into your hand. The gesture tugged at your heart just thinking about it. That necklace was a symbol of his protection, his love. “I wasn’t thinking. I just- I don’t want to lose you. I was scared, I—” He just nodded, the understanding and shared feelings showing in his scared, tired eyes. “I love you. Please know that.” He brought the hand he was grasping tightly to his chest, pressing it against his damp, warm skin. You could feel the steady beat of his heart against your palm, letting you relax. He was here, alive, with you.

“Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum, ner kar'ta,” his voice was gentle, but so strong. Direct. Spoken directly from his core. “Always.”

“I’m gonna guess that doesn’t mean ‘eat shit and die, laserbrain.’” You joked, pulling a chuckle from Din, warmth spreading all throughout your body at his words. The idea that this dangerous bounty hunter, so fierce he was considered the best in the parsec, would choose to be so vulnerable and gentle with you was unbelievable. His love was a privilege that could never be overstated.

The pair of you finished up your shower quite quickly, on account of you noticing Din’s eyes get heavier and heavier. Soon enough, the both of you were squeezed into the tiny cot, pressed up against each other. You snuggled into Din’s chest, the both of you on your sides, your legs trapped in a happy, tangled mess so you could be as close to each other as possible. No words were said, sleep having invaded the both of your minds far too much to form coherent words.

A sleepy kiss was pressed to your forehead, something you registered between consciousness and the limbo you were in as you were falling asleep. Before you fully gave in, you heard quiet snores coming from your Mandalorian next to you, whose arm was wrapped protectively around your waist, holding you against him. You didn’t need reassurances of “goodnight” or “I love yous” right now. Knowing the pair of you were still together, still alive, was more than enough for now.

mando’a translations:

cyar'ika: darling, sweetheart

ni kar'tayl gar darasuum, ner kar'ta: i love you, my heart

#din djarin x reader #the mandalorian x reader #din djarin x you #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian fanfic #din djarin fanfic #fluff #my fics #din djarin fluff #the mandalorian fluff

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